Prophecy Series: Path to Unity

Chapter 2; Walking in the Shadows

                                                                  Chapter II

                                                    ~Walking in the Shadows~

                                                            (Pedes in Umbra)

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The insubordination of one will bring about the downfall of many. The downfall of many will isolate the one. The isolation of one will destroy the nation

                                                            ~An old Jaq’taar proverb~
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“Promise me this will be the last.”

“I promise, I will complete this last contract and then I’ll retire,” he remembered saying to her that night.

“You better Lyacoon Mehailuk,” she replied with her small hands defiantly on her curvy hips.

When she used his full name, he knew better then to argue. It was supposed to be his last contract with the Jaq’taar, and he would be done. The concept of retiring was something that scared him to no end; it was all he knew since childhood. But it was something he was willing to do for his family; his son, Dyacoon.

The boy was Lyacoon’s pride and joy, only wanting to provide a life for the child, that he himself was never given. He was a spitting image of his father, with his jet black hair and sapphire blue eyes. How great his life would be, all the plans Lyacoon and his wife Nilda had for him. But now it was gone, left only with the faint memories of her laughter and the sweet aroma of her hair; or the warm sensation of holding his son. It was his fault; they were his weakness, his attached strings.

“Help us! Help us Lyacoon! Please I can’t bare this pain! Make them stop!” she cried out pleading for his help.

Wincing from the memory, Lyacoon closed his eyes trying to clear his mind. Only just recently returning to the clan, he couldn’t afford to be weak; because when one is weak, one is sloppy in with their work. And sloppiness was something that was not tolerated in the eyes of the Jaq’taar.

“Because of my weakness, they came and took everything, just to get to me.”

That happened ten years ago, and the wounds never fully healed. Repressing the memories of that night out of his mine, he focused back on his intended target with his brow mashed together. Perched along the rooftop of a nearby building, he watched a well dressed dwarf enter the luxurious mansion. As the target entered the doorway, closing it behind him, Lyacoon leapt down from the roof, stepping down a darkened alleyway. Darting in and out of the deep shadows that lurked throughout the mountain, he made his way through Kahm-rah; home to the high priced politician and judges of Glitterdelve.

The streets were clean and orderly, while the houses were made of fine stone and wood. The air was musty, but safe now that the dwarven engineers devises air vents that pulled the damps, a dangerous vapor that can be found in caves and mines, from filling the entire region. Cave crickets could be heard chirping throughout the city, as he passed several decorations for Marath Laire that were half finished, planned for the solstice. It was late enough at night that most of the dwarves living here were fast asleep in their fancy feathered beds and silk sheets. Growing up in the streets himself, Lyacoon knew Kahm-rah is the best place for a thief with real skill to make some excellent profit. But that wasn’t what he was here for; he had stopped burglary years ago when he was recruited.

After years of training, assignments and fighting in the war, twenty years ago, he had become an Aelori, an elite member of the most feared guild in all Glitterdelve. No one knew who the members were exactly, and something of a professional requirement when one does this kind of work. Another requirement is that a successful assassin has no strings attached; meaning no friends, no loved ones, no family and no real identity. The reason for their death, he never asked, a personal rule of his was to never get caught up in the why. It was just simpler to face enemies on the field of battle or slice the throats of the intended target, then to get caught up in the throws of politics, where you never know who your enemies are.

As he crossed from one shadow to another, he watched a small group of dwarves who successfully broke into a nearby house without alerting the patrolling guards, scurry through alley between the buildings that protruded from the cave walls, carrying away enough plunder to feed their bellies for several days.

“Poor buggars,” said Lyacoon hidden in the shadows of an overhang high above the streets.

He remembered those days, living on the streets wondering where his next meal was or the next beating he got from the older dwarves. How things have changed for him over the years. His Sen’sa, Master Heralum taught him the ways of living and breathing in the shadows that surround us all. He taught him the ways to survive and the necessary detachment to his targets to be successful.

“We aren’t allowed to have a life, or anything resembling friendship it is a weakness that any opponent will exploit,” Master Herlarum once said. A point vigorously taught during lectures at the academy.

This was a lesson Lyacoon knew all too well. “I was too young and naïve to obey the lesson.” He has seen the price of his hesitation and the weakness it brought to him. Leaping down and landing without a sound due to his specially treated footwear with a layer of hardened sap extract coating the boot, he ran crouched down along the exterior mossy stone wall surrounding the mansion. Beyond the wall were several marbled statues and archways scattered about, while an exquisite walkway lead through the courtyard. Find handgrips and footholds all throughout the wall he made no sound as he scaled the tall stone wall. Positioning himself along the top, Lyacoon saw two dwarf guards leaning against the halberds with a bored look on their face.

“Good help is hard to find these days,” he thought as he dropped down behind one of them.

Grabbing for his throat, the guards’ eyes rolled back as a streak of blackened metal slashed across his neck. As he fell, the guard landed into the arms of the dwarf who quietly laid him on the hard ground. The blood flow was unstoppable, as he drowned on his own blood, watching his comrade run in terror from this intruder.

“Where you think your going?” he asked toying with the guard.

Whimpering in short wispy cries, the guard ran looking back as the hooded dwarf swung a black rope with a small metal ball on either end. The whirling of the rope got faster and faster as it flew through the air toward him. Before he could even react, the rope entangled around his body slamming him to the ground with a grunt. “I don’t want to die!”

“Wha-what do you want?” quivered the guard.

