Post by Benzo on Jul 10, 2015 21:31:09 GMT -4
Decided I might want to make this piece into a full stand-alone book, or maybe convert it over into a screenplay. This is a shortened version, of course, (Kind of like how you could read something like The Odyssey in a school textbook, but it isn't near the length of the real book) but I figured I should probably get some feedback on it before I proceed.
Please, be as honest/brutal as you feel required. I have a published version of this on Amazon (Lucky you folks, you get to read it for free) but I feel that the feedback I receive is primarily from those who only tell me what I want to hear, not what is true. (Also, any typos pointed out would be awesome; I've read through it a dozen times, yet fresh eyes can always spot more than weary ones)
And one last note; apologies for the lack of spaces between paragraphs. Simply copy and pasted from the book's file, and don't feel like going through just to add gaps.
The Shattered Crown
My name is Zarja Dal'Marin. For years, Drakthir has been seated upon a stolen throne. The rightful heir, Thorudon of house Galmid, has raised a rebellion and has been locked in combat ever since, but his efforts are not enough, not by a long shot. I am not here on command of the rightful heir, nor does he even know that I am here. I am here for my own reason, my own personal desire to see the king dethrone and beheaded.
Prepare yourself Drakthir, for there will be death today. There will be blood spilled to repay all the crimes you have committed against mankind.
You or myself, there will be death today.
* * *
“What in blazes is in this?” a blacksmith’s apprentice said with a grunt, dropping the large crate he had been supporting.
“Bulk up, lad!” the blacksmith, a much larger man, bellowed from the opposite side of the crate. “If you want to shape ore, ye’ve got to be able to carry it, first!”
“I’ve plenty bulk, master!” the young man said, flexing his muscles with a toothy grin.
“So I see lad. Come along, now. Got a large order to finish up, yet.”
The younger apprentice nodded and trotted after his master, rubbing a greasy hand through his scalp as they both disappeared into a nearby smithy.
Shortly after, the crate they had been carrying began to shift. The side panel of the crate lifted up to reveal a slim, light skinned man who then began shaking pieces of ore from his hair.
“I’m not that heavy…” Zarja muttered to himself after dusting himself. After looking down each end of the dark alleyway, he decided to exit the nearest end and soon found himself in the crowded streets of a grand city.
“Excuse me, sir?” he said, pulling a random citizen to the side.
“What do ye want, laggard?” he spat through rotted teeth.
Struggling to keep back his disgust, and anger, Zarja looked around quickly before addressing the man again. “Is this the city of Gavindor?”
“Stop wasting me time with yer mule-headed questions!” The man then quickly disappeared back into the throng of people, leaving Zarja standing alone at the mouth of the alleyway.
Surveying the hordes of citizens, Zarja was surprised to see more than a few wearing swords and other weapons upon their waists. He needn’t worry about standing out now, but the conditions of this city brought new worries to furrow his brow.
A loud commotion in the middle of the crowd brought Zarja out of his trance, and he soon spotted a trio of Night Crusaders, soldiers of Drakthir's army, shoving their way through the crowd. Despite the darkness of their bucket-shaped helmets, they still gleamed brightly under the sun's rays. With a guttural growl, Zarja fingered the hilts of the two swords he wore at his waist, but resisted the urge to use them.
Only after he had lost sight of the three did Zarja dare to start moving again. Following the flow of the crowds, he soon found himself entering a large plaza filled with merchants hawking their wares.
If he had had any doubts before, Zarja was assured he was in Drakthir's capital city. Every direction he turned, he saw more and more Crusaders garbed in their blackened armor, watching over the markets with the same intensity as a hawk watching its prey.
Touching the bulging satchel of coins by his side, which clinked with delight at his touch, Zarja nodded to himself and began looking around at each of the shops; Thorudon had given him a more than generous sum to assist with his disposal of the traitor-king.
Before approaching even a market stall, however, Zarja figured he would start his arduous task by scoping out the large city and, more importantly, the palace in which Drakthir would be found. Having never been to Gavindor, even before Drakthir and his Night Crusaders had stolen the throne, Zarja found it increasingly difficult to find a sense of directions within the cobweb of streets.
It was more than once that Zarja found himself going about in circles, refusing to ask directions. Asking questions, especially such delicate ones involving the false king, was sure to spread rumors through the city. If even one credible rumor reached Drakthir’s ears, then all would be lost for Zarja.
Despite having caught a glimpse of the palace earlier, it almost seemed as if the streets were purposely built to block off all possible routes towards it. Just as he was about to scream with exasperation, Zarja found himself traversing the correct path up towards Drakthir’s palace… and the impenetrable fortifications he discovered surrounding it.
Retracing his steps back to the market, taking mental notes so he could easily get back to the palace, Zarja had already began making a list of what he would need. It was shortly after that he would be seated upon a bench in the large plaza, a dark cloak slung over his shoulders and hiding his face in shadows. Bulging under the cloak, and on his back, sat a small crossbow accompanied by a dozen bolts in a quiver at his hip.
Fingering the hilts of his two short swords, he began contemplating as to how he was to get over the king's impenetrable walls. A few passerby’s eyed him with suspicion, grabbing at their own blades hanging from their belts. But one considering look at Zarja and they continued on their way, not too eager to pick a fight. After a few hours of simply sitting there, another man came up and sat next to him on the bench, sporting his own dark cloak and a blackened hood to hide his face.
“You have a determined look to you,” the man said simply, not turning his head towards Zarja.
“Aye, what's it to you?” he replied, sounding as gruff as he could manage.
“Meet me in The Redmoon Tavern,”
Zarja turned to look at the man, curious about his request, but found no one sitting there. Looking around with confusion, Zarja couldn't find a trace of the man anywhere; just peasants with swords instead of hoes.
Hesitantly,.Zarja pulled himself up from the bench and looked around, spotting a lone guard and walking up to him. Pulling a gold coin from his belt, he pinched it in his fingers and waved it at the man, trying not to growl audibly.
“Redmoon Tavern... know where it is?” he asked through clenched teeth.
The guard grabbed at the coin with what Zarja assumed to be a dimwitted grin under his pitch-black helmet. “You'll want to head that way and make a left, citizen. Towards the slums district.” After a nod from Zarja, the Crusader slipped the coin into his own belt and called after him. “Hell of a place to grab a drink, though. Plenty of other places to wet your throat.”
Zarja dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, not looking back. Who knew Night Crusaders could show an ounce of respect? Zarja still would have killed the man, however, given the chance.
Following the guard's direction, Zarja saw what he meant as the streets themselves seemed to grow darker; the shadows going pitch black and eager whisperings resonating from them. The quick shuffles of eager footpads sounded behind him as he walked, though he dared not look around, nor even falter in his steps. Any sign of concern or fear would have the wolves setting upon him in a heartbeat.
