Assassin's Tale: The Mission

Shialyth pulled his hood closer around his head, tightened the straps keeping his tail fixed to the inside of his cloak, and slipped out of the shadowy alleyway into the light of day. Difficult as it was for the tall leopard not to stand out, he had become an expert by now at using his height to his advantage, scanning the crowds and finding the exact right spot where he could most effectively disappear into the masses.

He crossed the seemingly never-ending stream of traffic flowing through the city of Gannan, the capital of doBaakharil.  A mix of tall, lean anthros and short, stocky humans travelled back and forth into and out of the bazaar. At the center of the well-worn dirt street, he turned left and let his movement match that of the dozens of everyday citizens who were going about their normal lives. He headed south, making his way towards the palace.

As he passed the stand of a merchant selling brass cookware, Shialyth used the reflection in one of the pans to look at the street behind him. Good, he thought, the guard-dog at the crossroads hadn't noticed anything, and still leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, his paws therefore nowhere near his scimitar. He would have been easy enough for Shialyth to eliminate, but the leopard's instructions were to carry out his mission without any anthro bloodshed. "Even those who have been enslaved in service to the Occupiers deserve the opportunity to win back their freedom," the Elder had said, "once we reclaim the land as our own." Shialyth didn't like working with restrictions, especially on a task as personal as this one, but at least it made the job more challenging -- really the highest honor of a master assassin like himself.

Continuing into the marketplace, he noticed that there seemed to be much more activity than normal, as if everyone knew that something big was going to happen today and wanted to come out to take a look. Too bad, he thought, snarling to himself, I don't work for an audience. He continued down the street, not stopping for any of the merchants who tried to grab his attention and get him to buy their fine rugs, pottery, or other assorted goods. When they took ahold of his arm, he would just quickly and forcibly shake them off, never acknowledging them, never letting them see what lay underneath the hood. The less they saw, the less they would remember.

Unfortunately, one merchant made the mistake of choosing not to leave him alone. "Hello, my friend," the round, jovial bear said, jumping straight in front of Shialyth's path. His thick accent indicated that the bear hailed from up north in ziBaakharil, a very rare sight to see in the southern continent of doBaakharil, thanks to the humans' anti-immigration laws. "I have just the thing for you, perfect clothing for you to take charge on the day, any day."

Shialyth rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep him, but the bear anticipated his movements and shifted his large but surprisingly agile girth to block him. "Lovely robe, fit for a king. Made from finest cloth in all Baakharil, thread feels like angels' hair. Tall handsome man like you would turn many heads wearing it. Yours today for only fifteen silvers."

Shaking his head, Shialyth tried stepping around the bear again. "I'm not interested," he said in his low, gravelly voice. He turned away slightly, trying to avoid his face being seen.

The merchant, however, persisted. "Come, come, step over to my cart. We make deal. Fifteen silvers too much? How about thirteen? It's a steal at that price; the cloth alone cost me twice that."

Annoyed, Shialyth knew he didn't have time to spare. He needed to take some action here or else potentially lose his opportunity to get to the target. Instinct told him to just quickly slash his claw across the bear's throat, silencing him permanently. But no matter how satisfying that would feel, he couldn't make a scene, or the element of stealth, his greatest advantage, would be ruined. Gritting his teeth, he fetched a large coin from his pocket and shoved it into the bear's paw. "Here," he grumbled. "Ten silver."

"My friend," the bear said, "I can't possibly let it go for any less than twelve. My cubs haven't had meat in three weeks, and--"

Cutting the bear off, Shialyth threw two more small coins at him. The bear smiled. "Thank you, my feline friend. You will be most satisfied." As the bear lumbered back to his cart to put the money away, Shialyth quietly slipped back into the crowd, heading out of sight as quickly as he could while still remaining inconspicuous. The bear looked up and noticed that his customer no longer stood waiting for him, calling out, "Wait, friend, you forgot your robe!" But the leopard had already vanished from sight.