He gave no response as Lyacoon stood over the guard, his face half hidden in the shadows of his hood. Kneeling down, he patted the guards face in a superficial attempt to calm him. He could hear the panicked breath of the guard, as he drew out a small knife dripping with a red substance that smelled of nauseating herbs. His eyes widened in fear as the assassin slide the blade across his wrist as the poison burned his skin while it seeped into his blood stream.

“Do not fear, death will only be a momentary qualm, you will die before you know it,” said Lyacoon standing back up.

“What does he…mea…?”

Moving the bodies of the guards who were easily dispatched with only a few ounces of an aduration of Black Cohosh and Dharta mixed together into a liquid substance. Poisoning was part of the job, a dangerous part at that if one was not aware of the proper way to handle the components. After years of handling and experimenting with different components, Lyacoon had learned to create different kinds of poisons that gave various results in the victim depending on what he needed.

The Black Cohosh and Dharta was probably his favored one, within a few seconds of contact with the substance in the bloodstream, the victims were paralyzed. The longer the poison stayed in the body without an alexipharmic, the secondary effect of the poison took place; their heart rate would continue to increase as they lost their vision till their heart would burst from the strain. Some call it the Black Death since the third effect is the veins are left with a blackish hue to them.

Hiding behind statues or in the shadows blending in masterfully, Lyacoon made his way toward the large mansion where the target was last seen. Hearing approaching footsteps, he stepped back into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall with his tanto drawn out.

“What a boring night. I’d give anything to go to the bar and have some ale,” moaned one of the guards.

“Well our shift is almost over in a few hours so quit your complaining,” replied the other as they continued their hourly patrol.

“Ten minutes till they find the guards bodies.”

Stepping back out of the shadows, Lyacoon put his tanto away as he made his way across the yard, blending perfectly with in the shadows as patrols passed by him within only a few feet. When he reached the mansion, Lyacoon knelt down looking around for anymore patrols. Seeing none, Lyacoon began searching for a way in. Looking directly up, he couldn’t believe his luck.

“These aristocratic bastards are so arrogant.”

A glassed window on the second level was left half opened, probably done to get some sort of breeze in the night. Finding more foot holds, he quickly climbed up to the second story where a long but rather narrow overhang extended out allowing him to walk across. Several more guards walked along the grounds below him while he quietly lifted the window further as he stepped inside, finding himself in a bedroom. The room was dimly lit by a few scattered half melted candles with wax pouring down onto the surfaces. “You can learn a lot about the target just by the possession’s they have,” another lecture that Sen’sa taught.

“Was this the room of the target?” he thought seeing the nicely furnished room.

“By the looks of it, this family has a lot of money.”

“The picture of the woman and three kids means the target has a family, he has strings attached that could be used to trace his disappearance. Leave no one left that can wield a sword later,” something he learned after many years of being a ‘sellsword’.

Among the different family pictures, Lyacoon saw one of a male dwarf with long brown hair pulled back into a pony tail and his beard was finely braided into two separate strains. Dressed in the plain black attire of a Judge, the dwarf had an air of conceit about him that even Lyacoon could tell. Scanning the room filled with shadows, allowing easy movement through the dark as he moved toward the enormous canopy bed with shear silk drapes that hung down over the edge.

He could hear the soft continuous breath of two people sleeping comfortably. Silent and quick was the only way to achieve his goal pulling from a special sheath, his poisoner-dagger. The blade was blackened in a dark ink in order to hide the metallic reflection caused by any torches or candles still lit. It only had one sharp edge with the other side had five small holes drilled through for where cotton saturated in the poison was stuffed into. As the poison seeped out the cotton it would coat the blade creating a perfect layer over it.

Walking over to the right side of the bed looking through the drapes, where a dwarven woman slept. Pulling back the drapes ever so carefully, Lyacoon looked at the woman whose face was buried in her earthen brown hair and her pale skin was covered by a furred blanket. “No regrets. No hesitation.”

Before she could even let out a squeal to warn her lover, he made quick work as he sliced twice into her neck as the blood drained. Not a single drop of blood landed on the assassins black open palmed gloves or his black clothe attire. As the life escaped the woman, Lyacoon jolted back almost knocking into the bedside table, as his target grumbled under his breath for her to stop moving around so much as he rolled back over without seeing the shadow leaning over her body.

“Leave no one that can wield a sword later.”

With the ‘runner’ out of the way, a terminology used for people that happen to be in the wrong place in the wrong time and by names sake run, calling attention to the assassin. And when you’re in this business, attention is the last thing you want. Only preparing just enough poisons for the assignment, Lyacoon poured the last of the red substance onto the cotton. He knew to prepare four vials of Black Cohosh and Dharta, enough for the guards, the wife, the target and one for just in case. He used two for the guards that watched the entrance and one for the targets wife. As he poured the liquid onto the cotton, he stopped before using it all, closing the top of the vial and placed it back into one of the small compartments built into his belt.

Adjusting his finally planned outcome, something that you have to do when you work for the Jaq’taar where people and situations change so rapidly, it’s impossible to predict the sequence of events unless you adapt. Lyacoon planned for it to look as if his target had poisoned his wife and in the process killed one another.

After moving the bodies into a believable position, Lyacoon stepped back looking at his work. Years of seeing blood shed and the different forms of death, one learns how dead bodies look. A wry smile formed on his face as he played out the dead lovers quarrel. She came home late that night, while he waited up for her. He grew irate that the fact that his wife was going out all night without letting anyone know her whereabouts. Later, stories would spread that she was having an affair with a younger richer dwarf that lived on the other side of Kahm-rah.

“No loose ends.”