The slums district more than lived up to its name, in any case. Where it didn't smell of rotted fish and eggs, it smelled of death and fetid water. Still hearing fast-paced footsteps behind him, Zarja couldn't stop himself from stealing a glace. Sure enough, he saw a shadow dash behind a building and he skipped back a step as a dagger lunged for him.
With a surprised grunt, the attacker, cloaked in a dark hood, lunged forward sloppily, letting Zarja easily side-step him. Seizing his arm, Zarja slammed the man's hand against a the wall of a stone building several times, eventually causing his hand to open and release the dagger. He then took out a short sword and held the man to the wall, blade to his throat as he lowered his hood.
“P-Please don't kill me!” the man, or rather, the boy yelped. He looked at Zarja with large, terror-filled eyes with a face too young to have sprouted hair.
Sheathing his blade, Zarja released the kid and picked up the dagger, slapping it in his palm. “By the Maker, boy. Are you looking to get yourself killed?”
Gulping loudly, the boy shook his head and eyed the dagger in his hand. “I-I was just trying to get some food.”
Looking down at the dagger in his hand, Zarja sighed and handed the boy a gold mark. “The dagger stays with me, though. Now go home,”
Grabbing the coin with a shaking hand, the boy looked at Zarja with a huge grin. “Wow! A whole gold mark? You mean it?”
“Yes, now get out of here. This place isn't safe.” Without waiting to watch him run off, Zarja turned and continued on his way, walking quickly once more.
After a few more twists and turns down the narrow streets, Zarja saw a well-lit music with quiet music and loud roars echoing from within. Checking the sign, Zarja saw Redmoon Tavern scrawled in red, faded and chipped paint, and proceeded to enter.
Everyone in the tavern, even the women, seemed to bear scars from old brawls, and even a few fresh wounds from recent ones. Scanning the room, Zarja caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the corner, cloaked in shadows and staring straight at him. “Bingo,” Zarja said, carefully picking his way through towards the table.
“What brings you here?” the man asked in a rich voice, his face completely blacked-out by shadows.
“You told me to come here,” Zarja said, slightly cocking his head in confusion.
“To Gavindor, outsider. What brings you to Gavindor?”
“What business is it of yours?” Zarja asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion as he inched his hand towards the dagger, which he had tucked into his belt.
“That won't be necessary. If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead.” He studied the shocked expression that flashed across Zarja's face as he slowly put both his hand back onto the table, and cleared his throat before continuing. “Now I ask you again; why are you here?”
“Why do you care?”
“Why do I care?” the dark man asked, chuckling deeply. “I care because I know a man with weapons as exquisite as those at your waist has a motive to possess them. A motive to kill; but whom, and why, at that?”
“If you prod too deeply, you may just find your nose bitten.” Zarja threatened darkly.
The man, chuckling again, flourished a knife with a twirl and slipped it back into his sleeve, all in the blink of an eye. “You're treading in deep waters, now. And those waters are my domain! Now if you wish to remain in my lair, I had better know why.”
Zarja was about to spit a curt remark when a serving girl placed two steaming plates of meat and bread in front of them, leaving after the man flipped her a large gold coin.
“Perhaps a bit of boar will loosen your tongue?” the man asked more than said. When he saw Zarja staring at the food uneasily, he laughed and stabbed a fork into the meat, taking a bite from Zarja's tray. “It's not poisoned. As I said; if I had wanted you dead, you would have died before you crawled out of that box.”
“W-What do you mean?” Zarja asked, his eyebrows climbing high.
“Don't play games with me,” he said, taking a gulp from his mug. “You're here to kill someone, and you aren't supposed to be here. By the Gods, you flinch every time a Crusader so much as looks at you.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“Since you crawled from that box of ore, my dear friend. Now, would you just tell me who you are after? Perhaps I can lend my hand in service.”
Zarja studied the darkened figure suspiciously and took a slow bite from his plate. “And why would you do that?”
“How else is a man to make a living?” he asked, leaning forward into the light. There, Zarja saw the man's light colored hair, accompanied by a short stubble and mustache. His features were hard, and were broken by a scar cutting down his left eye, though the eye itself seemed unaffected. “Name the victim, and I'll have him dead within a day.”
Hesitating, Zarja shrugged and leaned forward to whisper into his ear. “Drakthir Tal'nibin,” he said carefully, causing the other man to dart back in his chair.
“The bloody-” he began to say loudly, then stopping himself and leaning back in. “The bloody king? You expect me to even get close to him, let alone kill him?” he demanded in hushed whispers.
“I intend to strike the blow, and I want you to get me into his compound. If you can do this, I can promise you enough gold to live like nobility for the rest of your life.”
Running his fingers over his stubble in thought, the man looked at Zarja considerably and offered his hand. “If anyone can do this deed, it's Thane Kinlore.” After Zarja took the offered hand, Thane sat back in his chair with a smirk. “But who are you to offer me such golden promises of wealth?”
Zarja looked back at the tavern's occupants before turning back to answer in a quiet whisper. “Are you aware of the rebellion against Drakthir and his bloody Crusade?”
Looking down at his ale, Thane nodded slowly, then looked back up to Zarja with a start. “Are you Thorudon?” he demanded.
“Oh no, of course not.” Zarja answered quickly, watching as Thane visibly relaxed. “My name is Zarja Dal'Marin. First lieutenant to the rightful heir to the throne.” he said, puffing out his chest a bit with pride.
“I've heard of you, Dal'Marin.” Thane said slowly. “Are you familiar with the tales that surround you, presuming you are who you say?”
Nodding, Zarja reached into the bulging satchel of coins at his side and slapped a handful of gold onto the table. “Consider it a down payment,” he said, smiling as Thane stared hungrily at the coins.
Scooping up the coins, Thane once more offered his hand to Zarja with a hungry smile. “If not for the gold, the fame alone almost makes this crazy scheme worth while.”
“Your name will go down in history for years to come, Thane.”
“Indeed.” Mulling his thoughts for a moment, Thane looked back to Zarja curiously. “What did you intend to do, first?”
Zarja shrugged sheepishly as he answered the question. “I'm not exactly sure, honestly. I'm not the assassin-type.”
“Well lucky for you, I have many years of this under my belt, and many notches in me blade.” Thane said with a deep chuckle. “Go get yourself prepared, physically and mentally, while I go and scout the compound. You're a madman for even conceiving this idea, but I shall see it through with you.”
Stifling a yawn, Zarja nodded simply. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Go to The Cutlass and tell them Thane sent you. Now go, we both have a lot of work ahead of us.”
Taking the dismissal, Zarja stood up and slowly left the table, looking back once to find Thane already gone. “How does he do that...” Zarja thought to himself.
