Year 3043 AGD

Month: Ragnós

Firstday

Continent of Terroval

Southwest of the City of Stalwart

“What did I do now?”

“Oh laddie, you’re the one who got us into this mess.”

Shawnrik mumbled to himself, “She was a pretty girl.”

“They always are, lad, they always are,” Ashur laughed.

“I don’t see what’s so funny. There’s over a hundred blood orcs in that camp and the boy is still wet behind the ears.” Dunnagan popped his head over the natural rock wall to look at the scene below. “Ahh, and a few giants it seems.”

“What?” Ashur asked, looking over the edge. “Damn, they must have been hiding in the caves to the east… I wonder what else we are going to find.” Both of the men looked at Shawnrik.

“Well, we can’t just let ‘em die, can we? I may have distracted the caravan by going for a walk with her, but it’s their own fault they dropped their guard enough to be captured. They could have been slaughtered instead. Besides, there probably isn’t another person within a week’s journey, so we are the only ones they have.”

“Aye laddie, you probably did save most of their lives by letting them be caught a few at a time. I just wonder how long they have.” Dunnagan was making a quick count of the scene below. “I make out about a hundred and twelve, give or take a few, and at least two giants. We’re going to have to start with their patrols. That should be able to whittle ‘em down by twenty or thirty before they realize something’s out here. If we can make it seem like a pack of grim’le, we might be able to draw the lot of ‘em out to hunt the pack down. Orcs like the taste of ‘em, and they’ll be plenty riled up about so many of their numbers dying.”

“There’s a lot of hoping in there, my friend.” Ashur looked excited, but his voice held a hint of caution. “It’s not usual for this many orcs to be together outside of the Shattered Hills, especially together like this.”

“Ya think they have someone guiding ‘em? I’ve seen a few o’ the more intelligent blood orcs, but they were smart enough to not try to lead their brethren. Maybe it’s one of those fire giants. Worse yet, it could be a grey elf.”

“My friend, you think of better and better possibilities,” Ashur said dryly. “Well whatever the case, they are down there, they have captured citizens of the Protectorate, and we are the only ones around to do anything about it. This is the kind of training we were looking for, albeit on a larger scale than what we were hoping for. The boy has filled out well since New Beginnings when I first saw him. I’d say he’s at least fourteen now, which is about the age I was when Nim started taking me on these kinds of trips. From what I’m told, Nim was about the same age when he…” Ashur noticed his companions eyeing him. “Well anyway, looks like a patrol is leaving—let’s get to work.”

They took the same trail back down the hill that they had used going up. Their horses were keeping themselves busy with the few patches of grass near the tree that Shawnrik and Ashur had tied them to. Thunder was busy chomping his way through a tree, stripping it of its bark. This was not the tree he had been left at, either—he had chewed his way through his reins in order to get to his current meal.

“Ah… it’s a good thing that beast is smart enough to know where to go when I tell ‘em.” Dunnagan said, making them chuckle quietly. Ashur and Shawnrik pulled the bows from their saddles and strapped on a quiver of arrows. Dunnagan went to the pack horse and brought out several throwing axes, sliding the handles through loops of his belt. Grabbing another axe, he tossed it to Shawnrik. “Ya never know when you’re gonna need somethin’ that will be a little more helpful at close range. Them bows you boys got will punch a hole through armor at a hundred paces, but if for some reason you don’t have your bow or you run out of arrows, that axe’ll be good for cleaving a skull or twenty.”

As he was strapping his leather armor on, Shawnrik noticed that his clothes were getting a little tight around his shoulders and seemed to ride higher on his waist than they had only a month before. He figured he was around fourteen by his and Ashur’s estimation, but he was already gaining height and weight at a good speed. In the past month alone, he had grown three inches and put on another twenty pounds. Dunnagan and Ashur had made him run half the time they were traveling. Occasionally, Ashur would run with him, but most of the time they rode while he ran.