Minutes later, Shialyth stood at the plaza right in front of the gothic stone towers of the Holinarium. Though it looked ancient, the building had stood for barely fifty years, built shortly after the human country Monteguez had conquered doBaakharil. In an attempt to establish their presence in the new world, the Monteguans had destroyed all the anthros' ritual sites for Kazu (literally translated as "the old customs," the closest resemblance to religion anthros had before the Occupation), and had built massive cathedrals to their own god, such as the Holinarium, modeled after the religious buildings from their homeland. Shialyth's father was one of many the Monteguans had temporarily enslaved to construct the new buildings, generating a resentment towards the human race that passed down through bloodlines.

While the stone construction, pointed archways, and flying buttresses of the Holinarium were very much out of place in the middle of Gannan, the large marble palace across the plaza stuck out even more, but for very different reasons. The palace dated back since the very beginning of the city, some seven hundred years ago, and had always been the residence of the Prince of Gannan. At first, that only meant rule over the city itself, but as military technology progressed, the various rulers extended their influence until they ruled over the entire continent of doBaakharil, and as their territory grew, so did the size and luxury of the palace building itself. When the last Prince of Gannan perished at the hands of the Monteguan army, the building immediately was taken over and set up as the residence of the Monteguan Governor and headquarters of the occupying regime. To Shialyth, it's pristine white walls and majestic beauty of its massive domes only served to hide a dark cancer inside that needed to be eliminated.

As he carefully examined the building, looking for signs of activity inside, Shialyth also studied shadows of the Holinarium's towers, noticing that they were near their longest length -- meaning midday approached. Perfect, he thought, not a moment to spare. The crowds seemed even thicker here in the city center, gathering for the upcoming parade. Shialyth noted this as an advantage for him: easier to approach the target, and quicker to disappear once the work concluded. Guard-dogs lined the palace perimeter, but Shialyth didn't care about them at all; they'd never stopped him before, and they certainly wouldn't hinder him now.

His ears pricked up as the sound of trumpets began to fill the air. The crowd's attention turned towards the massive, hand-carved wooden palace gates, which started to swing open. Shialyth let the masses move around him in toward the palace, choosing to remain close to the Holinarium. He had seen this ceremony dozens of times before, carefully scheming and planning for this day, and he knew what to watch for.

First out of the gate came the palace color guard, a group of mostly avian creatures who each carried long poles with two flags on them: the green, gold, and white representing Gannan on the bottom, with the Monteguan flag of black and red flying above it, symbolizing the dominant power for the past sixty years. The birds each marched in lockstep, their faces stoic and unmoving. Both humans and anthros in the crowd started to cheer as the Monteguan anthem began to play, a stirring battle hymn. Shialyth spat on the ground, disgusted at the display of nationalism.

The royal guard-dog patrol emerged next from the gate. These canines represented the best of the best, selected and forcibly bred by the Governor for their strength and athleticism. However, Shialyth knew from experience that none of them could match the wits and prowess of a feline assassin like himself; they could easily be outwitted and eluded. Still, the sheer numbers of guard-dogs concerned Shialyth; it seemed Governor Ortega was getting more paranoid in his old age, nearly having doubled his usual contingent.

Finally, the Governor himself came riding out of the gate, sitting in a mobile throne plated entirely in gold, carried underneath by four large anthros, a mix of bulls and bears, each standing over eight feet tall with wide, muscled shoulders and powerful legs needed to lift and transport their burdensome cargo. An elderly man nearing his seventies, Ortega seemed less intimidating a presence than Shialyth had recalled. Once proud and strong, able to stand toe-to-toe physically with most any anthro or human under his rule, the past thirty years ruling doBaakharil with an iron fist had left him a frail shell of the decorated soldier he once was. Still, he gingerly waved at the crowds who were cheering him on, both human and anthro alike.

What a herd of blithering sheep, Shialyth thought to himself. They don't remember what this tyrant has done, what he is doing now, and what he will continue to do. They just bleat for his approval, blissfully ignorant of the blood he's spilled. He gritted his teeth as his heart began to beat faster. He knew what he was here to do; what he'd dreamed of doing for the past seven years. The fact that he had been hand-picked by the Elder to carry out this most crucial mission merely represented a bonus; Shialyth had his own reasons to want to eliminate this monster.

