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Author: Mythurien
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Myth woke in the dark. Something was moving around in his room. A rapid snuffling sound came from whatever it was. Myth slowly reached his hand under his pillow to grab the dagger hidden underneath. “Who’s there?” he called out when he had it firmly in hand.
The snuffling ceased and a light click of claws on stone came from across the room. Whatever it was, it was coming closer. Suddenly the clicking stopped and the snuffling resumed, moving away once more. Something wasn’t right.
Throwing caution to the wind, Myth rose into a crouching position on the bed and sprang off, landing across the small room next to the door. He grabbed the handle and flung it open, spinning around to see what the light from the hallway revealed.
He almost laughed. There, blinking stupidly in the sudden bright light, was a tan puppy. It caught sight of Myth crouching by the door and it flattened its ears and wagged its tail, then ran across the room and proceeded to lick every inch of Myth’s face. He smiled through the sudden onslaught of tongue and pulled the puppy away from his face.
That’s when he felt the note.
Stuck into the dog’s leather collar was a slim piece of parchment. Myth pulled it free and unfolded it. What he read made the blood drain from his face.
“Apprentice,” it began. “Your first task as a trainee to join Overlord D’Lere’s squad of assassins is to kill this dog. You may not use a weapon of any kind; it must be done by strangulation. When you complete this task present the dog’s body to the guard at the far end of the mess hall and you can proceed with your studies. We will know if you cheat. You have one week.”
It was unsigned. Myth reread it several times to make sure he wasn’t mistaken in what it said. He looked down at the puppy who was now pawing at his leg, begging to be scratched. He reached out a hand slowly and scratched behind its ears. His body felt numb, as did his mind. He could only manage one thought: What have I gotten myself into?
* * *
He awoke the next morning to find himself on the floor by the door. The dog was curled up beside him, legs twitching slightly as it dreamed. He felt sick.
He washed himself and left the room, heading for the mess hall. He didn’t feel like eating, but knew that he should, if only to stay healthy. Upon entering the hall he found it packed with other apprentices. Almost everyone was older than him by several years. The room was full of dark elves, humans, and ratongas, other races being too cumbersome for the assassin’s trade or more disposed toward something else.
A sudden clatter to his right got his attention, along with everyone else’s. A large human boy who appeared to be in his early twenties was standing in front of another human who, to Myth’s surprise, seemed to be his age.
“Where’s your weapon?” the older boy was shouting. He had knocked the young boy’s tray of food out of his hands. “Huh? Show it to me, dammit!”
The younger boy stood unmoving, defiant. Myth moved closer.
“Show them to me,” the older one shouted. He pulled his own sword free of its sheath and held it up threateningly. “Be a man and show me!”
Myth was annoyed greatly by this boy’s attempt at showing off, so he decided to step in. He snuck up behind the older boy and pulled free one of his own daggers. When the older boy shouted, “Only a coward conceals his weapons!” Myth hopped onto the bench behind the boy and rested the point of his dagger against the boy’s throat.
“And only a dead man speaks so loudly,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. He felt the boy’s body tense up as if to strike and he pressed the dagger harder into his throat, drawing blood. “Ah-ah...put your weapon away and go eat your breakfast like a good boy.”
The boy finally relented and slammed his sword into its sheath, muttering curses until he moved out of earshot. Myth stepped off the bench and moved over to the younger boy, who was now kneeling down to pick up his tray.
“You needn’t have have done that,” the boy said, lifting the tray and placing it on the table. “I would have been fine if things had gotten out of hand.”
Myth shrugged. “He was annoying me, and you weren’t shutting him up fast enough.”
The boy stared at Myth for a moment then smiled. He extended his hand and said, “I’m Dannil, you can call me Dan.”
“Myth.” They shook hands.
Dan frowned and scrutinized Myth’s face. “I know everyone here, but I haven’t heard of you before....”
It was Myth’s turn to smile. “I’m a well kept secret in this city.”
Dan indicated for him to sit. “Fair enough, I suppose we’re entitled to our secrets here. My father is the head of one of the largest thief guilds in this city, so I’ve been training for this since I was old enough to hold a dagger. Other people here are the same, including that boy you just scratched up. That was Moran Inigatchi...his father was recently killed so once he is out of this place he’ll be an important person, and you can bet he won’t forget you. Not a very good start to your day, eh?”
Myth allowed a small smile to play on his face. “I’ve met his father once. I wasn’t impressed.”
Their conversation lapsed into an awkward silence, both boys staring at the empty table in front of them. After a while Myth ventured, “You not hungry?”
Dan shook his head. “You?”
“I don’t think I could eat anything even if I wanted to,” Myth said, looking up. They shared a knowing glance.
“I didn’t think it would be like this, you know?” Dan said. “I figured it would be all stealth training and poison and stuff.... My father never spoke of his own training. Now I think I know why.”
A number of students across the mess hall let out a sudden roar and all eyes turned to them. They stood up on their benches so as to be seen by all. In their hands they held their dogs. They raised the dogs in the air and brought them all together over the center of the table, as if to toast something. Myth saw their hands tighten around the dogs’ throats, and they began to jerk and scratch at the wrists of those who held them.
