Mage Assassin Chapter 1

I readjusted the bow sling across my chest and lightly stepped toward the edge of the stall roof. I was looking for my assigned target, Lord Emory.

As far as I had been told, he was a man of no notable importance, was not considered too dangerous, and hadn’t angered a large group of people.

But he’d angered the wrong people, and in turn for gold coins, I’d been instructed to kill him, so that’s what I set out to do.

This mission brought me to the centre of the kingdom, where I stood on top of one of the wooden stalls and scoped out the area like an eagle on top of a tree surveying his territory. It was a tall stall, some forty feet high and almost wide enough to be considered a building, where people and creatures alike would buy their herbs and oils for potions and elixirs. Even though I wasn’t able to discreetly complete the assassination from this vantage point, no one ever really looked up, so the roof gave me a broad view of each entrance to the busy town centre, and I was able to stay concealed behind the tattered, wooden signs that lined the stall roofs.

Each structure neatly faced the roads of the town square while gaps behind and between them formed into little veined pathways, and elves, sorcerers, druids and everything in between all rambled around the shacks.

Non-magical beings stuck to the fruit and veg stands and rarely entered the more obscure establishments. They skittered past the alchemists’ stalls for fear it would kill them to get too close, but the magical beings all fluttered between any of the stalls, collecting items for their estates as they passed without a care.

It was a warm morning, like most days in the kingdom at this time of year, and although my job involved murder, I was still just a human mage who relished the sunlight. I looked out at the world in front of me and nestled down within the slats of the wooden roof, and the everyday buzz of the market filled my ears while I continued scanning every inch of my surroundings.

I wasn’t as high up as I needed to be for an assassination, but that was alright. The last thing I wanted to do was kill him then and there to make a scene, and if I had planned it right, I would be able to see Lord Emory at any moment. I was in a prime spot to track his progress to a more ideal location, and the fact was, more often than not, my job involved having to tediously wait until the opportune moment.

As I looked into the crowds and waited for his appearance, I couldn’t help but dart my eyes toward the broader view I could see from this position.

Surrounding the entire expanse of the kingdom was an endless sea of green. It was coined by the locals as the Succubus Forest, but historically known as the Forest of Hud. The trees that spanned out as far as the eye could see were dense and dark, and legend said one wrong turn would surely mean death, so the creatures within the kingdom rarely tended to venture in there.

Those who did always stayed close to the boundaries of the city, just in case.

Nobody knew where the Forest of Hud truly ended, but from here, they spanned straight up and over the peaks of the mountains in the distance. I’d heard tales as a boy that the land beyond the forested peaks was cold and damp, and that it was kept for outsiders, intruders and exiles. It was said to be an unremorseful and barren wasteland, but while most of the king’s subjects took this as a warning, I’d always been intrigued by the idea.

Within the hollowed out circle of the ancient Forest of Hud was where the Kingdom of Ocadia rested. The city comprised a huge plot of land that took two days to cross from East to West on foot and rolled over crowded hills of stone buildings and spires, and the king’s castle sat directly at the center.

From where I stood perched in the market, I could easily admire the architecture of the king’s castle, and it was an extraordinary piece of work that had been built at the time of the kingdom's birth centuries ago. Each brick of the castle told a one year’s story of Ocadia, while strewn over them were the king’s flags, crests and windows.

I glanced to the eastside of the kingdom, or to me, home. To the west was the necromancers’ estate, and it was a dark and cold affair shrouded in black fog that billowed up to the sky. The northeast quarters of Ocadia housed the smaller estates belonging to the pixies, jinns, and others, and the northwest region was where the elven estates, the alchemists, and the royals’ associates lived.

I repositioned myself as my crouching legs tired out, and I laid my stomach on the rooftop before I carefully realigned the shortsword attached to my belt so it wouldn’t hurt me. Then I huffed my icy, white hair out of my eyes with an upwards puff from my mouth, and I arched my shoulder blades back and forth in an attempt to shift the leather satchel on my back. It carried a few steel-tipped bolts and the disguise my estate seamstress had made for me, and my crossbow was nestled right beneath it, though hidden under my traveller’s cloak.  I flicked the coarse wool  over my legs to help me blend in with the rooftops more, and from a bird’s-eye view, I looked almost invisible.

