Prologue
The young girl stared through the slit in the door. She could hear her mother crying inside. Then the man struck again. Myra’s mother fell to the ground, motionless. Blood seeped from a cut in the side of her face. The naked sailor stumbled to where his clothes lay in a heap by the door. He dressed as quickly as a drunken man can and lurched from the room into the night. Myra ran to her mother’s side. She did not move. The blood congealed on the floor making a strange pattern. A tear slid down Myra’s dirt encrusted face. She had seen her mother beaten before, but never in this way.
Myra whispered, “Mother.”
There was no reply from the crumpled corpse that lay on the floor. Tears ran freely down Myra’s face as she realized the truth. Her mother was dead. She had gone to the place she had heard the pastor mention once… Was it haven? Yes, that was it; her mother had gone to haven and would be safe there with God while she waited for Myra to join her. Myra cuddled up to the still-warm body of her mother and wept.
Myra awoke with a start. It was freezing in the little room where she had cried herself to sleep. As she wiped the sleep from her eyes she remembered the dreadful incident of the night before. Trembling she looked down. The body of her mother lay cold upon the wooden floor of the room. Myra stood. She held back a tear. It was no use crying anymore. Mother’s dead.
Myra moved slowly from the room and upon reaching the door she turned and took a final look at the face of the only person in the world that had ever loved her. Then she turned and was gone.
Myra stumbled down the street of Kalanai in the early-morning light. She pulled her rags tightly around her as a light breeze blew past. It was mid-winter, no time for an eleven-year-old girl to be out in the cold. Had she been any closer to the coast, she would have frozen to death.
A girl rummaged through a pile of garbage on the side of the road. The lamp light flickered as a small gust of wind blew by. No one would intrude upon her work. She was the orphan of the whore at the dockside out searching for food. There must be a better way, she thought slumping against the cobbles.
So far Myra had tried begging in the town square and from door to door, but most turned her away or just simply ignored her. She had made a few coins from a rich merchant who was obviously being reprimanded by his conscience for some past wrong.
As she turned the corner out of the square she spied a group of guards harassing some children.
“But sir, I’ve nothing to eat,” a young boy cried.
“We were just begging,” a girl of six or seven argued.
The guard cracked her across the face with back of his hand. The force of the blow sent her crashing into a stack of crates on the side of the street. The boy and the other two girls sprinted away. The girl wailed in terror, blood streaming from her face.
“Stop, stop, please stop,” she begged trying to crawl away. “We’ll never come back here again.”
The guard chuckled.
“I know you won’t.”
He kicked her with all his might. Myra flinched and stepped back into the shadows. The girl crumpled to the ground, gasping and wailing.
“Shut her up,” said one of the other guards.
The guard that had kicked her raised his heavy boot and brought it crashing down onto the girls head. There was a sickening crunch as ichor splattered over the ground.
“Look at that,” he said, displeased. “She’s gone and mucked up me boot.”
The callousness and brutality of the guards left Myra frozen in shock. She shrunk further into the shadows and watched the guards leave. Finally her terror subsided and she was able to think clearly again.
There’s no way I’m going to survive if I don’t find some other way to make money, Myra thought, dashing away from the scene.
Then the thought struck her. She would steal it. She waited until nightfall, putting as much distance between herself and the marketplace as she could. She moved to the doorway of a nearby house. She tested the door. It was bolted from the inside.
Maybe it’s better not to get in. Should I gain entry to the house then I would probably get caught anyway. But she couldn’t put the feeling aside. She reached for the window beside the door. It was open. A burst of adrenaline ran through Myra’s veins. Slowly she opened the window further. When it was open about halfway there was a loud screeching sound. She stopped. Frozen against the wall. Terror overtook her. She waited for what seemed like hours, listening for some hint of movement from inside the house. There was none. Myra slowly pulled herself onto the window ledge. She sat silently, observing the contents of the room by the light of the pale moon. Then a glint caught her eye: a golden candlestick-holder. She dropped into the room and landed on a squeaky floorboard. Myra heard a movement upstairs. She dashed across the room, grabbed the candlestick and jumped up onto the window ledge. Myra glanced over her shoulder. There was a light moving toward the room she had just left. She jumped to the ground, shutting the window noisily behind her. Then she was off down the street. Behind her she heard the owner of the house calling for the watch. But Myra had already disappeared into the night.
The following day she sat by the docks devouring a hot pastry. It was the first meal in a long while she’d purchased. Somehow it tasted better, even though it wasn’t her money that had bought it. She watched the dockworkers unloading crates from a warship, stolen from some unlucky merchant no doubt. They worked well together. The strongest among them helping the weakest. The small one was obviously the knot specialist as Myra saw him scale the trussed crates, releasing them with ease. Once they had finished the job they slapped each other on the back and divided up their pay. Myra never felt more alone. She longed to have what they had, longed to be part of something, to work for something where her contribution was important.