He understood that they were trying to make him strong enough for whatever needed to be done. He wanted them to do so, so he never complained— at least not aloud. At night, they would take turns instructing him on the use of daggers, swords, maces, axes, and bows. Whenever they stopped next to a stream bed for the night, they would have him find or dig up large stones in order to stem the water so they would have a place to clean up in the morning. When they were done cleaning up he would move the rocks and let the water run normally again. They had both taught him muscle building and limbering exercises, and he had used each method separately until they were comfortable and then began to meld them all into one long exercise. Ashur and Dunnagan had both seen him work through his new method, and both had simply nodded before going back to whatever it was they had been doing as they prepared to leave for the day.

Shawnrik wrestled regularly with both men as they taught him how to grapple. In the last few matches, he managed to best Ashur—one of the strongest men he had ever met. Dunnagan was a bit more challenging because his center of gravity was so low. More than once, he felt like he might as well be trying to move a boulder. The dwarf’s strength was nothing to take lightly, either. Once, he had seen Dunnagan performing a prayer before the fight. Having seen Dunnagan pray several times a day since they had begun their journey, he had thought nothing of it. When they grappled, however, the dwarf picked him up like a sack of oats and tossed him fifteen feet. When Shawnrik asked how he had done it, Dunnagan laughed.

“It’s all in the wrist,” he had said, a twinkle in his eye. Shawnrik made it apparent that he didn’t believe that for a second and Dunnagan relented. “Oh laddie, it’s all part of being a cleric. It’s not all healin’ and sayin’ prayers. Cypheria knows that every once in a while, you’ll need a boost, or to need call down holy fire to smite your foes. She will aid you just like she knows that you will aid those in need. It will all come to you in time. When you are able to handle something new, you will know it intuitively. She’ll let you know.

Shawnrik’s life had never been easy. His years on the streets had allowed him to learn quickly in the six months of training he had gone through with Ashur at Nim’s mansion, and that training had allowed him to withstand the grueling training that Dunnagan and Ashur had dreamed up in the past month. He knew that the real training was only just beginning, and he wasn’t quite sure if he should be excited or scared.

“Let’s go. They should be approaching where we camped last night shortly, and we should be able to get there ahead of them.” Ashur started off at a quick pace, moving as swiftly through the trees as he could manage stealthily. Dunnagan and Shawnrik looked at each other, knowing they would not be able to move nearly as fast while making as little noise.

There was a hill to run down before they neared their camp site. Shawnrik let out a small groan as he looked at the thick brush and low hanging branches. Dunnagan let out a laugh and barreled downhill, his tough skin taking few scratches from the bushes and his short stature allowing him to avoid many of the branches. Nearing the spot Ashur had told them they were heading, they all slowed their pace, trading speed for silence. When they were a hundred paces from the clearing, they were moving like cats stalking their pray—big, burly cats. Shawnrik remembered how surprised he had been the first time he had seen Dunnagan move quietly through the brush. He asked him if all dwarves knew how to move so silently in trees.

His mentor replied, “They teach you to move fairly quietly when you are training to be a warden, but if you are going to travel anywhere with Nim Mithriannil, you either learn how to move silently or he leaves you behind. Let’s just say I got tired of being left behind to wait for the first signs of battle. If you have to wait until the enemy notices that man, half the fun is usually over already.”

They only had to wait a couple of minutes before the forward scout of the patrol came into sight. The patrol was made up of ten blood orcs: One scout in front, eight in the core unit, and another scout bringing up the rear. Ashur took up a position at the front of the clearing, signaling for Dunnagan to wait in the trees opposite the stream and for Shawnrik to take up position on the far end of the clearing. Shawnrik watched as the first scout walked out into the clearing, failing to notice the large human hiding in the bushes beside him, or the dwarf lying in wait to the side. Shortly after, the main body of the patrol entered the clearing. The forward scout was about twenty paces away from Shawnrik when the rear scout began to emerge from the bushes behind the core unit.