Which was important when it came to living in a kingdom that housed flying creatures. I’d been pecked at by rogue harpies more times than I cared to count.

Several more minutes passed while I laid out like this, but then I saw him.

Lord Emory.

He was not a magical man, that I could see just by his simple appearance, and I was told he wasn’t important within the king’s hierarchy, but as I watched him move with long, purposeful strides, I could tell he still thought himself more important than the rest of the citizens of the city. He held a lead bound binder in his left arm and swung his other arm in a reckless fashion so that everyone would scurry away from him, and while he wore a prim suit the color of a fine, red wine, he really wasn't much to look at, especially compared to all the other entities within the kingdom. Lord Emory was only a tall, bald man who was around mid-age, but whether or not he was important within the Ocadia didn’t matter.

The person who wanted him assassinated was not really highly regarded either. In fact, it was actually a lower ranking baron who approached my master about this job, and although I wasn’t told much about the history between the two men, I did know that the whole dispute surrounded the destruction of the barron’s millet field, among other menial things.

But either way, he had caused enough damage to become my next target.

At a very good price.

From where I lay, I studied the set of the lord’s hooked nose that folded downwards and rested on his top lip. It was his most defining feature, and it was the thing that assured me more than anything else that I was looking at the right man.

Once I was satisfied, I pushed the bottom of my palms against the wooden slats and quickly jumped up. I had eyes locked on Lord Emory, but judging from his walking pace, I had to work faster than I originally intended to.

I diverted my eyes to the castle beyond the lord, and then I checked my watch. Judging by his suit, he was definitely gearing up for a full day's worth of work, but he still had an hour before he was expected to arrive at his mill on the northside of the kingdom. From what I could tell, he was en route to the Lord’s House, just as I’d expected.

Though called the Lord’s House, the place itself acted more as a boys’ club situated to the North of the marketplace stalls, and what held the Lord’s Union. Males who thought highly of themselves would gather in the split rented building to gamble, drink, and engage in illicit affairs. It was a seedy building, and not an official building of the king. In fact, it was completely unbeknown to him that establishments like this were planted all over the center of town and crassly decorated with his guilds.

I dusted off my outfit and looked down at the distance between me and the grass below. I swung my hip over the side and clutched onto the edge of the roof as tightly as I could with my fingertips. Then, with both feet, I heaved myself to the ground, and I found myself behind the herbal shop, between the alleyway and the back of another stall.

“Thanks.” I smiled at the gray-haired shopkeeper who startled when my feet thudded in front of him.

“Anytime, Dex,” the man announced. “Are you coming back?”

“Not today,” I informed him. “I have a feeling this job won’t take too long.”

The herbal shopkeeper carried on sorting out his inventory and offered a small, but knowing smile. His name was Lekran, and he was one of the dozen or so merchants in town who actually knew my true appearance. Many in the kingdom had secretly used our services before, but I was always careful to remain undercover when I was working, so no one really knew me as an assassin or where I would strike next. This was what made me so effective in my line of work, but I did pick up a few personal jobs here and there.

A couple years ago, I’d helped Lekran rid himself of a rival shopkeeper who had not only stolen his stock, but sold it on for half the price.

But this wasn’t why he knew me so well.

“I see, kiddo,” Lekran said as he kept his head down on his herbs.

I couldn’t help quietly snorting at the term of endearment. It was a nickname that had stuck since I had first met him over a decade ago, and though I was now a man well into his late twenties, I still donned the name no matter my age. Luckily, Lekran’s endearment toward me also meant I had a stall to spy on top of in the center of town whenever I needed.

I gave Lekran a friendly nod and whipped my cloak behind me before I followed the carved out path behind the rest of the makeshift buildings.