Back outside the tavern, Zarja looked up into the sky and found it still had some time left before the sun sank. Not many people traveled the streets in the slums district, neither by day nor night, and none of them without protection. As quickly as he could, Zarja left the area and went back to the market, where he found a tailor and had garments as dark as the void fitted for him. Leaving the shop, with his coin purse considerably lighter, he slipped the hood down from his face and looked around.
“Excuse me, sir?” Zarja hailed to a guard, trying to catch his attention. “What way is The Cutlass?”
The Crusader turned his black, helmeted gaze onto him and studied Zarja for a moment, a slight sound of disgust echoing out as he studied Zarja's blades. Zarja thought he heard mutterings of 'peasants' and 'stabbing themselves', but he paid no heed as he awaited an answer.
“The Cutlass? That's somewhere over by the docks, though I can't say where, for sure.”
“Greatly appreciated,” Zarja replied simply, turning to leave.
“Make sure you don't stab yourself with those.” he yelled to his back, adding “bloody peasants” with a soft whisper.
Zarja then was back into the cobweb of streets, passing between the buildings as he made his way towards the large harbor of Gavindor. Once there, he took a deep inhale of the salty air and chuckled to himself, having never seen a port as large as this.
Everywhere, large schooners filled the waters by the dock, masses of large, barrel-chested men carry cargo and working on their respective ships. Zarja took all of this in before tearing his gaze away to scan all of the dockside shops. After running down the dock twice, he found a tavern labeled by a curved sword on it's sign, The Cutlass painted beneath it boldly. Especially after visiting The Redmoon, this tavern looked much more inviting.
Inside, Zarja was met by a blast of warm air from a burning hearth. All around him, he saw sailors gambling away their pay games of dice, gold and silver coins changing hands frequently. Walking up to the barkeeper, Zarja looked at the portly, aged man and began to wonder if this was the right place.
“Need a room, lad? I'm a bit sparse as of the moment, I'm afraid. 'Tis the height of summer trading!” the barkeeper said, smiling through a white, curled mustache as he wiped a glass mug clean.
“Thane sent me.” Zarja said slowly, watching the man's reaction. Sure enough, his eyes studied him again and he nodded, the mirth gone from his face, though it bounced right back in.
“Ah, in the business then, are ye?” he asked with a wide grin. “Come, come. I'll show you your room. Thane keeps one on permanent reserve for his 'contracts'.” Zarja followed the stout man as he led him towards the back of the tavern, leading him up a short flight of stairs then down a long hallway, coming to a stop at the last door on the very end.
Opening the door, Zarja instantly noticed how grand the room appeared, then noticing the man asleep on the plush bed. The barkeeper rushed in and woke the man up though, waving his club at him and chasing him out with a stream of curses. “Nothing better than renting a room out twice,” the barkeeper said with a snicker. “But here we are. Thane only pays for the room. Food and drink are on you're own, though seeing how as you're hiring Thane, I can only imagine you can offer food, eh?” When Zarja only looked at the man, he smiled and left the room with a bow.
Turning back to study the room, Zarja unhooked his belt and set it on a nearby stool, sitting onto the bed with a tired sigh. As he rubbed his palms over his eyes, Zarja had to wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into. Lying back, his eyes suddenly felt as if they were made of lead, and he quickly drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Awaking several hours later, Zarja blinked repeatedly and slowly sat up with a grunt. He then heard a quiet thud come from the window and he quickly rolled onto the ground, grabbing his hand-crossbow and pointing it at a figure sitting in the windowsill, after quickly loading it with a bolt.
“It's Thane,” he said simply, jumping from the window and into the room.
Lowering the crossbow, Zarja tossed it aside after removing the bolt and slipping it back with the others in his nearby quiver. “Why in gods did you have to startle me like that?”
Chuckling, Thane ignored the question and looked back into the darkening streets. “I found a way in,” he stated.
Zarja blinked at him in pure disbelief. “Already?”
Nodding, Thane continued his report. “Aye, and we could even get in tonight, if you so wished it.”
“The Night Crusade could end tonight...” he thought out loud, blanking off into his thoughts for a moment. With a shake of his head and a few blinks, he focused back onto Thane and smiled gravely. “Let's do it.” he said. “Let's end it, here and now. Tonight.”
“Then get dressed and gather your gear. I'll meet you out front,” Before Zarja could say two more words, Than leaped through the window and landed below with a tucked roll.
Snickering, Zarja quickly strapped on his weaponry and wore his cloak, throwing the hood down over his face as he walked from the room and down into the main room. It was entirely empty, save for the same portly barkeeper who hailed Zarja with a nod.
“So who is it, then?”he asked curiously, putting down the mug he was wiping clean. Did that man ever not have a mug and rag in his hands?
“You'll hear about it tomorrow,” he said simply, making for the door.
“I'm sure I will.”
Outside, Zarja circled around back and found Thane leaned up against the wall, patiently waiting. “You ready, then?” he asked, spotting Zarja's approach.
“Let's end this,” he said, shifting his sword belt.
Thane nodded and pushed himself from the wall, quickly disappearing into the dark shadows and leading Zarja forward. As they approached Drakthir's estate, avoiding detection from the lantern-bearing street patrols, Zarja began to feel more and more antsy about the whole ordeal. Thane halted them a short distance from the outer wall, hiding them in the shadows of two buildings as he studied the wall.
“Now what?” Zarja demanded impatiently with a whisper.
Raising a finger to his lips, or what Zarja assumed were his lips in the mass of shadows concealing his face, Thane silently reached into a nearby rain-barrel and pulled out a long coil of rope, accompanied by a padded, four-pronged hook on the end.
“Stay here,” he whispered before carefully advancing forward and twirling the hook and throwing it up. It landed with a quiet thud, cushioned by the padding, and he quickly scrambled his way up the rope. Zarja saw a bobbing orb of light approach the rope and Thane, but watched it fumble and fall out of sight, then being lifted back up and waving.
Taking the cue, Zarja scrambled up the rope and met Thane, seeing the corpse and lantern quickly rigged to stand. Nodding to Zarja, Thane pulled up the grapple and led them down the other side of the wall.
In the compound, Zarja stared at the large fortification for a moment in awe before blinking and focusing on the task at hand. Still following Thane's lead, the two carefully and quietly made their way around to the side, where he pointed up to a boarded-up window on the second floor, about thirty feet up.
Throwing the hook up once more, Thane caught the edge of the window and pulled himself up, carefully punching through the boards that blocked the window off. He then crawled in with Zarja close behind, once more pulling up the grapple and tucking it away in the corner. “This will be our escape route,” he whispered, looking around the room.
It appeared that they were in a storage room, judging from all the dusty crates and barrels lying around. Opening the door carefully, Thane popped his head out and saw the glow of lanterns approaching, then ducking back in and holding a finger to his mouth.
Nodding, Zarja waited patiently before Thane poked his head back out and swung the door completely open. Out in the hallway, Thane lead the way to a nearby staircase and down the steps, coming out onto the first floor. “The king should be in his audience hall right now,” he said quietly, leading forward through the hallway.
