Mage Assassin Chapter 2!

I followed the ambling beings of the street back toward the town centre, and since I had some time to kill this morning, I thought I’d see if anything piqued my interest enough to buy.

I loved the town centre, even though it was not the center of the land at all. Placed slightly south on the kingdom’s map, it was where all the tradies came to bargain their goods off for scraps of gold, but it wasn’t the only place a person could barter in Ocadia.

Many years ago, the king told the landfolk that only non-magical goods and trades could be sold off in such a close proximity to the castle, which caused many vendors to set up markets elsewhere. Some nearby shopkeepers were allowed to sell magically enhanced fruit and veg, though, after managing to convince the king there was no harm in it, and this allowance stood as long as they sold nothing that changed the chemical balance of the mind.

There was a different marketplace far from the castle for that sort of thing, and another for dark magical ingredients, and there was even a market where the patrons could purchase the temporary use of a whole being, whether it be a nymph for the night or a necromancer's hand. Then there was the industry area in the far south of the city, right where the forest seeped into the stream that trailed around Ocadia. This area was for the mechanics, welders, builders, glass blowers and any work that let off a thick, heavy smoke into the sky.

Personally, I preferred to stroll around the stalls in the town centre, mostly because they were simple. The same vendors had sold their products in the same stalls they always had over here, and I was a simple man who could appreciate consistency.

I forked off from the main crowd that had swallowed me up outside the inn, and I headed toward a less busy street on my right. Luckily, I was back in my natural form, so if I bumped into someone, I could easily avoid another morph. It was only when I was already in disguise that I had to be extremely careful.

The Kingdom of Ocadia was a generally happy one, and today proved it. The sun beat down on the grasslands in the north, and the people travelled happily to their chosen destination without a care in the world.

I walked along through the bustling lane until I found myself at my favorite stall. It sold human-reared lychees with limp spikes that shot out of their shells and hung over the basket they sat in. Jackfruits with hardened, textured surfaces were piled in the next basket, and right beside them, a stock of freshly picked peaches reflected the morning sun. My interest laid with the tampered produce, though.

The magical ones.

They weren’t items that healed or hurt. Instead, they held flavors that were incomparable to anything I had ever tasted from the other stalls in the area.

“Just a honeybuddle,” I said to Eroven, the wizard who fostered the fruit.

I had never done a job for the man, not that he would even recognize me if I had, but he knew me from when I was a young lad. Back then, I used to spend a lot of time prancing around the kingdom and getting into some kind of trouble, but this stall was where I always went to regain my energy.

By now, Eroven had aged. His skin had grown sun spots, and his hair had gone silver and balded at the crown. In his nature, though, he was just as young as the day I met him, and everytime I saw his face, it was like I was no longer the man who made murder his business. I was simply the little orphan kid who liked the vibrant fruit in his stall.

Eroven offered a pleasant nod of the head in greeting before he reached down and pulled out an item that bloomed with large, acidically pink, circular petals. Then he carefully placed the honeybuddle into a cotton bag, and I gave him some coins in exchange for the fruit.

“Anything else, Dex?” Eroven asked me and pointed at a deep blue bubble. “This one, perhaps?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Screwbler,” he announced as if I was supposed to know what that was.

I raised my eyebrows and motioned for him to continue.

Eroven picked up the transparent, blue-tinted bubble with his fingertips and carefully placed it in a box before handing it to me. The item looked so fragile, like it could pop any minute, and I took the box and held it tentatively in my hand while I stooped to inspect the screwbler closer.

“It’s sturdier that it looks,” the wizard chuckled. “It’s a new recipe. A mixture of daydreams, blueberries, and stardust.”

“Hmm.” I nodded to show I heard him, but I was completely entranced by the thing.

“It’s not mind-altering, of course,” he assured me. “Why don’t you just try it and see?”

“Oh, I don’t--” I started, and I moved to pass the item back to the vendor, but he held both his hands up and shook his head.

His jowls jiggled with the movement, and he frowned.

“On the house,” Eroven insisted. “You’re one of my best customers, you know.”

“Well, thanks,” I laughed, and I closed up the package with the screwbler safely tucked inside.

“Anytime, Dex,” the wizard said. “It’s only fair that a regular like yourself gets the first taste test.”

