As I slowly pulled myself from a liquor induced sleep, I tried to remember the fragments from last nights dream. Or dreams, as they might have been. I remembered fleeing, I remembered a frozen forest. There was a woman, but even as I tried to bring to memory her face, the details slipped away as the aches in my body, the disgusting taste in my mouth, and a headache demanded my attention. I reached over, and rummaged through a small collection of bottles, most of which were empty. Finally, I found one half-filled with some rotten wine. I pulled it closer, too tired to sit up yet, or even lift the bottle. I moaned at my reflection in the bottle. Brown hair was plastered to my pale face, my eyes were red, and my face was covered in stubble.

“Damn.” I muttered. I drank what was left in the bottle, swishing it around my mouth before swallowing. I pulled myself up to a sitting position, cringing at the pain that jolted through my back. Why did I ache so much?

Right. I had been riding. I had actually been riding for two days, and even with two horses pulling a caravan, that's going to leave a person fairly sore, and the horses very tired. I tried to imagine what state I would be in had I ridden on horseback, shuddered, and held the wine bottle up, catching the last few drops of wine on my tongue.

Why had I been riding? Of course, I didn't just exhaust my poor horses and knot up my muscles for nothing. I had been staying in a village in the west, a small farming village which at least had a half-impressive temple there, run by a priest who was trying his best to keep things together after the lord of the village died under 'mysterious circumstances'. It really wasn't so mysterious, I had poisoned the slobs' supper and he died in his sleep. However, that act led to a large land-feud. The lords brother wanted the land, but the lords daughter was engaged. So, a lot of people thought that her future husband should get the land, while the brother maintained that because she wasn't married at the time of death, he himself should have gotten the land. I had good work, for a time. Eventually, the brother got angry at the priest for agreeing to push ahead the marriage in order to make her future husband the the legal owner of the land. The brother hired me to kill the priest. It was an easy job,I snuck in and killed him in his sleep. Painless most likely. But then everyone suspected that the brother had done it himself, and he had no qualms telling everyone that I, the famed assassin Stiri, had done it. They formed a rioting mob to try to kill me, but I was already out of the town by then. It didn't take long for them to pull together some horses and chase after me though. So, I had to push my horses, and myself more than we all deserved to be pushed. For safety, I had skipped the larger port town of Teans, which was the obvious place for me to run to, and came across a small little farming village, Primus. The only way I was able to ignore the pains in my body and sleep last night was because of the wine.

Cringing, I stumbled to my feet, and felt my way around the scattered bottles. They were all empty. I felt the sheath at my side, and fingered the small hilt of my dagger, confirming it was there. I threw my cloak over wrinkled clothes, and wrestled a money pouch from the folds. I felt the weight of it. I had plenty of cash, for now. I had managed to bribe a stable boy into taking my horses into the stables as soon as I got into town last night, but I still had lots of money. Assassination is nothing if not profitable. I stumbled to the door and unlocked a complicated lock, and almost fell outside. The cool night air was seeping into what had likely been a very hot summer's day, perfumed with the stench of decaying meat from the alley that I had hidden my caravan in. The blood-red beams of sunlight reached over the crowded buildings made of rotting wood, staining only the very tip of the walls and leaving the rest of the alley in the dark. Bones littered the ground, and a rat scurried out from under my caravan.

I rubbed my eyes with the palm of my hands. “I need a drink.” I muttered. “Maybe something to eat too...”

***

The first pub I came across was close to where I had hidden my caravan. It was a small, filthy place, but It was likely the best I would find here. Entering, I caught the stench of sweat and ale, mixed in with the moldy, musky scent of rotting wood. I stood and watched as a short scuffle between two drunks in a corner ended in a badly broken nose. The tables were decorated with stains of spilled liquor, and spots of blood from bygone fights. Lovely place. I reminded myself that this was indeed likely the best I would find here, and that I was out of wine. I debated taking a longer look around the village, just in case there was a better pub. Instead, I slid into a chair at an empty table in the corner, close to a slowly growing fire. A ragged maid came up to me with a pitcher of ale and a dented tin mug. I nodded, and let her pour the ale. She wore a white paper mask, which I found strange, but not unusual. I had seen such things before, especially with people who had disfiguring scars, marks, or burns on their face. Strands of blonde hair which was tied up in a loose bun fell and caught between her mask and her face, her dress was scarcely more then a mess of rags.

