The Moon Is Rising

The orders had been simple: find the Chancellor, kill the Chancellor. They sounded basic enough when they were first presented to Derin, quick and easy. He had never turned down an offer in his life, much less one with this magnitude of gold in return. He wasn’t an assassin, and he felt more suited to hacking through an iron shield in battle than slicing a throat at midnight, but for a hundred thousand gold marks, any mercenary would be willing to drop his broadsword and chest plate in favor of a dagger in the night. Or they would be at first; Derin was starting to feel second doubts about the wisdom of his choice.

The cold stones of the dungeon floor echoed with the slap of Derin’s bare feet, alongside the soft thuds of the guards’ boots. The only illumination here came from the crackling beeswax torches set in brackets along the wall, flickering light casting dancing shadows upon the stone. The air tasted stale, as if this place never had a breeze pass through it. It was cold, too; the beating summer heat that was so noticeably present above ground was thankfully absent below the thick walls that formed this place, replaced by a chill that was starting to seep through Derin’s tattered tunic.

The guards’ hands were rough as they pushed Derin deeper into the dungeons, and his feet, sore. He tried to think of something else, something besides the fate he was sure to reach. His mind wandered back to the beginnings of this, to how he now walked these dank corridors, to how he had become a prisoner of the High Chancellor.

*

The sun had set two hours ago, the full moon was well on its way to the peak of the sky, and still Derin waited, leaning against the city’s outer walls. Had he been mistaken? The note, found hidden under his pillow the night before, had clearly said dusk, just outside the walls, near the hollowed oak. The signature was not one he recognized, and another name was not given. Only a time, a location, and the hint of a command. Derin didn’t like when others ordered him about. He was his own master.

He was lounged against the wall, curved sword sheathed across his back, hood pulled over his head. His eyes darted about, never stopping, always scanning. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way; never get caught off your guard, be ready for anything. He didn’t look it, but his body was tense, ready to spring any direction, ready to have his blade out in the blink of an eye. He was a medium sized man, tall, with wide shoulders, but he was known more for his quickness than anything else.
The night appeared quiet, the moonlight casting shadows across the ground, but Derin’s gaze immediately latched on to one in particular. It moved with purpose, silent, but too quick to be only a shadow. His eyes followed it as it drew nearer and nearer to him, slipping around trees and past tall bushes. It was about twenty paces away, now. Ten. Five. With a sudden movement, Derin snatched a curved dagger from his belt and dropped to the ground, kicking the shadow’s legs from under it. It fell with a thud, and Derin had his knife at its throat in an instant.

He opened his mouth to speak, and abruptly felt the cool touch of steel against his neck.

“Get up.” The voice was cold, arrogant.

Derin rose slowly, and felt the blade come up beneath his chin. It slowly prodded him backward, until his back hit the hard blocks of the wall again. He realized he was holding his breath, but he dared not release it. He could feel blood welling up under his chin; the man’s knife didn’t give him an inch. Then, slowly, the blade came away, and Derin exhaled softly in relief.

The shadows materialized into two men, clothed in deep black robes with hoods drawn up. One had a dagger in his hand, and the other had a smear of mud across his shoulder. Derin eyed them warily, not moving, but hand ready to dart to his sword.

“You were quicker than we expected,” said the one on the left as he sheathed his blade beneath his robes. “Observant, too, to have noticed our approach. Perhaps the Master was correct.” His voice was emotionless, almost alien. “The moon is rising.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” He barely kept his voice from shaking. These had to be the men who placed the note under his pillow.

“We are the Seekers of the Moon.”

“The who?” Derin had never heard of them, but the way they said the name sounded sacred.

“Some would call us a cult, I suppose, but that is not us. We are the followers of Sythus, God of the Moon, and of Darkness. The moon is rising. We need you help.”
Come to think of it, Derin had heard of them before. One of many polytheistic factions that made their dwellings in caves and small outposts miles from the city, the Seekers were also one of the most famous. He had heard of some of their unearthly rituals, many including sacrifices of blood and, he had been told, human life.

“What kind of help?” he asked warily. Whatever they asked could not be good, but if there was enough gold in offered, he would do anything. Gold came before the law, both civil and moral, in his eyes.

“You are a mercenary, yes?” It was the first time the other had spoken. His voice was high and piercing, and cold as ice.

Derin nodded.

“We have heard of you. You are very good, yes?”

Derin almost laughed. “I’m a common enough name throughout the Empire, if that’s what you mean.”

“Very good. We will make use of your skill.”

“What do you want?” Derin asked again. Not to the point, these men.

