Assassin

The First Chapter

         “Kill them,” he said, lifting the glass of spiced wine to his lips.
         The hooded men nodded and left the room quietly, closing the door behind them, leaving the single man alone in the dark, drinking his wine.

         The hooded men moved silently through the night, coming upon the garden entrance to an ornately carved and decorated stone mansion.  They stalked the shadows, holding slim daggers in their fists, hidden under the sleeves of their long robes. 
         When they were within striking distance, two of the men jumped out of the shadows and caught the door guards, killing them instantly with stabs to the heart.  The last three men moved up to the door and kicked it in.  They would have to move fast now.
         All five of the men threw off their robes, letting them fall to the ground and revealing tight black shirts that wouldn’t get in the way of their hands in the middle of fights, and baggy black pants that allowed for freedom of movement.  Their feet were slippered instead of booted for silence and speed.
         They killed several more guards as they sprinted through the halls, all in complete silence except for the smashing of the back door.  The alarm was limited to a small area of the mansion, since the noise couldn’t be heard through most of the thick stone walls.
         They reached two large wooden doors and silently pushed them open, filing inside and spreading out.  Two figures slept in a huge bed.  Four of the assassins glided over, two on each side of the bed, and the fifth covered the entrance.
         The two figures were dragged out of bed, gags stuffed into their mouths to prevent their screams from reaching anyone’s ears.  The assassins bound their hands and feet and carried out of the bedroom and out of the mansion.
         Two of the assassins stayed behind in the house, and when the other three and the two hostages were clear, they each grabbed a lamp from the walls, pulled out a small flask of oil from their sashes and poured them all over the thick lush carpets.  They ran out of the mansion and threw the lanterns inside.  Fire exploded inside the entrance with a loud whoosh! 
         The two outlined figures ran to their companions and turned to watch the fire burn.  Servants, guards, and the two hostage’s children were all caught in the inferno.  Their screams resounded throughout the night.  One of the men bent down and grabbed the male hostage’s hair, pulling his head back and whispering, “Compliments of Delay Iaster,” and he slit his throat.  The woman was next.
         

         Huge, burly men with spiked armbands and thick swords on their backs pushed their way through the crowd.  In their center was Delay Iaster, a corrupt wealthy governor from an out-of-the-way little town who terrorized farmers and peasants into giving up all of their money, and had funded several murders in his political striving.  A large, bulging sack of gold coins hung from the overweight man’s belt, and he fondled it every so often, making sure it was still there; as if he would miss the relatively small amount, compared to what he had blackmailed and stolen from his people and probably still had stashed at his mansion.
         Shadows coalesced into a running form, bounding along the building fronts, dodging people and jumping over crates and barrels.  Shouts followed the fleeting form every once in a while as someone registered its passing as more than just a slight breeze.
         Wind tugged at the form’s black garments as it ran, the tail end of a sash whipping out behind it, and its baggy pants making a soft snapping sound.  A wickedly-curved dirk was gripped in the form’s pumping fist, held with the point facing toward the figure’s back.
         The figure leaped onto a crate, using it as a step to jump onto a larger one.  The figure landed on the top of the wooden box, sun finally landing on it.  Short brown hair shone in the light, and lean muscles bulged on the young man’s arms and on his legs under the fabric of his pants as he touched down, landing on all fours, then using all of his strength to throw himself off the crate.
         The young man sailed through the air, flipping at just the right time to clear the guard’s heads.  He landed on Iaster’s back, and before the two of them even hit the ground slammed his dirk into the man’s neck.  Delay had time enough to heave one grunt before he hit the ground, and the young man was off.
         He dove feet first between the legs of the front guard as he turned to see what the commotion was, sliding his dripping dagger along the inside of the man’s thigh, slicing the femoral artery.  The guard dropped to the ground as the young man rolled and sprung to his feet, already sprinting toward the nearest alley, deftly passing between unsuspecting townsfolk.  The rest of the guards gave chase, pushing people out of their way as they tried to catch the assassin. 
         As the young man reached the alley, he threw himself into the air, twisted, pulled two small throwing knives out of his sash and with a flick of his wrist sent them flying at the guards, killing two more as they pulled themselves free from the milling crowd.  He landed softly on the ground, dashing around the corner as soon as he rose. 
         They entered the alley at a run, turning the corner the young man had taken and skidding to a halt.  The guards growled in frustration.  Only a dead end greeted them.
         Back in the street, people gathered around the dead body of Delay Iaster.  His coin purse was gone.
         
         The doors to the church were always open, at all times of the day and night.  Jonas passed underneath the ornate stone archway.  He kept to the shadows of the building, even once inside, out of force of habit.  He walked over to the donation pot and pulled a bulging sack of gold coins from his sash.  He emptied the bag of gold inside the pot, stuffing the limp leather back inside his sash and disappearing back into the street.  The church had a reputation for clothing and feeding the poor.


         “I don’t have the money to pay you right now,” the man pleaded, on his knees, before Trevor Kurney, a tall, dark haired man with cold eyes.
         Kurney turned away from the kneeling man, and puffed on his cigar.  Looking over his shoulder with a look of contempt, he said “Well, you do have something I desire.  Maybe we could make a bargain.”
         The man look confused.  “Sir, I am just a poor farmer, I do not see what I have that you could possibly want.”
         Trevor Kurney smiled, and a sense of victory filled him.  He knew the man could not possibly refuse him now.  “Oh but you do.  Your daughter has become a very beautiful young woman.  Perhaps, if you were to give her to me, your debts could be settled.”
         
