The Writings of Assassination: Book One

by Cameron Style

  Instead, the writings spoke, the battle was very short lived and ended with a dragon who could speak before Connar could stop Akidira from her spell. Connar still dwells in the spirit plane, doomed to walk alone through the end of time. The assassination, as the writings put it, of the blood dragon birthed the immortality of the Realm, which according to this is a total waste. Those outside the Realm do not herald the Seven Saints as heroes the way the Elven do, it said.

  Could Connar really have written this? Why did Helwain give it to me? What was the point?

  I flip further through the book until I come upon a map unbeknownst to me. It is some kind of fortress in one of the other sanctums, a place known as Guarded Dusk. The pages following the map speak of knights who train to fight dragons, knights who give their lives to save their villages. “The real saints,” Connar had written beneath a picture of several knights at Guarded Dusk. The pages following hold worn pictures of knights practicing swordsmanship, knights holding their shields to dragons fire. The last page of the book reveals a most beautifully drawn blood dragon, encircling what I can only presume is Mount Kitum.

  I can't wait a week to see Helwain, I have to ask him about this first thing in the morning. I need to know why he gave this to me.

  Just as I shut the book in frustration, a yellowed envelope falls from between the covers. Its unsealed with a note inside. My fingers precariously lift the thin lip of the envelope and open it. I unfold the note and read it.

  "Jaria, we cannot speak here. Please meet me in the woods tomorrow, by the stream and the oak tree."

  I flip the sheet over—nothing. No signature, no date. The paper looks to be at least one hundred years old. I slide the note back into the envelope and place it folded into my sheath for the morning.

  A brisk and beautiful dawn awakes me. Rays of orange, pink, and yellow shoot through the glass and stretch over my body, warming me. I push my long, dark locks out of my face and rise. Upon dressing in my black leather pants, matching boots, and brown leather cuirass, I sheath my sword to my hip and head out the door before my father wakes. Winding my way through the dense green thicket of the woods I keep my ears and eyes on full alert for anyone that might be nearby. It is impossible anyone could have seen me practicing in the woods. Not even animals had seen me practicing this far into the thicket. I trace my steps lightly along the stream and hold my fingers tight on the edge of the sword as I approach the oak tree I so often practice on. My own footsteps are so light they cannot be heard. I approach the oak tree and peer around in all directions. Nothing. No one.

  How old is this note? Is this some kind of trap, or trick? I'll wait for just a little while, I'm too curious...and even hopeful. I have to know who wrote this note, and why.

  “Jaria?”

  I turn.

  Nothing.

  “Jaria.” A voice comes once more. I pull my sword a few inches out of the sheath, hairs stand on the back of my neck. Something is amiss, I am not imagining this. I can feel eyes watching me...but from where?

  “Please, do not be alarmed.” The voice is closer this time. I pull the sword sharp from the sheath and steady myself. “I mean no harm. I am here to warn you.”

  “Show yourself!” I yell into the thicket so loud blue jays burst from the canopy. A hazy, light blue figure steps from behind the oak, clad in armor bearing the Dragon's Den symbol. He is merely traces; an outline of a man, entirely transparent.

  “Wh-who are you?” I quiver, attempting to hold steady on my blade.

  “Lady Jaria,” He bends to one knee, “I am Connar of the Seven Saints.”

  III: Guarded Dusk

  “How is the possible?” I ask, keeping my sword aimed at him.

  “We have much to talk about, but it is not safe here.”

  “Are you the one who left me the note?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Helwain send you?”

  “No. He does not know of my existence. Jaria, I am so relieved you are here. This affirms my beliefs from watching you.”

  “Watching me? Are you the one who ratted me out to the guards?”

  “No, Lady Jaria.”

  “Do not call me 'Lady', I bear no power in the Realm. Or anywhere, for that matter.”

  “Ah, but you wish to, do you not?”

  My arms give way and I lower my sword a little.

  “Yes.” I answer.

  “You have been practicing, I have seen you in the woods for years. Tell me, what do you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What is your duty in the Realm?”

  “I do not have one. My father works in the fields.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I am not aware of who my mother is.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “You know, for a spirit you certainly ask a lot of questions.” I sheath my sword. Connar sways back and forth between his feet, pondering what I have said.

  “My Lady, we need to speak of an urgent matter.”

  “Jaria?” A yell comes from the distance, rustling the nearby thicket.

  “My father!” I turn to Connar, and he is gone. I didn't imagine him...did I? No, he was here. I was speaking to a spirit. What am I saying? I must have read too many tales in that book last night. Either way, I need to get out of here before he finds me. If he catches me out here, sword on hip, he will never let me return. Especially not after the guards showed up last night, and the book, and Helwain.

  Helwain, was this all some kind of trick? I begin running through the thicket. No one knows these woods better than me. I run north east towards the back entrance of Dragon's Den and away from my house, my father. I peer through the bushes as the guards pass on rotation. As they depart, I slip through the thicket and walk past Dragon's Den, into the village. Walking towards the Black Market I find myself being stared at. My sword must be drawing attention. It is not illegal in the Realm to carry weapons, but it was unheard of to see a woman doing it, more so in broad daylight.