Before the rear scout set one foot outside the bushes, however, he vanished without a sound. Shawnrik attempted to replicate Ashur’s work as the forward scout walked into the bushes next to him. He reached out, grabbed the orc, and quickly broke its neck. As he lowered the body to the ground, he realized that he had not been nearly as efficient as his mentor, however. The main body of the party had stopped and were now motioning ahead of them to where the scout had disappeared. Shawnrik unlimbered his bow and nocked an arrow as the largest of the orcs called out ahead to a scout that could no longer answer.

As the blood orcs began to move forward, weapons ready, he heard Ashur’s whistle. At the sound, the blood orcs looked toward the other end of the clearing. Noticing their rear scout was also not where he should be, they began to get even more agitated. Before they could figure out what they were going to do next, Shawnrik took aim and shot. At the same time, an arrow flew out of the trees on the other side of the clearing where Ashur was hiding. As the first two arrows connected—Shawnrik’s finding a throat, Ashur’s finding an eye socket—an axe seemed to materialize from the bushes to the side of the party, cleaving the patrol leader’s skull. The five remaining orcs, finally realizing their predicament, decided to run back in the direction they came. By the time they made it back to the bushes, four of the five orcs were down, and the last was not even able to swing his club before a dagger pierced his heart.

“Well, that was easy enough,” Ashur said with a grin as he cleaned his dagger.

“Aye, but the one that comes looking for this one will be bigger,” Dunnagan said.

“You’re always spoiling the moment,” Ashur gibed as he pulled his arrow from the eye of the first orc he had downed. Shawnrik held back some bile as he went to retrieve his first arrow, which he had to cut out from the orc’s throat. Shawnrik found he was unable to hold the bile in a moment later as Dunnagan, finding his axe firmly stuck in the head of the orc he had killed, decided it was easier to break through the rest of the way rather than try to pry it out.

Year 3043 AGD

Month: Ragnós

Night of the Firstday

Continent of Terroval

Safeharbor

Docks District

The day he had just gone through seemed unreal, and the night was quickly going by in a blur. Victor knew that only a few minutes ago, they had been sitting in the shadows down the block, making sure they had the layout of the building correct. Yet each moment after stepping out from those shadows seemed to stretch out a great deal, as if time itself was on their side. He knew that the building was probably full of assassins, and he knew that he would probably die if it came down to a one on one fight with any of them. He just didn’t seem to care about any of that at the moment.

Victor, Nim, and Zander sauntered towards the front of the building as if they belonged there. Every time Victor witnessed Zander performing his Shaping he seemed to learn something new, and this time was no exception. As they approached the doors, Zander seemed to grow larger and his muscles became more pronounced. He was Shaping his own body into a weapon. From what little Victor knew about such uses of Shaping, it took a very thorough understanding of anatomy and an even deeper understanding of one’s own body to perform such a feat. As close as they were together, Victor could feel some of the changes that Zander was making, but he couldn’t understand anything about them at more than a basic level. When Zander walked up and turned the doorknob, one could almost have thought that it had not been locked a moment before. Victor even harbored such a thought before he saw the wrecked remnants of the knob.

Nim was the first one to slip through the door. It was dark inside, but light could be seen emanating from the cracks of several doorways. Victor heard a swoosh and then a thump, and he knew the sentry in the hall was dead. Sliding quietly into the building, Victor immediately began to Shape the light, creating pockets of shadows for himself to slip between. In just a few moments, all hell would break loose, and he wouldn’t be of any use if he was caught out in the open. Sneaking down the hallway, Victor started up the stairs. He was still surprised that neither Nim nor Zander seemed to have any issue with him coming along. Looking back at the two, he realized that it was because they were all cut from the same cloth. He wouldn’t stay behind even if they had told him to, and they knew that they would not have stayed behind either, if they were in his position.

Victor’s job was to scout the second floor while Nim and Zander worked their way through the first. From the information Nim and Zander had gathered, they thought that there were over seventy-five trained assassins living in this building at any given time. Three grand assassins, the second-in-command, the grand master’s protégé, and the grand master also lived on the premises. It could be more or less at any given time; Victor knew that there were now fifteen less than there had been the night before. At that thought he smiled, but as he realized what it had cost, he began to frown. Pushing such thoughts aside, his face once again became a calm mask; there was time enough for such thoughts later.