“We have a job for you. The risks are high, but so is the pay.”

“If the pay is high enough, I’ll do anything. What kind of job?”

They drew closer to him, hoods still hiding their faces in shadow. “The High Chancellor lives in the Royal Palace, beyond the walls of the Inner City. His chambers lie near the very center of the palace, guarded, day and night, by two veteran soldiers. The lock on his door can be picked, and he lives alone.” One of the men reached inside his robes and pulled forth a curved dagger, hilt wrapped in a dark hide of some sort, the bare blade gleaming in the moonlight. He traced its edge with a finger, then slowly offered it to Derin.

“You want me to kill the Chancellor?” the mercenary asked incredulously. “That’s impossible, he is much too well protected. I’ll never be-…”

A high voice cut him off. “You are a mercenary, are you not? I thought you would do any job, yes?”

“Yes, but it’s not a matter of-…”

“One hundred thousand gold marks.”

Derin stopped dead. “One hundred thousand marks?”

“Gold.”

Derin felt his jaw drop. That was a fortune. He would never need to work again. His breathing quickened. “When?”

“Meet us here, at midnight, the night after he is dead.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

Derin nodded fervently. “I’ll be here.”

“There’s just one more thing.” The one who had given him the knife took a deep breath, then began to unfold one more plan.

*

The hinges creaked as they twisted, startling Derin from his reverie. The firm oak door opened to reveal a drab stone chamber, no more than ten paces in either direction. There were no windows. Derin eyed the prison cell with disgust, and one of the guards noticed. “Don’t worry, you won’t be here long. It’s a hanging for you.” The other guard laughed as Derin shook his head violently and scrambled backward, clutching at the guards’ belts.

They only laughed, shoving him roughly forward into the cell. He stumbled and fell flat on his face in the center of the room, not able to catch himself on fists he didn’t dare unclench. The iron strapped door swung shut behind him, and he heard the guards call out as they walked off, “I’ll see you at the noose, rat. Kill the Chancellor. Ha!”

Derin shook his head. Fools. They were ill disciplined men, to taunt prisoners, and obviously ill trained as well. The jingle of the guard’s keys seemed loud to his ears as he opened his hand. Too easy, pickpocketing an arrogant guard.

After a slow count to one hundred, Derin had the cell door opened. He slipped out, locking it behind him. That’ll leave a mystery for the guards, he thought wryly. The dark corridors stretched on in both directions, but he turned left without hesitation. He had taken notes on the walk in.

He went at a slow jog, taking care to keep quiet, but moving fast. If the guards came upon on him before they came to bring him to trial, Derin would have to kill them, and that left a mess that was hard to clean up.

Soon, he reached a flight of stairs, at the top of which was the guard room, if he remembered right. A tricky obstacle to work around, but once he got past that, he had a clear shot to the servants’ exits in the rear of the palace, an easy way out.
Derin advanced up the stairs on tip-toe, carefully advancing. Near the top, he caught a whiff of alcohol, and heard a burst of raucous laughter. Smiling, he darted up the last few steps, caught his balance, and dove forward, landing in a roll. He came up just in front of the two startled guards, sitting on stools, each with flasks of wine in their hands.

Before they had time to react, he lashed out with a foot, catching one just beneath the chin. His eyes rolled back, and he toppled to the ground. The other snarled and tried to stand, but Derin contemptuously drove his stiffened fist below the man’s ribs, and he crumbled. The mercenary took only a few moments to snatch up one of the guard’s belt knives, then he was out of the room and into the palace.

The way he looked, dressed in a tattered tunic, holding a knife, any servant who saw him would likely dash for a soldier at the fist sight . He walked as fast as he could, trying to keep quiet, but several times he had to duck behind a wall covering to avoid passerby.

Eventually, he came to a fork in the hall. The two Seekers had given him a map of the palace, which he had drilled into his memory, and he knew this spot well. The left led to the servants’ doors, and his way out, and the right, to the man he was ordered to kill. He began to turn left, wishing for safety rather than gold. He took a step. One hundred thousand gold marks. The thought darted through his head without warning, and he stopped. He tried to shove it away, but he had never been able to get rid of the thought of gold. Only one more kill to add to his list of thousands. But, then again, he had failed once, why try again? There were other jobs.

Before he knew what he was doing, Derin spun on his heel and took the path to the right, the one that led deeper into the palace, and closer to the man he was going to kill. The gold called to him.

