Chapter Three: The Realm of Darkness
The roar of the falls deafened the young assassin as he stepped around the rushing torrent to access the back of the waterfall. Beyond was a dark cavern, hidden from anyone who wandered so far out into the wilderness. Only those who had sworn a blood oath to the Nameless know of the secret entrance, for it is their lair. Within the dark grotto contained the hands that controlled each and every invisible string tied to the leaders of the world, like puppeteers and their dolls at a market festival. For centuries the provinces of Asarelith had been led down paths created by the Nameless, twisting the world into a future they desired and ultimately controlled. Their methods were subtle and unseen, replacing fear and chaos with utter silence. They were the shadows of the world, and remained to this day unheard of.
The assassin on the winding path beyond the waterfall is known by his clan as Soul Reaper. Some whisper that he was born from the shadows of the night, and fathered by Carnac himself – the Lord of Death and Darkness. On his Day of Eschaton – the ceremony required for all new members, the last and first day of their lives – Soul Reaper was given a special sword by Gerezeth, the clan’s secretive leader. The blade was called Silverthorn, crafted from the finest silver in all of Asarelith and deadlier than the razor-teeth of a northern mountain lion. It rested in its black sheath at the assassin’s belt, waiting for its next target. Though, within the darkness of the lair it would find only allies.
Soul Reaper was not his real name, though. He had an alias to go by when he was required to visit cities and small villages. He believed it to be his real name, though sometimes it was difficult to discern between what was true and untrue. Miles Fenrir is the name his memory clung to and refused to forget. Many of the clan’s members had lost their names long ago, left them behind on their Day of Eschaton and never looked back. There was no need to look back to nothingness. Most members had no lives before the Nameless. They were slaves, outcasts, orphans, or enemies in their homeland. The guild welcomed them with open arms, regardless of their past.
Miles was one of those unfortunate souls, left to survive on his own in the world after his parents abandoned him as a child. He resorted to petty thievery and pick-pocketing until his hometown was swept away by fire. It was Gerezeth that rescued him. Miles had been caught stealing food from a market cart and was sent to the stocks for the day. His leg was mildly burned before Gerezeth noticed him and freed him from his imprisonment. It was on that day that Miles first learned of the Nameless – a story he remembered to bring comfort and relief to his child-self.
Now all it brought was death and more death. The Nameless – at first – was a sanctuary for those who needed it. After many long years of training and studying, the Day of Eschaton arrived and the helpless fools who had blindly stumbled their way into the warm arms of the Nameless became what they were – agents of death … assassins. Miles knew from his life on the streets the advantages of sneaking and staying out of sight, though the Nameless took these skills to a far higher level. After some weeks of training, he knew what they were and what they were molding him into, yet he did not attempt to run away. He knew these things were wrong, and yet … some part of him felt very at home amongst these black-hearted strangers. They became his family over time, people that he would swear loyalty to.
Though, the union was not without its traitors, and traitors needed to be sorted out before the world discovered them, else the Nameless would fall into ruin. That is where loyalty was broken, bonds cut. Those who betrayed the clan were just contracts to eliminate. There were not many rules and they were not hard to remember, though some just felt the need to break those rules.
Firstly, you must not speak of the clan to anyone who is not a member. Secondly, killing those other than the ones mentioned on the contract is strictly illegal. Thirdly, plotting against your family will result in quick and sudden termination.
Miles had no need to break these laws. Any of the three laws broken would end in death, and he preferred to be holding the sword, not facing the sharp tip of one. Though, with the Nameless, you probably wouldn’t see the blade before your death anyway.
Contracts were picked up from spies within the cities. They were the Nameless’ connections and handled all contracts within a particular area. Kill a noble there, take care of a ruler here … each assassination was directly related to the courts and royalty, shaping events into the favour of the Nameless. Too much power contained within a specific city was dangerous to the clan and needed to be taken care of. However, for the right price, services could be bought to take care of those not associated with the crown. These contracts were very few and usually came from nobles or traitors within court, plotting against their superiors, family, or just people they hated. It gave the guild a good chance to gather valuables, gold, and whatever else they came across at the victim’s home. Profit was crucial in this business.