“I’ll let you know how it tastes,” I humored him. “It looks incredible.”

“It does,” he agreed in a confident tone.

I bowed my head as a farewell, carefully held the box in my hand with my bagged honeybuddle, and headed off toward the rest of the stalls. I nodded a few greetings to merchants I recognized along the way, and I was pleased to see only half of them recognized my true face in return.

Most of the ones who knew me were actually quite valuable to my estate. They kept a watchful eye on the town centre, and were always willing to give us any information I required, but I never conversed with these men and women without a different face replacing my own.

This meant none of them could point me out in a crowd, and none of them knew I was really one of the top assassins within my estate. The news of my dealings would make its way through the marketplaces whenever barons, dukes, elves, or all else were found dead in their homes or in the streets, and while I heard all the gossip in passing, no one looked my way.

Least of all my local intel.

The few residents of the kingdom who had known me during my training as a boy, or had seen me grow from an orphan to an unknown killer, especially liked it this way. They behaved as if their insider knowledge placed them above the rest, and they’d chuckle quietly to themselves whenever they saw my two-toned eyes on another man’s face. Then they’d turn a blind eye while I gathered the information I needed throughout town, and when news of another inexplicable death drifted through the streets, they were the first to praise the work with a hearty “good riddance. I hope it was the kid who did it.”

This all meant I walked a fine line between being completely unassuming and something of a celebrity, and the estate I belonged to operated in the same way.

People knew where to seek services like ours, and they knew we provided the most effective solutions to their problems, but how exactly we orchestrated our dealings was a well-kept secret.

As far as my powers were concerned, though, they made me the best-kept secret within our entire estate.

Although I had the ability to mirror others’ appearances from a young age, I was still learning about how my magic worked, as well as how to work with it. It was a tricky business being a mage, especially when I was the only mirror mage in the land, but I had my Master to support me in the journey.

Granted, he could only train me in combat and wisdom. The rest was down to me to figure out.

I had spent the better part of twenty years in Ocadia, and according to my Master, I still had hundreds of years left to live. It was a slow process coming into my powers, but with each mission and morph, I was becoming more and more successful, and my understanding of my magic was gaining steam.

I nodded to a passing cart of elven children who all had ruddy, sweat-streaked faces, but then I crossed over to the next lane and left the bustling market behind.

The route back to my estate was familiar to me from this part of the kingdom, since I made the trip so often. It took only twenty minutes on foot, five minutes on horseback, or a quick two minute dash if I was travelling by water salamander. Though walking was my preferred mode of transportation because it allowed me to take in the beauty of the areas better, and it made it easier to scope out possible hiding places and assassination spots for future jobs.

Plus, I enjoyed nature and the beings who belonged in it. I wasn’t much of a social man, but I took a few simple greetings if it meant getting to view the world that I called my home.

Our estate presided in the easternmost quarter of Ocadia and was tucked among a smattering of average buildings. The whole quarter was made up of local allies and smithies who gladly provided weapons and various supplies for us, and most of them had become a vital part of work over the years.

Just beyond our neighbors’ shops, and throughout the area I was making my way through to get there, was an old and disused coven that used to be the place where the local witches contacted the spirits. Now, it was covered in plants, and made a scenic walkway, and bushels of black roses and yellow sunflowers idly hung in thick patches of growth. Green leaves arched over my head, and swallows and magpies whistled within the shrubs and used the twigs to nest. Geckos and ipinaris camouflaged themselves into the hollowed out wood of trees, and the closer I came to them, the more they hid their heads from me.

Then I finally reached my estate walls and crossed through the worn out wooden gate.

There was only one large house that belonged to us, and it was mostly hidden from the street due to the walls enclosing the place and the abundance of greenery. The forest encroached on the edges of our land, and all manner of plants, vines, and ancient boughs spilled over our walls.

The ancient stone house itself was covered in ivy, as if the forest was trying to reclaim this land, and everyday, I had to wipe away the vines from the front door while everyone else in residence chipped in to help cut down the bamboo shoots that shot up overnight. We’d all machette the leaves that grew over the combat training area out back, and we even unclipped the winding branches from the windows each morning as they squeezed against the glass and caused it to let out high-pitched squeals every now and then.