He took as many rights as he could, dashing up staircases until he felt he must be ten stories above the ground. Many of the corridors looked the same, with red wall hangings and niches displaying rare pieces of porcelain and jewelry. One hall led past a door that appeared to be made of solid gold, and something sparked in his mind, but he ignored it. He had his task. The higher he went, the more extravagant the decorations, but Derin looked for only one thing, until, finally, he saw it.

A small statuette of a general, head held high, sword in his hand, rested in an alcove carved into the wall. Derin slowed his advance, stopping at the first intersection of hallways he came upon after the figurine. He flattened himself against the wall, peeking just barely around the corner. Where there should have been two, at least fifteen guards crowded around the Chancellor’s door. Derin swore fiercely under his breath. There was little chance of avoiding them, and absolutely none of killing them all. His jobs were never easy.

Mind racing, Derin quickly found himself deciding on the impossible. It was a risky plan, and he would have no weapon if it went correctly, but it might just work. He took a deep breath, then stepped calmly into the center of the hall, hefting his knife. One of the soldiers spotted him immediately, and raised his hand to point, but Derin’s arm lashed back and forth like a whip, and the dagger sprouted from the guard’s throat. He collapsed to the ground, thrashed once, and lay still. A shout rose as the others as they noticed their companion’s body, and without delay they dashed down the corridor, but Derin was already gone, darting inside a nearby room and locking the door behind him.

A clerk, sitting behind his polished desk, looked up as Derin stepped into the room and, after one glance, opened his mouth to shout. Derin was there in an instant, and he only released the man’s neck after his legs stopped kicking.

Derin took advantage of the double edged knife lying on a chest in the corner before quickly sneaking back to the Chancellor’s door. The guards were gone, and only the dead body remained. The door was slightly ajar, and a light push revealed a large bed, and upon it, the unmoving figure of a man. Upon closer observation, Derin found the sheets he rested upon to be soaked in a slightly widening pool of blood, apparently originating from a gash across the Chancellor’s arm. It didn’t seem enough to kill him, but Derin had no doubts that the poison had worked its wonders.
He stealthily closed and locked the door behind him. The dead body didn’t seem to distract him as he crossed the room, stopping beside a window on the opposite wall.

Without delay, Derin used the hilt of the knife to shatter the glass. After kicking a few shards away, he scrambled out the window to a small ledge beneath it. The stones that formed the side of the palace were well made, but small cracks spidered across them, just large enough to fit his fingers into. Derin had done his share of climbing walls. As a mercenary, he was often required to be the first over an enemy’s defenses, and ladders weren’t always readily available. This was no different, and he had the comfort that no hostile soldiers were ready to stab him the moment he reached the window above.

A few moments later, he found himself outside the King’s apartments. He stole a glance inside the room. The chambers appeared empty, but he would find out soon enough. The window was propped open by a block of wood, allowing a draft to enter the room. Finally, a bit of luck. He squeezed himself through the gap, into the Royal Chambers.

The rooms were empty, much to Derin’s relief. After a quick search, he settled down inside a small closet to wait for the King’s arrival.

*

The moon had begun rising by the time the King came back to his apartments. Derin pushed the closet door ajar to find the King dressed in only his under garments, climbing into bed. He was an elderly man, but he had the look of hidden, wiry strength.

Derin waited until he had settled down before creeping out of the closet. His bare feet made no noise on the smooth wood, but he went slowly anyway. The slightest noise could ruin everything, now. He slowly advanced upon the bed, freezing as the King shifted, trying to get comfortable. He should have waited till the man was asleep, but too late now. He was about five paces from the bed when his breath caught. Horror lanced through his mind, but he couldn’t stop his throat from coughing.

The King sat straight up in bed. “Who’s there?” He glanced about wildly. “Nieren? Come here!”

The door to the chamber opened, and Derin took advantage of the noise to scramble back into the shadows, away from the bed. “What is it, my lord?” Nieren walked to the bed.

“There’s someone in here. I heard them cough.” The King’s voice sounded fearful. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m certain.”

Nieren’s head darted about. “Shall I search the room, my lord?”

“Do it. I heard it. I know I did.”

Nieren began to walk around the room, and the King’s head followed his progress. He began to draw nearer to Derin, who gripped his dagger hard, knuckles turning white. He was about five paces, now. Three.

Derin stepped smoothly forward, knife stabbing. The blade slid smoothly between his ribs, and the man crumpled. The King gasped, but Derin gave him no time to call out. Two long steps, and his hand clasped over the King’s mouth as he slit his throat. It was a silent kill, but Derin wasted no time. He was out the window in a moment, scurrying down the wall as quickly as he could.