They expected most of the guild to be awake, as a large portion of its business occurred at night. It was more than likely that many of the assassins would be out working, either gathering new contracts or completing old ones. Those that remained would probably be taking their leisure, feeling safe within the walls of their guild. After all, who would dare attack an entire guild of assassins? The few members that had tasks to complete during the day would be asleep, but Victor knew that any of those that slept too soundly would be dead shortly. A brief scuffle broke out in the room to the bottom right of the stairwell, but it ended quickly, and Victor didn’t think anyone had been alerted by the noise.

Moving through the halls like a ghost, Victor knew that much of his remaining undetected was as much due to his size as it was his skill. He had felt more than a few loose boards that would have creaked in protest had a larger person stepped on them. It appeared that the largest room on the second floor was the one nearest the stairwell. Victor guessed that it was either a room where a lot of men bunked or the quarters for the grand master. Either way, he was not going to go anywhere near it. The next two largest rooms he also left alone, as the ornate doorways marked them as most likely being the other master assassins’ chambers. As Victor neared the end of the hallway, he found a ladder with a hatch at the top of it. Having seen no one wandering around on the second floor, he decided that it was worth his consideration.

Victor opened his pouch and took out the tools that Nim had given him in order to bypass locks and traps. Probing around the small portal, he found two traps that would trigger from the outside if someone were to attempt entry from above. He disabled those so that they wouldn’t bother him on his way back down. Victor then easily unlocked the locking mechanism—it wasn’t meant to keep people from going out. Lifting the hatch, Victor poked his head slowly through the hole, finding the roof.

Great, you found the roof. Nim’s going to be really glad to have this information. Hey Nim! I found the roof. Good work, Victor, I knew you had it in you! Victor was cursing to himself as he walked up to a structure that took up a large portion of the center of the roof. Walking all the way around the stout structure, he could see no visible point of entry. Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss this.

He began a stone-by-stone search, looking for any loose stones, indents, keyholes, or other such mechanisms that might reveal a hidden door. Several minutes passed before he located the indent he had been looking for. Victor probed around the area carefully to make sure there were no surprises waiting for the person who dared to push the button. Not finding anything troublesome, he was just about to push the button when he noticed the slits under his feet. Cursing himself quietly for a fool, Victor stepped back gingerly from the portion of wall he had been inspecting. Taking out his dagger, he probed along the area where the floor met the wall and found the catch for the trap. His first attempt at disabling the device ended horribly, with the trap going off and a needle-thin set of spikes coming out of the floor about six inches. He noticed in the moonlight that the tips were definitely coated with something that he was sure held its own nasty surprises. I wonder if that’s the stuff that got Megan? The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it, and a solitary tear escaped before he could regain control.

Looking into his toolkit, Victor pulled out a set of pliers that he used for making his own traps, gripping one of the needles before it reset. It was nearly a full minute before the mechanism triggered again and slowly lowered back into the roof. The needle he had gripped came free fairly easily, and he placed it into his match case, point down, for later examination. Taking a deep breath, Victor moved back into position to work on the trap. It took him several tries, but he was able to release the mechanism. After his recent close call, he was not feeling especially lucky, so he decided to use his dagger to press the button.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Nim had only been slightly surprised when Zander had offered his assistance that night. They had traveled together for a time in his youth. Nim had been sixteen, ready to take on the world, and Zander had been twenty-seven, trying to prove to the Tetriarch and the arch magus that he was someone worth watching. Zander had definitely proven himself, and Nim had learned quite a few tricks from the man he had chanced upon on the road to Asylum nearly twenty years prior.

Still, this wasn’t his fight, and it wasn’t in the man’s character to go out of his way—especially if it meant he might miss the first fight of the war—to help a friend. Nim had to consider the fact that there were probably other reasons for the man’s assistance. Did someone order him to keep an eye on me? Maybe it’s a political favor, but for who? A small voice in his head suggested that maybe the man had liked the girls, and he was here for the same reasons that Nim and Victor were. The cynical part that controlled the rest of his mind quickly threw the idea out. It could be that he just didn’t like having a guild of assassins working under his nose, willing to strike at the manor of one of the king’s advisers. I suppose it doesn’t really matter why he came; I’m just glad he’s here.

