An Assassin's Choice, Chapter 1

An Assassin's Choice
(Tentative Title)
Chapter 1

         The floorboard creaked loudly as Noctavis steadily applied pressure to his left foot. He paused. It would do no good to be discovered now. After a few minutes of breathless silence, the only noise the light pitter patter of his beating heart, he began to relax.

         Apparently the noise from downstairs had masked his blunder. He stood half crouched, inside the third room from the left, on the second floor of ‘Fresh Flint’s Inn‘. The first floor of the Inn served as a bar. He could clearly hear the clanking of glasses and the chorus of drunken voices from below. One voice amongst them carried louder and further than the rest.

          “There was a knock at the door. I was fit to kill the bastard. Me and the lady friend had just laid down and was ‘bout to get at it. So, I ask all nice and polite like, ‘Who the hell is ye?’ You wouldn’t believe the gall of the bastard! He goes and screams back, ‘Me? Who in the hell are you?’ Before I could reply, the little lady tells me, ‘Stop.' I look at her funny. Again, being the polite man I am, I ask, ’ Why, in the name of all things holy, would I stop?’ She about turns red as a tomato, I tell you. Then she says to me, ’Be...because that’s my husband.’"


         The rest of the story was drowned in a sea of voices as the other patrons burst into fits of laughter Thank the gods for drunks.Noctavis carefully lifted his right foot, and with a delicacy born from years of practice, he quietly stalked forward.

         His target occupied the sole bed in the room. As he silently approached, a wave of unease washed over him. What is it? Something’s not right.

         Noctavis scanned the room with anxious eyes. Behind him was the door, opened slightly for easy escape. To his left was placed an old, worn trunk. It sat against the mold covered and decaying wall. He shot a glance to his right, at the only window in the room. The window looked out on a dark and empty street. It was late, and everyone was settling in for the night. The curtain billowed slightly, ruffled by the light gusts of wind. The window’s open. Could that be it? No matter. I have enough enemies as is, no need to be creating new ones.Before him stood a poorly constructed, oaken bed frame complete with straw filled mattress. Upon which, covered in a moth-eaten blanket, lay the assassin’s target.

         Noctavis stood beside the bed, looking down. His eyes were filled with sympathy. His movements full of regret. He pulled a dagger from his belt. Noctavis pressed the dagger to the sleeping man’s throat. “Forgive me,” he whispered into the night. He gripped the dagger and…stopped. Just now. The curtain moved. There was no breeze.

         Noctavis instantly pulled back the dagger, bringing it forth in a defensive gesture. In the same moment, he crouched, knees almost skimming the floor. Cocking his wrist he threw the dagger. It flew fast and straight, hitting the curtain with a thud. A scream of agony ensued.

         He needed to escape. He twisted around to the door and lunged. A man appeared, silhouetted in the door frame. Still in mid-air, the assassin reached up to his right shoulder and pulled a sword from its sheath on his back. Using the momentum from his jump, he swung the blade in a downward arc attempting a beheading. His attacker, seeing the move, quickly positioned his own sword just in time to intercept the blow. The swords clashed, the sound of steel striking steel rang clearly through the room.

         With little effort Noctavis pushed his sword forward, the crisscrossed blades leaned dangerously close to the other man’s face. Seizing the chance, Noctavis quickly disengaged and just as quickly brought his left foot up, into his attackers groin. “My apologies”.

         His opponent lay immobilized on the floor, hands holding the injury, gasping in pain. Noctavis looked through the open door and down the long, dimly lit hallway. Even as he watched, three men, swords drawn, topped the stairs and charged towards him. He shot a backward glance into the room. His supposed target for assassination, had clambered out of bed. In his hand, cocked and ready to kill was a crossbow.

         Noctavis turned and took a step into the room. At the same moment the crossbow released its hold on the arrow, sending it flying straight towards him. He watched it whiz through the air, drawing ever closer. Time slowed. His left hand shot forward, fast as lightning, and plucked the arrow from the air. There was less than a nose length between his forehead and the tip of the arrow. A millisecond later, and he would've be dead.

         “I am an assassin. Killing people is my job. Do not take me lightly.”

