Assassin’s Oath E-Book

J.T. Moy

• Herausgeber: Centaurus Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 114

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

An untried novice who must kill a king.
When rebellion threatens the land, Vixhana Rauhalik is sent with a team to assassinate an exiled king before he can return and revive his evil reign.
As a novice battlemage on trial to join the elite Order of Nightwraiths, Vixhana has proven herself a prodigy with the sword and dagger and perfected every technique of sorcerous deception along her journey toward her goal.
But when her team is compromised on what should be her final test, she must face the deadly assassin that destroyed her team and reach her target to complete the mission alone.
If she can.
---
Assassin's Oath is a fantasy novella in the writing style of Mistborn and Game of Thrones. Written by the author of The Stormcrafter Chronicles.

Leseprobe

ASSASSIN’S OATH

J.T. MOY

Copyright © 2022 by J.T. Moy. All rights reserved.

Published by Centaurus Press, Auckland, New Zealand. 23102022

See www. jtmoy.com for further publications.

No part of this work may be copied, published or sold without the Author’s permission, except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

All the characters in this book are fictitious. No relationship is intended to anyone living or dead.

Assassin’s Oath

ISBN 978-0-473-65723-9 (ebook)

CONTENTS

1. The Nightwraith

2. First Blood

3. Hostage

4. City of Towers

5. The Temple

6. The King

7. Escape from the Red Temple

8. Duel of the Dualists

9. The King’s Oath

About the Author

CHAPTER1

THE NIGHTWRAITH

Vixhana Rauhalik balanced at the top of the wall she’d just climbed and glanced down at the two slavering dogs that had been chomping at her heels for the last city block. “Stupid mutts. I’d kill you if I had enough time.”

She then scowled at the reddening sky as she recalled her commander’s last words: “The ship sails at dawn. You better run.” The bastard had left it until the last minute. She respected the head of the Order of Nightwraiths, of course. But dammit. If he’d summoned her from the barracks an hour earlier, she would’ve had plenty of time to join her team. However, the commander of the king’s assassins never missed the chance to turn a task into a test—even when the task was to prevent a rebellion and the deaths of thousands of innocent people.

She dropped to the pavement on the other side of the wall, leaving the dogs barking in frustration, and sprinted. In the distance, the Buzzard coursed through the harbor. Blast.

With the three-masted ship already halfway to the outlet to the open ocean, she needed a change of plan. She nodded to herself as she formulated a new boarding procedure. It’ll work.I’ll make it work. But if it failed, her armor, backpack, and weapons would drag her down to the bottom of the harbor. Father would laugh if I died drowning. She shook her head. No way I’ll give that tyrant the satisfaction.

As she pounded along a land-bridge toward an ancient keep, a chill ran up her spine on recalling the mission details from the commander. How could the man make a game out of it? Surely, he could see how serious the situation was? A rebellion was stirring in the coastal province of Cerik a decade after it’d been liberated from a vile reign of blood and human sacrifice. If the religious fanatics successfully brought back their priest-king from where he waited in exile, armies would have to fight and die once again. The nightwraiths’ mission was to track the man down and kill him. “Captain Dravin and specialist Kikarnos could complete the mission themselves, I’m sure. But another blade won’t do any harm. Go to it,” Rikus had instructed her. Then, almost as an aside, he’d added, “Complete the mission successfully and you’ll earn your blood dagger.” It had been her lifelong goal to attain the symbol of a true nightwraith. She had grinned for a moment, then had panicked as she’d realized that failure was as simple as failing to reach the ship to join her team.

A shout drew her attention back to the keep at the end of the land-bridge. A pair of startled guards yelled again and lowered their spears at the ferocious warrior charging toward them.

Vixhana strode one last step then channeled gravmancy magic to assist her leap up and over their heads to the battlements above. The guards’ astonished shouts disappeared below as she vanished from their sight and landed on the top level of the keep. If her mission had been to steal a relic or kill one of the mages inside the keep—the Academy of the Arcane—the hapless guards would’ve been in deep trouble.

A small blue dragon, the size of a dog, hissed and then screeched at her from atop one of the four towers of the keep. Good morning to you, too, beastie. Pumping her legs past the creature—probably a pet of some mage—she dropped to a stone pier on the far side of the keep.