Following his lead, they both soon came out into a large balcony overlooking a large platformed area. Down on the platform, Zarja could see a figure sitting in a grand looking chair, a large golden crescent moon standing atop the back of the throne.
“There he is!” Thane said, looking over to Zarja as he pointed.
“It ends now, traitor!” Zarja boomed, standing up and firing a shot towards the seated figure. Watching him crumple beneath the shot, Zarja leaped from the balcony and into the lower hall, pulling a blade from his belt as he ran to the king. Turning the body towards him, Zarja blinked at it in surprise and hissed.
“This isn't him!” he said. “This is a mannequin!” he added, jumping up and turning around as the room suddenly burst into light.
On the balcony above, a dozen armored guards pointed crossbows towards him, black armor shining brightly in the fire light. In the middle of the guards stood Drakthir, with Thane standing beside him.
“What is this?” Zarja demanded, grabbing at his hand-crossbow.
“Make one move and I'll have you resembling a hedgehog.” the king said with a commanding voice. All of the Crusaders went stiff at the sound of his voice, their weapons pointing hungrily towards Zarja.
“Thane, what have you done, you bloody coward?”
“Turns out the good king was willing to pay quite a bounty for Thorudon's First Lieutenant. An offer I couldn't refuse.” he said with a snicker.
Drakthir nodded with a grin and studied Zarja carefully. “My-oh-my were you close, though. Tell me, how did that brief moment of satisfaction feel to you?” Getting no more response from Zarja than a growl, he laughed. “Guards, take him away.”
More Night Crusaders poured from the side doorways; crossbows pointed at him while they confiscated his gear and led him away. Fighting against them, Zarja had no hope of resistance against so man men, and thus meekly allowed himself to be led away.
* * *
After having been left in the cell, and falling asleep, Zarja woke up to the sound of footsteps echoing towards him. Bracing himself for another beating, he saw it was only one Crusader this time, who exchanged a few words to the current jailor before taking his place. As soon as the jailor left, the Crusader spun towards Zarja and took off his dark helmet, peering intensely at him. “Dal'Marin?” he asked quietly.
“Who's asking?”
Unlocking the cell door and carefully swinging it open, the man stepped back. “An agent for Thorudon. He didn't tell me anyone was coming to actually assassinate the traitor.”
“He doesn't know,” Zarja said, slowly stepping out of the cell. “Glad to see a friendly face, for once.”
The man grinned and offered Zarja a hand. “First Lieutenant, my name is Valrick. Valrick Tor'Urdin and it's a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Shaking his hand, Zarja nodded and looked around. “Where is my gear?” he asked.
Valrick simply shrugged, unable to answer. “They took it away, likely for Drakthir's trophy room, that snake. I suggest you sneak out the servant entrance and escape before noon.”
“Oh no,” Zarja said, shaking his head. “I'm not leaving until Drakthir is dead. You get out of here and tell Lord Thorudon what has happened.”
“But-”
“That's an order, Valrick.”
Sighing, he nodded and began to leave, then pausing and taking the sword from his sheath and handing it to Zarja. “Finish this,” he said, before quickly scampering out of the dungeon and out of sight.
Looking at the black tinted blade, Zarja held it carefully before beginning to poke his head out of the dungeon and into the hallway. Suddenly, Zarja heard cries of alarm, hearing Valrick's voice scream that Zarja had broken out of the compound and was running for the ships.
“Thank you,” Zarja muttered with a grin, hiding himself for a moment until all went silent.
As soon as the shouts died down, at least sounding further away, Zarja poked his head back out into the hallway and looked both directions. Sure enough, Valrick had cleared the palace out with his shouting. Carefully making his way through the hallways and hiding from any running guards he heard, he slowly made his way back to the throne room, where he was sure Drakthir would be.
After several minutes of slow travel, Zarja found himself once again staring at the traitor king and Thane, who was standing to the side of the throne. Half a dozen honor guards accompanied the two, spread throughout the room. On the top balcony stood two of them with crossbows loaded, always scanning the room for any signs of danger or, in this case, him.
Studying the room and planning his move, Zarja tensed his muscles before bursting forward with a yell and thrusting his blade into the first guard, then picking up his crossbow and unleashing a bolt on the other.
The room burst into confusion as he picked up the second crossbow and fired the bolt into a guard below. After, he took the blade off the fallen soldier and jumped from the balcony, crushing a guard beneath him as he crumpled to the ground. Only two remained, and they were ready for him. Thane and the king merely watched him, a look of amusement on the assassin’s face.
The two honor guards flanked him, attacking together to strike on opposite sides. Zarja was hard pressed to parry both of them, but with a clever flick of his wrist, he sent the guard on his right sprawling too far and into his partner’s way, allowing him to dispatch both guards in a simple swipe of his blade.
Slowly clapping his hands, Drakthir stood up from his black throne and looked down upon Zarja.
“What do you plan to accomplish with the spilling of my blood, Zarja Dal’Marin? To restore peace to the land and see that sniveling pig Galmid returned to his throne? Or perhaps you just want to see my righteous Crusade come to an end?”
“There is nothing righteous about your criminal acts of violence, traitor-king! Your Crusade is a lie.” Zarja spat.
“My Crusade is what will restore this land to its former beauty. You may be successful in slaying me, but you cannot slay an idea, you pitiable fool. The words have been spoken, and the path to a successful nation has been seen. You cannot expect the proud people to lie down and let that freedom slip through their fingers.”
“The people howl for your blood, Drakthir! Your righteous path has been laid with the bones of the innocents you have slaughtered without the slightest regret.”
“No reward is reaped without sacrifice. If a few people must lay their life down for the rest of the nation, then they ought to do so proudly and nobly.”
“Your mind is twisted, Drakthir.” Zarja said with contempt. “It will be an honor to do the world a service in ridding you.”
Drakthir laughed and began to pull a blade from his side, but gasped as a slender sword protruded itself from his chest. Looking down, Drakthir saw the sword and turned to see Thane was the one who wielded it. Gurgling, he pulled himself off the blade and collapsed to the ground; the crown falling from his head and hitting the floor and shattering into a dozen pieces.
“Hoping to redeem yourself?” Zarja asked sarcastically.
“What’s that phrase about being as wealthy as a king? Killing Drakthir’s murderer ought to grant me rule, shouldn’t it?” Thane said wickedly, wiping his blade on the dead king’s cloak. “Besides, there’s not much better than a fair fight.”
With a wordless snarl, Zarja rushed the assassin and feigned to the left, then striking at the right. Thane parried the move, however, and returned a sweep at his chest, which Zarja leaped back to barely avoid. Jumping back forward, Zarja attempted to press the offense and force Thane to retreat, though the assassin was having none of it. He held his ground and fended off each of Zarja’s strikes, slipping in small jab attempts when he could.