Had anyone seen the two men work their way through the bottom floor of the Guild they might have described the actions of the men as poetry in motion. It was a dark poetry filled with silence, blood, and death, but there were no wasted movements to their actions. The only sounds that intruded upon this silence were the intake of air right before someone was about to call an alarm, the sound of one of Nim’s daggers slicing through the air before taking out the target’s jugular (and usually a second to the heart for good measure), and the last breath escaping from the lips of the dying.

Nim knew that Zander was most well-known for the amazingly destructive forces that he could Shape together on the battlefield, and for most that would be a reason to respect the man. The knights, however, seemed to respect the man for his combat prowess, preferring to regale their comrades with stories of his many splendid victories with nothing but his bare hands. That’s ignoring the fact that just as much energy was used making his body into a killing machine as would be used in a usually more useful explosion, but that’s a soldier for you. Nim had gone to watch Zander give hand-to-hand lessons to the troops on many a fine afternoon, his pleasure or dissatisfaction only apparent to those who recognize each little tick in his face as a carefully controlled emotion. When not in combat or training, Zander was a fairly agreeable fellow who smiled regularly, but once he became serious, it was very difficult to break his calm demeanor. There were occasional moments during real fights that Nim had seen those rigid features twist into an almost feral grin, and that was usually very bad news for whomever Zander was dealing with at the time. Watching his old companion now however, there was no smile. Here was Zander Halcyon, battlesorcerer of the Protectorate, doing his duty to the crown by snapping the necks of a few “rats” that had somehow infested his city, using about as much effort as most men would use to snap a chicken bone.

There had been more men sleeping than Nim thought there would be. If the guild master had studied Nim at all, he should have expected a measured response. Nim had heard about the leader of this particular guild, not by name, but by an overlap in business and by reputation. He had stolen more than a few contracts from Nim over the years, and he may even have been responsible for several chance meetings with unfriendly fellows. All of this bothered Nim little—he understood that it was just business—but this time was different. This time it was personal.

Ahh.... Nim suddenly realized why the guild master was not expecting an attack. He assumed all of his assassins would have committed suicide before they could be tortured for information. Nim grinned at the man’s stupidity.

Still, he knew that no man who could rise through the ranks of assassins in a city like Safeharbor could be an easy target. Moving through the kitchen, he realized that it had been much too easy. Looking over at Zander, he found himself meeting his friend’s eyes. Zander lifted an eyebrow, and then looked towards the ceiling, obviously having had the same thought that Nim had. They will be waiting for us on the second floor. Nim nodded, and then tipped his head to the side indicating that he was going to check out the last of the rooms on this floor before they proceeded upstairs.

Opening the door, ready to throw a dagger if needed, Nim found himself face to face with... the pantry. Seeing no threat, his first thought was about how well organized the space was. Well, the master of the kitchen has an orderly mind at least. Looking around, he found a half-used bag of flour that he thought might come in handy upstairs. As Nim exited the pantry, he saw Zander begin to shrink back down to his normal size, his muscles regaining their natural form instead of the bulging corded muscles that reminded Nim of Adrian Theromvore. Nim thought that now that Zander’s warrior transformation had worn off, or the man had more than likely canceled it, the man was more dangerous than ever to whomever was upstairs. Though his warrior form gave him increased strength and constitution, it made it more difficult to do any quick Shaping. Now, he would be able to bring forth his many battle Shapings with a thought.

After retracing their steps and making sure that they had not missed anyone, and that no one had yet stumbled upon the ample evidence of intrusion, both men stopped at the bottom of the stairs, preparing for what they both felt was coming.

“Where’s Victor?” Zander whispered, leaning in so that he was only a hairsbreadth from Nim’s ear.

