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Scarlet Ruse

Prologue

The rolling landscapes of Dragonholme had always been breathtaking to me, and none more so as much as the view of the capital from the palace at Solitude. To think the people here held a Dragon as their King, it still baffles me, yet to think I was prey to his court had me more worried than the people I owed money to, and for good damn reason. Yet here I was, within the Stone Stables, staring across an enormous war table made of sheer slate, sat opposite to an intimidating Green Dragon with eyes that seemed to reach right into my soul. Information was something I as an Assassin valued more than anything, The Black Church had sent me up here with a duo of Executioners to hunt down a rogue knight of theirs who'd absconded with a member of the royal palace of Mayoran.

The very same that I had been tasked by an anonymous contractor, to kidnap and deliver from Siricuse to E'cill Meiar. As the word had it, the Western coast of Dragonholme was being tormented by Shades and other heretics of the forbidden teachings, and my mark was said to be due for the town of BerryBuckle. I would send the Executioners there to hunt for him, but I myself, would head to the Great Northern Keep, where a shady friend of mine awaited with more, invasive information of my personal quarry.

I set out immediately.

Chapter one: Of the mountains

Luck was something that seemed to favor me, weather by some enchantment or just favor of the Gods I always seemed to get the best hand. Though I didn't much like my current situation at all, to shady sounding, but coin was coin and I was in need of a good amount of it. I was in debt to some rather nasty people, a contract wasn't something I could turn down at this point though this one stunk something awful. The lizard I'd been hired to keep an eye on, I was supposed to escort him to E'cill Meiar on behest of some sharply dressed gentleman who reeked of suspicion.

I thought I'd lost the blighter in Siricuse but now fortune once again delivered, though now I was stuck with him inside a mountain waiting out a storm. To make things all the worse the so called valiant Roderic had his vermant fox friend Sawyer keeping a close watch on me; the old man hadn't liked me since I'd been hired to off him some years ago. Ever since he'd been a tad paranoid around me and any other assassin to boot; though I couldn't blame him, the Guild wasn't what it used to be.

Thought and ponder were broken at that moment, rousing me back to reality with the sharp squeak of the very soul I was suppose to be watching. He'd been testing his metal against the novices in the Keep battlements, little lizard was quite good with a pair of daggers though he'd accumulated a good amount of knicks since the Keep didn't keep wooden training weapons at hand. Yet he kept at it, even had a few rounds against him myself, he wasn't bad at all; there was something in his eyes though, something that worried me, a fire of sorts I'd rarely seen. Imagine if you will the smallest of sparks from a campfire, though with the mind of man; an aching ember, hungry to learn how to sow cruelty.

Revenge, I'd seen it many a time before, but never so focused as his, the way he spared against each opponent over the last few days was as if he were fighting a singular soul; someone dedicated to his ire. Though he never showed it outside the training pit, nevertheless I watched him like a hawk, he'd gotten real chummy with the lot here at the Keep.

“Tiring yet aye lil lad"? Belmont sneered with cheek as Kaiber took to the sidelines, his little half witted friend rushing over to tend to the small cut on his arm. The turquoise lizard only smiled, panting and tossing daggers to the side with a sharp clang.

“These pair are no good, the metal's to heavy, I can't get my backhand out quick enough" Kaiber replied, Belmont shrugging and dawdling on over to join him, leaning upon his spear like a drunkard upon a wall.

“Well Keeps not fitted with daggers, not a common choice round here, perhaps Samuel could whip you up something with more of a fit" he referred to the blacksmith of course, every Keep had one on hand and they were always masters of the trade.

“Aye, perhaps after a good hot bath though, my muscles are aching" Kaiber said with a wince or two; with the way he was beating himself up Roderic would be cursing my name upon his return. I watched as the lizard and his self appointed servant padded off to the bath chambers; no doubt to do something highly disgusting while naked. Something I'd much rather not observe, so I took my leave and took to the Western ramparts in search of a contact of mine.

The Keep stretched along the mountain tops like a snake, huge walls of rissen stone across the peaks overlooked the entire country and the tundra; though constantly coated in freezing snow and biting winds. My contact was from Rigel, a Deamen fellow by the name of Hazel, worked for the Royal Courier Service; not a bad position for a blind nocturnal with hearing so keen it was absurd.