Zarja was forced to retreat as the assassin went on the aggression and struck in a flurry of attacks. He was barely able to fend them off as he kept stepping back. Feeling the king’s corpse on the back of his heel, he attempted to step over but felt his boot slip in the pool of blood. Falling back with a curse, Zarja landed on his back and Thane took no hesitation to lung on top of him.
As the assassin lunged, Zarja grabbed his wrists to keep the blade from stabbing him. As they struggled, Zarja quickly grabbed a small dagger from the assassin’s belt and thrust it into his kidney, twisting the blade back and forth as Thane yelled in pain. Dropping the blade, he collapsed and looked up to Zarja in disdain.
“I’ll see you in the Void, Dal’Marin.” he said, spitting blood at him as Zarja thrust the blade into his chest, killing him instantly.
Zarja dropped the sword and limped away slowly, chuckling to himself out of sheer relief. “It’s over,” he whispered silently, then groaning and lowering a hand to his waist. Surprised, he found the hilt of a dagger sticking out of him, which he pulled. Looking at the blade, he saw a faint green sheen on the otherwise grey dagger and sniffed the blade. The unmistakable smell of poison filled his nostrils and he couldn’t help but to laugh hysterically, dropping the dagger to the floor.
“You clever bastard.” he said in a hoarse whisper, limping forward a few more steps before falling to one knee. Each breath was a labor for him as he felt as if his lungs were on fire. Taking his last gasp, he fell flat to the cold stone and went still.
* * *
You or myself, there will be death today.
Please, be as honest/brutal as you feel required. I have a published version of this on Amazon (Lucky you folks, you get to read it for free) but I feel that the feedback I receive is primarily from those who only tell me what I want to hear, not what is true. (Also, any typos pointed out would be awesome; I've read through it a dozen times, yet fresh eyes can always spot more than weary ones)
And one last note; apologies for the lack of spaces between paragraphs. Simply copy and pasted from the book's file, and don't feel like going through just to add gaps.
The Shattered Crown
My name is Zarja Dal'Marin. For years, Drakthir has been seated upon a stolen throne. The rightful heir, Thorudon of house Galmid, has raised a rebellion and has been locked in combat ever since, but his efforts are not enough, not by a long shot. I am not here on command of the rightful heir, nor does he even know that I am here. I am here for my own reason, my own personal desire to see the king dethrone and beheaded.
Prepare yourself Drakthir, for there will be death today. There will be blood spilled to repay all the crimes you have committed against mankind.
You or myself, there will be death today.
* * *
“What in blazes is in this?” a blacksmith’s apprentice said with a grunt, dropping the large crate he had been supporting.
“Bulk up, lad!” the blacksmith, a much larger man, bellowed from the opposite side of the crate. “If you want to shape ore, ye’ve got to be able to carry it, first!”
“I’ve plenty bulk, master!” the young man said, flexing his muscles with a toothy grin.
“So I see lad. Come along, now. Got a large order to finish up, yet.”
The younger apprentice nodded and trotted after his master, rubbing a greasy hand through his scalp as they both disappeared into a nearby smithy.
Shortly after, the crate they had been carrying began to shift. The side panel of the crate lifted up to reveal a slim, light skinned man who then began shaking pieces of ore from his hair.
“I’m not that heavy…” Zarja muttered to himself after dusting himself. After looking down each end of the dark alleyway, he decided to exit the nearest end and soon found himself in the crowded streets of a grand city.
“Excuse me, sir?” he said, pulling a random citizen to the side.
“What do ye want, laggard?” he spat through rotted teeth.
Struggling to keep back his disgust, and anger, Zarja looked around quickly before addressing the man again. “Is this the city of Gavindor?”
“Stop wasting me time with yer mule-headed questions!” The man then quickly disappeared back into the throng of people, leaving Zarja standing alone at the mouth of the alleyway.
Surveying the hordes of citizens, Zarja was surprised to see more than a few wearing swords and other weapons upon their waists. He needn’t worry about standing out now, but the conditions of this city brought new worries to furrow his brow.
A loud commotion in the middle of the crowd brought Zarja out of his trance, and he soon spotted a trio of Night Crusaders, soldiers of Drakthir's army, shoving their way through the crowd. Despite the darkness of their bucket-shaped helmets, they still gleamed brightly under the sun's rays. With a guttural growl, Zarja fingered the hilts of the two swords he wore at his waist, but resisted the urge to use them.
Only after he had lost sight of the three did Zarja dare to start moving again. Following the flow of the crowds, he soon found himself entering a large plaza filled with merchants hawking their wares.
If he had had any doubts before, Zarja was assured he was in Drakthir's capital city. Every direction he turned, he saw more and more Crusaders garbed in their blackened armor, watching over the markets with the same intensity as a hawk watching its prey.
Touching the bulging satchel of coins by his side, which clinked with delight at his touch, Zarja nodded to himself and began looking around at each of the shops; Thorudon had given him a more than generous sum to assist with his disposal of the traitor-king.
Before approaching even a market stall, however, Zarja figured he would start his arduous task by scoping out the large city and, more importantly, the palace in which Drakthir would be found. Having never been to Gavindor, even before Drakthir and his Night Crusaders had stolen the throne, Zarja found it increasingly difficult to find a sense of directions within the cobweb of streets.
It was more than once that Zarja found himself going about in circles, refusing to ask directions. Asking questions, especially such delicate ones involving the false king, was sure to spread rumors through the city. If even one credible rumor reached Drakthir’s ears, then all would be lost for Zarja.
Despite having caught a glimpse of the palace earlier, it almost seemed as if the streets were purposely built to block off all possible routes towards it. Just as he was about to scream with exasperation, Zarja found himself traversing the correct path up towards Drakthir’s palace… and the impenetrable fortifications he discovered surrounding it.
Retracing his steps back to the market, taking mental notes so he could easily get back to the palace, Zarja had already began making a list of what he would need. It was shortly after that he would be seated upon a bench in the large plaza, a dark cloak slung over his shoulders and hiding his face in shadows. Bulging under the cloak, and on his back, sat a small crossbow accompanied by a dozen bolts in a quiver at his hip.
Fingering the hilts of his two short swords, he began contemplating as to how he was to get over the king's impenetrable walls. A few passerby’s eyed him with suspicion, grabbing at their own blades hanging from their belts. But one considering look at Zarja and they continued on their way, not too eager to pick a fight. After a few hours of simply sitting there, another man came up and sat next to him on the bench, sporting his own dark cloak and a blackened hood to hide his face.
“You have a determined look to you,” the man said simply, not turning his head towards Zarja.
“Aye, what's it to you?” he replied, sounding as gruff as he could manage.