The backalleys were always my prefered way of travelling around the centre. They were made for the shop owners and deliverers, not the everyday person, which meant it was quieter, and I could lurk in a more stealthy manner. Knowing Lord Emory was heading to his usual haunt at the Lord’s House, I travelled directly west until I eventually found myself outside of an inn, and it wasn’t just any old inn. It had a turret that made it the tallest place in this quarter of the kingdom, and it happened to be within shooting distance of the Lord’s House.

The inn had velvet curtains instead of doors, and the structure was made out of the same thick, dark, oak wood that the stall I’d just come from was built from. The building itself was simple, much like all of the others that belonged to the townsfolk, but it stood four stories tall and was known for housing vagabonds, paramours, and the egregious. It was also the local hangout spot for those who liked to drink before midday, and as I approached the long-standing structure, I saw a selection of warlocks already crowded around the main, curtained entrance.

I looked around at my surroundings before I quickly slipped along the side of the building until I found myself behind it. Then I  swung my satchel to the ground, shuffled through the contents, and pulled out the uniform that the seamstress had made for me. It was nothing extraordinary at first glance, but on closer inspection, it was actually amazing. The waist coat was made from the scales of a dapper dragon and looked as smooth as velvet. The trousers were made from a mixture of hemp and silkworms, which made it shine under the light like raw diamonds. Underneath the waistcoat was what looked like a simple black shirt, but actually had a dark cotton pattern running through it that made up the emblem of the inn, and the collar and cuffs were imprinted with dark green mugs.

I quickly removed my cloak and crossbow so I could change into the waiter’s uniform, and then I shoved everything else back into the bag. I had disguised my attire, but it still wasn’t enough because if I were to bump into one of the workers, they would know I wasn’t one of them. Luckily though, I had something else up my sleeve: a power that was unknown to every other creature in Ocadia.

I was the only mirror mage, and this made my job that much more interesting. I just had to wait until the right opportunity arose to use my powers undetected.

I hitched the crossbow to my back harness and settled it between my shoulder blades, and then I put on my travelling cloak once more to conceal the weapon. I picked up the satchel full of contents and followed the velvet curtains back to the entrance. I knew that my new attire would draw less attention, but I still had to walk as stealthily as I could since a waiter wouldn’t be likely to arrive for work from a dim alleyway out back.

I peeked around the corner of a gape in the curtains, and I glanced at the warlocks who hung around in the shadowed entrance of the inn. They spoke over each other while they discussed their plans for future potions, and as they guzzled alcohol from steel mugs, their tones got more hostile. This group weren’t the typical warlocks, with long, gray beards and robes. Instead, they were young warlocks, with dark, choppy hair and ragged, burlapped jackets over similarly ragged clothes. They weren’t fully trained yet, maybe not even partially trained, though they talked in abundance about their magical abilities and plans. A trait they had stupidly not been told was damning for the estates they belonged to.

Magic usage in Ocadia was a tentative subject. It was freely used outside of estates as long as the chosen spell or practice had been performed in front of the king. Once it had been approved, and within particular guidelines, the maker could then freely use or outsource the magic to others outside of their own estate. Because of these laws, magic usage in it’s initial phases were deemed illegal outside the confines of a masters’ estate, which meant that each magical body kept their crafts to themselves.

I stepped up to the fellas in the new clothes I adorned on my body and tilted my head towards them in greeting. They greeted me back with hostile glances and huffed as they stepped aside for me to enter the building through the middle of their circle, and even though one of them knew who I was, they still eyed me up and down just for not being a warlock.

The dinghy-looking floorspace inside was clustered with old, leather chairs and tables that were sticky to the touch. I eyed up the bodies that clustered into their various groups. Some elves rested by the edges of the room, while some humans clinked their glasses together in cheers, and a naga coiled by the fire.

A naga rested next to the fire. His pitted face rested on top of his coiled, iridescent body, while his bat-like hood concealed his torso. Near the bar, a small, rounded woman who seemed to be of Grootslang descent. Her eyes were yellow, and her pupils were vertical, the sign of a crepuscular sleeper, and three calloused, vertical lines veered across her nose. Her hair was dark, and the same texture as horse hair, and her skin was as dark as burnt coal.

