Prologue
The Shimmering of Shadows
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“Hold close what you cherish most, else you may find it turned to ash before your eyes.”
- Kithric Erdomet, Scribe of the High Magistrate
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Applause rumbled through the air, shaking the arena as two strong warhorses took to the field. Sat atop these steeds were two knights clad in heavy steel armor. Each knight carried with them a large broadsword, along with a shield kept to their sides as they eyed off against each other.
They clad one knight, the obvious preference of the audience in the most beautiful of armor. This set had a squared helmet with a face-guard shaped in the form of an owl. Attached to both of its sides were two short antlers. They rounded the shoulders, narrow and large. It decorated them with two smaller blades on each side, curved towards the backside.
The other knight, however, dressed in a far more freeing uniform. They fashioned him with a rounded helmet with a loose face-guard shaped in the form of a dragon. Attached to the top were several small spiked talons, scattered all over. As he galloped down the track, he swung his broadsword into the air to draw attention and liven the crowd.
They cheered in reverence as he did so, many of the commoners who had come out to watch the show would cheer for whoever was the most entertaining, so they’d applaud and shout over anything that seemed exciting.
After some time passed for the beginning ceremonies to begin, the crowd quieted down, some returning to their seats so they could watch in comfort. The air filled with an eager silence as the show was about to begin.
The two riders took their places. They faced one another, with only two dozen meters separating them. Their horses kicked into the dirt as the two men adjusted themselves, shuffling their heavy broadswords to their correct sides.
The air turned silent as everyone awaited the declaration.
“Ahem!” a loud cough overtook the arena. The source of this sound was a single older man. He rose to his feet, draped in the most elegant of robes, his fingers covered in more rings than one could imagine, and most of all, atop his head, sat a simple yet ideal crown.
His arms, kept beneath his long and vibrant cloak, slowly raised out, stretching forth to embrace the air before him. “Allow this old man a word before we begin this marvelous duel. From all of my years of ruling, I’ve come to find an appreciation for the simplest of things. From experience, I’ve learned that you must always speak truthfully and not hold anything in, rather than that, I‘ve learned you must be honest to oneself. If you can‘t be honest with yourself, who can you?”
The old monarch paused for a moment to look across the sea of people, all of whom were awaiting the start of the duel. “So please, allow me to tell you all just how pleased I am with how everything has turned out. I’m pleased with our new found peace with Ashon, I’m also pleased with the success of the great markets. Even more so, I’m pleased with the people.”
He nodded his head in approval before continuing, his expression turning more serious and melancholy. “However, most of all, I‘m pleased to announce that my son Gregor, my second-born, shall succeed me during the coming peace negotiations with Ashon. I’ve considered this for quite a while, and I believe this is what I must do for the prosperity of all my denizens.”
His sudden and unexpected declaration caused a flurry of whispers to spread throughout the crowd. To pass the crown onto his heir, a second-born, caused quite an eruption of debate and gossip.
“Now then, I’ve spoken and made my peace. So with that, allow me to say... let the games begin!” The two knights kicked down at their horses as they galloped at each other, broadswords risen to meet each other’s strikes. The crowd had forgotten what the King declared as a newfound sea of shouts and cheers roared out. That, or they were placated and distracted.
As the arena rumbled beneath the excitement that bled through the air, a lone man sat within the waiting corridor. It was a dark room as only one brazier hung from the ceiling, casting only a faint light down to the ground below. Dust rained down from the stone above as the echoing shouts of the noblemen thundered in the background.
The lone man rose to his feet, a single silver coin flipping between his fingers as he cloaked himself in a shadowed cowl.
“Well, it seems I’ve my work cut out for me,” the man spoke to no one in particular, most likely just the air itself.
His steps muffled as he walked through the passage, the sounds of sturdy boots walking above were the only footsteps one could hear.
He whispered again, “Revered God, my deliverer, as I speak I stray further and further from the path of righteousness and closer into darkness. Forgive me, for I did not read your scriptures on the holiest of days, I did not live the life my father wished for me. I accept your punishment, deliver me from evil. Show me your mercy so I may delight in your will.”
He continued mumbling to himself as he lurked through the darkened corridor. In front of the man appeared a sturdy wooden door, one that wasn‘t opened often as they had allowed the dust to build on the ground where the door would swing open. The arena constructors wouldn‘t have used this style of door unless to symbolize the entrance to a private room or section.
He placed his ear against the door, listening for the slightest of sounds.
After hearing nothing, he dragged the door open, his hands becoming almost shadow as he did. By the time he opened the door enough to slip through, he had already transformed. His entire body concealed itself, leaving behind only the faintest of shimmering light as his cloak blended together with the light of the room.
