***
Boris leaned against the pillar as he watched the merriment all around him. A warm wind billowed through the Maiden’s Tongue tavern as the door opened to allow more people to join the party. Boris could not understand what reason the people had to celebrate, but he wisely kept his opinions to himself. Sharing opinions in a room full of drunken assassins and thieves could cost a man his life. His job was to protect the assassins’ guild leader, Richard Slyth, from potential threats.
A dark spot in the crowd caught his eye. A woman emerged from between the revelers, cloak billowing about her shoulders. The cloak was intended to mask the distracting curves beneath, but it did a poor job of it. Her pace caused the garment to gape open, revealing the snug, black riding leathers beneath, and a body that had siren-sung many a young mark to his death. Her pale face was framed by a shock of thick, shoulder-length black hair. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, and then fixed on Boris, and she made her way towards him.
Veronica Storm was no lady. But damn, she was a woman.
“Hello Boris,” she said, then followed his gaze to her ample bosom. She raised an eyebrow and waited. Her eyes were the color of obsidian, and about as soft.
Boris cleared his throat, meeting those eyes with an effort. “Good evening, Veronica.” He leaned back against the pillar. “I thought you hated parties.”
She smirked. “You know as well as I that one does not refuse an invitation from the guild leader.” She smiled, leaning in a little closer. “Besides,” she said, lowered her voice, “I heard about the visitor yesterday. I thought I would stop in and see if anything comes of it.”
He might have known. “I suppose you'd like me to tell you what I know.”
Veronica's smile deepened, and she breathed in a way that did very interesting things to her cleavage. “If you'd be so kind.”
Boris hesitated for a moment. Richard had told him not to speak of it, but this was Veronica, and the view was so nice. “Well,” Boris began, “yesterday a messenger came to deliver a letter to Richard. The letter was from Lord Garik – you know, the man who's been reportedly taking over more and more guilds. Richard read the letter, which included a threat if he didn't respond by midnight tonight, laughed, and ordered the poor boy slaughtered on the spot.”
“How terrible,” Veronica replied as Boris ended his tale, though Boris saw no compassion in those dark eyes – only amusement. She had always been more brutal than he. “Do you think that Garik will retaliate if he does not agree to his terms?”
Boris shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, but Richard has assigned extra guards tonight just in case. I urged Richard to delay tonight's festivities, but he insisted. Garik or his henchmen would be fools to come in here with violence on their minds tonight.”
“Perhaps,” Veronica said as she glanced around the room, “but I have heard some disconcerting rumors about Garik’s latest henchman. They say that his assassin strikes from the darkness, unexpected and unstoppable. Some men claim that he steps out of the shadows themselves, as if born from them, while still others claim that arrows and bolts fired at the strange figure go right through him, like he was made of mist. One thing all the stories agree on, however, is that whenever this mysterious assassin shows up, the leader of a guild dies by his hand or bends his knee to Lord Garik. Lord Borenzo, Lord Zeebron and Lord Maltkere have all died by her hands and their guilds now serve Lord Garik.”
Veronica’s story sent a chill down Boris’ spine. Three of the most formidable guild masters to be found between the mountains would not have died easily. “Do you believe the stories to be true?”
“In my experience, stories often embellish the truth. Do I believe that Garik has a deadly assassin in his employ? Yes. Do I believe that this assassin forms from shadows and no mortal weapons may harm him? No. I’m sure that he is just a normal mortal like you and I, and I look forward to making him bleed should he show his face here tonight.”
“You know what?” she said as she placed a hand on his chest. “I do hate parties. I think I'll retire to my room.” She inhaled deeply, and his eyes were drawn downwards again. “Care to join me?”
There had been a time when Boris would have been glad for the kind of comfort Veronica offered. He'd found solace in her bed before, when he'd first come to Tar Ebon, leaving his family to wonder where he'd gone, whether he yet lived. He'd found comfort in Veronica's empty embrace when the loss of his sister, Sophie, had hollowed out his heart, and he'd wanted nothing more than the cold comfort of a convenient affair.