The bar woman was serving a Leprechaun, who was hunched over the bar and talking in a feisty manner about his consumption, and I kept myself hidden until she turned her back to serve another customer.

Then I darted to the kitchen where I fumbled to find someone I could use for the next step in my plan. I hid behind a large, half-butchered hog on a table slab, and seconds later, a boy appeared from one of the pantries with a naturally furrowed brow.

“Are you new?” he asked and walked over to me with a pile of hors d’oeuvres.

“Yes, I’m Derius,” I lied in a smooth tone. “Lovely to meet you.”

I offered him my hand to shake, and he placed down the tray on the hog’s slab, smiled, and took my hand in his.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he replied in an overly cheery manner. “I was hoping the boss would bring in some help.”

“I guess today is your lucky day then,” I humored him.

Though I wasn’t there to help him, no matter how much he needed it. I was there because he was the perfect target. Not a target that I would kill, but a key component in my mission, and now that we had locked hands, and I’d touched his skin, he had served his purpose without even knowing it.

“I’m just going to clean up, and hang up my cloak,” I assured him. “Then I’ll be ready to get started.”

“Oh yes,” he said and let his brow furrow back into place. “Yes, you go do that.”

The boy grabbed his tray again and turned away, and I waited only a few seconds to be sure he wouldn’t glance back.

Then I twisted around and exited the kitchen altogether, and before the doors had even closed behind me, my body began to change.

My skin prickled like it always did during my transformation, and I felt the pleasing give in my facial structure as my features rearranged themselves. My ribs shrank while my waist narrowed, and I flexed my hands as they became slimmer, along with my legs. The shift took no more than five seconds to be complete, and I quickly searched around my new torso to find my body was infinitely skinnier than usual.

And my entire build, from my wiry hair to my scrawny ankles, was identical to the boy from the kitchen.

I turned my attention back to the coal-colored woman behind the bar, who locked her yellow eyes on me. I immediately dropped my gaze, and I mimicked the tired hunch of the boy in the kitchen as I walked right past the bar toward the turret stairs across the room.

The thing about being a mirror mage was that I could morph my physical appearance to mirror another, but my eyes always stayed the same, and for a person with one ice blue eye and another the colour of charcoal, it proved to be one of my biggest hinderanches. This was mostly why I preferred to impersonate beings who were naturally stooped or prone to cower. At least in crowded surroundings like this one. They were rarely expected to make eye contact, and usually the last to be bothered with in general.

Unless they worked for haggish barkeeps, that is.

“Oy, where you going boy?” the bar woman squawked after me. “Shift’s barely begun!”

I halted in my tracks, and when I turned around, I kept my gaze submissively dropped.

“I-I’m just getting into work, actually,” I said, but it wasn’t my voice I heard. It was the voice of the kitchen boy. “Woke up late is all.”

“What, again?” she scoffed. “Get your ass into that kitchen before I--”

“Aye, miss,” I quickly agreed, and I made sure to shift my weight as if I were intimidated by the hag. “I was just putting my things up, and then I’ll be in.”

“You better have your hide back down here in less than one minute,” the barkeep snarled. “Or else I’ll drag you down here by your ankles and broil you with the hog!”

I feigned a frantic bow, and I even tripped over my gangly ankles just enough to draw a snort of disdain from the yellow-eyed barkeep. Then I dashed for the stairwell of the turret, and the moment I was out of sight, I straightened my posture again and smoothly ascended the stony stairwell.

The turret was dim and cold, with nearly burnt out torches lighting the way all the way up. Sporadic doors that led to the corridors of rooms shot out in every angle, but I continued upwards until I finally reached the top. Because my frame was ganglier, I found myself tired by the time I reached the landing, and my chest rose and fell rapidly as I tried to regain my breath.

But just as I reached for the furthest door on the landing and grabbed the iron latch, another door to the right of me flew open. Suddenly, I stood face-to-face with a housekeeper.

Well, what I assumed was a housekeeper from the similar uniform, the broom she carried in her hand, and the surprised expression on her face.

“Loriet!” the rosy-cheeked woman boomed.