“Meet me in The Redmoon Tavern,”
Zarja turned to look at the man, curious about his request, but found no one sitting there. Looking around with confusion, Zarja couldn't find a trace of the man anywhere; just peasants with swords instead of hoes.
Hesitantly,.Zarja pulled himself up from the bench and looked around, spotting a lone guard and walking up to him. Pulling a gold coin from his belt, he pinched it in his fingers and waved it at the man, trying not to growl audibly.
“Redmoon Tavern... know where it is?” he asked through clenched teeth.
The guard grabbed at the coin with what Zarja assumed to be a dimwitted grin under his pitch-black helmet. “You'll want to head that way and make a left, citizen. Towards the slums district.” After a nod from Zarja, the Crusader slipped the coin into his own belt and called after him. “Hell of a place to grab a drink, though. Plenty of other places to wet your throat.”
Zarja dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, not looking back. Who knew Night Crusaders could show an ounce of respect? Zarja still would have killed the man, however, given the chance.
Following the guard's direction, Zarja saw what he meant as the streets themselves seemed to grow darker; the shadows going pitch black and eager whisperings resonating from them. The quick shuffles of eager footpads sounded behind him as he walked, though he dared not look around, nor even falter in his steps. Any sign of concern or fear would have the wolves setting upon him in a heartbeat.
The slums district more than lived up to its name, in any case. Where it didn't smell of rotted fish and eggs, it smelled of death and fetid water. Still hearing fast-paced footsteps behind him, Zarja couldn't stop himself from stealing a glace. Sure enough, he saw a shadow dash behind a building and he skipped back a step as a dagger lunged for him.
With a surprised grunt, the attacker, cloaked in a dark hood, lunged forward sloppily, letting Zarja easily side-step him. Seizing his arm, Zarja slammed the man's hand against a the wall of a stone building several times, eventually causing his hand to open and release the dagger. He then took out a short sword and held the man to the wall, blade to his throat as he lowered his hood.
“P-Please don't kill me!” the man, or rather, the boy yelped. He looked at Zarja with large, terror-filled eyes with a face too young to have sprouted hair.
Sheathing his blade, Zarja released the kid and picked up the dagger, slapping it in his palm. “By the Maker, boy. Are you looking to get yourself killed?”
Gulping loudly, the boy shook his head and eyed the dagger in his hand. “I-I was just trying to get some food.”
Looking down at the dagger in his hand, Zarja sighed and handed the boy a gold mark. “The dagger stays with me, though. Now go home,”
Grabbing the coin with a shaking hand, the boy looked at Zarja with a huge grin. “Wow! A whole gold mark? You mean it?”
“Yes, now get out of here. This place isn't safe.” Without waiting to watch him run off, Zarja turned and continued on his way, walking quickly once more.
After a few more twists and turns down the narrow streets, Zarja saw a well-lit music with quiet music and loud roars echoing from within. Checking the sign, Zarja saw Redmoon Tavern scrawled in red, faded and chipped paint, and proceeded to enter.
Everyone in the tavern, even the women, seemed to bear scars from old brawls, and even a few fresh wounds from recent ones. Scanning the room, Zarja caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the corner, cloaked in shadows and staring straight at him. “Bingo,” Zarja said, carefully picking his way through towards the table.
“What brings you here?” the man asked in a rich voice, his face completely blacked-out by shadows.
“You told me to come here,” Zarja said, slightly cocking his head in confusion.
“To Gavindor, outsider. What brings you to Gavindor?”
“What business is it of yours?” Zarja asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion as he inched his hand towards the dagger, which he had tucked into his belt.
“That won't be necessary. If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead.” He studied the shocked expression that flashed across Zarja's face as he slowly put both his hand back onto the table, and cleared his throat before continuing. “Now I ask you again; why are you here?”
“Why do you care?”
“Why do I care?” the dark man asked, chuckling deeply. “I care because I know a man with weapons as exquisite as those at your waist has a motive to possess them. A motive to kill; but whom, and why, at that?”
“If you prod too deeply, you may just find your nose bitten.” Zarja threatened darkly.
The man, chuckling again, flourished a knife with a twirl and slipped it back into his sleeve, all in the blink of an eye. “You're treading in deep waters, now. And those waters are my domain! Now if you wish to remain in my lair, I had better know why.”
Zarja was about to spit a curt remark when a serving girl placed two steaming plates of meat and bread in front of them, leaving after the man flipped her a large gold coin.
“Perhaps a bit of boar will loosen your tongue?” the man asked more than said. When he saw Zarja staring at the food uneasily, he laughed and stabbed a fork into the meat, taking a bite from Zarja's tray. “It's not poisoned. As I said; if I had wanted you dead, you would have died before you crawled out of that box.”
“W-What do you mean?” Zarja asked, his eyebrows climbing high.
“Don't play games with me,” he said, taking a gulp from his mug. “You're here to kill someone, and you aren't supposed to be here. By the Gods, you flinch every time a Crusader so much as looks at you.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“Since you crawled from that box of ore, my dear friend. Now, would you just tell me who you are after? Perhaps I can lend my hand in service.”
Zarja studied the darkened figure suspiciously and took a slow bite from his plate. “And why would you do that?”
“How else is a man to make a living?” he asked, leaning forward into the light. There, Zarja saw the man's light colored hair, accompanied by a short stubble and mustache. His features were hard, and were broken by a scar cutting down his left eye, though the eye itself seemed unaffected. “Name the victim, and I'll have him dead within a day.”
Hesitating, Zarja shrugged and leaned forward to whisper into his ear. “Drakthir Tal'nibin,” he said carefully, causing the other man to dart back in his chair.
“The bloody-” he began to say loudly, then stopping himself and leaning back in. “The bloody king? You expect me to even get close to him, let alone kill him?” he demanded in hushed whispers.
“I intend to strike the blow, and I want you to get me into his compound. If you can do this, I can promise you enough gold to live like nobility for the rest of your life.”
Running his fingers over his stubble in thought, the man looked at Zarja considerably and offered his hand. “If anyone can do this deed, it's Thane Kinlore.” After Zarja took the offered hand, Thane sat back in his chair with a smirk. “But who are you to offer me such golden promises of wealth?”
Zarja looked back at the tavern's occupants before turning back to answer in a quiet whisper. “Are you aware of the rebellion against Drakthir and his bloody Crusade?”
Looking down at his ale, Thane nodded slowly, then looked back up to Zarja with a start. “Are you Thorudon?” he demanded.
“Oh no, of course not.” Zarja answered quickly, watching as Thane visibly relaxed. “My name is Zarja Dal'Marin. First lieutenant to the rightful heir to the throne.” he said, puffing out his chest a bit with pride.
“I've heard of you, Dal'Marin.” Thane said slowly. “Are you familiar with the tales that surround you, presuming you are who you say?”
Nodding, Zarja reached into the bulging satchel of coins at his side and slapped a handful of gold onto the table. “Consider it a down payment,” he said, smiling as Thane stared hungrily at the coins.