Dropping to the ground, he landed on his feet, dashing for the palace gates, hoping to find a way outside the city, hoping to find two hooded men near an old oak, holding his gold.

*

The city was almost empty at this hour. Only a few men and no women wandered its streets, most of the men drunk. One of them spotted Derin and grabbed his shoulders, shouting in his face. “Did you hear ‘bout the man who tried to kill the Chancellor?” His breath was rank of wine. “They say he failed, gettin’ caught after he slashed the Chancellor’s arm. Wouldn’t want to be him, eh?” Derin muttered something and shoved the man off him, striding away quickly.

He spotted the two robed men long before he reached to outer gates. Leaning back in an alley, they motioned him over as soon as they saw he had noticed them.
“The rumor is that the Chancellor survived,” said one of the Seekers as Derin drew close.

Derin shook his head. “The poison did its work. I managed a gash across his arm before they took me, and the next time I saw him, he was dead.” It had been an extremely potent poison, according to the Seekers. A single coat over the blade, and anyone it touched died within the day.

“Everything went according to plan, yes?”

Derin nodded. “Yes, you were right. About everything, too.” It was the truth. “The poison worked slowly enough that he wasn’t proclaimed dead, and the way out of the dungeons was perfect.”

“And the King?”

“Dead. I had to scatter fifteen soldiers, but the climb to his window was easy enough. I was forced to kill his attendant as well, but no matter. And my gold?” Derin wanted only one thing; his money and a way out of the city.

The Seekers glanced at each other, then one reached into his robe, saying “You have done well, mercenary. The Master will be pleased.” He tossed Derin a heavy bag, lumpy with coin.

Derin snatched the sack greedily, but there was one more thing on his mind. “Not that it matters, but if I may ask, why did you want them dead? The King and Chancellor?”

The gaze the two men shared was longer this time, but eventually one spoke. “It will not hurt to tell you, seeing as you know so much already.” He took a breath. “The Seekers exist only to serve our Great Master, Sythus, God of the Moon. For a thousand years, we have tried to bring the world under his rule, but he has become impatient. The god himself is coming to the empire, to bring the world to its knees.” The man’s voice became fervent. “The deaths of the two most important people in this world will bring the empire to chaos, and make Sythus’s campaign that much easier. When the Master, head of our religion, lights the fire in the Royal Hall of the Palace, Sythus will come, and we shall rule.”

Derin frowned. The way the Seeker said it, it sounded like paradise, but to the mercenary it sounded like death to most of the empire. He had no idea that his assassination had led up to so much.

Derin shook his head. No matter. He would be out of the empire as soon as he could. He planned on being on the first boat off these shores, and to sail until he found somewhere to settle down with his money. “I understand. Well, I will leave you to your conquest. I’ll be off with my gold.” He needed to be away, now. Who knew how fast this god could be summoned. Past time to be gone.

“Of course. Be on your way. We must be away as well. A pleasure.” The two Seekers bowed to him, then strode into the main street and disappeared into the shadows.

Derin watched them go for only moment, then followed, out into the street. The night was silent, and many of the drunkards he had seen earlier were gone now.

Suddenly, the peacefulness of the night was shattered by the sounds of hooves. Derin looked up the street, in the direction of th palace, to see three horsemen galloping toward him, as if to mow him over. He dove to the side, shouting a curse, and they jerked on their reigns. Derin brushed himself off, standing.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Too late, he realized they were city guards. It wasn’t smart to talk like that to a man who was armed.

“Get out of the city! You need to go, now!” The guard had ignored his comment, and his eyes were frenzied.

“What? Why?” Not that he had any other plans. Glancing around, Derin saw some windows being pushed open as people tried to find the source of the commotion.
“The King and the Chancellor are dead, murdered!”

Derin heard a babble of voices as people started coming out of the shops and houses, murmuring. “How do you know?” someone shouted.

“I saw the bodies myself. The palace is being overrun right now by the same men who assassinated them.” The soldier’s voice was frantic. “I saw my brother get cut down by men in black even as we fled the stables!”

The crowd that had gathered erupted in noise, men shouting questions. The fear was plain, even in the dark, on the women and children’s faces. Despite himself, Derin felt a pang of regret. He may have singlehandedly just shattered many of these people’s worlds.

The gold jingled in his pocket as Derin turned, and he reminded himself that he needed to leave. He glanced at the palace, then at the frightened faces around him, then at the gates that led to his safety, and, for the second time that night, Derin found himself doing the opposite of what he wanted.

