The Writings of Assassination: Book One

by Cameron Style

  Fifty years?

  Gravnere walks towards him after hanging the sword.

  “How long ago was this?” I ask.

  “About two months ago, according to the Etheral calendar.” Gravnere said. Discernable emotion laced his voice for the first time since my meeting him.

  “I would be embittered to see that happen again, and so soon, is all.” The iron-clad man said.

  “You won't.” I reply with confidence.

  “We'll see.” Gravnere spat with his usual tone and added, “Follow me.”

  After a few steps up the path, I finally see it. There, behind a dark spiked wrought iron gate was the vast arena.

  “Hey! This way.” Gravnere catches my looking. “If you pass the next trial, you will see the arena soon enough. No time to gawk now.” We continue past the gates down the hall to the left, which begins winding in a circular pattern.

  “Is all of this under the city?” I ask.

  “Most.” Is all the iron-clad man replies with.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.” I hold out my hand to him as we walk in silence. He ignores it and keeps looking straight.

  After a moment he utters, “Thornain.”

  I nod, not giving him the satisfaction of replying with mine. In the flickering torch light of the halls I can make out some features in his face. He is tall with broad shoulders. A good build for a warrior, but not for a knight. Knights have to be slim and even short in most cases. It benefits them in evading attacks. It is also easier to take cover and camouflage as a smaller person, where a large one is more apt to be noticed. He has high cheek bones beneath emerald eyes. His skin is tan and leathered, no doubt from many days of practicing his skills outdoors as I once had in the Realm. Dark black curls clung to his highbrow and neck from sweat.

  “Here.” Gravenere leads us into a room that resembles a prison. A cheap, rusted assortment of weapons scatters flimsy wooden tables and racks. A demolished archery hay target stands in the far right corner, next to a busted-open dummy from heavy weaponry practice. Cells line the wall to the left, where a few people are either taking naps or eating. In between two of the cells is a doorway which Gravnere leads us through.

  “This is my room.” A small fireplace holds the corner with a worn cot on the floor behind a desk cluttered with gold coins and papers. “I place you into the battles. You win, I win. You lose, I lose. You are not allowed in here unless asked, understand?”

  I nod.

  “Thornain here is our current top fighter, with only one arena battle left until acceptance into the fort.”

  “When was the last time someone was accepted?”

  They exchange a look. “About two years ago.”

  “Then who is currently training at the fort?”

  “This isn't their only means of procuring knights, Jaria. They pull from all of the Seven Sanctums, sometimes straight from childhood. This is the most pitiful way of acceptance. A way in which many foolishly die wholly unprepared for the challenges they face. Others just want some coin and end up paying with their lives. You can quit at any time.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  Gravnere sits at his desk with a heavy sigh. “Yes, I figured as much from our initial encounter. I know all about you and who you're supposed to be.”

  Thornain eyes me.

  “But don't let unearned confidence flood your head. If you do, I assure you, you will die in your first arena trial.”

  “How many arena trials are there?”

  “Three.” Thornain replies much to the chagrin of Gravnere.

  “Now get out of here. Be back at dawn tomorrow for training with Thorn.”

  Suppressing a smile I nod and turn on my heel, heading out the path and past the Bloody Altar. As I approach the cellar doors back to the city the Skully sneers at me. “You got lucky, wench.” He slams the doors behind me as I exit. Wench? I wasn't aware that term was still in use. Trying to wipe the smile off my own face I make my way back out the city and up the cobblestone path to the farm and inn.

  Tanner waves at me from the stables, lighted bright pink in the sunset.

  “Hey! How did your first day in the city go?” He smiles then freezes his face as I approach.

  “What?”

  “Your clothes...they're spattered with blood.”

  I look down at my vest and pants. Some from the Bloody Altar must have stained when I dipped my sword. I hadn't even noticed.

  “Oh!” I wipe my clothing with a smile.

  “Are you ok?” Tanner dips a cloth into the well and hands it to me.

  “I’m fine! Thanks.” I dab the wet cloth on my leather cuirass. The blood fades but does not remove. He stares at me.

  “Well, did you find what, or who you were looking for?”

  “Yes, but it’s going to take some time. I will need to stay for a while.”

  “That's fine. Stallum did great today and I already spoke to my parents about you staying at the inn. My mother is waiting for you across the street with bread and hot soup.”

  “Thank you. I’m famished.” I smile handing him back the wet, bloodied cloth. He holds it out in front of himself with a grimace.

  “I think I'm going to have to just...throw this away.” He turns away suppressing a laugh.

  I chuckle to myself as I make my way across the street to the inn. I wipe the remainder of blood from my face as I press the wooden door open with a soft creek. A woman at the front desk perks up at my arrival. Her hair is golden as the wheat fields, tied into a braided knot atop her head. She stands and brushes off her dress which resembles that of a bar maid.

  “Hello! Are you the guest Tanner was telling us about?”

  “Yes,” I extend a hand as I approach the front desk, “I'm Jaria.”

  She accepts my hand shaking with enthusiasm as she takes notices of the dark blood spatter on my clothing.