“He’s around here somewhere,” Nim replied just as quietly. “If I know the lad, he’s probably found a golden treasure or killed everyone just to prove he’s a better model than us old farts.”

Both men had spent time with Victor, and it usually didn’t take long with the boy before you felt like you should either follow him or stab him on principle. For the two men, Victor was a spotlight on their youths, reminding them of what it was like to grow up in a land like Terroval. Things were usually a little easier in the cities, but Terroval was a harsh land that fostered a harsh people. Only the strong would survive to see that sunrise each morning. Whatever other thoughts they had about the boy, they each kept them to themselves; it was apparent that both of them had a healthy respect for the boy, and that was more important to each than anything that could have been said.

“Shall we continue,” Nim stated more than asked.

“Yes, of course; let me find out where the boy is first.” Zander closed his eyes, connecting with the billions of molecules in the area, trying to locate Victor’s unique pattern. Locating the boy somewhere above them, Zander constructed a corridor of molecules so that he could send a signal directly to Victor’s brain. Victor, where are you?

On the roof, playin’ around, came Victor’s reply.

“It appears the lad is on the roof. He says he’s playing around,” Zander mused.

Nim groaned. “That could mean anything. I suppose we better get up there.”

As the two men began to move silently up the stairs, the twin doors near the top opened, making both of them stop cold in their tracks, their bodies ready for fight or flight.

“Ah, guests, won’t you come in.”

Zander crooked an eyebrow at Nim, who simply shrugged and continued his trip up the stairs, one hand behind his back. Zander was only a step behind as he began to pull in potential particles, preparing them to accept his will at a moment’s notice.

Nearing the top of the stairs, Nim had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as the room came into view. The walls were dark red, and there was gold on every surface. They might as well have hung a sign that says, “Evil Lair” here. There were three men visible inside the room: two men in robes stood beside the desk, while the third sat comfortably behind it.

The man on Nim’s right had a shaved head, a gaunt face, and wore loose-fitting robes the color of blood. Blood mage, or some fool pretending to be one. Either way, he’ll be the first to die.

The man opposite the mage was a sickly-looking fellow in black robes holding a crystal bowl in his hand. He seemed transfixed on the bowl and didn’t seem to care that two men stood at the threshold of the room. I’ll bet he’s a priest of Thom. He could be more dangerous than the mage.

The man that sat behind the desk was more than likely the most dangerous man in the room. Well, on that side of the room, at least. No longer a young man, he wore all the signs of a hard-fought life, and his face was beginning show signs of his age. His bare arms made it apparent that he had not been lax in his physical training, however. The man’s muscles were toned to a degree that is usually saved for a dancer or an acrobat. His body and face carried the scars of many battles, and part of his left ear was missing, most likely from the same cut that nearly took his eye. His hair was graying and appeared to be set back into a ponytail. This was a warrior of a very specialized sort. The man was an assassin bred for one thing: killing.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” the assassin said, his voice almost believably cheery. “To what do I owe this unexpected intrusion upon my home and place of business?”

Always ready to entertain, Nim took on the same mock cheerful tone and replied. “Well, it appears that you may have misplaced a few people in your employ last night. I just wanted to let you know that they have decided that they can no longer be in your service—or the service of anyone else, as a matter of fact.” Nim’s grin grew into a smirk by the second line.

“Ah, so it was you who disposed of my men. I knew I should have been stricter in their training, a mistake I will not make again. Am I to assume then that I speak with the illustrious Nim Mithriannil?”

Nim performed a flowery bow, taking the opportunity to unsheathe the dagger from his left wrist while keeping it hidden from sight. “That is what some call me, yes, but you may refer to me as Vengeance.” At this, the man in black robes raised his head and his eyes went wide a moment before he dropped the bowl he had been holding, its contents spilling to the floor.

“Zander Halcyon!” the priest said as if the words were being strangled out of him.

The assassin’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and the blood mage’s gaunt features turned white before he was able to school his emotions.

“So then, I warrant a trip from the Hand of Retribution? Does that mean that the Hand of Justice is also near?” The assassin’s calm demeanor did nothing to betray the worry that was gnawing at his gut.