Myth looked away, as did Dan and several others in the crowd. More than a few were cheering however. Dan shut his eyes.
“I didn’t think it would be like this,” he whispered.
* * *
By the end of the week there were only five people left in the mess hall for breakfast, including Myth and Dan. Everyone ate in silence, for everyone knew the cold truth. They had to complete their first task today, or they would be expelled and most likely executed.
Dan wasn’t eating again. He kept stirring his food with his spoon and staring at the wall. Myth could see his jaw clench and unclench as his breathing became heavier and heavier as the morning wore on. Finally Dan stood. He opened his mouth to say something but apparently decided against it and walked stiffly out of the hall toward his bedroom.
Myth sat there for a moment longer in thought. He didn’t know why this was so hard for him.
He had killed before, and was willing to kill again. He kept trying to steel himself to do it. This is only an obstacle, he would tell himself. After this, I can get revenge. I must do this one thing, then move a step closer to avenging my mother’s death.
It didn’t work. The thought of going back to his room and strangling the dog that he knew awaited him still paralyzed him. He only wished he knew why....
He stood and moved toward the door that led to his bedroom, but suddenly an idea struck him:
everyone here was a killer. One didn’t come to this place unless they were already accomplished killers. What did having the students kill a puppy prove?
In a flash it came to him. The test was not to actually kill the dog; the test was how one reacted to it.
He ran across the mess hall to the door that the guard was standing at. “Let me through,” he said.
“Where’s yer dog?” the guard asked, looking Myth up and down.
“I’m not killing the dog. Let me through.”
The guard gave a grunt and opened the door. “Second door on the right,” he said.
This gave Myth pause. All the other students who had gone through were ordered to enter the first door on the left. Had he guessed wrong? Was he going into a room where he would be killed for failing the first test?
The guard gave an impatient wave and Myth stepped through the door into a long corridor filled with closed doors. He walked to the second one on the right and opened it. It swung silently inward and he entered a very pleasant looking room. Bright colors adorned the walls and two large plush chairs sat before a roaring fire. The heat was certainly a welcome feeling.
“The hell are you doing here?” said a voice to his left.
Myth jumped a turned to see an ancient looking dark elf dressed in deep blue robes. “I think you’re in the wrong room,” he said. He didn’t look very happy.
Myth’s mouth worked silently for a moment, but he soon found his voice. “The guard told me to come into the second room on the right, sir.”
The dark elf’s face brightened in an instant. “Did he really? Then you chose not to kill your dog?”
Myth nodded.
“Splendid!” the elf exclaimed, motioning toward the chairs by the fire. “Now tell me,” he said when they were both sitting. “Why didn’t you do it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, you didn’t think it was going to be as easy as saying you just weren’t going to do it, did you? I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain your reasons. And if I don’t find them satisfactory, I’ll have to consider your first test failed.”
Myth swallowed hard. He began by telling the man what he had figured out about the nature of the first test. “I decided that I wouldn’t kill the dog for the same reasons that I wouldn’t kill a baby: it was innocent. Neither the dog nor the baby are old enough to have done anything to warrant death. Show me an old man and tell me his crimes and I’ll dispatch of him in a heartbeat. But I won’t kill an innocent creature.”
The old elf nodded, looking thoughtful. “And what if I told you, my boy, that all these dogs are here because they are mongrels who had attacked children, causing injury to their masters?”
Myth raised an eyebrow at the old man. “I’ve spent a week with my dog, sir, and if a child provoked that thing until the dog attacked then I would have to answer back that the child deserved it.”
The elf barked a laugh and said, “Quite right, my boy, quite right.” He looked at Myth, studying him in silence. After a moment he nodded solemnly. “You have much potential, my boy. I have high hopes for you. Now run along to the door at the end of the hall. You can resume your studies there.”
Myth rose from the chair, positively beaming with pride. He entered the hall once more and turned right, walking to the end of the hall. He went over what had just happened in his head and for the first time since arriving here he felt happy.
***
Over the next two years they were taught advanced fighting techniques, stealth movement, and mission planning. Myth learned how to hide in plain sight, to walk in silence even on noisy terrain like gravel, and about forty seven ways to kill a man without making a sound. They were also taught poisons, espionage, and forgery for the more delicate missions they would go on.
It was the last week of their classes and they had all been gathered in their large meeting room. Myth, now sixteen and beginning to look like the master of death that he was, stood next to Dan, as they had become close friends in their time together. They had even spoken of working as a team when they graduated. Their prospects seemed endless.
“Everybody listen up!” their head instructor shouted. All talk in the room died down. “Your final exam will take place today. You will be trained in your skills mainly as a fighter, but there will also be need for your stealth skills to be up to par. Now, everybody choose a partner.”
Myth and Dan looked at each other and nodded.
“Everybody set? Good. Gather all the things you think you will need and meet back here so we can begin.”
The students were trained to be ready at a moment’s notice, so their preparations did not take long. Myth gathered his daggers and his belt which contained various poisons and antidotes. The students gathered back in the meeting room within fifteen minutes and the instructors led the pairs off.