Farther down the pathway, Miles encountered a blockade. It was a door without a handle, black as the night and rusted at the edges. This was the doorway into the Hall of Shadows, where the agents of death dined and slept.
‘With Narisa as my guide and Carnac as my patron, I shall walk with the shadows in both life and death, swearing only to the Nameless until my time has ended. Then shall the great darkness take me, forever binding me in its loving embrace. These are the oaths I pledge in blood.’
Taking a small dagger from a case on his leg, Miles drew the blade across his hand, extracting blood. He pressed his hand firmly against the metal door, and then drew away as it started to glow. Slowly, the doorway dissolved away into the air, fading from existence and allowing the oath-maker to pass. Miles hurried through the gap, knowing that once he stepped through, the door would only return to block out others. The first time he had seen the enchanted door he had questioned it again and again. How could something such as this exist? Magick, was the answer given to him. Magick was why it existed.
At that time, Miles knew not what magick was. Now he was becoming quite familiar with it. The outside world knew nothing of such power and if they did, the Nameless would have far greater things to worry about.
As Miles understood it, magick was what the ancient Sengai used to shape the world into what it was today. Though, they were all destroyed and knowledge of magick was lost to the humans. Well, most of them were destroyed. The leader of the Nameless – Gerezeth – was a Senga. He claimed to be the last of his kind, and Miles didn’t doubt it. He instantly knew that Gerezeth was very different when he first met him. The Senga had white hair, like snow from the Frozen Lands, and eyes to match it. He was tall with silver specks running vertically up his forehead, and more of them blotched to the side of his left eye. His ears were pointed, like those of a wolf, and his speech was quick and fluent. Miles had never seen anyone like him before, therefore accepting the Senga’s words as the truth.
The path soon converged with a large room. Miles found himself standing once again upon the stone balcony overlooking the main area of the clan’s home. He leaned against the chiselled railing and looked down towards the dining area to see a few members sitting at the long table, feasting after a long contract was filled. The candle-lit chandelier above cast eerie shadows down below, joining the wide fireplace in creating a play with silhouettes. Above the fireplace hung a dark banner portraying the mark of the clan – the sign of Carnac against a crescent moon – the oath of the Nameless, and the three laws that must never be broken.
Miles descended the curved stairway towards the dining area, where Royce, Fayne, and Orin sat. Upon the table were platters of meat, cheese, and bread, along with red wine and round cakes. Their conversation was cut short as he approached them, fading off into sounds of eating and breathing.
‘Has Alden returned?’ Miles asked them, looking from one to the other. Royce was an Emperian slave, Fayne a Greenwarden woman, and Orin an Ak’kari from Sunfyre. Miles never saw eye-to-eye with any of the Greenwarden members, bitter with the Emperians for their awful treatm
ent over the years, though as Royce was enslaved by his own people, they warmed up friendlier to him than they did to Miles.
‘He came back an hour or two ago,’ answered Orin, looking up from his plate. ‘Said he had important things to do and would not join us. He should be in his office.’
Miles nodded and left the dining hall behind. He headed down a wide stone corridor filled with many torches. This hallway led not only to Alden’s office but to the resting area of the clan’s members, the kitchen, the equipment storeroom, and the potion-crafting room. Fayne was the best potion-crafter in the group, her experience of herbs and roots from her homeland the cause of her success. Miles usually had to make his own poisons, though. She would barely speak to him on a good day, let alone craft something to aid him in his contracts.
The office was near the end of the hall, next to the stairway that led down into the dungeons. The prison was not for outsiders, though. Targets were not to be brought home under any circumstance. This dungeon was for traitors.
‘Alden?’ Miles knocked on the frame of the doorway and then stepped into the small room. Alden was sitting at his desk, surrounded by papers as usual. When Miles first joined the Nameless, he remembered Alden to be young, but now he seemed like an old man. His hair was nearly white and his hands lined with wrinkles. Alden played no part in fulfilling contracts, but he was in charge of obtaining and assigning them to members. He also kept track of money, clients, security, and various other things that the guild was thankful for.