As he moved through the room an almost illusioned shimmer of light followed behind him where every step he took his cloak would adjust to match the ambient lighting and shadows. It was as if he weren’t even there, a mere phantom gliding through empty air.
The entire brickwork shook as the crowd cheered and stomped, marking a climactic moment for the duel. This, however, only exaggerated the limited time that the man had.
“Must hurry before the opportunity escapes me,” he snapped to himself, a voice reverberating through shimmered nothingness.
He winded up through the staircase, climbing up one of the few watchtowers that sat at each of the four corners of the arena. He stopped before arriving on the top level, only to exit the corridor and tuck himself into the corner of a new hallway.
Pacing through the hallway were two decorated guardsmen, complete with full plate armor. They walked back and forth once or twice only to stop as the cheers from outside grew louder. They moved toward an opened window as the torches that hung on the wall had danced, the flames breathing with the wind. The guards began cheering as they watched the duel, their eyes diverted from the rest of the hallway.
The hidden intruder moved closer to them, sneaking across the opposite side of the hallway, practically hugging the brick wall.
His cloak continued to shimmer as light reflected off of him, revealing only a faint illusion as he walked. He moved past them, avoiding their senses as they enjoyed themselves, believing no one was watching.
He was almost to the other end of the hallway when a voice shouted out from behind him. Paused, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” a grown man shouted. “You two, get back to work! Stop loitering!”
“Aye, yes captain,” the two guards replied in unison, both shaken at being called out. They returned to their pacing as they moved further down the hallway from where the intruder had come from.
The intruder had practically choked upon hearing a voice call out like that, but to his surprise and delight, it wasn’t for him. He hurried through the hallway as quickly as he could, if only to escape that place. As he left, he continued down another flight of stairs that sat on one of the other four corners of the arena.
Halfway through descending he stopped at a thin window, a torch hung on the wall next to it as the glass sat open, letting the wind through.
With a single pull, he forced himself through the window, and out onto the outer layers of the wall. Below him was a crowd of people all cheering for their victor, while above him was a brick walkway filled with well-prepared guardsmen. The only way through was to crawl across the banister. It came with a risk, but he couldn’t afford to not take it.
The arena thundered once more as the man could see the two knights charging toward one another, their broadswords swinging down towards their opponent’s shield. It seemed to be an even fight between the two men, which only seemed to excite the crowd even more.
He pushed himself across as his glistening cloak blew in the wind, revealing hints of himself as the wind built.
Ambling, he arrived in the center of the pathway. Below him was his destination. A single balcony with a cloth canopy covering the top. Beneath the canopy were two well-dressed knights with their hands sat comfortably on their swords hilt.
He found a thin divot between the canopy and a spot just behind the two knights, adjusting his footing as he drew out a thin blackened blade from beneath his cloak.
Whispering to himself, “Revered God, my deliverer, forgive this selfish one, for I must send another to greet you. Sustain me so it may alleviate me from my anguish. I plead this of you in your hallowed name, o Revered master. I await your conviction so I may make amends for my actions.”
The wind had covered his prayer as he dived down, landing behind one knight, his steps muffled through magic.
He rose his dagger toward his face, blocking his eyes from the world. He waited, knowing he could only strike when the perfect moment presented itself.
The crowd cheered. A song of death and sorrow played through the assassin’s mind as the thundering sound of applause shook the wind. He brought his dagger to one knight’s throat, ripping it across quickly as the man could only suffer in silent anguish. The other knight turned to look as he heard the odd coughing, and right in front of him, the assassin dived for him, dagger in hand.
Missing his throat, he instead sliced down through his shoulder. The knight moved to draw for his sword, but something stopped him.
He foamed at the mouth as he coughed out a question, “Po-poison?”
Watching the second knight struggle to stand, the assassin moved closer, cutting the man’s throat to end any prolonged misery.
“Go now, to the embrace of the Revered one. Curse me in the afterlife so I may join you all the sooner.”
The assassin moved through the balcony and entered the room which sat next to it. Elegant flags hung throughout the room as a beautiful table waited in the middle. Several odd papers and scrolls littered the table as the assassin made his way through the room.
A single door sat open within the room. The door which led to where the king had placed himself, the royal perch as most would call it. A place where the members of the royal family could oversee the games while also remaining out of sight of the commoners, at least when they sat.
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The assassin approached the door as his heartbeat sped up more than before. He could see through the crack between the doors that there were still people sat outside. Pulling open the doors as his cloak did its best to blend him into the shadows, he snuck closer, lurking just out of view.
“Now don’t be like that, it’ll all work out,” the old King said to another younger man who sat to his side. They were arguing about something.