Sixty yards beyond the end of the pier, the Buzzard continued to cut through the waters of the harbor.

She assessed her chances. She’d jumped distances twice that far, using her gravmancer powers—but not onto a moving ship with wooden masts that could potentially knock her out of the air. A moment of doubt seized her mind. What if she missed? She hated water. Bravado wouldn’t stop it gushing down her throat and choking her. She shook her head. Fear is the enemy.Scram! Freeing herself of remnants of the emotion, she jogged in even strides along the pier and timed her final leap to the ship.

At the end of the pier, she grunted and hurtled into the air toward the frigate with her arms and legs balled to her chest. A sailor on the ship stared at her with his face twisted in amazement.

Seconds later, she stretched out her limbs and landed on the ship with a thump. Too heavy. Could’ve broken an ankle. Lucky. Skidding to a halt, she spiraled her arms for balance.

Voices shouted out in alarm all around her.

“What the hell!”

“It’s an ambush!”

“Boarders!”

The rasps of blades being drawn had Vixhana doubting the wisdom of her dramatic entry.

A blow from behind struck her to the deck. A heavy weight then crushed each of her arms to the hard wood and cold steel pressed against her neck. Two assailants holding her down.

“Who the hell are you?!” an angry voice sounded over her head.

She couldn’t turn enough to see the man who spoke. She could throw him off and recover her bruised dignity, but the action would likely provoke a protracted fight. No point hurting innocent sailors.

Instead, she replied as she’d been trained. She was a professional.

“Novice Rauhalik reporting for duty, sir,” she said as best she could, with her cheek pressed awkwardly against the wooden deck.

“What?”

“Novice Vixhana Rauhalik reporting for duty, sir,” she said in a louder voice.

After a brief silence, there was a roar of laughter.

“She’s one of ours, Dravin. Look at her armor.” The weight on her left arm lifted away.

Then the weight on her right arm lifted, and Vixhana pushed herself up to her feet, to the sound of more laughter and a shouted order for the sailors to return to their duties.

Turning around, she met the stares of the two men who’d been restraining her. Armored in the black leathers of the Order of Nightwraiths, they each hefted a blood dagger. She glanced at the prized weapons with their foot-long blades and berry-sized runestones clasped in claws of steel.

Her gaze returned to the men. The first was lean and graceful and a half-foot shorter than her. The second was even shorter still. She felt clumsy and oafish in their presence. Assassins shouldn’t be tall and bear-like, as some of her fellow novices often reminded her.

“I’ve got papers, sir.” Vixhana fumbled for the letter Commander Rikus had given her.

The taller man sheathed his dagger and snatched the document from her. After reading it, he frowned in annoyance at her. “Absurd. You’ve only completed half the training. Has Rikus gone insane . . . jeopardizing the mission with an unblooded novice?” he said. His hand clutched the letter she’d given him and thrust it in her face. “This is no training mission. If it goes wrong, the south will raise a rebellion. I can’t have you along. You can go back in a rowboat.”

Vixhana Rauhalik firmed her jaw as she replied to the man, who she assumed was Captain Dravin. Although the Order had only a couple hundred men and women, she hadn’t met either of the men before. “Commander Rikus revealed no sign of madness, sir,” she said in a level tone. “And I have mastered all of Master Potak’s training techniques.” She could have spoken of flattening the master with swift kicks in training or sweeping past the King’s Guard in full daylight as examples, but she knew she’d have to prove herself to every doubter if she were to be accepted into the king’s elite order of assassins. “I’ll complete the mission with you or die trying. You have my word.”

Dravin lowered the letter and examined Vixhana’s face as recognition set in. “You’re the one the commander has been so spirited about. What makes you so special? I can see it isn’t your charms or looks. In fact, you’re oversized for this kind of mission. You lack the profile for subtlety.”

His words might have offended another woman, but Vixhana didn’t care what anyone thought of her appearance. As a child, she had always been mistaken for a boy; as a teen, she had punched out youths who sullied her mother’s reputation; and now, at nineteen years old, her hard face, dark hair, and broad shoulders with corded muscles lent her the looks of a street thug. Inherited from her father, her strong features reflected her Vorosian heritage. And, like her father, she towered over most men, intimidating them with her stature. However, the captain was unimpressed and openly disdainful of her size.

