The Writings of Assassination: Book One

by Cameron Style

  “What is that?”

  “Night vision.”

  “Excellent.”

  She wraps her arms around me in a soft embrace. “It has been an honor. We hope to hear tales of your victories reaching us down here in the tombs. Until then,” she stands back and bows, “my Lady. Knight Divine. Have a safe journey.”

  “The honor was all mine. Thank you for all your help.”

  Dameon steps in front of me making his way behind her throne. He pushes something in the wall until it moves back opening to blackness. With an extended arm he prompts, “My lady?”

  I look to Rulsh, hesitating. “Come with me.”

  She shakes her head, “I can’t. I must stay here and protect the shrine of the sword.”

  I look down at the sword in my hand, perplexed. “There is no sword to protect any longer. Come with me. You need not dwell any further in these forsaken catacombs.”

  Her plump dark lips curl into a smile as she clasps my hand in hers. “My lady, these “forsaken catacombs” are our home. There is no place for us up there. This, is where we belong.” She nudges her head in the direction of Dameon, “Now, go.”

  With a nod I walk to Dameon.

  “I will see you again, Rulsh.” I duck into the darkened passageway with Dameon. He steps behind me once inside and seals the door to the throne room.

  “My Lady, it is best if you let me lead. I know these passages.” Dameon steps around me in the dark. His dark armor glints faintly. It is all I can see.

  “Thank you.” I stop and let him lead.

  He begins to walk forward. I follow, never more than one footstep behind. “Keep your steps quiet, they can still hear us through these walls if we emit too much sound.” Dameon whispers.

  We walk until turning a corner to the left as we reach a large set of steps.

  “Careful.” Dameon conducts as he steps with tiding pace in front of me.

  Making our way up the steps we turn to our left continuing on. If anything, the lack of light is aiding my eyes in their attempt to return to normal focus. They have nothing to focus on which is relaxing for the time being.

  “This way.” Dameon picks up his pace as we make our way down the next hall. Light flickers at the end of the passage, yellow and orange. We walk up a few more steps before turning out to the first room of the tomb. Fire still burns on the floor, though much less than when he dropped the torch on me.

  “Can you make it the rest of the way?” Dameon turns to me. The smoke stings my eyes, forcing them shut. I lift my free arm over my eyes to shield them, but it does not help. Seeing my struggle Dameon walks forward to the fire and jumps down. I run to the edge, he stands along the wall safe from the flame with arms up towards me.

  “Dameon, what are you doing?”

  He shakes his arms for me to jump. I scoot to the edge of the second floor and dangle my legs down. “I will catch you!”

  I hesitate on the ledge. With a push I fall right into his grasp. Setting me on my two feet, I stumble back into the wall. The light, the smoke, it sears through my eyes and lungs like knives. I begin to cough, unable to control myself. “Your helmet,” I sputter, “I need your helmet.”

  Screeches pierce the chamber so loud my hands bolt to cover my ears.

  “They’re here.” Dameon looks up towards the second floor. “They’ll see us.” Urgency laces through his voice so heavily panic rises in my heart. He looks back down to me. I’m coughing and falling against the wall. We’re trapped by the fire and I cannot see. “There’s no time.” He throws his armor-clad arms around my waist hulking me onto his shoulder stomach first, grabbing my sword. Screeches pierce the air, louder, closer, harrowing. He begins to run with me on his back; sightless and helpless. With one leap we’re over the flames running to the hall that leads out of the tomb.

  As we make our way out of the light and up the darkened steps I see over the second story a swarm of them flying after us.

  “Dameon!” He turns his head back then doubles his pace up the steps. Blurry black figures fly through the room with the fire darkening it and the rest of my vision. “Dameon!” I cry, unable to see how close they are. I can feel his pace quicken as he leaps up three, four steps at a time. Burning red eyes appear in the darkness behind me, feet away. Soft light bursts around us as Dameon slams the entrance to the tomb open flinging me hard over his shoulder into the circular opening. Inches of snow soften my landing as I hit the ground back first.