But the forest was our friend, for the most part. It protected us by providing a cover very few in the kingdom would dare to poke around in, and it allowed us a training ground outside that was too secluded to notice on first glance. It also gave us shelter from the hot sun, food, and springwater, and even though the entities within the dark forest occasionally caused us some trouble, most of the time, it was joyous living on the cusp of normality and chaos.

We didn’t mind living the way we did. In fact, myself and the other residents of my estate took pride in knowing we could grapple with all manner of forest beasts if necessary.

But from the entrance gate, the house we lived in looked like nothing but an old stone mess covered in greenery, and only the wooden door and two small windows peeked out from the leaves. It was ancient and overgrown enough not to draw any interest, but there was much more to the house than met the eye. The stonework was actually a magical substance made from the sap of a numberland, and this made our entire building indestructible. It couldn’t be burned, broken through, or even chipped the slightest bit, and the enchantments carved into the windows prevented them from shattering as well.

The house itself was a full three stories tall, and the perfect place for a group of twenty-two assassins to hole up in, and considering our line of work meant dealing with dangerous targets and secret missions, it worked to our advantage for our estate to look somewhat unimpressive from the outside.

Today, though, there was a new fixture outside the estate.

Our neighbor blacksmith was waiting outside the entrance for me, although he was something of a personal arrowsmith to me as well.

I offered the man a friendly nod as I headed over to join him near the vine-covered doors.

“Good to see you, Myokos,” I said.

“You as well,” he laughed in a gravelly timber. “You seemed deep in thought.”

“Thinking is a hobby of mine,” I humored him.

I mounted the estate steps until I was face-to-face with a noble looking man. He was around seventy years old, with a dark, wiry beard that only just passed his chin, and a hat made out of limp cloth that kind of flopped on top of his peppered head. He wasn’t a man of wealth, but he was a happy man, dedicated, and full of life and love for the work he did for a living.

“Just come from a job have you?” the blacksmith inquired, and he waggled his wiry eyebrows as he lowered his voice. “Did you use the arrows I gave you the other day? Were they good?”

“No, I actually used the bolts you dropped off this morning,” I replied. “Say, Myokos, what are you doing here?”

The bulbous-nosed man looked overjoyed by my question and quickly grappled with the cotton bag that laid on his back. Then he steadied his hat with one hand as he used the other to rummage through the bag, and after a moment, he pulled out two new arrows.

“I needed to come and show you,” Myokos said and pushed the weapons into my palms. “Dragon’s breath arrows.”

I held the arrows up to the sunlight, and the heads were a rougher design that allowed me to see every hit Myoko’s hammer had given. The shaft was stout and looked to be made of oak, and I recognized the phoenix fletching at the base. The arrowheads were what stood out to me the most, though, and I couldn’t recall ever seeing metal take on this particular shade of ruddy, blackish-red.

“Dragon’s breath?” I questioned him.

“You impale someone with this arrow,” he started again in an excited tone, “and it’ll flame up on impact. That arrowhead will disintegrate them into dust in under a minute. Nothin’ but ash left.”

“Are you dabbling with new magic?” I furrowed my eyebrows as my heart beat faster with excitement.

“Maybe just a little bit,” he snickered.

I looked at the peculiar item closer as it glistened under the sun rays, and I ran my thumb against one of the ruddy arrowheads. It felt every so slightly warm to the touch, and I could have sworn I heard the metal let out a faint snarl, but I couldn’t be sure.

I was sure that I liked these devices of murder a lot.

“It’s quite the specimen,” I commended the blacksmith. “How did you make this?”

“Leave it to the professionals to know that.” Myokos smirked. “Go on, take it. Let me know how it works out for you.”

“Thank you,” I smiled at him and gladly wrapped the two arrows up in my palm. “I must be heading in.”

“Sure, sure.” Myokos nodded. “Do let me know if you need anything else made.”

“Of course,” I replied.

I watched Myokos as he headed towards the gates, and the old blacksmith hummed a merry tune along the way. Then I turned back to the door, shoved a curtain of ivy aside, and grasped the handle.

Since I was a resident, the oval door opened for me instantly, but for those who weren’t, they’d have to bear the ivy that wrapped around their wrists and constricted around their knuckles so tightly that their bones broke in an instant.

That was only if they had ill intentions, though. Those who simply didn’t know the etiquette only got a small shock from the knob to signify that they should stay away.