Nim shook his head. “He is off training a new Hand of Justice for a new Lord of Vengeance. My title will soon be passed to one more suited to the job. I am, however, surprised that a priest in your company would know of us. Did you serve with the knights, priest?”

The priest of Thom nodded dumbly, obviously affected by the presence of Nim and Zander. Unlike his companions, he had neither the willpower nor the self-confidence to hide his emotions.

“A pity. So, I am to assume that you yourself have an apprentice? That must be the boy that my men were hired to take care of. I am thinking that was not our client’s motive at all, though. Sending assassins after you has never brought your wrath down upon any of the other guilds before, however, so what is different about this occasion? I know they did not kill the boy, or you would not have said he would soon replace you.”

“No, they didn’t kill the boy. However, they did kill a young woman that was in my employ and under my protection. She was too young to die, and your time has just run out.” As Nim was preparing to let loose his dagger, a loud crashing sound came from overhead, causing everyone in the room to pause and look up.

“Ah, it appears that you did not get all of my men, Mithriannil. That is my armory, and even now they are preparing for your destruction.” The leader of the assassins stood quiet and collected in front of them before Zander broke out in laughter. “What are you laughing about, Halcyon?”

“Well, for one, that you think that any of your men or your toy mage there can handle me, let alone Nim. While you and your men were here in the shadows developing your skills against each other and your targets, he and I were in the field. Have you ever faced a dracair assassin? No? How about a warrior? No? Well, if you haven’t fought either of those, I doubt you have ever faced one of their Magnus Dracani. Second, that isn’t any of your men above us.” As if to punctuate his statement, the trap door in the ceiling popped open as a small form dropped into the middle of the room from above. Two projectiles left Victor’s hands before he landed softly on the soles of his feet.

The assassin who had survived on the streets of Safeharbor for all these years couldn’t help the look of surprise as a dagger stuck into the wall beside his head, and another sprouted from his shoulder. “Get them!” he ordered, his voice betraying his incredulity as he stood and flung two of his daggers at the intruders.

“I am sorry Lyonel, but these two men have done more for Thom than any others in existence, except perhaps for the Left Hand of Vengeance.” The priest began speaking as the mage prepared to release the energy he had been restraining, but by the time he had finished his sentence, the fight was already over.

Zander had been prepared for the mage, managing to click the last portion of his Shaping into place as the mage finished his own. It only took moments for the blood mage to realize his folly as he released his Shaping. The fireball impacted an invisible shield that Zander had built around the mage. As the energy of the fireball was released, the shield began to absorb and refocus that energy into new smaller fireballs, creating a chain reaction inside the shield that was inescapable.

Victor was the first to grab the incoming projectile, reversing its trajectory in one fluid movement, sending it back towards the grand master of the assassins. As he did this, he pulled two more daggers quickly and flung them towards the man. Those three daggers were quickly joined by two more as Nim threw his own before spinning, grabbing, and throwing the other dagger that the grand master had thrown.

The grand master had lived a long life and was one of the few men who might have been able to live through such a barrage. However, he had been so surprised when Victor, a small child, had grabbed his dagger from mid-air and sent it back at him, that he was only able to stop two of the blades and dodge another. That left two blades that tore deeply into his body, one of which was his own, which had been coated in an especially virulent poison.

“That’s… not right,” the grand master of assassins said as the poison seeped into his leg. In less than a minute, he would lose all motor control.

“I have a message from Lia Swiftstar,” Victor said, as he approached the man who had taken his friend’s life with one order.

“What’s the message, boy?” The assassin must have been using all of his willpower to remain standing as the poison spread throughout his body.

The screams of the blood mage had finally died out as the fires within Zander’s shield consumed everything within. The shield amplified whatever Shaping it touched, so the mage would burn indefinitely in his own magical flames. Not that there was much left to burn.

“You have taken the life of someone dear to me.” He continued to stalk towards the grand master, his visage calm. “You have made attempts upon the lives of my friends.” No longer able to contain the rage bubbling up inside him, his voice became louder and his expression grew harder. “For this, your life is forfeit. For this, I send my messenger.”