He might still find comfort in that, and parts of him were already in agreement, straining against his breeches. But he had more important things to do. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Veronica, I promised Richard I would stand guard throughout the night.”
Veronica pursed her lips in a mock pout and withdrew her hands. “Your loss. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” She turned to leave, but was stopped by a sudden gasp that arose from the crowd of revelers.
Boris stood up on his tiptoes to see what was going on. In the left corner of the room, near where the fireplace threw off deep shadows, a figure was forming, as if from a dark mist. Within moments, the transformation was complete and standing there was a figure wearing a black-hooded veil over his face, allowing only his eyes to show through, while a black cloak concealed his body. In spite of the concealing clothing, something about the way the figure moved put him in mind of Veronica. Could this assassin be a woman?
“What is happening?” Veronica demanded as she turned back to see Boris looking over the crowd’s collective heads.
Boris held up a hand to silence Veronica as the figure began to walk forward and came to stand in the center of the tavern, facing Richard’s chair. By this time, every person in the room was aware of the figure’s presence. Silence fell like a thick blanket on the tavern. The music ceased, no one spoke, and only the crackling of the large hearth fire filled the air.
Richard looked the figure over for a moment and said, “Who are you to come before me?”
The figure returned his gaze for a moment and finally spoke. “Lord Richard, you have heard the words of my master, Lord Garik, and have chosen to defy his command to swear fealty. Do you deny this?”
The voice was as androgynous as the rest of the figure, but now that he was looking for it, Boris was certain he could hear a feminine lilt in the words.
Interesting.
“I deny your master anything that is mine,” Richard replied. “If my message yesterday was not clear enough then I will send it again and again until he understands.” He raised his hand and from the edges of the room came six guards wielding crossbows, the same as the day before. They took aim as they awaited the order to fire.
The woman did not even spare a glance for the guards. “By the authority granted to me by my master, I hereby carry out your sentence. You are sentenced to death for treason against the true master of the shadows and for refusing my master’s gracious offer.” Without further words, she began advancing toward Lord Richard.
Richard’s eyes widened but he dropped his hand decisively, giving the order for his crossbow-armed guards to shoot. The guards released their quarrels simultaneously.
Boris waited to see the woman bristling like a pincushion as the bolts streaked toward her. However, as the bolts touched her flesh, they went through her. The bolts, their momentum unimpeded by the mist they had passed through, struck various people in the crowd. Cries of agony arose throughout the crowd and bloodied bodies tumbled to the floor.
By the Founders, the stories were true! With a start, Boris drew his own daggers. He looked around to see the other members of Richard’s personal guard doing likewise. Boris began to move forward, shoving revelers and guild members out of his way as he tried to make his way quickly toward the assassin.
Distantly, Boris was aware of another figure at his side - Veronica. He spared a quick glance at her and saw a hard look in her eyes, tempered by s
omething else. Could it be pleasure? She had just told him how she looked forward to making this assassin bleed. Veronica was no fool. She knew an opportunity when she saw it.
The female assassin stopped and turned. As most of the crowd ran from her, five of his fellow guardsmen and at least a dozen of the more sober assassins approached, including Boris, while the crossbowmen reloaded. She raised her hand and, for a moment, Boris feared they were dealing with a Tar Ebon-trained mage. Such mages were dangerous if they saw an assassin coming.
Instead of fire erupting throughout the room or an invisible force sending people flying backward, she undid the clasp of her cloak and let it fall to the floor, revealing a tight black outfit of tunic, trousers and boots. Attached to both legs at the thigh was a bandolier of knives. Removing a knife from each bandolier, the woman straightened, sending a knife flying from each hand. The first knife took one of the crossbowmen in the throat and he dropped to his knees, clutching his throat as blood poured out. The second knife struck another bowman. Repeatedly she tossed out her throwing knives, moving faster than Boris had seen any assassin move.
Only a few moments had passed, but already five of the six crossbowmen were dead or wounded. The last man, seeing his companions fall, dropped his crossbow and turned to flee. The woman let the fleeing guard run and turned her attention to the closing assassins. Boris saw Leeroy fall with a dagger in the chest as he tried to throw one of his daggers at her. Sylviana also dropped as a knife took her in the eye. Others that Boris could not identify fell to a rapid succession of knives.