  He turns to face the darkened ones, screeching into the moonlight. He swings my sword. No effect. They reach out and grab him. I cough crawling to to help him. They pull on either arm, flinging the sword free from his hand as they attempt dragging him back inside. He grabs the walls and halts his heels in refusal, weaponless. I run to the sword which has slipped halfway to me through the slick, sparkling snow. With the sword in both hands I run at them. One of them leans in, biting into Dameon’s neck.

  “No!” I swing the sword, warding off a few. Dameon’s entire body blocks them and I cannot land a blow without striking him, too. Three more plunge fangs into his neck, drawing dark drops of blood.

  “Dameon!” I cry lunging forward with the sword at those around his neck. One rips his neck, sending blood spurting that sprays across my face.

  He falls to the ground, face up looking at me with fading red eyes. “Dameon, no!” I grab at his wrists pulling him from the tomb entrance. Ten hands pull back and I almost fall into the tomb with him. I pull hard, only his wrists and head are outside the tomb.

  “M-my lady,” he spurts up at me, “you-u have to let me g-go.”

  Tears well in my eyes.

  “No,” I shake my head crying, “I can’t.” I pull with all my strength, moving him another inch at best.

  “Let go,” he says as blood from his neck spills into the snow, “or they will pull you in with me.” A forceful tug comes from their direction as the sound of armor being torn echoes in the stairway. His grip loosens, and our fingers are ripped from one another. The red eyes yank him into the tomb.

  “Dameon!” I cry into the darkness. A few sets of eyes look my way and flutter toward the door. Tears further blur my vision. I reach up to pull the door to the tomb. I hear them claw fervently at the inside of the door and pull it tighter.

  The wooden door to the tomb shuts, all but concealing whispering echoes of flesh being eaten on the other side. My hands begin to freeze in the snow. Pushing myself up I realize my right hand is bloodied from Dameon’s neck. The snow now turns a deep purple, sinking with the weight and heat of his blood on my hand. I swallow the thickening cries in my throat as I reach for the sword in the snow. The hilt feels like ice. Dragging myself and the sword up the steps of the pit, I reach the surface and head back to the fort in the light of the glowing pale moon.

  The sun is just beginning to rise in the distance. Walking down to the fort I pull the door open. I’m in need of food and rest. The crystal fire pit burns in the center of the vacant entryway. I take a few steps in, wobbling from dehydration. A hooded Keeper turns the corner from the apothecary to see me.

  “She’s back,” he whispers frantically to the room behind him.

  The old wizard steps out with unbelieving eyes. Standing on opposing sides of the pit we peer at each other through blue flames. My vision is still blurred.

  “She has returned!” Keeper yells up the stairs to the floors above.

  One by one the men and women, some of whom I had not seen earlier, come rushing into the room gathering around the fire pit to lay their eyes on me. None pass the halfway mark towards me. I look at the floor around the fire pit to realize for the first time that the intricate pattern around it is a large compass. My feet stand over the “N” above the arrow pointing out the door.

  “It’s true,” Banes whispers approaching closer than any of the others.

  Thorn hobbles into the room on crutches from the infirmary and training halls on the left. The chef comes in from the right. Danny is the last to e
nter the room. His eyes light up as he runs to me and almost tackles me with a hug.

  “I knew you were the one.” He whispers against my cheek.

  “Danny,” Keeper’s voice breaks our embrace in warning. Danny lets go of me and joins the others.

  “Let it be known,” Keeper begins, “that one this day the 570th eve of Moonstar, that Jaria is the seventh Lady of the Seven Sanctums. She will be known forth as either ‘Lady Jaria’ or ‘Knight Divine’ by those beneath her in this household.”

  I hold up my hand shaking my head, “Please, you can still address me as Jaria. In fact, I prefer it. No one is beneath me.”

  Keeper’s green eyes shine like marbles from beneath his hooded face.

  “You may only address her as Jaria if she has personally told you so. In the interim, all others will address her as previously stated.”

  Why does he have to combat things I say?

  I glance around the room at the gathering. Some look thrilled, some surprised, others seem angered. I just want to sleep.

  “Knight Divine,” Keeper beckons me from across the flames, “were you able to retrieve the sword in your journey to the Tomb of the Western Locks?”