“Father, how could you leave everything to Gregor of all people? Why didn’t you talk with me about this beforehand?” the other man, a Prince, asked in frustration. “You must understand… Gregor has never been good with conflict. You can leave him a well-preserved egg and he’d treasure it, but the moment a crack shows itself he’d toss it out.”
The King chuckled to himself as he tried reasoning, “Oh Adrien, you and your stories.”
“Father!” Prince Adrien shouted, “This isn’t a story, this isn’t a hypothetical. Leaving the country to Gregor will be the death of us!”
Just as everything was heating up, an elderly woman intervened. She turned her attention toward Prince Adrien and shook her head, “Oh my poor son, I know it may seem unfair to you now… but with time you’ll come to find this a godsend. Ruling a nation is not a fun task, nor a simple one. Let your brother handle it, not only will he enjoy it but he’ll have plenty of able hands around to provide him with help.”
“Mother, don’t cover for father, please. He must know how much of a horrible idea this is. You said it best mother, how Gregor will need help throughout his rule, but as you know, it’s my brother who will rule as King, not those helpers. He’s unpredictable. Do you wish to hand over this country to him when he could bring everything to ruin in an instant? I wouldn‘t trust him to hold a sword… to rule a country? Absolutely not!”
From within the shadows of the balcony, a lingering mirage sat there, shimmering away as moonlight befell upon the horizon. The audience continued to cheer as someone delivered yet another strike between the knights caught in a duel. As the audience cheered, so did the King, as he let loose several calming claps to show his approval and interest.
“Now now Adrien, your brother shall succeed me and that’s final. Come morning I shall sign the decree and the throne will be his.”
Prince Adrien lowered his head in defeat as he lifted himself up, “If that’s the case… I have much to do before the night is through. If you’ll excuse me, mother, father.”
With that the Prince left, leaving through the door which had remained open. Passing the cloaked intruder without even realizing it.
Now was the perfect time. It was now or never since the Prince would discover the two bodies outside if given enough time. If he could alert the guards beforehand it would become nigh-near impossible to strike from surprise.
The assassin made another prayer, this time in his head. It took only a moment before he once more drew out his poisoned dagger. His shimmering black cloak rose as he approached from behind the royal family.
“Oh, that boy… sometimes I don’t know what I’ll do with him,” the King grumbled to his wife. “What we’re doing for the boy isn’t too cruel, is it?”
“Oh heavens no, my dear Feodor. He’ll learn to love and appreciate what you’ve done, sparing him the responsibilities of the throne. Now he’ll be able to live a much less restrained life, able to even travel and marry the woman of his choice and not just some princess.”
“Heh,” King Feodor chuckled to himself, “I was lucky enough to marry the woman of my choice.”
His wife blushed, “Oh stop, our sons still inside.”
Feodor looked out over the crowd as his line of sight turned away, “Just look at them. Adoring people, not even knowing how close we came to war with those damn Ashics.”
There were no cheeky responses to his comment. Feodor turned to look, perhaps his wife had been drinking from her glass. “My love?”
What he saw was unsightly. Two bloodshot eyes stared over at him, the owner of these eyes being his wife. A disgusting crimson liquid washed down her neck as a cloaked marauder stood behind her chair, a dagger in hand as the man turned his attention towards Feodor. Just like that, someone had taken his wife from him. So suddenly, so horribly.
He could practically feel his fingers grasping his wives’, the two so intertwined as to become lost in their own little world repeatedly. What he was feeling, however, was her bloodsoaked arm as he had plunged himself at her.
“No! My beloved! No, ahHh!”
The assassin spoke up, his voice sharp and venomous. “Revered God, eternal light in the darkness,” he moved to position himself behind the King as he continued to preach, “I must relieve my heart of sin. I fell from the path, I broke a promise I should’ve kept.”
“Keep away from me you bastard!” Feodor shouted as he grabbed for a sword which sat at his feet. He was no longer a master, nor was he capable of even fending off the average knight, but he had to try something. His would-be killer went on, “Relieve me of my sins, heal me of these self-inflicted wounds.”
“AhHhh!” Feodor struck out with his sword. All of his shouting covered by the cheering of the crowd, the sounds of the two steel blades colliding was only background noise to the dueling knights as one strike after another landed.
“I accept your retribution so I may rid myself of this guilt and live life afresh.”
“AahHhh,” Feodor coughed out as the assassin’s dagger pierced through his lower abdomen. Without pause the King’s attacker slashed his dagger forward again, this time aiming for the veins hidden beneath his wrists.
King Feodor fell backward as it struck him, knocking a chair over as he hit the floor. His crown fell from his head as he could feel blood sliding along his arm and down to his fingers. It’s warmth soon turned cold and, as it reached the tips of his fingers, the droplets fell to the ground, soaking the ground red.