Scooping up the coins, Thane once more offered his hand to Zarja with a hungry smile. “If not for the gold, the fame alone almost makes this crazy scheme worth while.”
“Your name will go down in history for years to come, Thane.”
“Indeed.” Mulling his thoughts for a moment, Thane looked back to Zarja curiously. “What did you intend to do, first?”
Zarja shrugged sheepishly as he answered the question. “I'm not exactly sure, honestly. I'm not the assassin-type.”
“Well lucky for you, I have many years of this under my belt, and many notches in me blade.” Thane said with a deep chuckle. “Go get yourself prepared, physically and mentally, while I go and scout the compound. You're a madman for even conceiving this idea, but I shall see it through with you.”
Stifling a yawn, Zarja nodded simply. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Go to The Cutlass and tell them Thane sent you. Now go, we both have a lot of work ahead of us.”
Taking the dismissal, Zarja stood up and slowly left the table, looking back once to find Thane already gone. “How does he do that...” Zarja thought to himself.
Back outside the tavern, Zarja looked up into the sky and found it still had some time left before the sun sank. Not many people traveled the streets in the slums district, neither by day nor night, and none of them without protection. As quickly as he could, Zarja left the area and went back to the market, where he found a tailor and had garments as dark as the void fitted for him. Leaving the shop, with his coin purse considerably lighter, he slipped the hood down from his face and looked around.
“Excuse me, sir?” Zarja hailed to a guard, trying to catch his attention. “What way is The Cutlass?”
The Crusader turned his black, helmeted gaze onto him and studied Zarja for a moment, a slight sound of disgust echoing out as he studied Zarja's blades. Zarja thought he heard mutterings of 'peasants' and 'stabbing themselves', but he paid no heed as he awaited an answer.
“The Cutlass? That's somewhere over by the docks, though I can't say where, for sure.”
“Greatly appreciated,” Zarja replied simply, turning to leave.
“Make sure you don't stab yourself with those.” he yelled to his back, adding “bloody peasants” with a soft whisper.
Zarja then was back into the cobweb of streets, passing between the buildings as he made his way towards the large harbor of Gavindor. Once there, he took a deep inhale of the salty air and chuckled to himself, having never seen a port as large as this.
Everywhere, large schooners filled the waters by the dock, masses of large, barrel-chested men carry cargo and working on their respective ships. Zarja took all of this in before tearing his gaze away to scan all of the dockside shops. After running down the dock twice, he found a tavern labeled by a curved sword on it's sign, The Cutlass painted beneath it boldly. Especially after visiting The Redmoon, this tavern looked much more inviting.
Inside, Zarja was met by a blast of warm air from a burning hearth. All around him, he saw sailors gambling away their pay games of dice, gold and silver coins changing hands frequently. Walking up to the barkeeper, Zarja looked at the portly, aged man and began to wonder if this was the right place.
“Need a room, lad? I'm a bit sparse as of the moment, I'm afraid. 'Tis the height of summer trading!” the barkeeper said, smiling through a white, curled mustache as he wiped a glass mug clean.
“Thane sent me.” Zarja said slowly, watching the man's reaction. Sure enough, his eyes studied him again and he nodded, the mirth gone from his face, though it bounced right back in.
“Ah, in the business then, are ye?” he asked with a wide grin. “Come, come. I'll show you your room. Thane keeps one on permanent reserve for his 'contracts'.” Zarja followed the stout man as he led him towards the back of the tavern, leading him up a short flight of stairs then down a long hallway, coming to a stop at the last door on the very end.
Opening the door, Zarja instantly noticed how grand the room appeared, then noticing the man asleep on the plush bed. The barkeeper rushed in and woke the man up though, waving his club at him and chasing him out with a stream of curses. “Nothing better than renting a room out twice,” the barkeeper said with a snicker. “But here we are. Thane only pays for the room. Food and drink are on you're own, though seeing how as you're hiring Thane, I can only imagine you can offer food, eh?” When Zarja only looked at the man, he smiled and left the room with a bow.
Turning back to study the room, Zarja unhooked his belt and set it on a nearby stool, sitting onto the bed with a tired sigh. As he rubbed his palms over his eyes, Zarja had to wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into. Lying back, his eyes suddenly felt as if they were made of lead, and he quickly drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Awaking several hours later, Zarja blinked repeatedly and slowly sat up with a grunt. He then heard a quiet thud come from the window and he quickly rolled onto the ground, grabbing his hand-crossbow and pointing it at a figure sitting in the windowsill, after quickly loading it with a bolt.
“It's Thane,” he said simply, jumping from the window and into the room.
Lowering the crossbow, Zarja tossed it aside after removing the bolt and slipping it back with the others in his nearby quiver. “Why in gods did you have to startle me like that?”
Chuckling, Thane ignored the question and looked back into the darkening streets. “I found a way in,” he stated.
Zarja blinked at him in pure disbelief. “Already?”
Nodding, Thane continued his report. “Aye, and we could even get in tonight, if you so wished it.”
“The Night Crusade could end tonight...” he thought out loud, blanking off into his thoughts for a moment. With a shake of his head and a few blinks, he focused back onto Thane and smiled gravely. “Let's do it.” he said. “Let's end it, here and now. Tonight.”
“Then get dressed and gather your gear. I'll meet you out front,” Before Zarja could say two more words, Than leaped through the window and landed below with a tucked roll.
Snickering, Zarja quickly strapped on his weaponry and wore his cloak, throwing the hood down over his face as he walked from the room and down into the main room. It was entirely empty, save for the same portly barkeeper who hailed Zarja with a nod.
“So who is it, then?”he asked curiously, putting down the mug he was wiping clean. Did that man ever not have a mug and rag in his hands?
“You'll hear about it tomorrow,” he said simply, making for the door.
“I'm sure I will.”
Outside, Zarja circled around back and found Thane leaned up against the wall, patiently waiting. “You ready, then?” he asked, spotting Zarja's approach.
“Let's end this,” he said, shifting his sword belt.
Thane nodded and pushed himself from the wall, quickly disappearing into the dark shadows and leading Zarja forward. As they approached Drakthir's estate, avoiding detection from the lantern-bearing street patrols, Zarja began to feel more and more antsy about the whole ordeal. Thane halted them a short distance from the outer wall, hiding them in the shadows of two buildings as he studied the wall.
“Now what?” Zarja demanded impatiently with a whisper.
Raising a finger to his lips, or what Zarja assumed were his lips in the mass of shadows concealing his face, Thane silently reached into a nearby rain-barrel and pulled out a long coil of rope, accompanied by a padded, four-pronged hook on the end.