“And who is her messenger, boy? By what name should I call you as I curse your soul from the netherworld?”

“I am Vengeance.” He pulled one of his daggers. “I am Pain.” His hand slid down towards his boot, and he pulled another. “I am Justice.” In one fluid motion, he rolled onto the desk and slammed into the assassin, stabbing with both daggers. “I am Death,” he said coldly as the two overturned the chair, landing in a heap.

Nim allowed Victor to do this, because he knew that if he didn’t, the boy would feel robbed of the revenge that he wanted for his friend’s death. He also knew that, like all such revenge, it would be a hollow victory. However, it was better that Victor learn that lesson now instead of later. Nim looked around the room and his gaze fell upon the priest, who was now kneeling in the corner praying.

“So, priest, what do we do with you?” Nim said, walking over to the man.

“Do as you will, Mithriannil. My life is in the service of Death. You have made my Master very happy this night.” He rose slowly and walked towards Nim. When he was close enough, he whispered, “His Champion is turning out nicely. Our master is very pleased.”

“I am no servant of Thom!” Nim said disgustedly.

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Mithriannil. You are one of his better servants, whether you know it or not. You will have a place of honor in the next life.” He continued in the same whispering tone. “You, who have aided in the training of his Champion. You, who is Vengeance incarnate. You, who have yet to complete your role in the molding of the Champion into a weapon of death.” The end of the priest’s statement was through a gurgling mouth as the blade sliced through his throat.

“What was that for?” Zander asked as he walked up behind Nim, who was cleaning his blade.

“He talked too much,” Nim said flatly, giving Zander a look that said he would tell him more later.

“Ah, that he did,” Zander said as he turned towards Victor, who knelt on the desk looking over the man who had been the grand master of this guild. He sat in his chair, five daggers sticking out of him and a look of confusion frozen on his face. “The man was a bit overconfident in his skills.”

“No, he was just a fool.”

Zander nodded, moving over to the shield he had erected around the mage. He began the process of unmaking it, careful to direct the energy contained within towards other sources.

Nim walked over to Victor and lifted him from the desk, setting him on his feet. “Wasn’t quite what you thought it’d be, was it?”

Victor wiped his eyes. “No, it wasn’t. Megan is still dead, and nothing we have done here tonight has made it any better, has it?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We have made it so they cannot do something like this to anyone else. But we need to get home and go to bed. If we don’t join the armies, they may fall apart from grief,” he said with a smile and a wink.

That was one of the things that Zander liked about Nim; even among all of this death, he would still be trying to make his friends laugh. Perhaps it was morbid to laugh after such violence, but it was also cathartic. Zander couldn’t help but add, “Aye, if we leave Cantel and the Theromvores at it, they’ll either end up dead or take all the fun.” Both men looked towards Victor. “Tomorrow afternoon, your real training will begin.”

They started to head for the door, but Victor stopped and looked up as they walked under the trap door that Victor had popped out of. “Hey, Nim?”

“Yes, Victor?”

“Think we can take the stuff they have up there? There’s a whole lot of equipment. If nothing else, we could sell it,” Victor said, his face pensive.

“You know, the boy is right. We are getting old. We almost forgot adventuring rule number one: always take all the treasure. You never know what you’ll need later.” Zander chuckled.

After a moment of thought, Nim said, “Okay. Zander, you go find us a wagon. Victor and I will loot the place. We can take whatever money we find to the churches before we leave, and everything else is for us.”

“No, not for us, Nim,” Zander said calmly.

Nim looked at him surprised. “Not for us? What do you mean?”

“For him.” Zander pointed at Victor. Nim nodded in concession a moment later.

“For me?!” Victor said, confused.

“Aye, you’re gonna need it sooner or later. We might as well start your hoard now. It’s in our blood, lad.” As Zander left the other two to start their search, he added quietly to himself, “It’s in our blood, and stronger in you than in any I’ve seen before.”