Myra continued this lifestyle of begging by day and stealing at night. Things went well for a while but then one night, while she was breaking into a noble’s house, a man emerged from the shadow under the lintel of the door. Myra stood amazed for she was sure that no one had stood there a moment earlier. Before she could react, the man was upon her with cat-like movements and had his hand over her mouth and knife to her throat.
“Don’t be a’feared little one. I’m not here to kill ya,” the man whispered into Myra’s ear. “Be wary for One Eye is watching you. Tread carefully for one misstep will bring you death. One Eye does not like people intruding on his domain. If you want to continue in this line of work you’d best join us, pay your fees and we’ll leave you be.”
With that he was gone.
Myra stood by the doorway, thinking on what had just happened. She knew that it was no coincidence. From what she knew One Eye was notorious in the city. She had not expected to be found out by him. She stood in indecision. She knew that if she did not heed this warning she would be killed. But Myra could not go back to her previous life. Then and there she made a decision: she would continue robbing until One Eye’s men returned.
She opened the window and climbed into the room. Instantly, a light came on and she was grabbed at. She dodged out of the way of the groping hands. Myra could make out a number of figures against the blinding light.
“You should’ve listened to the warning. Now you’ll suffer the consequences.”
One of the figures became more discernible and moved towards her. She must try and escape. There was a figure by the window telling her that route was blocked. Should she attack this figure that was moving methodically towards her? No. He was more than twice her size. He was now no more than three feet from her and closing. She was going to die. Panic took her. She ran from her assailant but as she turned her head hit something… A shelf. She could see it as she lay on the floor. It didn’t matter. She was going to join her mother in what she now correctly knew as heaven, not haven as she had previously thought… The world started to swim… someone was saying something… what was it… she could almost make out the word… through the watery world that she was floating into… yes… that was the word… stop…
When Myra awoke she found herself lying on straw in a small room. She attempted to sit up but as she moved the room began to swim. She lay back comforting her aching head on the straw. Myra looked around the room in which she lay. A window in the wall allowed a small amount of light to filter into the room. So this was heaven. The room was completely unfurnished but it was one of the best rooms Myra had ever slept in and so she was satisfied. But where was her mother?
She attempted to rise again and she found that the pain in her head had greatly subsided. She stood, cautiously touching the side of her head. Her hair felt sticky. When she brought down her hand she saw blood on it. If she was in heaven then why was she bleeding?
Before she could come to any conclusion the single wooden door to her room opened. A large man entered. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place where she had seen him. As soon as he spoke she remembered everything.
“Come on, it’s time for you to leave.”
The man helped her stand and led her out into the street.
“We couldn’t just kill you where you lay,” he said, answering her unasked question. “Let me give you some advice, leave town before you get yourself into trouble again.”
So that was it. Myra left town immediately. She had no ties in this world so one town was hardly different from another.
Myra continued from town to town for years learning the ways of the thief, and she did pay her guild price and only occasionally forgot to give them a percentage of her profits. Slowly she was moving up in the world. But she hated the guild almost as much as the guards of the towns. Thieves had no love for each other. There was no camaraderie. She was still alone.
Then, one day, just before the onset of winter that year, Myra was sitting in a bar enjoying the fruits of her recent night-time caper. A man approached her. He asked if he might join her. Myra showed no displeasure at this. Her life was a lonely one. The man introduced himself as Melkave. There was something very strange about him but Myra couldn’t put her finger on it.
She was about to introduce herself when the man spoke, “Myra, we need to talk.”
How did he know her name?
“Here is as good a place as any,” she replied, trying to hide her sudden shock.
He motioned for her to follow him to a table in the far corner of the tavern.
When they were seated he continued, “Myra Telleran, we have been monitoring you over the past few years and you have reached a level acceptable to gain entry to our organisation.”
Before Myra could say anything the man called for more ale to be brought to the table. When it arrived, he passed a tankard to Myra. She drank deeply; this evening was taking an unexpected turn. Not only had she never seen this man before, she had never heard her last name.
“Now,” the man said wiping froth from his lips, “I am from the Ebon Hand.”
Myra gasped. The Ebon Hand was the assassins’ guild feared as much by her own kind as by those that lay beyond the shores of their land.
“I will give you a choice,” Melkave continued. “You may choose, if you wish, to join us. But, before you choose, take this into account: you have just drunk a rather large dose of maranian, one of the more deadly poisons known to us. If you choose to join us then I will give you the antidote, if you don’t…”
Myra, left with very little choice replied, “I will join you.”
