From the safety of his tree perch, Trist observed the campsite. The small camp cast an eerie glow on the forest. Most of the camp had turned in for the night, but a few guards remained. Trist breathed in the brisk air; goosebumps raced across his arms as he waited for his target to arrive.
It was like clockwork. Every night his mark went into the woods at 2200 to sit on the same stump. He would smoke for five minutes, then make his rounds through the stables. This job was going to be too easy. If the war didn't depend on it, he would be disappointed that it wasn't more challenging. But now he would take all the advantages he could.
The man Trist was contracted to kill was General Stone's slave, Anumi. Contrary to what the masses believed, General Stone was not the all-knowing tactician he portrayed himself as. Anumi was. He masterminded all the maneuvers and placement of troops. The rebels would not be as close to victory without him. That is why he must die.
Trist wasn't the best assassin that The Order had, but he was the only one they would trust for this job. The unrest affected even The Order, especially after Vi left. Almost half of the assassins under their control had defected to the rebels. Trist had to personally hunt down three of his friends, literally putting a knife in each of their backs.
Trist snapped back from his thoughts at the rustle of fabric moving across leaves. Anumi was leaving the tent. "Yes sir, I will make sure your horse has a full barrel of apples in its stall," Anumi said.
You could almost hear the sarcasm layered beneath his respectful tone. Anumi wasn't much to look at. He was of average height, with wiry brown hair and not a single sinew of muscle on him. Those eyes though—they were a bright, piercing blue; they seemed to stare right through to your soul.
Anumi started to walk towards the forest and gave a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching him. Like every night, not a single soldier was walking on this side of camp. It was one of the reasons Anumi chose this time to go smoke. Slaves were not permitted to indulge in tobacco or alcohol, even slaves that were turning the tide of the war. Secrecy was vital.
Anumi walked over to the hollowed-out stump that contained his tobacco, constantly looking around to make sure no one was around. Little did he know Trist had been waiting in this tree all night for this exact moment. He would never see my blade coming. He would die tonight.
Trist slid his dagger out of the sheath secured to his forearm and waited for Anumi to finish his tobacco. Might as well let the man enjoy one last thing before I drain the life out of him. On Anumi's final puff, Trist dropped from the tree.
Anumi vanished in a veil of shadows, reappearing feet from his origin with a small dagger materializing in his hand. A shadow mage. How did The Order not know that he was a shadow mage?
Trist used the stump to spring back away from the mage as he landed. The impact was greater than rolling forward, but at least it would give him the distance he needed.
Anumi laughed. "I was wondering when you would make your move. You've been watching me for almost a week now."
"I should have known this job was too easy." Trist sheathed his dagger and drew out the sword on his back. He would need the reach against a shadow mage. They could take in the darkness around them and manipulate it into any weapon as long as they remained in contact with it.
Trist dashed towards Anumi in an instant. Before the mage had time to move, Trist buried the sword into his neck. Only instead of the resistance he expected, his sword stopped abruptly. Shadows swirled around his sword, locking it in place at Anumi's neck.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to attack a shadow at night? I can draw in power from everywhere, you fool!"
Trist's eyes widened in fear as he realized his mistake. He leaped back, distancing himself again, ready to evade the inevitable counter-attack. But it never came.
Anumi stared coldly at Trist. His eyes—those piercing eyes—made Trist's soul shiver. After what seemed like an eternity, Anumi spoke. "Go tell The Eye of The Order about this. Let him know that his time puppeteering this country is over. Let King Ronan die. If The Order stands down, you may all live. If not, we will hunt every last one of you down."
Trist nodded and turned to leave. He knew The Order would never come out of the shadows. They held far too much power to give up that easily. But he had to warn The Eye—his father—about the new predicament.
fantastic fiction, quick fantasy, adventure, fantasy, magic
Comments