“Will that be all?” She asked.

“No, bring me some of whatever meat happens to be ready.”

She left quickly, her dress swishing out behind her. I took the ale, and drank half before setting it down again. Leaning forward, I rested my head in my hands until the maid came back, setting down some burned meat before me. I muttered thanks, and dropped a few coins on the table. She curtseyed, collected the coins, and left. I rested, took another deep drink of ale, and helped myself to the meat. It was burned, but I had just asked for whatever was ready, and this was more than ready. No one to blame but myself. I leaned back and tried to enjoy my ale while picking at what meat seemed edible. I caught a flash of red in the corner of my eye, and turned.

At the table across from the fire sat two men, engaged in chatter. Among all the people in the pub most of which looked as though they had likely spent a long, hard day working , these two stuck out badly. One was obesely fat, and was talking to a young man with a long mass of red hair. Now, the red-haired boy looked out of place for many reasons. Red-hair wasn't a common hair-colour, not here. Were it me, I would at least have had a hood up. The red-haired boy was also overdressed, wearing what looked like a black silken cloak while everyone else was wearing dirty and tattered tunics. The fat man stood out because it didn't quite seem me that he could have fit through the door. I leaned forward again, and listened carefully. I could barely hear their chatter.

“He's been here a month now.” the Red-headed boy muttered, “He hasn't done anything.”

“Oh, I'd say he's done somethin' alright.” the Fatty slurred. He spoke louder than the red-headed boy did, and finished his sentence by taking a long drink of ale, letting thin rivers pour down his chin. “But it don't bother me none.” He said as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tattered and stained silk tunic.

The red-headed boy sighed and traced circles on the table. “And I've had no luck.”

Fatty snorted. “Of course not, y' stupid idiot! Y' couldn't pay anyone to help y', not even with Lord Whyte's-” He hesitated a moment, his eyes glazed as he searched for the word. “Backin'! His backin'. It's too dangerous. Any blind man could see that.”

I smiled and leaned forward a little. It was fine, they weren't paying attention to me. Besides, it was beginning to sound profitable.

“I'll have to go alone.” The boy said. “I have to.”

“Y'll die.”

“I don't have a choice.”

I stood up and walked over to them. They didn't even notice me until I slid into the chair next to them and set down my meat sipping on my ale.

“What are y' doin'!?” Fatty snapped.

“You seem to have a problem. Luckily for you it's one that can be easily remedied by lining the insides of my coffers.”

Fatty stared at me for a moment, trying to figure out what I had just said. I sighed and turned my attention to the red-headed boy. Unfortunately for me despite his seemingly sober appearance, he had a similar gaze of stupidity. I sighed.

“I'll help you, for a price.”

The red-headed boy snorted and he looked me over, trying to take in my admittedly slender build and pale face.

“Don't throw your life away.” He muttered. He turned away and looked into the fire. “I need real help. A swordsman. A soldier.”

I leaned in closely to the red-headed boy, bringing my lips close to his ear. “What about an assassin?”

He turned quickly, looking straight into my eyes. He held my gaze a moment before turning away. I don't know why he was judging me, He was skinnier than I, and just as pale. He had deep brown eyes, and his pale skin was framed by long strands of red-hair.

I sat back in my chair, and grinned. The boy seemed shocked, and almost looked like he wanted to run from the pub. I glanced over at Fatty, who was still staring at me with a confused look. Apparently he was too drunk that he couldn't remember how to ask me what I had said. “My name is Stiri.” I said. I smirked, “Yours?”

“Rico.” the boy said softly. He scarcely seemed to realize that I had asked him a question. Suddenly, a spark of recognition flickered in his eyes “I've heard of you.” he whispered. “I've heard stories.”

I grinned. I loved it when I heard stories about myself, as I sometimes did when I was sitting quietly in pubs. Of course, sometimes I, in disguise, would spread some stories as well. Stories were a big part of my job as an assassin. People have to hear good stories about me before they can decide that they want to hire me.

“Which stories.” I said. I enjoyed hearing just how exaggerated some of the stories got.