  I nod and lift the sword for all to see. A small flash licks the edges of the blade, some of the audience gasp and steps back.

  “What powers does it hold?” The wizard approaches and squints at the black blade.

  “As far as I am aware, the blade withholds a lightning bolt. I am not able to confirm any other powers at the moment.” Now is not the time to tell everyone I too may possess the power of lightning, for I have no idea what it means.

  “Fascinating,” Banes says to himself aloud.

  “My lady, what happened to your face?” The wizard concerns.

  It must still be sprayed with Dameon’s blood. I shudder at the thought.

  “It has been a long journey,” I state, giving no indication to my beckoning tears. “I am tired and require immediate rest, food, and water.” And privacy.

  Keeper motions to the chef. “Then we will leave you to it, my lady.”

  I head for the stairs. As I pass the circle men and women on all sides bow and say, “My lady”. How long have they been practicing that? How long have they waited?

  I reach Keeper and the wizard when his gloved hand stops me. “Forgive me, Knight Divine, but you have new chambers. You needn’t climb to the chill of the third floor any longer.”

  New chambers?

  “Please, this way,” he leads me past the apothecary and stairs to a single door with the crest of the dragon wrapped around the sword. A dark red carpet with gold embellishment lines the hall from the stairs to the door. Matching velvet drapes line the windows of the hall. He procures a small silver key from his pocket and unlocks the door.

  Inside is a cavernous fireplace with curling stone pillars on either side. This directly faces the bed, also covered with dark red velvet drapes on all four sides, tasseled with golden ropes. An intricate carpet sprawls the center of the room. Shiny polished night stands, dressers, and table decorate the room. A matching door straight ahead leads to an elegant bathroom with a white marble tub. Another small door is on the right corner of the bed closest to the hall. I peer inside to see a single bed, night stand, and chest in the room.

  “Whose room is this?” I ask looking inside.

  “These are my quarters. I shall protect you at all times and be there for any need.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea. I would rather sleep on the third floor with the others than act like I am suddenly their queen.”

  Keeper steps forward perplexed. “Forgive me, my lady, but these are your quarters now. You cannot sleep among the others. If there is something not to your liking, I can reconcile it.”

  I’m too tired for this. “If I’m the lady then shouldn’t I have final say in where I sleep?”

  Keeper nods, beguiled. “Yes, but there is still a long way to go. You have much training ahead of you. You may not see it yet, but you are of grave importance to the future of everyone in the Seven Sanctums. You need rest and above all else, protection. You do not yet know everyone in the fort. For the time being they are not to be trusted. You must sleep here, where I can guard you.” He holds a hand out to the bed.

  “Fine.” I hand him my sword which he places on a mantle above the fireplace.

  “The chef will be bringing you sustenance shortly. Is there anything else you require, my lady?”

  “Yes.” I look down at my leather clothes and unhook my smaller sword. “I require better armor, and a sheath for my new sword.”

  Keeper walks to the fireplace and studies my sword. His height is so great he needn’t look up at it like myself, it is practically eye level for him.

  “Yes, I will have the blacksmith work on a proper sheath right away. As for your armor,” he turns to me, “that will come after training. During training itself we have some to provide you.” He eyes my face. “Until then my lady, may I suggest you take a bath to wash the blood off your face. There are also several clean nightgowns in the dresser that should be to your liking. Once you are stripped of your clothes, I can take them to be washed as well.”

  I look down at my boots, vision still blurry, and slip them off one by one to reveal bright red feet underneath. Keeper prepares a hot bath when a knock comes at the door. I walk over barefoot to greet the chef who brings in a silver tray of water, beef, vegetables, and fresh bread.

  “Thank you so much.” I take the tray from him.

  “Anytime, Knight Divine.”

  Knight Divine. I like that so much better than ‘my lady’.

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage for I do not know your name.”

  “Please, call me Roger.”

  “Roger it is.”

  His cheeks burn bright red as he gives the slightest indication of a bow and scurries out of the room.

  “You should not address them so casually,” Keeper appears from the bathroom.