Without a word, he reached up, tugged the blade from its sheath in the pommel of the horse’s saddle, and grabbed the soldier’s arm. The man shouted angrily, but Derin payed no mind as he pulled the man down and leaped onto the leather. “What are you doing?” the soldier shouted.

Derin looked at him grimly. “Ending this.” Digging his heels in, the mercenary wheeled the horse toward the palace, and the Seekers.

The roads to the palace were silent, unknowing people still sleeping as their kingdom crumbled. The guards were gone at the entrance, and the courtyard where Derin dismounted was empty. He left the horse untied; he would not need it, later.
If his memory served him right, the Royal Hall of the Palace lay near the main entry hall, not far from the courtyard. Derin walked quickly, but carefully, through the palace doors into the entry hall. There was no need to walk into a trap.

The entry hall wasn’t very large, but it took a while to sneak along the edge of it, sticking to the shadows, until he reached the narrow corridor that connected it to the Royal Hall. The corridor was empty, and Derin made his quickly to the oak doors that opened into his destination.

Cracking the entrance, Derin peered inside to a strange scene. Around fifteen men stood in a ring, centered on three men, all wearing hooded black robes. Between the three men was a tall candle, resting on a golden stand. It was unlit. When the Master,lights the fire in the Royal Hall of the Palace, Sythus will come, and we shall rule. The sound of the Seeker’s voice echoed through Derin’s skull. One of the three men must be the Master.

All of the hooded men seemed extremely focused, and none moved when Derin slipped through the doors.

The man at the heart of the circle seemed to be in the middle of a chant, and the two men who flanked him echoed his words. The sound carried in the high vaulted chamber.

“Come into this world, then, O Mighty One. We are your servants, and the world is yours.” His words were getting louder, as if he was reaching the finale. “Our lives for you, my soul for yours! The moon is rising!” With a sudden movement, he pulled forth a flint from his robes and turned to the candle. Sparks flew, and the wick caught fire.

The Master, as he must be, raised his arms, and Derin knew he had to stop this madness, and now. Sythus was coming.

He hefted the blade of the soldier, getting a quick feel for it, then stepped out of the shadows. One of the robed men spotted him and shouted, and, suddenly, they all had knives out, and Derin was fighting for his life.

The robes didn’t seem to hinder the Seekers as they stabbed at him, but Derin was faster than any of them. Only the Master didn’t come at him; he seemed to be looking over the fire. No time to think why. The Seekers almost had him surrounded.
With a shout, Derin launched himself forward, parrying several thrusts before slashing at a dark hood. The man screamed just before he lost his head, but Derin had already moved on, ducking a jab and kicking one of the Seekers to the ground. His blade flashed, and the unlucky man died.

Derin kept moving, trying to keep himself from being surrounded as he danced. It was the only word to call it, as he smoothly flowed from man to man, sword like a blur, batting away attacks and launching assaults of his own. Man by man, the Seekers fell before him, the longer reach of his blade prevailing over their short daggers.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over, and only Derin and the Master remained, balck robed man still standing over the fire. Abruptly, Derin noticed the room growing darker, shadows lengthening. Frowning, he shivered, and realised that the chamber was on the brink of freezing. It could mean only one thing. Sythus.

Derin felt fear growing in his heart. How did one fight a god? Suddenly, what the Master was doing clicked. The candle. Perhaps, if he got rid of the fire, Sythus could not fully come.

In the blink of an eye, Derin shoved the unarmed Master out of the way and kicked the candle over, stomping on the wick as it hit the ground. It hissed, and went out, and a sound like one Derin had ever heard filled the Royal Hall. It was unearthly, piercing, like the scream of some dying creature. Like the scream of a dying god.
The room grew warmer again, and the shadows fled. The fear receded from Derin’s heart, and he heaved a sigh of relief. It was over.

The doors of the hall broke open, and a dozen guards rushed in, swords at the ready. Derin recognised one as the man who’s horse had taken. He raised a questioning brow.

“We didn’t want to leave it to you alone,” the guard explained. Derin smiled, and the guard came forward. “You’re a hero!”

The mercenary winced, and the words that came from his mouth were not what he expected. “No. No, I’m not.”

“What do you mean?” asked the guard, laughing.

Derin took a breath. “It was me. I killed the King. I killed the Chancellor.” He knew what he was saying now. He also knew that, for one of the first times in his life, he was doing both what he wanted and what was right, and they were the same thing. “I accept the consequences.” Perhaps there was more to life. More than gold. “My life is forfeit.”

For the first time ever, Derin felt truly, perfectly, happy.