“I've heard lots of stories.” He said, he was speaking a little faster now, and there was excitement in his voice. His eyes grew wide. “The hunters in the mountains is one of my favorites-” I smirked at this. Amazing how someone who paled as he did when I simply mentioned that I was an assassin could possibly have a 'favorite' story of mine. As though it were a bedtime story. “I also liked the story about how you killed the leader of a bandit group. The story about the woman in the tower-”

I cleared my throat and took a long drink of ale. A bitter taste rose into my mouth. “You've heard a lot.” I muttered.

Rico looked at me for a moment, looking for a long time as though he were about to speak. I was just about to tell him to get on with it when he said. “Are they all true? They can't all be true. Can they?”

I snorted gently and drained the last of my ale. “It depends.” I said, “I haven't heard the stories you have.”

“Well,” Rico said, “About the hunters in the mountains. I heard they were all nobles. According to the story I heard, you walked up to them as they were travelling, and blocked their path. One of the lords there went up to you and ordered you out of the way. Then you just-” He made a slicing motion with his hand, almost knocking his ale to the floor, “-Killed him. Then all the others attacked you, but you killed them all, and without a scratch on yourself.”

I grinned. “Something like that.”

“And you did it all just with your dagger. It's always the same dagger. Black-handled in onyx, silver bladed with 'blood bane' etched in it.”

“'Blood bane?' That's a bit stupid, don't you think?”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A light blush which was almost unnoticeable in the firelight rose in his face. “I'm just repeating what I heard.”

“Fair enough.” I said. I unsheathed my dagger and set it on the table. It was almost like he had described, it did indeed have a black onyx handle. But the blade itself was steel. He carefully took the dagger from the table and examined it carefully, looking closely at the blade, and the long scratch running up it. Gingerly, he examined the handle, avoiding the bloodstains that were visible on it.

“A.K.A” he said, reading the letters that were scratched into the the onyx. “ Are those initials?”

“I don't know.” I said. I reached out for my dagger, and he quickly gave it back. “It wasn't mine to begin with. I got it a long long time ago.”

Fatty mumbled something that I couldn't quite understand. I heard something that sounded like 'Wasting time.' but that was all I could make out.

Rico frowned at the fat drunken slob as he drank some more ale. “He wasn't always such a drunkard.” He said. “He recently lost his home, his fortune-”

“That damned Kos!” The drunkard yelled. Several heads turned our way, and I engaged myself with what I had almost forgotten was an empty tankard. Oh well.

“Don't speak so loud.” Rico hissed.

“So, before he causes more of a problem and draws more attention to us.” I muttered, my face still looking into the tankard. “What job is it, exactly, that you need done?”

“If y're willin' to help him.” Fatty muttered, his words tripping over his tongue, “That's fine by me. Don't care if y're and assassin 'er a blacksmith.” He drank more ale, and choked on the remains.

“Charming.” I said. I turned back to Rico. “So, the jo-”

“Servin' girl!” Fatty yelled, “More ale!”

Thankfully no other patrons turned this time. However, that lovely little headache I had upon waking returned. A painful pressure on the backs of my eyes, and and steady, pounding pinprick into my temples. I resisted the urge to rub my eyes, diverting my hand at the last moment to rub the bridge of my nose in annoyance instead. Oh well, I'd have more ale soon. Maybe that would help.

The serving girl came over and started refilling our tankards, all the while having to deal with Fatty leering at her. She ignored him as best as she could. I mean, there wasn't much else that she could do, she was female and that Fatty was drunk. She quickly filled Fatty's tankard, rushing so much that she spilled a little onto the table. Fatty didn't care, he didn't notice. She turned to leave, and as she did, fatty grabbed at her dress, giving a pitiful growl in imitation of some animal as he did.

In most pubs, that is most pubs of this level of general filth, a serving girl in such a position would either slink off and pretend nothing happened, smiling coyly if they wanted to improve their chances of a tip, or smile and offer extra services in hopes of a very big tip. This serving girl, however, in one fluid motion spun around and slapped away Fatty's hand without upsetting the ale.

Impressive for a serving girl.