  “Should I refer to them all by their professions and never know their name, as I do you—Keeper?” I eye him waiting for a retort to the disdain in my voice.

  “Do as you wish.” He takes a few steps forward leaning close to my face. “But do not say I did not warn you about the foolishness of getting close to those around you when they perish. The burden will fall only to your shoulders.” He pauses for a moment searching my eyes, waiting for a response. I say nothing. “Your bath is ready.”

  XI: Training

  ¶Running. I’m running now. Dameon is just ahead, I can still see him, clad in armor save his face which is still blurry. I can see the white moonlight glistening on even whiter snow behind him. He reaches his arms out and shouts something I cannot hear. I pick up the pace running fast as I can up the steps of the tomb and out towards him. A flurry of black winged creatures screech past me, clipping me with their wings. I scream for Dameon as the winged creatures envelop him. My shouts turn to silence, as do his cries for help as they rip off his helmet and start biting into his flesh. I cry out once more, feeling the burn in my throat as I scream though I cannot hear it. I run closer into the darkness surrounding him. Blood spatters my face.

  I awaken in a large bed. My heart pounds in my chest as I sit up with a start. I’m enclosed by red velvet with added warmth from the roaring fire, which I can see through a small gap in the curtains at the foot of the bed. My legs are drenched in sweat as is my stomach and chest. I kick off the sheets and fan myself. Peering out the curtains I do not see Keeper. Lying back in the bed I huddle my knees against my chest and hug them tight.

  Pulling up the new bandage Keeper wrapped on my arm I gaze at my marked skin. It’s dark and scabbing. He had not been surprised when he laid eyes on the brand last night, telling me as Rulsh did that it is part of the tradition for the lady to bear the mark of the Seven Sanctums. With a sigh I let go of my knees and fall against a stack of fluffed pillows. To have lived through such hell weeks before. To lie i
n this bed now felt like a joke. Thorn almost died saving me in the arena and still hasn’t fully recovered. I took a life for the first time, Gravnere. I’ve been wounded multiple times. Branded. Struck by lightning. Almost set on fire. And Dameon died…to save my life.

  A month ago I was a girl practicing with her sword in the Realm, dreaming of being a knight. They say your dreams are rarely all you make them up to be in your head. That no matter what there is a lot of hard work and downside involved. This is a whole another level of downsides. My father is stuck in the Realm and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Or Connar. Or what I’m supposed to do now that I have this great responsibility which hasn’t even remotely begun to sink in. This all feels like a wild dream laced with intermittent nightmares that I’m doomed to never wake up from. At least there’s still a few here that I trust. Thorn, and Danny. Even Banes seems decent.

  I shut my eyes and picture the Realm before all of this happened. The golden apples that hung from trees year round that I would shoot down with an arrow, barely grazing the apple itself. The intense blue of the river and sky, the brooding green of the forest. The happiness and even boredom of the villagers blessed with immortality. The way my father would come home from work and eat dinner with me, scolding me for playing with the sword in the woods only to forget about it moments later. I’m all he has left.

  A door opens waking me from my reverie. I peek through the curtains on my right to see Keeper exit his room, unhooded. His back is to me, but something is familiar about it. His hair…something sparks a memory. As if sensing my gaze he lifts his hood back over his head and turns my direction. I lean back down and shut my eyes. His footsteps come near the bed for a moment, then walk away. Another door opens and shuts. I sit up looking through the curtains once more. He’s left the room. I exit the bed and walk to one of the ceiling to floor length windows, parting the curtain. Almost the snow has melted. It’s much thinner here than it was near the tomb. A modicum covers the ground in white without adding breadth.

  The sun begins to rise. I must have slept for an entire day. Or week, who knows. I walk into the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face when I realize my vision has been clear since I awoke this morning. Leaning closer to the mirror I pull my eyelids up and down studying my irises. They look normal. No abnormalities save the small lightning ring circling the edges of my pupils. How could I have been struck by lightning and have it only effect my eyes? My skin has no marks from the bolt, just the scabbing brand on my arm. I pull my dampened black hair into a ponytail that reaches my waist with its height.