‘Ah, young Soul Reaper.’ Alden removed his glasses and folded his hands on the table. ‘What can I do for you?’
Miles shifted into a chair, opposite of Alden and his overflowing desk of papers. ‘I have completed my current contract – the noble, Toren of Eldras.’ He reached into his long coat and dropped a coin purse on the table. ‘This is what I pulled off him.’
‘A robbery gone horribly wrong.’ Alden took the coin purse and dropped it into the drawer of his desk. ‘Good work. Toren was a very wealthy man. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to take his money. No one will suspect.’
‘I hope as much,’ said Miles. He rose to leave.
‘Hold a moment.’ Alden held up a hand and Miles returned to his chair. ‘I wish to speak with you for a while still.’
‘Is something wrong?’ questioned Miles. He was not asking this because he feared that he had done something against the guild’s policy, but because in the past he was asked to take down a fellow member who had plotted to uncover the group to the King of Zhan and the same situation could occur again.
Alden looked anxiously towards the hallway. ‘Would you actually shut the door? This is a delicate matter.’
Miles rose and did as he was asked, curious now of what Alden was planning on telling him.
‘Lord Gerezeth came to me last night with some interesting news,’ started Alden, once Miles had sat down yet again. ‘He wanted to discuss it with you as well, but you were still away.’
‘It must be important then,’ said Miles. ‘What did he say?’
‘He told me that the Bloodguard is within Eldras’ walls.’ Alden started pushing papers into a pile on his desk. ‘Did you see them while you were there?’
Miles shook his head. ‘I would not know who to look for. The Bloodguard has been very secretive over the years, much like we have. Why are they in Eldras?’
Alden’s eyes drifted back to the doorway, now concealing the corridor. ‘There is a rumour that the true heirs of the Zhan throne have returned.’
Miles felt his blood turn cold. ‘The true heirs? Are you certain? Where did you hear such a thing?’
‘Before my spy within the Bloodguard was found, he sent a note by crow here,’ explained Alden. ‘He believed that the Bloodguard had found a reason to finally reveal themselves to the heirs of Zhan, that they were convinced this was the year to reclaim the throne.’
Soul Reaper leaned back in his chair, overwhelmed by this news. Letters by crow were indeed proven to be more than just rumours, for they could not be intercepted. Gerezeth had placed enchantments upon black birds and used them to deliver notes to and from the guild. Only those who had undertaken the oath could use this means of communication. To all others they were simply normal birds.
‘And did the spy reveal the identity of the leaders?’ asked Miles, once the shock had left him.
Alden shook his head. ‘I am afraid the Bloodguard is very cautious. He was a new member and was not given the names of the leaders. Even after torturing one of them he still received no information. They are cunning … and dangerous.’
‘Why now?’ pondered Miles aloud. ‘Why choose this place in time to rise against King Rogeir?’
‘Perhaps they saw something promising in the current heirs,’ suggested Alden. ‘Or perhaps the heirs are both male and dying.’
‘Ah, the curse,’ murmured Miles. ‘Yes, maybe you are right. If that was the case, then they would have limited time to work with.’
‘Whatever the case, we must put an end to their schemes,’ said Alden, sitting straight in his chair. ‘You understand the wishes of Lord Gerezeth?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the importance of this moment in time?’
‘Yes.’
Alden held out a folded piece of paper with the seal of the Nameless upon it. ‘Then you may take this contract, Soul Reaper. You may carry out the instructions of Lord Gerezeth in the name of Carnac.’
Miles took the letter and tucked it carefully within his coat. ‘I shall do what he asks.’ He reopened the door and stepped out into the hall, but not before Alden stopped him one last time.
‘You be careful, Miles,’ said the old man, narrowing his eyes. ‘This is not your usual task.’
Miles breathed in deeply and placed a hand over his coat upon the place where the letter hid.
‘I will not fail,’ he said firmly, and then disappeared down the hall.
The Myth of Kalvartr: Sample Edition Page 6