  “Oh dear! Let me help you with that.” She comes around the counter and examines the blood stains, handing me a fresh pile of yellow sheets.

  “Please, take these to the room upstairs. It's the first on your right. These are sheets for your bed. There will be a set of night clothes in the dresser, dawn them and bring me these at once. I can get the blood out if we hurry.”

  “I think it's already stained.” I say looking down at myself.

  “No, no. It hasn't yet. I can get it out. Hurry and change.” She shoos me upstairs with a friendly smile. I make my way up the creaking, brown steps past the hearth and miniature bar. Entering the first room on the right, as instructed. There appears to only be two other rooms, including one at the end of the hall which slams shut the moment I round the top stair.

  Placing the sheets on the stained cot, I shut the door and open the worn dresser. Lifting out the old night clothes I debate for a moment whether or not it is even sanitary to wear.

  A rap comes at my door, “Jaria, have you changed yet?”

  With a grimace I peel off my bloodstained leather, boots, and pants tossing them to a heap on the floor by the night stand. I dawn the night clothes, which are nothing more than a faded linen knap sack with arm and leg holes.

  “Here.” I open the door, handing her my clothes.

  “Excellent! I'll have these clean and dry by morning.”

  Before I can thank her, she’s run off with them like a dog with a bone. I peer down the hall to my right, the door that slammed is now cracked just an inch and light shines out. I take a step towards it when a hand grasps my arm from behind.

  “You must be Jaria! I'm Tanner's father, my wife and I run this inn along with the farm across the way.” He nods with a smile through closed eyes. He is robust and wreaks of the kitchen. A dirty apron hangs from his overbearing belly.

  “Yes, so nice to meet you.” I extend a hand which he shakes with more tenacity than his wife.

  “We are so pleased to have you! Please, come down stairs. I have prepared you vegetable soup and bread.” Before I can say anything else his chub
by fingers wrap around my wrist tugging me down the stairs.

  I sit at the table amidst the hearth and bar. The warmth feels good, both externally from the nearby lapping flames and internally from the warm soup. The bread is a bit stale, but I won’t complain about a free meal. Besides, I'm just dunking the bread into the soup to soften it anyways, which is working just fine. I finish the last spoonful and sit back, pushing my plate away from me.

  “I didn't realize how hungry I was.” I say aloud to the chubby, bearded chef.

  “It pleases me you enjoyed your meal! It is not often we have customers.”

  I nod, looking towards the fire place.

  “It seems quite out here, I like that.”

  He retrieves my soup dish, cleaning it from behind the small bar.

  “Yes, too quiet for most folks. Any visitors that pass by prefer to stay in the city. It costs a lot of coin, but if you have it I can't exactly place blame on someone for not wanting to stay here instead. Still, I wish we had more business.”

  I stand, warming my fingers by the fire.

  “Well, thank you so much for having me. I will be in the city at least through the week I presume, and I won't be staying anywhere else. Provided I have the coin or not."

  His beady little eyes spring open for the first time.

  “Really? A whole week? Oh, thank you so much!” He bolts around the counter to shake my hand once more, “We are so pleased to have you!”

  I do my best to politely retrieve my hand from his grip.

  “Well, thank you for having me. If it's not too much I think I will retire to my room.”

  He nods returning to cleaning the dishes.

  “There is a bathroom across from your room. However, we do have one other guest with us at this time so please be aware it is communal. If the door is locked, please do not pry.” I nod remembering the door down the hall slamming.

  “Do you sleep here, or on the farm?”

  “Oh, my wife and I stay at the farm with Tanner and the horses. Should you require anything from us overnight please do not hesitate to ask!”

  “Thank you.”

  With a wave I head upstairs to my room and close the door.

  In the night stand next to my cot I find a copy of The Seven Saints. Its worn and appears to have water damage. The pages barely peel apart from one another without breaking. I place the copy back in the night stand and assemble my bed. Before I know it, I'm asleep.

  I awake to foot steps outside my door. They're heavy, but quick. The guest from down the hall. Sunlight peeks through the bottom crack of my door. I wonder how late I've slept? I'd better head back to the Bloody Altar before Gravnere comes up with another excuse to turn me away. When I open my door I find my fresh cleaned clothes on the folded on the floor. I throw them on, slipping on my last boot as I head out the door. The sun is just beginning to rise. I wave to a sleeping Stallum as I make my way past the farm and back to the city.

  Inside the city the day is just beginning. Shop keepers start opening their doors and windows. Beggars awaken in the alleys. Crowds begin forming in the streets. I trot through the village, hoping I remember which alleyway the cellar door is down. Just as I'm about to pass my third alley it catches the corner of my eye and I run towards it.

  Rapping on the door three times, I wait. The Skully from yesterday pushes the door open, “What do you want, human?” He snarls at me.

  “I'm here to see Garvnere.”

  He mumbles something to himself for a moment, then flings the door open so fast it almost smacks me in the face, by intention it seems.

  “Just missed me.” I say, walking down the steps to the dim lit hall.

  “Watch your tongue, human. It is easily cut out.” He slams the cellar door shut behind me.