Myth and Dan were led off into a room they had never seen before. It was relatively dark, and from where they stood they could see that the room branched off into many winding paths. Their instructor turned to them once they had entered the room.
“The rules of the final test are simple: the test lasts until your opponent is dead. You may use any means available to you to accomplish this end. The test will commence twenty minutes after you enter the maze, giving you time to set up an area or conceal yourself if you wish.”
“And who will we be fighting, sir?” Dan asked.
The instructor looked slightly taken aback by the question. “You will be fighting each other.”
Myth felt as if his heart stopped for a moment. He shared a stunned glance with Dan and they said almost in unison, “What?”
The instructor only stared a them. “You may begin.”
Myth and Dan walked slowly toward the entrance to the maze. “Did you know about this?” Myth asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Dan only shook his head. He looked sick.
It felt to Myth as if the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. He needed to get out of here, he needed to see that justice was done to Antonia Bayle. For his mother. But the price of that justice was killing the one person in this city that he could call a friend.
“I need to win this fight.” He said this in a whisper, but the silence around them was so great that his words carried.
Dan turned to him and said, “Don’t we all.” Myth was almost relieved to see Dan give a weak smile. He stopped walking and Myth did the same. “Look,” Dan said. “We’ve had some good times here, you might even say we’ve become the best of friends but...but business is more important now. This city needs strong warriors now. Do you know what I mean?”
Myth knew and nodded.
Dan placed a hand on Myth’s shoulder. “Good.... May the best man win, then.”
They parted ways then and made toward separate entrances to the maze.
“Promise me something,” Dan said right before going in. “Don’t hold back.”
Myth straightened up and gave a slow, solemn bow, then ducked into the maze. It was almost pitch black, with torches only at certain points where the tunnels crossed paths. He wandered in silence for a few minutes then decided to rest against the wall in the darkness and wait for the instructors signal. It came before long, a loud whistle that lasted a few seconds. In the sudden silence that followed Myth knew that Dan was out there somewhere, silently stalking him.
Myth was a better fighter than Dan, so he knew to keep a watch out for poisoned range attacks. If he could only close the distance between them before Dan found him he knew he would win.
Almost too late he heard the whistle of a knife flying through the air and he threw himself down to the ground as a loud clang of metal on stone rang through the tunnel above him. That was fast, he thought. He rolled over and looked at the angle at which the dagger bounced off the wall, then sprang up and ran to where he thought the dagger had come from. He saw a flash of steel in the half light in front of him and dodged to the side, still running as fast as he could. With a flick of his wrists he brought two daggers into his hands and prepared for combat.
He felt more than saw Dan with the first few swings he made, but as he slowly pushed Dan back towards an intersection the torch there began to expose his form more. Both combatants were knife users, making the battle a rapid dance of blurred slashes and stabs. The ring of steel hung in the air in an almost constant pitch. But with every attack Myth felt himself gaining ground, and he gave Dan no chance to get away or use one of his projectiles.
Dan was backing up when he stumbled slightly on a fallen stone. The opening was minute, but Myth saw it and struck. He felt his knives make two swift punctures in Dan’s chest, and Dan gasped and fell on his back, releasing his weapons. Myth leapt to the ground and pinned Dan down with one hand while moving a knife to his throat.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t lose this fight,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to,” Dan replied, and his hand flew up in a blur.
Myth felt a sharp pain in his side. He quickly put his dagger through Dan’s throat and leapt back, inspecting his wound. It was tiny, and Myth looked to Dan’s hand. The nail on the middle finger had been grown long and sharpened to a point. The tip of it was bloody. Myth wondered at this seemingly useless attack when his heart gave a sudden lurch in his chest.
His eyes widened and he suddenly knew that Dan’s fingernail had been dipped in poison. But which one? Myth had an array of antidotes on his belt, but only one of them could save him. He forced himself to remain calm and sat back, trying to make note of what symptoms he felt. He knew a moment of panic when he could feel no symptoms wracking his body, but that feeling was soon replaced by cold dread. He knew what the poison was and he also knew that he had no antidote for it.
During their poison training Dan had concocted a particularly deadly one that could not be felt until it was actually about to kill you. He had also made an antidote for it, but as he was the only one who knew of the poison besides Myth, he was also the only one with the antidote.
Myth moved away from the wall and fell to his knees feeling suddenly weak. He crawled over to Dan and started to go through the pouches at his waist, looking for anything that looked unfamiliar. Finally he stumbled upon a purple liquid in a small vial. It was something he had never seen before, and so was prepared to assume it was the antidote. He unscrewed the cap and drank half of it, then stuck the rest into the wound on his side, hoping the blood would carry it through his system.
A sudden pain shot through his chest and a convulsion wracked his body, his back arching violently, his muscles tightening throughout his body. It passed after a moment and he collapsed to the ground.
He lay there in the light of a flickering torch, sweat covering his body. His panting breaths came out ragged, echoing through the dark tunnels of his would-be tomb. He felt the poison then, clutching at his heart like a clumsy fist, and he prayed that the antidote would work. He prayed it wasn’t too late.
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