Chapter One
Myra left the inn with her instructions: she was to go to a hall that lay towards the east of the town. She was to arrive at midnight the following evening. By the way that the man had spoken it seemed as though the time was non-negotiable. During the day Myra gathered up her few belongings and placed them into the bag that she had made herself. At the appointed time she arrived at the hall. It was a large stone building that was carved straight out of the mountain. Cautiously she pressed on the heavy doors and looked into the hall. It was very dark inside and the few torches guttered as she opened the door. There was a dark stone table running the length of the hall. Apart from the doorway in which she stood there were no other exits. There were carvings on all the walls but even with her elven eyes she found it hard to make them out. The whole building had a surreal feeling that may have turned others away but enticed Myra to enter.
She stepped into the room and made sure that the door was left open. In her profession she had realized how important it was to have a quick exit. Then Myra noticed that on the end of the table closest to her there were: two curved daggers; a exquisite short bow; a small black cube similar to a dice; a quiver of dark fletched arrows; and a small vial of black liquid. Myra cautiously made her way to the table making no sound on the gravel floor. She assumed that the weapons on the table were hers so she gathered them up. An instant later a black arrow ricocheted off the table where her hand had been a moment before. Myra’s head shot up, her eyes searching the back of the room from where the arrow had flown. A glint of light on metal caught her eye, high up in the shadows of the back right-hand corner of the room. Some inner sense told Myra to dive for cover. As she rolled over the cold gravel floor she felt something brush past her head. With a quick glance she saw another arrow clatter to the floor where she had been standing. She rolled behind an outcrop of rock, one of the many that protruded into the room. Myra crouched silently, trying to catch her breath. Then she remembered the bow she had just received. She notched an arrow onto the string. Slowly she raised her head above the black obsidian. She aimed the arrow where the glint had been and released it. There was a loud clatter as it hit the far wall and fell to the ground. Myra cursed, even though there had been little chance of it striking home.
She put the bow over her shoulder and drew the two daggers. Carefully Myra raised herself over the rock and moved down the wall towards her adversary. She stopped every few seconds to see if she could make out the form of her attacker. When she was about halfway down the hall she heard a tiny noise: the sound of a boot crunching on the gravel floor. In front of her the silhouette of a man stepped forward. Myra melted into the shadows. When the figure moved by her she spun behind him and placed one dagger against his throat and held the other back.
“Why are you firing on me?”
“I was sent to test you,” he paused and glanced at the dagger pressed against his skin. “It would seem you passed.”
Myra released the pressure of her dagger.
“Come with me,” he said, leaving the room.
Myra moved along behind him at a half jog to keep up with his long strides. He weaved up and down alleys and Myra had soon lost any sense of where they were.
He ducked down a short flight of stairs that Myra had hardly noticed a moment before. He made an odd knock at the door and it was swiftly opened for them. As Myra entered the room she was met with an incredible sight. Beyond the entrance hall there was a large open training area where black-clad men and women were training with many different weapons. At the far end of the room there was even an archery range. There were many doors leading off the training area. Myra could only guess what lay behind these. The place was huge, it must have taken up the whole city block.
The man she had followed led her to a side room which had two chairs and a bench.
“In here,” he pointed. “Once you’re marked we will begin your training.”
“Marked?”
The man rolled up his sleeve to reveal a black fist on his forearm.
“By this we know each other.”
A hunchbacked old man entered the room and gestured for her to sit.
“Now you’re a beauty aren’t you,” he said, unrolling a leather sheet he had carried in. Secured inside it were a number of sticks that looked like paintbrushes and vials of black liquid. Myra rolled up her sleeve and sat, examining the paintbrushes. Instead of bristles there were a row of needles secured to the end of the wood. The old man dragged the other chair over to where Myra sat and unstopped one of the vials. He dipped the tip of the needles into it and turned his attention to Myra’s arm.
“Hold still,” he said with a smile, and began an angular sharp jabbing motion.
Myra flinched slightly at the first prick but soon became accustomed to the feeling. After about an hour Myra had an almost identical black fist to the one on the man’s forearm who stood by the door.
“Now give it a few weeks to heal.”
“Myra, come with me.”
“You know my name, what’s yours?” she said walking after him.
“Taegen,” he led her to the archery range. “Now your skills with the bow weren’t the worst I’ve seen but it’s clear you’ve never picked one up before today.”
Taegen showed her how to hold the bow; how to knock an arrow and line up her target.
Over the next few weeks Taegen and Myra were never far apart as he taught her the skills she would need as part of the most feared assassins’ guild in the world. She had little to no fighting knowledge but she picked up these skills quickly. Myra learned of poison craft, of how to disable a man with a drop of liquid and how to kill him with the same. When it came to the art of stealth he knew that Myra would soon have no equal. Never had he met someone who could so easily disappear from sight. Her movements were lithe and if she didn’t want you to hear her, you never would.