  I pass a few market stands. Attempting to blend in I eye goods I have no intention of purchasing, when I happen upon the book shop and duck inside.

  “Good 'morrow, miss” an elderly book keeper with a very plump nose tips his hat at me. I nod back with a polite smile as I walk past. He catches a glimpse of my sword and his face changes. With a grumble he buries himself back in his book keeping. I keep walking until I reach a blackened book shelf in the far-right corner of the store, buried in dust. My eyes search the titles on the leather-bound books with dry brown pages until I come across one titled: Guarded Dusk and The Writings of Assassination.

  There's that title again. Both of those were mentioned in the Seven Saints book Lord Helwain gave me last night, but both fairly brief. My hands reach for the book and pry it from the shelf with a creak. I dust off the deep red leather cover with my fingers, tracing the gold letters. I walk back to the book keeper, still buried in his work.

  “How much for this one, please?” He peeks up at me from tiny rounded frames, much too small for his face, then peers down at the book with surprise.

  “No one has picked up that book in ages...why do you want it?”

  I shrug with apathy and reply, “It looks interesting.”

  He peers around the vacant book shop then leans over the old desk between us.

  “What do you know about Guarded Dusk?”

  I smile to myself. This just keeps getting more interesting. “Nothing,” I shrug, “which is why I want to read this. So, how much?”

  He leans back onto his stool and removes his frames, assessing my answer. “On the house...come and see me if you have any questions, or want to talk about it.” I eye the book.

  “You're certain you do not want compensation for this book? I have gold.” I hold out three gold coins from my pocket. He holds up his hands with a refusal shake of his head.

  “Please, it's my gift to you. I never thought someone as young as you would be interested in such a thing, that is paym
ent enough.”

  I put the gold back in my pocket.

  “What does Guarded Dusk mean to you?” I ask him after a moment.

  “I cannot speak of it here.”

  There seems to be a lot of that going around.

  “But, you can meet me after the shop has close. I live in the shed out back.”

  With a nod and a smile, I leave the shop, book in hand. It seems that knowledge really is power, yet everyone I encounter is terrified to speak. I walk back home, certain I will beat my father. Now I can prove to him I was really in town the whole day milling shops. I even have a book to prove it. I decide to head home and delve into the book.

  A few hours later the sun begins the set, lighting the sky on fire with its brilliant array of colors. If immortality really is a gift rather than a plight, seeing the wonders of the world forever has to be the best part. My father flings open the front door, covered in dirt and sweat with the look of exhaustion. I shut the book and shove it under the cushion. Perhaps now is not the time to show my purchase, there is no telling what he knows of Guarded Dusk or how he will react to seeing me read about such a place.

  “Where have you been all day?” He bellows.

  “In town.”

  “I have been out in the woods, searching for you. Then the town. I saw you in neither.”

  “Well if you were in the woods then you wouldn't have seen me, I was in the market and shops all day.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking around. Talking to the locals.”

  He throws me a look. We both know that last part is a lie.

  “Fine,” I confess, pulling the book from the cushions, “I bought a book.” Another lie, since the book was free. He regards the book as I anticipate his reaction.

  “Guarded Dusk and The Writings of Assassination? What in the blazes is this about?” I eye him, awaiting another reaction. “What kinds of things are you getting yourself into Jaria?”

  The truth is, I didn't know.

  “It's just a book the shop keep recommended to me. It looked interesting.”

  He hands the book back to me, wiping his brow with exasperation. “Well, I'm glad to at least see you staying out of trouble. What's there to eat?”

  I expected more of a fight than this.

  “Not much,” I rise from the couch and walk to the kitchen table, “some bread and vegetable soup.”

  He heads to his bedroom.“I'll clean up and be right out for supper.”

  That night I didn't sleep at all. I've read about half of the Guarded Dusk book and am nothing less than intrigued. The book tells of the fortress in the fifth sanctum, Fangsun. In this fortress for hundreds and hundreds of years a band of knights have trained, specializing in the slaying of blood dragons.

  There are archers practicing with bows on targets of hay. Knights learning to wield double handed swords and axs, or a one handed weapon with a sturdy shield bearing the Guarded Dusk crest. This, is what I find most odd. The crest depicted throughout the book is the same as that of Dragon's Den, and the cover of the Seven Saints book Helwain betrothed to me. The blood dragon billowing black smoke.

  The book told tales of training, which always begun with a severe initiation quest to the second sanctum of Winterstrand. During this initiation, each apprentice knight must endure a night without food or armor amongst the wolves. All the men are given a small dagger and a carafe of water, nothing more. Following this the men would pass initiation and enter weeks of brutal knighthood training which consisted of many more tests throughout the Seven Sanctums.

  I close the book and stand. Peering down the hall, I can see my father's door closed and candle blown out. I make my way through the hall and out the door. I have to speak with the book keeper. Throwing my black leather hood over my head and hands into my pockets, I shove the book under my vest and brace it against my stomach as I make my way to the shop. Behind the it is a small dirt path to a little house, it must be his. I walk over to the small wooden shack and rap on the door. He opens warily. “Did anyone see you come here?”

