1 The Assassin and the Lady - A Short Story

The glaring sun beat down upon his broad shoulders, making the cape he wore feel heavier than it was. Persistent footfalls chased eagerly behind him, dashing across the crowded streets and along narrow alleyways. People scurried out of the way to make room for the shouting men in pursuit of his bolting figure. Their coarse voices were not far enough for him to scale one of the brick buildings. He'd have to lose them by improvising.

The assassin quickly scanned the busy market square in front of him, his gaze soon locking on a wagon filled with tons of barrels. There was no driver, leaving a free escape for him. He took a sharp right turn and hastily hopped onto the brown stallion, taking the reins and sending a kinetic wave to the halter.

"Hya!"

The horse kicked its hooves into the air - nearly knocking him off - before speeding down the cobblestone road where various groups of villagers were casually strolling by. The wind whipped at the back of his cape, flailing it around like a tree branch caught in a storm. Although the pounding of hooves against the earth was easy to detect, not everyone had the ability to jump out of the way in time. This brought the assassin to redirect his path multiple times, slowing him down considerably. One couple was almost squashed to death if it weren't for the husband's quick reflexes when he shoved both himself and his wife out of the way.

Following this event, he was met with a crowd of chickens plucking determinately at the dirt. One of them spotted him from the side and began flapping their wings as a warning. Each of the chickens scurried out of the way as quickly as their nimble legs could, clucking frantically like they knew it was a matter of life and death.

The assassin shot his head back to spot his pursuers, meeting only three who were lucky enough to have found horses by chance. He jerked at the lead one last time before tying it to the side of the wooden bench he sat on. He then lifted himself into a crouching position, his arms reaching for the knife attached to his belt. He unbuckled the blade from its sheath, placing it in between his teeth as he skulked towards the thick ropes which held the barrels in tact. Every so often the wagon would shift from its general direction, threatening to send him flying off to his death.

Once he had a firm hold on the side of the wagon, he took the knife from his mouth and began cutting vigorously. Droplets of sweat started to run down his forehead, taken away by the lashings of untamable wind. The wagon took a sudden swerve to the right, sending him stumbling near the very edge of the wagon. He held his breath, catching himself swiftly before his right leg fell off. Soon, he propped himself back to where he was originally with the help of gravity. With pounding temples and a hammering heart, he continued to cut at the stubborn strands of fiber.

One by one, the chopped ropes broke off on their own, sending dozens of barrels rolling onto the ground. The height at which the barrels fell were able to break them, splattering gushes of wine juice and drenching the streets in red. One of the horses in pursuit stopped their sprint completely as the wine hit their eyes, forcing a shrieking rider forwards with their head first. The two other riders continued to tear on through unaffected.

He turned his head back to the front, spotting the gates of Heldron completely shut with at least thirty guards posted with their shields drawn. His thoughts were racing against time. The wagon drew closer and closer to the dead end where he would meet a most unwelcome fate. One option would be to make a left turn that would send him past many two-story houses - ultimately leading him back to the market square. Alternatively, a right turn would lead him to a smithy and two inns. Truthfully, there was no escape; at least nothing that a foreigner would know of.

He recalled the rectangular hole in the ground where water fled in near the smithy. It had rusted iron bars in the stone wall it went under, but there was a specific place where he could always swim through without getting caught. The rushing waters would render him imperceivable by the guards and give him time to escape.

His attention landed on the two traces which kept the wagon fastened to the horse's breast-band. Within less than a minute, he pulled on the reins harshly, commanding the horse to make a turn. As they galloped in between the stone wall and a tall building, he cut off the traces. The wagon collapsed behind as deadweight and blocked the way for the other riders to pass through. While his pursuers were temporarily setback, he continued towards the sound of running water that signified his freedom.

Just as the horse was about to jump over the stream, he hopped off, landing into the cold water and allowing it to engulf him entirely. All he could hear was the sound of intense water beating him down. His arms felt for a specific narrow hole in the iron bars, still trying to hold his breath for a while longer. The harsh beating in his chest threatened his oxygen levels. Suddenly, his right hand passed through a small gap, leading his entire person to attempt a barely passable cavity. He felt himself slip halfway through before his cape caught on one of the broken iron bars. It tore the material as well the side of his stomach. A sting of pain shot through his nerves, yet he pretended it didn't exist. He didn't hesitate to unbutton the hoodie, freeing himself from the unnecessary weight of the cloak.

His body automatically rose to the surface of the moving river, gasping and coughing out bits of bacterial water. Using both of his trembling arms, he hauled himself out of the strong current of water, his clothes heavy like bags of sand. At this point, he knew it would be impossible to run for so long out in the open now that the entire Legion was after him.

He peered down at his hands which had red marks on them from the reins... some of it was blood; someone else's blood. There was plenty of other women his anonymous contractor could have chosen, and yet they wanted Lady Sylvia dead. He could only assume that it was her fiancé who wanted her gone for being unfaithful. Much of it had been rumors, but no one had ever witnessed Lady Sylvia deny her interest towards a mysterious suitor whom has not been identified yet.

The assassin slowly stood from the damp grass, breathing in the unbearable air of the outside world that chose to hate on commoners like him. People born without a name to them were cast out like orphans and forgotten by their own family. The wind had never felt so cunning and manipulative in that moment. It was impossible to tell the difference between sweat and liquid water. And just when he thought all was calming down, an arrow flew past his cheek, followed by a swift swoosh of wind that brushed against his cold ears. He took off running, darting here and there while aiming towards the mountains beyond.

Dozens of arrows now swarmed the field. A few made their way into the side of his leg or back, but he kept his pace up no matter the warm rivers of blood that ran down his skin. He could feel the metal ripping into his flesh and leaving nasty marks. He was now just barely limping his way behind a large boulder. Taking a few deep breathes, the assassin forced himself to continue onwards down a trail while drops of blood followed behind.

Grey clouds soon came rolling in from above, sending down a harsh shower and soaking the dry earth. His right foot slipped, sending him face forwards onto the dirt road, completely still and struggling to control his heaving breathes. It felt as if he had taken a harsh beating by multiple whips. The strong rainfall surrounded him like a blanket, tearing through his clothes like needles. The heavy droplets of water washed away the redness of his attire and stinging the flesh with arrows still lodged in them.

Although his sight was murky as the rain covered his face, he could faintly make out a pair of white slippers with splashes of red around the edges. They brought themselves down to a squat, revealing their blurry face. He found himself strangely captivated by the figure's brilliant blond hair with glimmering viridescent or oceanic eyes. The physical features of the figure were feminine. He noticed there was a small, stringlike hole in their chest where the heart was located. This particular heart appeared to be missing.

"L-Lady Sylvia?"

His trepidation was soon replaced by utter shock as a sharp dagger was plunged into his beating heart. The last thing he could hear was a quiet whisper of Lady Sylvia's ghost echoing within his last moments:

"No one escapes from the dead..."

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