Fatty was not impressed. Wordlessly he jumped from his chair, half falling on top of the table due to his drunkenness, and gave her a great and powerful slap to the face. She fell to the floor, the pitcher of ale falling with her, the remains of the ale landed half on the dirty floor, half on the serving girl, who clutched at her face with one hand, and stayed motionless on the ground. Fatty wasn't done though. He stumbled towards her. Likely he would end up killing her. Even if he didn't try to, he was drunk enough and large enough that he could just fall on her and kill her. He could try to just give her another slap and knock her into the fireplace, smashing her skull into the hot metal grate below. Rico tried to pull him back, but Fatty shrugged him off. The other patrons watched, sipping their ale. This was just the kind of bar that would allow their own serving girl to be seriously hurt. It was entertainment.

Soundlessly, I slid between Fatty and the girl, drew my dagger and held it so that its sharp point grazed the folds of fat that hung from his chin. A small bead of blood formed on his skin.

“Touch her again, and I'll slice your fat cheeks off.” I hissed. I didn't need the extra attention of a slain serving girl, and I didn't need to be distracted from a possible job by Fatty beating on a serving girl. Besides, it wasn't really necessary. Fatty backed up, glowered at the girl, and stumbled back to his seat. Rico helped him sit and pushed his tankard to him, trying to cheer his mood and distract him from the serving girl with extra ale.

The serving girl stayed on the ground for a moment as the other patrons went back to their own business. Her hair had come down, and she was frantically looking for something. I looked around and saw the paper mask, thankfully free from spilled ale. It wasn't far from her but because she wasn't raising her head she couldn't see it. I snatched the mask from its place on the floor and kneeled down to give it to her. She turned, surprised, looking me in the eyes as she did. As far as I could see she had no scars or burns on her face. Her creamy pale skin was marred only by streaks of dirt, her eyes were blue and bright. She reminded me of Cara.

Suddenly I remembered my dream again. The woman from the dream was Cara. My stomach flipped,my headache returned and my throat felt dry. I stood up and went back to the table where my ale was waiting for me.

It was stupid to get involved. I had thought in that moment that stopping Fatty was good idea, but if he had killed her, they would have remembered him, and the girl, not Rico and I. We probably could have gotten away and done our business elsewhere. Oh well. The mask confused me now also, but I shrugged it off. Likely she just didn't want people to know that she worked here, so she wouldn't be given a hard time when she wasn't working.

After Fatty quickly drank his ale he started on Rico's. He seemed happy now, having forgotten completely about the serving girl. The patrons seemed to have forgotten, and even the serving girl was back to serving out more ale. I took a long drink from my tankard.

“So.” I said when I finally put my tankard down. “ What is this job again?”

Sadly, Fatty seemed to think that he hadn't been talking enough, and decided to remedy this. “'Bout a month ago, this man, Kos came to the village. He's in good with the royals, so-”

“More than just 'in good.'” Rico hissed. He turned to me, “He's advisor to King Rawlin the Tenth. He's a Magus”

“It doesn't matter what he is. Point is that he came with a little piece of paper that said that he could do whatever he wanted here-”

“Some decree.” Rico explained. “And it didn't let him do whatever he wanted. It placed him for an indefinite amount of time in the village, and given his position, he's in charge now.”

“Right.” Fatty said. “So, he waves this little piece of paper around and tells Lord Whyte to bugger off, so-”

“Lord Whyte?” Did I heard that name right?

“Lord Whyte rules over the village.” Rico said. “He's the only Lord here.” I nodded slowly. I had heard right, and I knew that name.

“Then Kos brought out his- his.” Fatty paused, a flicker of fear seeming to sober him up momentarily. “His monsters.”

“Homunculii.” Rico said.

Fatty shivered in fear and drank more ale as he shifted his attention to the fire. “They were horrible.” He muttered.

I didn't know what Homunculii were. “You might wish to explain this a little more.” I said.

Rico looked at me. “Do you know what homunculii are?” he asked.

“Not exactly.”

Rico glowered into the fire. “Magi use them. “ he said. “They can take anything, a piece of wood, some water, even a lick of flame, and give it a semblance of life. Sometimes, depending on how much the Magus works on it, it can be as animated as a normal human, or a dumb as a puppet.”

“And they're particularly frightening?”

“These are. Kos used corpses.”

I almost shuddered at this. It sounded like he was bringing back the dead, like necromancy. But it wasn't. It was a fine line, but still, the line was too thin for my liking. Necromancers are the things of nightmares, and stories used to scare small children. They scare adults too, but I think most of us have managed to convince ourselves that they're nothing but stories, since there are none left, and never will be. Hopefully.