This was because no one from outside of the building was allowed in unless the Master had given his own permission, and the blacksmith had known this. In fact, most people that wanted a job done knew this. It was an unspoken rule around Ocadia that anyone who had business with my Master had to approach the work properly, or be turned away completely, and no one wanted to risk being turned away by him.

My Master was the head of our entire estate, and the only person whose face was known without question to belong to an assassin.

An ancient one whose abilities were unparalleled in his younger days.

He had been alive for centuries, even outliving the last two kings, and although he only shared his true age with a few acquaintances. He was known for delegating our exclusive services and never botching a job, and people and creatures alike respected him for that.

Inside our estate was spectacular, and much larger and grander than someone might expect. It was a stark difference compared to the dilapidated exterior, and the lack of excessive windows kept most of the sunlight out while the dark wood only made it feel darker. We used sporadic lanterns to light the place up, and they let off an amber hue that reflected on the floorboards and illuminated the whole area in an orange the color of a summer’s sunset. A black carpet with gold embellished snakes laid in front of my feet, and as I stepped on it, their eyes darted toward me. They knew who I was, though, and they quickly allowed their eyes to stitch back over with the gold cotton thread.

The ceiling above was covered in embossed murals that the Master had hand-sketched, and while nobody knew what story the carvings told, they were delicately designed and some of the finest I’d seen in the kingdom.

There were four fountains beyond the entryway, and each one contained an element. On my right was the water element, and the fountain had been tessellated by hand. Many hand-painted tiles made up the structure, and it reached taller than my head while water gently trickled down the wall and seeped into its lilly-filled pond.

On my left was the earth fountain. It was made out of mud and clay, and dropped down under the floor and into the ground. Succulents bloomed on the sides while pansy roots poked out of the arid soil. The sound of cicadas echoed through the building as they gathered on the floor while ants marched to the top of the fountain, and instead of water trickling down from the spout, a light dusting of soil sparked from the top and rippled off the sides until it cascaded into the ground.

In front of me was the reception desk where Mazne, the receptionist, sat and just to the right of her was where the fire fountain rested. The fountain was more like a pool of fire than an actual fountain, and it flamed upward instead of spilling downward. Inside the fire were the flares from the fiaf’s, the little aphids that fed on heat, and the tewks that dwelled at the fire’s hottest point.

Lastly, there was the wind fountain to the left of the receptionist, and it held a small tornado inside that culminated at the center of the bowl. This cyclone caught the trickle of air that rushed from the bottom spout, and it gave off a gentle, whooshing hum that mingled with the sound of the cicadas nearby.

Collectively, these four fountains were the Master’s way of reminding us all that balance was always needed. Especially in our line of work.

“Dex,” the receptionist greeted me.

“Hi, Maz,” I waved at her, and when I got to the desk, I braced my forearms on the bamboo counter.

“Another job well done I assume,” Mazne said with a full smile.

Mazne was a good friend of mine who had come to the building with the hope of becoming an assassin, but had since decided that being on the reception was better for her. I was around seven when I first met her, and she was thirteen at the time and had just left home because she didn’t want to work as a peach picker like her family had wanted her to.

She was now in her thirties, but nothing about her changed from when she was young. She still had hair thick with black curls, and a small, pointed face. Her eyes were the color of blue sapphires and her skin was the same warm hue as honey.

“As always,” I returned and gave her a sly smile.

“I’ll let Master know you’re back,” Maze informed me.

“Thanks,” I replied and rapped my knuckles on the table. “I’ll head to him now.”

I turned to the right and started down the hallway. The Master was usually in his office on the bottom floor of the three storey building this time of day.

As I continued down the hall, I passed a few of our other in-residence assassins.

Vulnus was hunched over one of the benches and cleaning off his bloody spear while Cursor and Timere stood talking to each other nearby. They were all still wearing the disguises they’d put on for their work this morning, so they were a hodgepodge of beggars’ attire and even a stableboy’s uniform, and they were dishevelled like they’d only just returned to the estate.

I walked past them and gave them a slight nod, and then I travelled through one of the corridors that was covered in ivy and poinsettia before reaching an ambiguous pair of stout oak doors.

They were the doors to the Master’s office, and only those who were expected could enter, so I gave it three light taps and waited for his response.

“Dex,” the baritone voice sounded out from behind the frame.