I let go of the door latch and hid my two-toned gaze toward the floorboards, but I tried not to be dismissive of the woman that could have potentially caught me red handed.

I was so close to my post, and I was running out of time.

The woman began to sweep a small corridor I hadn’t even noticed when I first approached the door, and she spoke to me in a much gentler tone than the barkeep had.

“What are you doing way up here?” she probed. “I thought you were meant to be in the kitchen today.”

“You know me,” I chuckled.

Though not even I knew this version of me, but luckily, the punt worked.

The housekeeper echoed my snicker in agreement.

“Too right,” she chortled in her husky voice. “If I was placed in that kitchen for the day, then I would want to hide for a bit of quiet, too.”

She continued to sweep the landing, but she encroached on my space as she waited for my response, and my pulse quickened.

The other hindrance I’d found with being a mirror mage was that I could only mirror into the last person I touched, and if I was already morphed, then I would automatically change into that new person. Because of this, I was desperate to not make contact with her.

“I was only hoping for a five minute break,” I told the woman as I pushed myself against the cobblestoned wall and waited for her to sweep past me.

“Don’t worry, love,” she tittered. “I won’t let that viper of a woman know you’re up here. A few hours and she’ll have gone home, anyway.”

“Are you heading down?” I prompted her.

“Ah, yes.” The housekeeper nodded and started on the step. “Don’t be too long now, otherwise we’ll all get it in the neck.”

“Of course, I won’t be long,” I agreed with a forced laugh, and I shuffled back to the door and placed my hand firmly on the iron latch.

I waited until her footsteps grew more distant, then I swung the door open, and firmly shut it behind me. I had found myself in the turret storage room, the exact area where I planned. Through panting breaths, I reached to the bottom of my trousers and ripped off both frayed cuffs, and I swiftly set about securing them into one long piece of fabric.

Once I had what I needed, I began to wrap the fabric around the latch limiter. I pushed one side through the hole and pulled it as tight as I could. I then weaved the rest of the clothing through the crevice of the door, around the iron arm, and wrapped it until the black metal was covered with the fabric. I followed the rest of the broken off uniform back through the limiter and tugged it to the back plate where I finally tied it off.  Then I tested the door by tugging it a few times and was satisfied that no one could get in here unless I allowed them to.

Hopefully no one accessed this turret too often.

I quickly unhitched my crossbow, brought my weapon around from under my cloak, and dropped my satchel on the floor to retrieve two bolts. I touched the tip of the arrow head to test the sharpness, and then I crossed the dusty storage room and climbed up a rickety ladder against the wall. The rooftop entrance was directly above, and I gave the wooden planks a firm shove just before the light of day poured in along with a strung gust of wind.

The turret top was enclosed by stone crenelations, and I positioned myself near the edge of the roof and filtered my eyes through the crowd below me, until finally I got eyes on the location where the Lord had last been seen. I then followed the path to the Lord’s House, and noticed his silhouette already grounded within the window of the Union walls some sixty yards or so across the street.

He was not hard to distinguish considering his hardened features and hooked nose.

The Union building was made of stone and slightly mottled glass, and the candled lights filtered through the panes, leaving his shadow on full display. He stood next to another darkened figure, though I couldn’t tell who it was that he was talking to.

I watched as his hands flailed as he spoke, and I counted down the minutes until he would eventually have to leave. It was any second now, and I couldn’t afford to take my eyes off him now.

Time slowed down as I anticipated the lord’s next movements. He grew larger then smaller behind the mottled window, and then he lit a cigar. I watched as the amber hue burned the front of the filler and throbbed red before dimming to black again. With each puff, the underneath of his hooked nose glowed above his mouth.

He didn’t even know those few puffs he took before stumping it out would be his last, but it hardly mattered. He indulged like a glutton either way, and I smirked at the smug pucker of her features while he let a whole cloudful of smoke waft over his companion without a thought.

My borrowed, wiry hair billowed in the wind as I waited for Lord Emory to exit the Union, and eventually he did. To my delight he was the only one to leave, and as he waltzed out alone, he slammed the door behind him like he owned the place.