  I look around, unsure if anyone had. “Not that I know of.”

  “Good, good. Come in, quick.” He opens the door just enough for me to enter then shuts it. Maybe this was a bad idea.

  “Did you read the book?” He pushes up his glasses with a pudgy finger. Pulling the book from my vest he motions for us to take seats in front of the fire. “Please, tell me.”

  “I only read about half so far, all about the initiations and trials at Guarded Dusk in the fifth sanctum of Fangsun.”

  He nods, extending his hands for the book asking, “May I?”

  I hand him the book. He flips half way through to a map of the Guarded Dusk fortress. “This is where it is.”

  I look at him, puzzled. “Is? Or used to be?”

  “Is. It's still there.”

  “Abandoned?”

  “No. Still in practice.”

  “How can that be? There hasn't been a blood dragon around in eons.”

  “Not that we've seen in this sanctum. In any regard, they have never stopped traingin knights.”

  “What are you talking about? How could anyone in this sanctum have seen one outside of it?”

  “Oh, my dear, there are ways.” He leans down close, speaking in hushed tones. There is a sharpness to his voice that leads me to believe he is all too serious.

  “The symbol, it's the same as Dragon's Den?” I point to one of the pictures of a knight arching a bow. He nods with a smile, never taking his eyes off mine.

  “You have no idea how long I've been waiting for someone to pick up this book. I thought the day would never come.”

  “You were expecting me?”

  “Yes, for many, many years. Tell me, did Connar send you?”

  How does he know about that?

  “Connar?” I try to portray that I don't know what he's talking about. I'm still not positive I saw him myself. He studies my face for a moment, then leans back into his chair with a deeper smile that pushes up his rosy cheeks.

  “Yes, yes you did see him.” He speaks with excitement now, reading my face.

  “Yes…at least, I think so.”

  “Then he has chosen.” He sits back further into his chair, staring off into the dancing flames licking up pelts of neon orange sparks against dirtied brick.

  “I don't even know your name.” I say to him.

  An apologetic look springs to his face, “My dear, I'm so sorry, I'm Fandoor.” He sticks a thick-fingered hand out.

  “Jaria.” I reply with a tight smile and shake his hand.

  “Jaria...interesting name.” He says leaning back into his chair thumbing through the book.

  “Anyway, back to Connar,” Fandoor spoke. “When did he approach you?”

  “Today, out in the woods.”

  He nods, “And what did he tell you?”

  “Nothing really. He said it was about the book Lord Helwain gave me, then he disappeared.”

  “The book Lord Helwain gave you?” Fandoor looks at me with a perplexing grimace.

  “Yes. Two guards showed up at my door the other night and took me to Dragon's Den. Lord Helwain gave me a book.”

  “What did it look like?” He leans in close studying my face.

  “It had solid steel covers, the front bore the blood dragon symbol. Inside was the tale of the Seven Saints, with an added excerpt by Connar Rangstad called The Writings of Assassination.”

  His eyes widened.

  “What?”

  “This is far more serious than I thought.”

  “How so?”

  “If you were given that book, then Helwain must know.”

  “Know what? I don't even know what any of this is about, or what The Writings of Assassination are.”

  He shoots me a glance, then leans in tighter. He speaks in hushed tones, “I'm afraid we cannot talk of that here, it's much too delicate. When did Connar say to meet him again?”

  “He didn't.”
>
  “Where did he meet you?”

  “Out in the woods behind my house. Far into the thicket, where I practice with my sword.”

  “Sword? Connar has chosen wisely. Listen to me, tomorrow you are to go back to that same place. He will be there.”

  “Even if he is, then what?”

  “He will explain everything.”

  “Explain what? How do you know this?”

  He avoids my questions.

  “You may come back to me when the time is right. For now, I have said too much.”

  He rises from his chair with a creak and holds out his hand for a shake. I stand, shaking it. Sensing my frustration and confusion, he reiterates. “Please, do not speak of this to anyone. Go back out to the woods tomorrow and speak with Connar. He will explain.”

  With a nod I shove the book back under my vest and head out the door. It's dead quiet in the village. Seems odd. I guess I am never out this late, but something seems amiss. Stuffing my hands in my pockets I keep my head down as I walk back home. Footsteps creep up behind me. I can hear someone walking, as if they're trying to be quiet. Looking to the dirt and cobblestone below I can make out a shadow drawing closer to mine. I turn around and a guard stops me.

  “Miss, what are you doing out this late?”

  “Nothing, taking a walk.”

  “Whats that under your jacket?” He motions his chin to the lump under my vest. The book. I can't let him have it, or anyone see it. My instincts tell me to run.

  “Miss.”

  As his hand reaches out to stop me an ear-piercing scream bursts in the distance. He turns on his heel in a nanosecond and runs the opposite direction. Guards begin running past me like wild horses into the night. Doors and windows slowly creek open as the village awakens to the commotion. A few people begin stepping into the streets. A second scream. People bolt out of their homes towards the noise. The one night I don't have my sword on me. I run with the others until we are met with a circle of spectators at least four people deep in front of a house near the south east gates.