The wind blew in Noch’s face as he soared through the air. Clothed in rough hide gloves, his hands clung tightly to the tendril of vine. A single slip of his fingers spelled death. No. There will be no death—except his target’s.
He remembered the pain of the blows that tore his lip, the torture... but he smiled. Revenge. The only word on Noch’s lips. He swung through the jungle, passing huge Valhalla trees taller than the castle of the capital, and he prayed to Amaris.
O high almighty Lord
Of blood, poison, and death.
I offer mine own pitiful life
In bargain for thy blessing.
Guide my soul as I stain my hands.
There is no god, but Barrus would beat him if he didn’t say it before his job. He made the mistake of forgetting once years ago and has since made it a habit, even when alone.
He landed on one of the branches, crouching and adjusting the straps on his pack. He reached down and touched the wet wood, marveling at its strength. It was so thick, his landing barely made it vibrate. In the distance, the green fog made a barrier to his sight, but he could already see the first of the outer houses. He’d have to be more careful once he passed it.
For now, he’d climb higher.
Drawing one of his many blades, he jumped and stabbed it into the tree, through the slippery surface, and into the rock solid wood underneath. The star steel held as he put his weight on it and he drew another knife, driving that blade into the wood as well. Using the strength of his arms alone, he pulled himself up. Slowly, he climbed the Valhalla until he was almost at the top, stopping on a thinner but equally solid branch.
The fog was much lighter this high up, and there, the sprawling city of the Rundra almost glowed in the falling dusk. Nestled in the swamp, it was easily defensible against any army. However, things were a bit different if a single shadow like him was sent with a target. He ground his teeth, lips splitting into a feral grin.
Using the last of the day’s light, he looked over his target’s portrait again, but in truth, there was no need. His target’s face will forever remain in his mind, a burden.
It was no coincidence that he accepted this job.
Reaching within himself, he pulled on a strand of magic and pushed on the runes of a metal cube in his hands. A soft glow covered his hands, growing to envelop him before fading away, merged with the mists. His legs tingled as the magic settled.
Then he jumped, landing on a branch below, bending his knees all the way as he absorbed the impact. He descended further and further, until he was on the floor of the swamp, up to his ankles in water. Being careful not to splash, he snuck forward, keeping low to the ground.
One...two...three, three lookouts. No doubt there were more. Reaching into his pack, he took out a set of clothes. He changed quickly, careful not to undo his bindings. Looking down into the brackish water as he finished, he nodded. With tight stalker attire swapped for the native flowing shirts and tunic, and treated hide boots replacing the finely worked leather shoes, he strode out from the cover of the tree a different person. He looked just like a Rundric boy with his olive skin, small build and short hair.
He waved to one of the lookouts. The watchman barely gave him a glance and nodded before his eyes shifted back to the jungle. Noch tapped a finger to his chest and bowed in thanks, smiling.
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Although a low fence ringed Rundra, the majority of the city itself was much higher up, built into and around the Valhalla trees. Complex ladders, ropes, and stairs connected airborne platforms, linking the city together. It was possible to go from one end of the city to the other without touching the ground. Adopting the cheerful mannerism of a young boy, he sprinted toward a ladder, dodging carts and beasts that walked the plank roads constructed above the treacherous ground.
Tracing the route he memorized on the map earlier, he jumped up and climbed higher toward one of the taller buildings, half of it nestled inside the Valhalla tree it rested on.
Warriors patrolled the pathways around it, but Noch merely jumped down and climbed the tree directly, pushing a third cube and releasing the spell within. Light bent around him. Slowly, he pulled himself over the fence, suppressing a burst of vertigo that made his mind spin.
And then he was in.
The building was so familiar, like it hadn’t changed at all in the past decade. It housed Trekta Sais, leader of Rundra, his target.
Noch had been here before. Picking the lock, he eased the door open quietly and stepped into the warm interior of the building. A small fire crackled unattended in a fireplace, the smoke drifting up into the chimney but otherwise, the room was silent.
Where was his target?
He opened a second door, one that led into the tree itself. A tunnel hacked out of the wood and sanded smooth confronted him. A strange feeling of deja vu struck him but he shook his head. He entered the room beyond, daggers out.
And there he found him, his target, a middle-aged man behind a desk.
The man looked up. “Who are you?” he asked. “Do you have some business with me?”
Slipping into the Rundric accent, Noch answered. “No, I’m your killer.”
The man’s eyes widened and his chair crashed to the ground. He dove to the side for a hanging rope, but Noch’s dagger sliced through the air and impaled the man’s hand. Trekta stared at the blood welling up around the blade in shock, and not until seconds later did it occur to him to scream.
Noch stared at him. Then he sighed and stepped on the writhing man’s wrist. He reached down and pulled the knife from his hand. The flow of blood redoubled, a small pool forming on the floor. Wiping the blood on the cowering man’s body, he stood back, listening to his target’s sobs.
“Please, don’t kill me. Who sent you? I can…—”
Noch’s dagger thunked into the wood next to the man’s face and the man froze, tears spilling. “You think this is about money?”
The man shook his head slowly, speechless. He was already backed up against the wall, but he floundered as if the wood would absorb him to be one with Valhalla.
“No. Once I heard about the order on your head, I rushed to take it. Look at my face, old man, and tell me what you see.” Without giving him a chance to comply, he slapped him and followed with a cuff. “Do you see who I am?”
Sprawled on the floor, the man shook his head, hands out to ward off a blow. Noch took off a finger. “I’ll give you a hint. I once called you father,” he said as the man writhed on the floor, desperately trying to stop the bleeding hand.
Trekta stared. “Riva?”
Noch kicked him. “That would’ve been correct nine years ago. She no longer exists.” He smiled. “She died when you sold your daughter into slavery, right here in this room. Because you, my worthless father, gambled everything away. Imagine my surprise when I heard you went from beggar to councilor in three years. Did selling me sober you?” He plunged the dagger into Trekta’s knee, shattering the cap as he twisted the blade.
“When the man you sold me to died, did you ever think about what became of me? Yirvic was a sick man, and he did things to me that I will forever remember. Barrus, my master, took a contract on him, but when he gave me a knife and told me to leave, I killed Yirvic with my own hands. In hopes that my master would kill me, I demanded the money for the kill. He took me in instead. But he would only teach a son...
“So now, you see, I’m no longer Riva, that weak girl, your daughter. I’m Noch, a Shadow of Amaris, here to repay you for all the kindness you have shown me.”
Noch stared at the man under him. Trekta’s face was unrecognizable, torn to a bloody pulp as he stabbed and slashed with his dagger. A spear of regret stabbed Noch in the heart but he brushed it away. Trekta’s end came all too quickly, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He wiped the gore from his dagger onto Trekta’s clothes then sheathed it. Without a backward glance, he cloaked himself once more and left.
Will his master, his father, be proud?