At last, the woman seemed to exhaust her knives, or perhaps the guards were getting too close, and she drew two long daggers from her waist and prepared to meet the assassins.
First was Aludra, a short, red-haired woman with a nasty scar across her cheek, wielding two daggers and running at the woman. The woman calmly sidestepped the wild stabs that Aludra made with both daggers. She swept out a leg to take Aludra off her feet. Aludra fell hard to the floor and the woman wasted no time dropping to a knee and stabbing through the soft area of Aludra’s throat. Blood spurted out as Aludra tried to scream. As her last moments came and the life fled her eyes, a glassy look replaced the wide-eyed panic.
The assassin leaped up from the dying Aludra and parried the two short swords wielded by Roberto, a hulking man with the long beard and wild eyes of the Rovarkian Horse Lords. The woman held her ground against Roberto long enough to spin to the right, causing him to stumble forward as, suddenly, there was no counter-force. As she spun, her left hand streaked low and stabbed into his stomach. Roberto went crashing to the floor, swords dropping from his hands, where he rolled over and clutched desperately at his stomach, trying to stem the blood. Roberto was as good as dead without a druid or powerful mage to heal him.
Boris, Veronica and the remaining guards began to circle the assassin, planning their next move. Perhaps, if they all attacked at once, they could overwhelm her. Something beyond the unknown assassin caught Boris’ eye.
Standing at his chair was Lord Richard, sword drawn. “Come face me, bitch! I will tear you apart!”
Stupid fool, Boris thought. He should be running, not taunting this woman. Boris moved forward, trying to capitalize on her moment of distraction. He saw Veronica and several other guards moving forward also. Boris cried no battle cries and made not a sound. He was not one to distract himself with the sound of his own voice and thought his energy better spent on planning how to fight this woman.
The assassin spun, saw the ring of guards closing in and shifted. That was the only word that Boris could use to describe it. One moment the woman was there, the next she had become as faint as smoke, like an after-image from looking at the sun too long. The silhouette of her figure began to fade, and a few seconds later was gone. Boris and the other guards stopped, dumbfounded. Boris stepped up to where the intruder had been standing and waved his sword through the quickly fading cloud of mist, but it simply caused it to dissipate faster.
Lord Richard, who had been watching his guards close in, shouted “Show your face, you coward! I will gut you where you stand! Is this the best that Garik can send against me?”
Sudden movement near Lord Richard caught Boris’ attention. There, to the left of his guild master, forming from the long shadow of him cast by the hearth fire was the veiled assassin. Boris’ breath caught. He heard Veronica gasp beside him even as he opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was already too late.
Lord Richard, unaware of the newcomer, opened his eyes wide in shock as the figure sidestepped behind him and slit his throat with one sweep of her blade. A moment later he crumpled limp to the floor.
Only the veiled assassin remained, blood pooling around her boots.
The woman looked down at the corpse of Lord Richard and spoke soft words that Boris could not hear. She looked up at the gathered assassins. Her eyes scanned the crowd and Boris felt naked before her. At last, she spoke. “Your master lies dead. All allegiances you had to him and this guild severed. You will all bow before me as the agent of my master, Lord Garik, and swear your loyalty to him. Any who do not will meet a similar fate,” she said, as she looked down at the body of Lord Richard and pointed. “My master will address you at midnight tonight. All who value their lives will attend.”
With those words spoken, the woman shifted again and was gone.
Boris released his breath. He had not realized he had quit breathing. He looked to his left at Veronica and, for the first time in the ten years he had known her, saw fear in her eyes. He knew without asking what she would do tonight. She would swear allegiance, as would most of the others. Some would run, others would try to fight and die, but Veronica was a survivor. Having grown up on the streets of Tar Ebon as the daughter of an assassin, she had learned how to stay alive. Boris would swear also, mostly because swearing was the only chance he would get to one day see his family again.
Chapter 2: Screams