Deamens, frightful little critters known for scaring the wits out of most folk with their mischief; that and their appearance were that of nightmares. You'd often find them playing jugglers or tumblers in traveling carnivals and merry troupes alike and if not that then perhaps you'd spy one late at night.

I was to wait for him in the Western Belfry at the very end of the Western ramparts, at night of course; though it'd take me the afternoon to walk the length there. The winds were freezing and the Belfry itself did little to offer warmth, that didn't stop Hazel from giving me a jump thought.

“Is zat lady Scarlet my ears spy" came his ever familiar exotic sounding voice, echo throughout the Belfry like a choir. There was the slightest of jumps, a subconscious reply that I'd no control over; I always hated dealing with Hazel. An assassin I might be by trade and years of training but Hazel, He'd been born an assassin; natural and deadly. Toxic saliva, poisonous stingers, ultra precises sense of hearing and smell; Daemens weren't to be trifled with lightly.

“Are you going to hang around in the dark all night or are you going to be useful" I replied keeping my eyes and ears peeled; by now the sun was near set and out over the Tundra I could see another storm front moving in. I heard the clacking of claw on wood, the rubbing of leathery wings trailing along and a displeased huff.

“You're no fun, tsk tsk very well what do you want to know" he said, his voice taking an elegance to itself as he appeared upon the rafters above me; his long tail and curtain like wings trailing behind him. I couldn't see him entirely, more so just a silhouette than anything but it was him, I'd know that scent anywhere; honeycomb lacquer and woodsmoke.

“This contract, why does it stink"? I asked, not even looking up at the pacing critter above, whilst he was a courier he was also an avid informer to the Assassins Guild; or at least its more traditional and dignified partons.

“Word has it that Alt is paying the sum. He's an odd interest in that lizard, word has it he's working against his will. Word has it by the same people who attacked Siricuse." the way he spoke was more refined than most Daemen, then again he still had difficulty with the 'th' sound and he had to pause and sound out the 'W' sound slowly otherwise it sounded more like a 'V' if he spoke to quickly.

“Who are they"? A simple question on my behalf but I knew I wasn't going to get to detailed an answer, the attack on Siricuse some scores ago hadn't been the first attack; word had it that Rigel and even Gillian had experienced similar, my guess was some fanatical group.

“As far as I've heard… someone's drumming on the Order of Val'Tial's ideals... word has it...He's back…" Even Hazel's voice had a pause to it as he spoke, it was low, quiet and for good reason, the Order was supposed to be dead; their meddling had caused the great and painful wars and cost millions of innocent lives. The Order was famous for unimaginable cruelty to hear that someone was pushing the Orders ideals made me shiver. But not as much as the possibility of, Him, being brought back from the dead; the Hand to the First White King of Volthume, the puppeteer.

“Are you sure"? I asked after a moment's pause and pacing, though I knew that Hazel only ever dealt in legitimate information. He gave a curt nod from the shadows of the belfry rafters, I caught a glimpse of those tragically greyed eyes of his, if only for a moment.

“Alt tends to mutter to himself wizout realising it, and you know my hearing is sharp, as is my price for this information" he said, his body swiftly flipping upside down from the thick wooden rafters, ever so similar to that of a giant bat.

“I've a full bottle of Gold ribbon vintage from Haljmarch" I responded, my voice taking on a teasing tone to it, seductive and thick, but I knew he'd bite for it. Hazel was a connoisseur of heavy liquors, with a particular liking for the sugary Brandy made by the folk of E'Veldan.

“I don't suppose it's in the Keep is it"? His voice was flat to my surprise, I didn't like it, something was off as I crossed my arms and raised a brow.

“Where else would I keep it"? I retorted, he simply shrugged, turning his head to the side, ears twitching and swiveling about as the suns last dying rays began to darken.

“Cause I believe the Keep is under attack" he said, and not a moment later did I hear the bellowing of warhorns from the main hall. I wasted no time, turning on my heel and drawing my daggers as I joined the sparse torrent of bounty hunters and warriors alike, all barreling to Sir Gallens call.

Though I trailed behind the rest, as a wise man had once said to me, only fools run in, assassins are no fools, assassins sneak in round the back.