         A bruise covered Sonia’s cheek.  Tears streamed down her face as she stood naked in front of Trevor Kurney.  Only fifteen years old, and she had just been sold by her father to this man that used her in ways that made her feel sick.
         She could feel other eyes roaming across her body.  Trevor had invited his friends over to heighten her humiliation.  Her skin prickled and her stomach churned.  She felt like throwing up.  She knew the things that were going to happen to her in a very short time.
         Sonia squeezed her eyes shut as hands started to roam across her flesh.  She retreated somewhere deep inside of her and silently endured the torture.

         A figure lurked in behind the hedges near the rear entrance to the mansion.  The cold, well-fitted stones that made up the exterior wall of the house did not provide any hand- or foot-holds for climbing.  The house belonged to a man named Trevor Kurney, a smuggler, thief, and ruthless loan shark.  It was rumored that he lent money to people with young beautiful daughters, and then blackmailed them into turned their daughters over to him.
         The figure pulled a curved dagger from the back of its sash.  The blade had been scorched  and sanded to a dull color, keeping moonlight from reflecting off of it. 
         The young man took a deep breath, tensed his muscles and leaped over the hedge.  The shadows parted before him like a curtain as he flew through the air, landing silently behind the first guard and slamming the dagger home between two vertebrae in his back, making the heavily muscled man’s legs useless.  As the guard hit the ground with a dull thud and prepared a scream, the figure sliced his throat, then sprang at the just reacting second guard.
         The man hit the ground with a wet gurgle, his head nearly severed from his shoulders.  The young man wiped his dagger clean and picked the lock on the door, entering the mansion, and closing the door behind him silently.
         He crept through the mansion, which was free of guards.  Trevor Kurney was too confident in the high spiked gates and heavily armed guards surrounding his house.  The figure silently slipped past doors, where sounds of snoring men wafted into the hallway.  The young man’s skin crawled as he though about why these men were here.
         As he came to a paid of grand, double doors, the figure took another deep breath and threw open the doors, rushing inside.  Trevor Kurney sat bolt upright in his bed and yelled “Who are-” before the figure’s hand clamped down tightly on his throat, cutting off the question.  Before Kurney could react, the assassin slammed the pommel of his dirk against Kurney’s temple, knocking him unconscious. 
         The assassin worked quickly, pulling Kurney out of his bed, throwing open the windows with the small box of flowers clipped onto it, and throwing Kurney over his shoulders before climbing out of the window, and using a drain pipe along side it to scale to the roof.  Pulling rope from the small pack on his back, the figure set to work in the moonlight. 
         As he had been paid to do, the assassin stabbed Kurney repeatedly, killing him in the most gruesome manner possible at that very moment in time.  The figure quickly stripped the body of clothes and carved letters onto Kurney’s chest.  He then tied the arms together at the wrist, and pushed the body over the side after tying the other end of rope to a chimney stack. 
         The young man quickly slid back down the pipe and into Kurney’s window, leaving the room and shutting the doors to prevent discovery for as long as possible.  One by one, the lone assassin searched each and every door on the second floor of the mansion, pinning notes to the pillows beside the sleeping men who had participated in the revolting activities of the past week.
         After finishing that task, he came to the last room, which was locked from the outside.  He quickly picked the lock and opened the door, sliding into the room and closing it behind him.  A young girl lay in bed clearly asleep, but tossing as if she were having bad dreams.  She was also completely naked.
         The young man knelt beside her and gently shook her awake.  As she started, he clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her yell.  He shushed her and said “I’m here to save you.”  Hope crept into the girl’s eyes as he slowly let go of her mouth and pulled out the remaining contents of the pack: a pair of pants and a shirt.
         She quickly got dressed and the girl’s savior grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the room and quickly pulling her down the hall in the direction from which he had come.  Once free of the house, he let go of her arm and pushed her, getting her to run  to the edge of Kurney’s lands.  As they came to the gates, the girl stopped, but the young man jumped up and grabbed the horizontal support bar, wrapping on arm around it and reaching down to pull the girl up.  From there, they shimmied their way up the bars, over the fence, and into the trees beyond.

         As day dawned, a crowd of people from the nearby town began to gather in front of Kurney’s mansion.  The guards kept everyone off of the rich smuggler’s lands, but they had no power on the cobble stone street that led out through the main gates.  Some people stared in horror, but the majority of the people had a look of satisfaction on their faces as they stared toward the ornate dwelling.
         Blowing gently in the breeze, hanging from the roof of his own house was the naked body of Trevor Kurney.  Blood still dripped from his toes from the numerous stab wounds inflicted to his chest and abdomen  However, the most prominent injury were the letters carved into his chest: RAPIST.

         Jonas stood in a doorway with a beautiful, but haunted young woman next to him in loose fitting black clothes.  Together they stared at the body dangling from the roof.
         Jonas turned to Sonia and took her hand.  For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, and take her away to be his bride, and he her knight in shining armor.  Instead, he pressed a pouch of gold coins into her palm and said “Make a new life for yourself somewhere.”  Jonas swiftly disappeared around the corner.
         She stepped out of the doorway and looked around corner Jonas had just disappeared around.  He was nowhere to be seen.




         




         


~Sean~
"It is better to have people think you a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." -Abraham Lincoln


~Sean~
"It is better to have people think you a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." -Abraham Lincoln