I inhaled and swung the door open to find the Master stooped over a large fountain at the center of the room.

Master Abbot was a feeble looking man who had battled through more things than I could have ever dreamed. Even in a kingdom where several men lived for centuries, he was considered ancient, and even he didn't know how many years he'd been alive at this point. He only stood as high as my chest, and he was shorter than he used to be even a few years ago, and his head had balded over time while his wrinkles became more sunken. Still, his silver beard was well kept and hung to his stomach, and although his looks were deceiving, underneath, he had powers that were unmatched, and wisdom that nobody else could teach. He was an inspiration to all of us in the estate, and he was the man who’d found me as a young child and took me in.

“The task has been completed, Master,” I announced as I strolled over. “One arrow shot, just like always. Clean work.”

Master Abbot didn’t reply at first. Instead, the man peered deep into the water of his fountain as if he was looking for something specific, and I knew he was.

What most people didn’t know about him was that he was a mage as well, but not a mirror mage. My Master was a water mage, and he was able to see through the liquid and all around the city like a bird. He used this ability for several purposes, but usually when he gazed into his fountain, it was so he could track all of us and be sure our jobs went off without a hitch.

“I know,” Master Abbot said after a long moment of silence. “I saw you walking back to the estate, albeit a slow walk.”

I let out a small chuckle at his response and waited patiently for him to speak again.

“Your gold is on the desk,” he continued while he kept his gaze on the water.

“Thank you,” I replied, but when I glanced toward the satchel on the large oak desk near the back wall, I realized it was at least twice as full as it should have been. “Did you increase the price?”

“Well, I had some information come through from my eyes around town,” Master Abbot announced. “It seems that by killing Lord Emory, you have actually saved a more valuable life.”

“More valuable?” I asked him with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, the life of a young woman,” he confirmed. “An innocent one at that.”

“What do you mean?” I clarified.

“Lord Emory was supposed to attend a meeting later this afternoon,” he divulged. “A private one with rather dishonorable friends present. He was planning on having the baron’s daughter, his only daughter, murdered tomorrow night while the baron is out with the Duke of Hestaff.”

“Murder his daughter?” I asked as my stomach clenched with anger. “On what grounds?”

“Because of this nonsense with the millet field,” the Master confirmed. “Luckily, though, I found out about the deal, as I usually do. Then I sold this information to the baron before you’d completed your mission, and because of this, your payment has indeed doubled.”

“Clever, Master.” I grinned as the old man sent me a weathered and whimsical smile, but I wasn’t too shocked to hear all of this. It wasn’t the first time he had managed to get more information than anyone bargained for, and he did have a habit of ensuring all of us were as handsomely paid as possible for our efforts.

“Come, we have more important matters to discuss,” Master Abbot sighed, and he straightened up as he headed toward his desk.

“More important than a doubled payment?” I joked as I came over to join him, but then I realized his face was drawn with exhaustion, and I took a seat as I sobered a bit. “What is it, Master?”

“You are the only other mage in this house, Dex,” he said in a baritone voice. “I have taken you in and trained you as such, although I still don’t know how strong you will become.”

“Even I don’t know fully,” I interrupted him.

“But I have guided you in the best way I can,” Master Abbot continued. “I have given you clothes, I have fed you and taught you everything I know, but there will be a time when I need more from you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked as my confusion mounted.

“I am aging faster everyday,” he answered, “and my powers are waning for the first time in centuries. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be, and the business is expanding more and more every day.”

“I see,” I replied.

“You have advanced to become my most trusted assassin,” Master Abbot continued with a solemn nod. “You have learned more than anyone here, and so the time has come for you to prepare to advance even further than you already have.”

“In what way do you mean?” I asked as I considered his extremely calm demeanor.

Master Abbot folded his hands together, and only now did he take his seat behind the desk in front of me. Then he looked at me with a steady gaze, and he shrugged his frail shoulders.

“I want you to take over as Master of the house,” he stated simply.

But this wasn’t a simple thing. No man, and no mage for that matter, could ever be what Master Abbot was to this kingdom. His expertise was unparalleled, and everyone, including myself, put their faith in him when it came to our line of work.

Yet here I was, staring into his aged eyes, and I knew he meant these words.

I, of all people, had suddenly been chosen as his successor, but why now?