“I don’t ask for special treatment, sir,” she replied, stiffening at his question. “And I assure you, when I’m in the shadows, I am just as little as you are.” Her tone bordered on insolence, but she’d not let the captain get in her way. Since first learning of the mysterious Order of Nightwraiths at ten years old, while training with wooden swords with her uncle, it was her personal quest to become one of the weavers of light magic and masters of blade that terrified dark alleyways, foreign palaces, and battlefields with their ghostly weapons.

She wouldn’t be refused from this final test to join the Order.

“She’s the double mage, Dravin . . . gravity and light,” the second assassin spoke up as he finished circling Vixhana in his examination of her. He was the smaller man, around the same age as his senior, both some ten years older than Vixhana. But where Captain Dravin was brisk and abrupt, the other man appeared relaxed and open. He smiled curiously at Vixhana as though she were an exotic animal at a market.

“We already have a double mage . . . you.” Dravin stared pointedly at his shorter colleague.

By requirement, all nightwraiths were illumancer mages—masters of illusion—essential for stealth and disguise. But a rare few were gifted with additional forms of magic. A nightwraith who wove shadows and light and manipulated gravity to augment sword strikes, wield giant axes, or crush a target barehanded was a lethal force that could overpower almost any foe.

The shorter assassin shrugged. “I might be injured. A stray arrow could take me. A dragon sentry might catch my scent,” he replied in an offhand tone. He reached up and patted Vixhana’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of our overgrown ironwood here. I’m sure she’s not as clumsy as she looks. We doubles never are.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done, Captain. I won’t let you down.” Vixhana frowned and brushed the man’s hand off her shoulder; he seemed overly friendly for an assassin.

The nightwraith captain stuffed the commander’s orders into a chest pocket and shook his head a final time. “Bad luck taking along a novice,” he muttered at Vixhana. “Go on then. Go store your things.”

Restraining a smile, she hefted her backpack and pressed past the puzzled sailors—now returning to their duties—and found her way belowdecks.

She had no reason to smile. It was her first official mission, and her senior officer was already regretting her presence. She gritted her teeth. She welcomed the challenge. She would prove him wrong and prove she was good enough to earn her blood dagger.

* * *

As the Buzzard headed toward a horizon now bright with the morning sun, Vixhana returned to the ship’s deck. With Dravin occupied in conversation with the ship’s captain, she sought out the short, smiling assassin Kikarnos—the other nightwraith the commander had mentioned in her briefing.

Sea spray salted the side of Vixhana’s face as she shifted with the rolling deck. Moments later, she grabbed the wooden handrail beside Kikarnos as he stood gazing over the wake of the ship at the diminishing silhouette of Dunberrin City. Three giant structures pierced the city’s outline: the royal palace, widening as it reached skyward like a fluted glass, balancing on an impossibly thin tower; the giant signaling tower of the military district, which communicated the king’s orders to the edges of the expanding realm; and the great runic furnace of the Academy of the Arcane.

Kikarnos grinned in amusement as his gaze lifted from her white knuckles to her equally pale face. “You’ve never been on a sailing ship?”

“Several times before. I just don’t like them . . . especially if it sinks.” She’d traveled to the Northern Isles with her mother years ago, but had never enjoyed being confined to a vessel that wasn’t under her control.

He laughed. “Let’s pray it doesn’t.”

She glanced at him in appraisal. Although Kikarnos was short and lean, he was the ideal assassin. In regular clothing, he looked harmless—a tool merchant, perhaps, or a wiry cabbage farmer visiting the city. But crawling over a moonlit rooftop with his blade in hand, he was in his element. His small stature slid him through tight windows and gaps with ease, and his magic gravleapt him to heights that no one else could reach.

Kikarnos tilted his head and gave Vixhana a curious look. A moment later, he reached out and grabbed her elbow as though to lead her away from the railing.

His grin then turned from friendly to resolute.

“What are you doing?” Reflexively, she pulled away, but his hand followed her arm.

“Testing you,” he replied.