He watched as the Governor's parade turned down the street, the crowds following behind it. Shialyth then slipped around the backside of the Holinarium, the small street there completely deserted, and looked up at the side of the cathedral. Grabbing a hold of some stones that stuck out just a little further than the rest, he quickly scaled the wall, using all his upper body strength to pull himself up. Leaping across to a balcony ledge, he nearly lost his grip and fell down into the street, but his fingers clenched tightly and he kept his balance. He then hoisted his long but slender body up on the narrow walkway that ran along the outside of the chapel roof, still in the shadows of the west tower stretching high above him. From this vantage point, he could see the palace guard rounding the corner, heading down the main avenue of the city. Running along the roof, Shialyth measured the pace of the guards in his head. By his calculations, he had less than sixty seconds, but he had rehearsed the timing dozens of times, and knew he could make it. Nothing would stop him, except --

As he sped around a corner, Shialyth smacked straight into an iguana who was patrolling, heading the opposite direction. The iguana wore the colors of the Governor's royal guard and carried a crossbow. Curses, Shialyth thought, where did he come from? He had never seen any archers on this roof before. Word of the assassination plot must have gotten out somehow. One more thing that won't matter in a few minutes, he thought to himself.

With a surprised grunt, the archer readied his weapon, but Shialyth lunged forward before he could fire, knocking the crossbow out of his hands, sending it flying down to the street below. Only slightly stunned, the iguana tried reaching for his knife, but Shialyth wrapped his arms tight around him and knocked him off his feet. The leopard quickly grabbed the knife and started to lift it up, ready to slice open the iguana's chest, but then the words of the Elder came to him: "He, too, can be saved." Shaking his head, he growled at the iguana, and threw the knife down into the street as well.

Shialyth hopped over the groaning archer and resumed running, the opposite end of the walkway still several hundred feet away. In the street below, he saw the flag-bearers and guard-dogs pass by. He sped up, knowing that he only had one chance now. By the time he reached the edge of the roof, he had no option to slow down. Tensing his leg muscles, he planted his feet and sprung into the sky, arms and legs outstretched in a spread-eagle formation.

The guard-dogs turned around when they saw the movement and heard the commotion, but they were too late. Shialyth already had landed on top of the throne, a cloaked figure appearing out of thin air, right on top of Ortega's lap. Shrieks of horror arose from the crowd, as they began to panic. With a snarl, Shialyth slid out a small but deadly dagger and thrust it straight into the Governor's chest, right where he knew would cause the most damage. It split the aorta completely open, and as Shialyth pulled the knife free, blood spurted out, smearing on his hands.

Ortega's face looked up at Shialyth in horror, barely understanding what had happened. As the life began to drain from his body, he gasped out a solitary word: "Why?"

Sneering, Shialyth forced his muzzle directly into the Governor's face. He never spoke to any of the targets he assassinated before, but this one certainly deserved an exception. He had contemplated what he would say at this moment for the last seven years, and now the moment had arrived. "Because my brother's blood still stains your soul," he growled through clenched teeth, looking straight into the fading green eyes. "Because of--"

Shialyth stopped. Green eyes? Something wasn't right, there had to be some mistake. He quickly examined the dying body closer. Only from this short distance could one make out the subtle differences in the hairline, the slight irregularities of the skin. He had not assassinated Ortega; this was an impostor, a lookalike that had been sent out in his place.

Ingenious bastard, Shialyth cursed to himself, and dropped the body, which fell down to the ground. He could hear the sound of scimitars being unsheathed as the guard-dogs began to close in on him.  Leaping backwards from the throne with all his might, Shialyth landed clear of the guards and ran away, rushing through the streets, fleeing from the failure that had, to no fault of his own, befallen him. He dropped the blood-soaked dagger on the ground, trying to control his heavy breathing and keep up the fast pace.

The guard-dogs pursued him tenaciously, and Shialyth could feel them on his heels, their hot breath and angry snarls indicating that they would not capture him alive. He knew he could outrun them all day, but he desperately wanted to turn and fight, to take on the guard like he had so many times before; and if he died at their sword, so be it. But he could not risk his own death, not today. His mission still remained incomplete. Ortega's last day has not yet arrived, he thought to himself, but my job -- no, my destiny -- is still clear: to make sure that day comes soon.