The lord had a huge grin on his face as he sauntered down the road before suddenly disappearing behind some other stalls, but I knew his trajectory would put him right at the threshold of a market delivery point in under a minute.

I cocked my neck up and then shot my chin out. It was time. I just had to wait for him to walk out from behind the stalls and wagons and into the open street.

I angled the bow and arrow close to my chest and allowed myself to listen to my heart rise and fall. It was imperative that I was in tune with myself and my actions otherwise, anything could cost me my success. The crosswind was strong from the west up here, three carts were set to cross within my target range, and all the sounds of the bustling town echoed off the stone building around me.

Still, I focused on the steady thrumming of my heart as all of this failed to rattle me, and I double checked my shooting position while I straightened my posture.

“Angle, and pull,” I whispered to myself like a mantra, and locked my bowstring back so I could load my bolt.

Then I heard clomping steps echoing up the stony stairwell below, and I froze with my fingers still poised on the loaded bolt.

I held my breath and waited for the sounds to disperse as whoever was mounting the stairs entered their sleeping quarters. Instead, the footsteps grew louder, and it sounded like they belonged to a man.

Or the large, angry barkeep who’d had her yellow eyes on me.

I had no choice but to trust that I had jammed the door closed with the fabric tight enough. At this point, I was seconds from missing my shot, and I let out a slight huff and swiftly braced the stock of the crossbow against my shoulder.

Then Lord Emory continued his walk out from behind a stall, and I took aim as I let out a long, steady breath.

“Three, two,” I uttered to myself as I rested my finger taut against the trigger. “One!”

The bolt ripped from the bow and cut through the air with ease and accuracy as it plummeted toward my target, which was the heart of the lord. With one swift strike through his ribs, the man was thrown backward to the ground, and the only thing left of him was his wine red suit and his legacy.

I watched as the subtle steam of his soul exiting his body gently fluttered into the air, and then his inky red blood spilled out of the small incision in his chest where my bolt protruded. His face drained of color the longer his soul siphoned from him, and a few seconds later, he was only the shell of himself with his binder’s pages rolling away in the breeze.

I didn’t linger any longer than that. I quickly stowed my bow on my back and headed for the ladder again. Then I let myself slide down into the storage room with my boots braced on either side of the ladder, and as soon as I shifted my satchel onto my back, I pried the fabric loose from the latch.

When I came out onto the landing, I was relieved to hear the heavy footfalls were shuffling around behind an inn door by now. I slowly shut the turret door behind me, careful not to raise suspicion, and began my descent. With the unloaded crossbow stowed once more under my traveling cloak, I swiftly jogged down the turret steps, and when I reached the lower landing, I hid in the shadows of the stairwell and scoped out the scene in front of me.

The young warlocks still waltzed between the curtains, and still with mugs in hand, though this time, a few held small, tied sacks in their hands as well, which I could only assume they had just gone out and bought from the nearest stalls. One of the warlocks walked to the bar with a snobby saunter while the others egged him on to pay for another round. He got the attention of the bar woman, and I took that as my queue to get out of there.

In seconds flat, I was ducking through the entrance curtains of the building, but then accidently bumped arms with a passing man.

“Pardon,” he grumbled without glancing at me, but the backs of our hands had already grazed one another.

“No problem,” I called back, and I kept my head down as I felt my features already shifting to match his own.

It didn’t matter, though. I kept walking until I was hidden along the side of the building again, and I listened to the crowds of locals as I tore my waitor’s garb off and swapped it for my own.

Then I relaxed the tense muscles in my shoulder as my skin began to prickle, and I let my form shift. I clicked my neck and began to feel for my familiar frame, and my muscles started to swell under my shirt while my forearms began to bulge. My jaw widened as I gained several inches in height, and as I felt my wiry hair turn soft and shaggy again, a grin came to my face.

My own face.

I was Dex Morgan again.

The crowds in the streets were hollering and gathering near the dead body of a lord when I left the alleyway behind the inn, and I spared the scene half a glance before I turned on my heel.

Then I headed the opposite direction with a satchel on my back, and a crossbow stowed beneath my cloak.