“Lord Whyte had to let Kos stay.” Fatty said. He was a little quieter now. “He didn't want to, but of course he was there on royal business. So he didn't have a choice. He offered Kos a room in his own house, but Kos said he didn't need it. He took my house instead, and built it up into a tower.”

“Why your house?”

“Only one in town made of stone.” He said, and despite the fact that he was drunk, he still seemed to have some pride in the fact that once he had the only stone house. “He did more than just take my house though. Confiscated most of my fortune.”

“He bullied him out his home.” Rico said. “Well, Kos didn't do it himself, he had his lackey do the dirty work.”

“One of the homunculi?”

Rico shook his head. “No. Kos' Homunculii aren't that clever. He had another lackey. A winged Half-breed.”

Great. A half-breed. And with my luck he was half eagle or hawk or something. He would be a predator.

“The Half-breed took his sister.” Fatty said with a gesture at Rico. “And he can't save her on his own.”

“Of course not.” I said, swallowing the obvious question, 'Why?' Prying to much wasn't good, I was lucky they were telling me as much as they were.

I glanced the the boy's skinny frame. “If you tried, the Magus would likely break you in half without using magic.

“I'm not as weak as I look” Rico hissed. He drummed his fingers on the table once. From his fingertips, small wicks of flame caught fire to the spots on the table, burning tiny black spots into the surface. The fire in the fireplace grew more fierce for a moment. Rico let the flames burn for a moment, then closed his hand over them. “I have power too. I'm a mage.”

“Magus.” Fatty said. Rico shook his head.

“Magi can do most anything.” Rico whispered. “They control all the elements, they shape the world to their will. All I can do is play with fire.” he gave a small grin. He knew that playing with fire, being a mage might not be all that great compared to being a Magus, but compared to all us normal humans, it was fairly impressive.

“So, again, what is my job, You've not yet told me exactly what you want me to do.”

“I need help getting my sister back.” Rico said. “I would like to kill Kos as well, but-”

“But that's a stupid idea, and impossible.” Fatty said.

“It's not impossible.”

“They can shape the world to their will, I doubt that-”

“Their power is limited!” Rico snapped. He noticed that he was speaking too loudly, and attracting unwanted attention from the other patrons, and lowered his voice. “They are limited just like I am. Everytime they use too much power, they risk madness, the power of their minds limit what they can do. The stronger their minds, the stronger their power. Kos is strong, but he can't overcome everything. He could lose his mind. He could exhaust his power. It's possible.”

“So, do you what Kos killed?”

“No. Well, yes, but not now. It's too dangerous now, and my sister is what's most important right now. Kos can wait.”

I shrugged. “That's all you need my services for then?”

“There's more.” Fatty said, almost gleeful to be the bearer of bad news. “Kos doesn't just leave his nice new tower go unguarded.

“It's guarded then?”

Fatty grinned. “Yes. By a homunculi.”

“Not just a normal homunculi.” Rico said. “He used to be a guard here. A big man, built like a bull. He died just after Kos came here, and rather than let him have a proper burial, he used his body to make a homunculi. He revived the body, but it's rotting now. It's disgusting, but it's just as fast, just as skilled as it used to be in life, but now, a stab to the heart won't kill it.”

“How pleasant.” I muttered.

“Y' be quiet.” Fatty said, a mocking tone edging into his voice, “y'll scare him off helpin' y'.”

I smirked, “Oh no, I'll just require more pay.”

“Well, that's something you would need to speak to Lord Whyte about.” Rico said.

A scowl passed over my face, but I quickly hid it as I took a drink fo sale. “Why?” I asked, “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He-” Rico paused, took a long, deep breath and leaned forward speaking slowly and carefully. “Lord Whyte wishes to assist in my endevor of, if not killing Kos, then of at least getting my sister out of his hands and of getting rid of that half-dead monstrosity. It's presence infects the whole town, people are scared.

“And it would be he hiring me?”

“He would hire you to kill that beast. I would be hiring you to help me get to my sister.” Rico frowned, “Originally, he wanted me to find a brave swordsman, or knight, but...”

“He'll have to do with an assassin.” I finished, “And provided he pays well enough, that' what he'll get.”

“Rico nodded. “I expected nothing less.”