         Noctavis dashed forward, quickly closing the gap between them. The man was obviously still in shock. He didn’t make a sound as the pointed tip of an arrow pierced his throat and continued, protruding from the back of his neck. How many does that make now I wonder... He thought to himself, his blade suddenly heavy. For a second his face contorted with regret. Another second and it smoothed out again, expressionless.

         “Blast it all.” he muttered, shaking his head.

          He quickly sought an escape route. The three men in the hall were nearly at the room. His looked out the nearby window for a second time that night. “Who could’ve predicted,” he mumbled. Taking a few steps back, he sprinted forward and jumped. He leaped out the window. Wind rushed past him, the cold night air stinging his cheeks, the ground drawing quickly near. Legs braced, he landed on the ground. The assassin exhaled sharply as his legs collapsed and he fell forward with a thud, dirt rising in a cloud around him.

         Noctavis stood, brushing dirt off his clothes. He looked back up at the window. A man was leaning out, pointing and shouting at the assassin, who merely saluted him and turned away. He needed to escape. Noctavis had bought some time with his jumping stunt, but if he didn’t leave now it would be wasted.

         He stood in the middle of a deserted dirt road. Without a second thought he raced forward. Buildings blurred by. Bakeries and butcheries. Tanners and cobblers. He saw none of it, his eyes forward, his legs pumping. Ahead of him stood the town’s exit. With a burst of speed he passed through. Once free he bent over hands on his knees, and gasped for breath, attempting to ease the uncomfortable ache in his side.

         “Damn it,” he sucked in air, his lungs screaming in exhaustion. “Who the blazes were they?”

         He straightened his body and looked at his surroundings, practiced eyes easily piercing the darkness. “Ah, there it is.”

         Tethered to a nearby oak tree, stood a majestic stallion. Its powerful muscles were clearly defined under its glossy, black coat. The horse looked imperiously down at the assassin then turned its head in apparent disdain. “Yeah, good to see you too.” .

         “Let us be done with this business,” he said aloud grabbing a hold of the stallion’s reins. He put one foot in the stirrups and swung himself atop the horse. Just as he was about to set off, he heard it. It wasn’t loud, so much as it was surprising. A man leaned against the village wall clapping his hands.

         “Job well done, you continue to amaze me,” said the man. He stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his tailored suit before continuing. “It’s been awhile. Most assassins don’t live long, but you’re the exception Noctavis. Ten years and not a single failed assassination. Quite an impressive record.”

         “I suppose,” replied Noctavis, still astride the stallion. “What is it you want Goddrick?”

         “Now, now Noctavis my dear boy. That’s no way to talk to your superiors.”

         Noctavis stood silent. His sole attention on the suited man. Noctavis eyed him up and down considering him.

         He was an impressive man.He stood at six feet none. He was buly, the fabric of his clothes stretched tight across his immense chest.His face on the contrary was that of a scholar. Pale skin, hallow cheeks, and squinty eyes.

         "Very well, speak your peace." Noctavis content with his inspection stated.

         "Need I say anything? I assure you, you know very well what brings me here." replied the well dressed man smirking.

         "Hmm, I suppose I do. You've come to ask the impossible have you not?"

         "Impossible? Need you be so humble Noctavis. Noctavis...your very name sends chills down the spine of any who hear it.Yet you speak of impossibilities? Nay, no man is safe from you...even if he is the king.

         "The king...is...one man I can not kill."

         Goddrick smiled then. It was a smile of triumph and one Noctavis would not soon forget.

         "Can not? Or will not?"

         Noctavis' hand slowly gripped the handle of the dagger hung loosely on his waist. The horse nickered, then sensing the tension, quieted and was siilent. It stared. It's large black eyes unable to tear away from the scene.

         "You question my loyalty?"

         Unperturbed, Goddrick continued to smile that eerie smile. Though he couldn't help it when a cold bead of sweat slowly rolled down his cheek.

         "Do you know an assassin's greatest weakness?" Goddrick asked.

         The moon was full. It's beautiful luminescence was reflected off the dagger as Noctavis inched it from it's sheath.




...and thus ends chapter 1 of Assassin's Choice. Unfortunately, I will not be posting any further chapters. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Ratings and Reviews are greatly appreciated.