Myra’s last piece of training related to her last piece of equipment, the black die that she had puzzled over ever since acquiring it. She learned that it was a decipherer. It was a magical device encoded by the hand’s magi. It worked by running the die over the encoded text. It would display the decoded text in the air in front of the reader. Not much help for the illiterate Myra but they let her keep it anyway, as she would have to learn to read. On all things Taegen and Myra agreed but this was not one. Myra could not see the use for it as an assassin. After one of their many disagreements over it Taegen decided to let it rest.
After a month of rigorous training Taegen told her that she had been chosen as part of a group to fulfil a mission for the shadow queen herself. A group of five assassins were to infiltrate the target’s manor and execute him without alerting his guards or his household. Myra looked around at the four other assassins that were part of the briefing with her. These people were going to rely on her, her skills and abilities were going to mean their success or failure. She felt trepidation, worried that she would not live up to the task. But she had no time to let the concern grow. As they left the room night was falling and they were off.
The target’s house was on the northern side of the city, a fair journey from here. They moved silently, dashing from shadow to shadow. As they skittered through the city they were forced to avoid patrol after patrol until they finally arrived at the walled mansion where their quarry lay. They waited, watching the guard on the wall, trusting their brother who had scouted the area for a week prior. Then, as expected, the guard went back into the house. A nod went up and down the line. As one the grappling hooks flew through the air and up onto the parapets. It took them but a few moments to climb onto the wall. From their vantage point in the shadows they could see the guards at the gate below. The garden between them and the house was empty, eerily silent on the moonless night. Myra descended to the ground, not far from the guards. She stepped silently up behind them and nicked their skin with her doused blades. They instantly collapsed to the ground.
Moments later her group were on the ground beside her, moving through the trees. They were soon at the house, at a window far from the light on the upper floor. One of the assassins was working on the lock and soon had the window ajar. He moved it slowly to avoid any unwanted sound. Their padded feet silently touched the floor of the hall. The layout of the building ran through Myra’s head. They separated, two to the right, two to left and one up the stairs. Those that stayed on the ground floor quickly reconvened at the base of the stairs and nodded to the man upstairs, who hung silently in an alcove at the top. He dropped to the floor and was away, those below him dashing up the carpeted stairs.
They split up again on the top floor. Myra and her accomplice were to ensure the children stayed in their room. Within moments they were hovering around the beds of the sleeping babes. They counted, waiting for the appointed time. Then they were off again. Meeting at the top of the stairs. The man who had waited at the top nodded, sheathing his dagger. He took his position above the hall as the rest descended, should they be followed he would be ready. As they reached the bottom he dropped once more and followed them to the garden. One by one they dove through the open window. Myra waited for the man to reach the portal. When he was through she slowly, silently closed and re-locked the window. They were across the garden, up the walls and back into the streets.
It took no more than thirty minutes for them to be in an out. Myra’s team had worked like a well-oiled machine and she was part of that machine. She brimmed with pride. Silently cheering to herself as they made their way back to the compound. That night they celebrated. Myra had found her place. She was an assassin, a trusted member of the feared Ebon Hand.
In the coming days Taegen pulled Myra aside from her training, telling her that she had been selected for another mission. This time, alone. He told her it would be a long journey and to be prepared. She must be at the docks at midnight tomorrow to await further instructions. They hugged, Myra sad to be leaving, Taegen proud of his student.
The next night she arrived at the docks early. There was an elf dressed all in black standing alone who seemed to be watching her. She entered one of the many dockside taverns and waited, keeping an eye on him. After ten minutes the man came in and sat with Myra.
“Are you ready for your journey?”
“Yes.”
“Here,” he said, placing a piece of parchment on the table in front of her.
“I can’t read,” she said pushing the parchment back across the table.
“That is something that you’ll have to change,” the man said taking back the paper. “It reads,” he said as he unravelled the sheet, “you must travel to an island of the humans. Once you arrive you’re required to make a map of the land, major cities, ports, as well as garrison strengths. You will have adequate time to complete this task before we come and get you. Take this,” her gave her a tiny, ornate black box. “Give it to the first elf of the light you come across. That’s your ship,” he said pointing at a raiding vessel moored at the dock. “You will board the vessel now and the captain will give you further instructions.”
He glanced around quickly.
“Go now.”
Myra stood and walked out of the tavern and up the gangplank. She was greeted by the captain who directed a cabin boy to escort her to her quarters. He led her below and into a tiny room. There were two bed pallets on the floor. Myra tossed her pack to one corner and lay down. She fell asleep quickly as the ship began to move.
Buy Myra: The Gathering, Part 1 hereThe post Prologue appeared first on The Writer Muses.