Feeling dizzy, King Feodor saw the world as it spun around him. He momentarily paused as it overcame him with sickness, the poison had taken its toll. “My so-sons…” the King coughed out through bloodied breathes.
Tired, he felt so tired. He thought he’d take a nap, a quick one. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open any longer, he needed to rest. Everything seemed to come to a halt as his eyes slowly folded in on each other, one final nap he thought.
King Feodor had moved on to another life, leaving his body and world behind. His assassin stood over him as he lamented over the loss of this man and of the act of taking his life.
The assassin didn’t have long to mourn, however, as a shriek of anguish echoed out through the arena, cutting through the cheer of the arena at last. Everyone present looked dazed and confused as no one could locate the source of the scream.
“Guards, guards come quick! My God… father… no!” The young Prince Adrien had returned, perhaps hoping to handle the situation after some consideration. It was only by horrible happenstance that his father and mother was taken from this world mere moments ago.
Prince Adrien rushed forward as he tore out one of the decorated swords that had hung on the mantle of the room.
“You son of a bitch, you’ll pay with your accursed life!”
The assassin side-stepped the Prince’s swing, bringing his own dagger up to counter-attack. His blade struck against the sword, creating a sharp clang that shot out into the arena.
“Little Lord…” He spoke matter-of-factly, “It was not your life I had come here for, stand down.”
“Stand down?!” Prince Adrien coughed out as he lifted his sword back into the air in an act of bravado. He brought the blade down toward the assassin’s shoulder, hoping to carve him clear through.
The assassin’s dagger came up to match it. He needed both of his arms up, bracing.
“Ugh,” the cloaked marauder coughed out as Adrien’s sword smashed into his dagger. The Prince dashed forward again as he shouted out in teary breathe, “You’ll die for what you’ve done to mother and father! Only your head will satisfy me!”
The two continued exchanging blows as the King’s knights arrived within the room, surrounding the nest where they fought. The assassin moved slower than usual as he shot a glance around, taking in the surrounding situation. He held restraint in his fight with the young Prince as any skilled assassin would with someone who was not the specified target.
“Young lord, I beseech you one last time. I am not here for you, so halt your blade and instead mourn your loss.”
The Prince ignored the man’s request, as it had been a foolish and idiotic request, instead opting for another barrage of strikes. He rushed forward once again, sword in hand.
“Revered God, guardian of souls, please grant me your audience. Kindle my inner fire so I might overcome this obstacle—” he prayed again, however, Prince Adrien’s brutal attacks interrupted him midway through.
A heavy strike came crashing down near his arm, with enough power behind it to crack stone.
The assassin hesitated none longer, allowing his body to form into midnight and shadows. As if becoming one with the illusion himself. His body faded, disorienting his opponent just enough to delay his attack.
He rushed out the end of the prayer, “I plead this of you in your almighty name, my Revered Master. Anoint me with your illustrious soul.”
Upon completing his prayer, something within the air changed. A pressure almost, as if some dark magic had descended upon the freshly arrived night sky. The force of pressure was just enough to cause the Prince and his knights to show hesitation and fear as they froze in their steps.
The assassin didn’t waste this opportunity as he turned back around toward the end of the King’s nest, overlooking the arena. He jumped up, landing on the lip of the nest, nearest the railings. As soon as he stepped out onto the edge, his shape came into view as the crowd chattered to themselves.
An intruder, within the King’s nest? Whatever could this mean? Those were the questions that spread through the crowd the quickest.
“Farewell, little Lord. Perhaps any other day and you might’ve caught me, but I’m afraid that within the shroud of Night I held the advantage. Also, you may not understand, no, I know you don’t understand, but I am truly remorseful for your loss. If only there could’ve been another way...”
With that, he jumped down from the nest. He landed near the public seating as he dashed forward into the crowd of witnesses. As he did this a panic spread through the crowd as they found themselves involved in the conflict with no prior warning. Using his mysterious magic, he faded into the crowd as if being swallowed by the sheer number of people. Just as quickly as he arrived, the cloaked assailant disappeared from view as the fresh moonlight embraced him.
“My lord!” One knight shouted out as he saluted the Prince, who only now had time to look at his parents. “I’ve ordered the King’s guard to oversee your protection. Also, the knights… I’ll make sure they turn the entire arena upside-down to find that man.”
The Prince ignored him. No, he couldn’t hear him as he was lost in thought.
“Mother…” Adrien murmured out, “Father.”
He took a moment to recollect himself, and even then he was hanging on by a strand. He turned to face the guards who surrounded him, and with a quiet, hiccuped breathe he ordered. “Bring me that bastard’s head…”