  I round the Bloody Altar and pass the gate to the arena, making my way straight for the training room. I see a few familiar faces from yesterday. The woman lying in the cell, Thorn swinging an ax in the corner, and another I do not recognize looking at arrows. I make my way into Gravnere's office between the cells.

  “Well, well, she turns up.” He says aloud to himself. He toys with a small green apple, then tosses it to me, “Here, eat this.”

  I'd run out of the inn so fast I didn't think to eat. Seems that's becoming a habit of mine. “You're skinny, too skinny. You need to eat to keep up your strength.” I couldn't tell if this was crude advice or genuine concern. I bite into the apple, sour juices seep into my mouth...delicious.

  “Now that you've passed the initiation, you're ready to begin training for the arena trials. Tell me, what is your specialty?” His voice is rough like gravel. I've noticed the same with the Skully at the cellar doors. It must be a trait amongst their species.

  I debate with myself for a moment whether or not to tell him about my bow and arrow skills. Although it’s true I am a natural, a sword is my true desire.

  “Did you hear me, human?” He tilts his snake like head at me.

  “A sword.” I answer.

  He crosses his arms with a laugh, or maybe it’s a grunt.

  “You mean that puny thing?” He motions to the sword sheathed at my hip, freshly cleaned of yesterday’s blood.

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head taking a seat behind his desk. “I may as well place bets on your death right now. I'd drown in the gold. You do not possess the strength to properly wield a sword, girl.”

  “I have a name.”

  “You are but a mere human, one of many who walks through my halls, full of themselves only to die a few days later. You are no different. I do not need to know your name. To me, you are only human.”

  “I want to train with a sword. It's what I'm most familiar with.”

  He gives in with a shrug, “It's your death.” He signals to Thorn, “Thorn will help you practice. He's good with a sword and an ax, both double handed. For you, I recommend one handed with a shield. Do you own a shield?”

  I eat the last bite of apple, shaking my head. He laughs once more.

  “Of course you don't. Tell you what, train with Thornain today. If you do well, I will put you in your first arena battle tomorrow. Should you win that, you will have enough gold to buy a shield. Fair enough?”

  I nod.

  “Am I also correct in assuming this...outfit...is your armor?”

  I nod again, embarrassed by my still-blood-stained leather.

  “Well then. We'd better hope you get through rounds one and two alive in that thing, because you'll need armor for round three. Even then, you don't stand a chance.”

  I leave his room, heading back down the short passage between the cells.

  “So, I overheard we've been assigned to train together today?” Thorn leans against the wall, anticipating my arrival.

  “Yes.”

  With a nod of his chin my eyes follow his gaze to the weapon rack on the wall.

  “You can choose from those, if you prefer something a little stronger than what you're already equipped with…which, I strongly recommend.”

  I walk to the rack and glance at the weapons carefully. Some rusty, dinged up swords far worse than mine. A small bloodied ax. And a few weapons twice the size of me.

  “I think I'll stick to what I know.”

  He smiles with his hands still behind his back. He dawns the same steel armor as yesterday.

  “Then what will you have me fight with?”

  “Whatever you are most comfortable.”

  He takes a step away from the wall, revealing the large double headed ax I'd seen him wielding yesterday.

  “This is what I'm most accustomed to. Are you sure you want to practice like this?” His tone is testing me.

  “Yes.” I smart.

  Shaking his head with a laugh he walks to the weapon rack and picks up a medium sized rusty sword.

  “I would not be so cruel as to take you up on that request. After yesterday's display with Gravnere, am I correct in assuming you have only practiced that sword alone
and never with an assailant?”

  I nod once more, swallowing my pride.

  “Then we shall start out small. After all, no one wins gold if you die in the first round.”

  “What is the battle in the first round?”

  “Easy. Just some wolves.”

  I flash back to Oakenlich, running through the forest with Hothor, how he'd saved me, how I’d barely made it out alive. “Wolves are easy?” I ask, staring into the floor as the memory plays about me.

  “Compared to the other two rounds, yes.”

  “How many wolves are there?”

  “Four.”

  “You fight them all at once?”

  “Two at a time. But if you don't kill the first two quick enough, they will still release the other two. Then it's four against one and you'd better pray you know how to use that sword.”

  We begin making our way to the arena gate.

  “What are the other two rounds?”

  “The second round is a battle against two prisoners. They are usually the most dangerous, murderers and men of the sort. It's a win-win for the city.”

  “And the third?”

  “The third is against a baby dragon.”

  I stop.

  “A baby dragon?”

  He opens the rusted gate to the arena battle grounds.

  “Yes. Though very few make it to the third round. It's only happened a hand full of times. When it does, there are high stakes bidding, people come from all over to watch.”

  “Why not a full-grown dragon then?”

  “No way to get one into the arena. But a baby dragon taken from her mother is still bigger than you, not to mention very likely to kill you.”

  “Size doesn't matter when it comes to fighting.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  I walk through the gate into the area. It's nothing but a giant oval, with stadium stands on either side encircling it. The arena itself has gates on both sides, with wide spread dust, overgrown weeds and a sparse variety of boulders in between.