“Stay here,” he whispered before carefully advancing forward and twirling the hook and throwing it up. It landed with a quiet thud, cushioned by the padding, and he quickly scrambled his way up the rope. Zarja saw a bobbing orb of light approach the rope and Thane, but watched it fumble and fall out of sight, then being lifted back up and waving.
Taking the cue, Zarja scrambled up the rope and met Thane, seeing the corpse and lantern quickly rigged to stand. Nodding to Zarja, Thane pulled up the grapple and led them down the other side of the wall.
In the compound, Zarja stared at the large fortification for a moment in awe before blinking and focusing on the task at hand. Still following Thane's lead, the two carefully and quietly made their way around to the side, where he pointed up to a boarded-up window on the second floor, about thirty feet up.
Throwing the hook up once more, Thane caught the edge of the window and pulled himself up, carefully punching through the boards that blocked the window off. He then crawled in with Zarja close behind, once more pulling up the grapple and tucking it away in the corner. “This will be our escape route,” he whispered, looking around the room.
It appeared that they were in a storage room, judging from all the dusty crates and barrels lying around. Opening the door carefully, Thane popped his head out and saw the glow of lanterns approaching, then ducking back in and holding a finger to his mouth.
Nodding, Zarja waited patiently before Thane poked his head back out and swung the door completely open. Out in the hallway, Thane lead the way to a nearby staircase and down the steps, coming out onto the first floor. “The king should be in his audience hall right now,” he said quietly, leading forward through the hallway.
Following his lead, they both soon came out into a large balcony overlooking a large platformed area. Down on the platform, Zarja could see a figure sitting in a grand looking chair, a large golden crescent moon standing atop the back of the throne.
“There he is!” Thane said, looking over to Zarja as he pointed.
“It ends now, traitor!” Zarja boomed, standing up and firing a shot towards the seated figure. Watching him crumple beneath the shot, Zarja leaped from the balcony and into the lower hall, pulling a blade from his belt as he ran to the king. Turning the body towards him, Zarja blinked at it in surprise and hissed.
“This isn't him!” he said. “This is a mannequin!” he added, jumping up and turning around as the room suddenly burst into light.
On the balcony above, a dozen armored guards pointed crossbows towards him, black armor shining brightly in the fire light. In the middle of the guards stood Drakthir, with Thane standing beside him.
“What is this?” Zarja demanded, grabbing at his hand-crossbow.
“Make one move and I'll have you resembling a hedgehog.” the king said with a commanding voice. All of the Crusaders went stiff at the sound of his voice, their weapons pointing hungrily towards Zarja.
“Thane, what have you done, you bloody coward?”
“Turns out the good king was willing to pay quite a bounty for Thorudon's First Lieutenant. An offer I couldn't refuse.” he said with a snicker.
Drakthir nodded with a grin and studied Zarja carefully. “My-oh-my were you close, though. Tell me, how did that brief moment of satisfaction feel to you?” Getting no more response from Zarja than a growl, he laughed. “Guards, take him away.”
More Night Crusaders poured from the side doorways; crossbows pointed at him while they confiscated his gear and led him away. Fighting against them, Zarja had no hope of resistance against so man men, and thus meekly allowed himself to be led away.
* * *
After having been left in the cell, and falling asleep, Zarja woke up to the sound of footsteps echoing towards him. Bracing himself for another beating, he saw it was only one Crusader this time, who exchanged a few words to the current jailor before taking his place. As soon as the jailor left, the Crusader spun towards Zarja and took off his dark helmet, peering intensely at him. “Dal'Marin?” he asked quietly.
“Who's asking?”
Unlocking the cell door and carefully swinging it open, the man stepped back. “An agent for Thorudon. He didn't tell me anyone was coming to actually assassinate the traitor.”
“He doesn't know,” Zarja said, slowly stepping out of the cell. “Glad to see a friendly face, for once.”
The man grinned and offered Zarja a hand. “First Lieutenant, my name is Valrick. Valrick Tor'Urdin and it's a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Shaking his hand, Zarja nodded and looked around. “Where is my gear?” he asked.
Valrick simply shrugged, unable to answer. “They took it away, likely for Drakthir's trophy room, that snake. I suggest you sneak out the servant entrance and escape before noon.”
“Oh no,” Zarja said, shaking his head. “I'm not leaving until Drakthir is dead. You get out of here and tell Lord Thorudon what has happened.”
“But-”
“That's an order, Valrick.”
Sighing, he nodded and began to leave, then pausing and taking the sword from his sheath and handing it to Zarja. “Finish this,” he said, before quickly scampering out of the dungeon and out of sight.
Looking at the black tinted blade, Zarja held it carefully before beginning to poke his head out of the dungeon and into the hallway. Suddenly, Zarja heard cries of alarm, hearing Valrick's voice scream that Zarja had broken out of the compound and was running for the ships.
“Thank you,” Zarja muttered with a grin, hiding himself for a moment until all went silent.
As soon as the shouts died down, at least sounding further away, Zarja poked his head back out into the hallway and looked both directions. Sure enough, Valrick had cleared the palace out with his shouting. Carefully making his way through the hallways and hiding from any running guards he heard, he slowly made his way back to the throne room, where he was sure Drakthir would be.
After several minutes of slow travel, Zarja found himself once again staring at the traitor king and Thane, who was standing to the side of the throne. Half a dozen honor guards accompanied the two, spread throughout the room. On the top balcony stood two of them with crossbows loaded, always scanning the room for any signs of danger or, in this case, him.
Studying the room and planning his move, Zarja tensed his muscles before bursting forward with a yell and thrusting his blade into the first guard, then picking up his crossbow and unleashing a bolt on the other.
The room burst into confusion as he picked up the second crossbow and fired the bolt into a guard below. After, he took the blade off the fallen soldier and jumped from the balcony, crushing a guard beneath him as he crumpled to the ground. Only two remained, and they were ready for him. Thane and the king merely watched him, a look of amusement on the assassin’s face.
The two honor guards flanked him, attacking together to strike on opposite sides. Zarja was hard pressed to parry both of them, but with a clever flick of his wrist, he sent the guard on his right sprawling too far and into his partner’s way, allowing him to dispatch both guards in a simple swipe of his blade.
Slowly clapping his hands, Drakthir stood up from his black throne and looked down upon Zarja.
“What do you plan to accomplish with the spilling of my blood, Zarja Dal’Marin? To restore peace to the land and see that sniveling pig Galmid returned to his throne? Or perhaps you just want to see my righteous Crusade come to an end?”
“There is nothing righteous about your criminal acts of violence, traitor-king! Your Crusade is a lie.” Zarja spat.
“My Crusade is what will restore this land to its former beauty. You may be successful in slaying me, but you cannot slay an idea, you pitiable fool. The words have been spoken, and the path to a successful nation has been seen. You cannot expect the proud people to lie down and let that freedom slip through their fingers.”
“The people howl for your blood, Drakthir! Your righteous path has been laid with the bones of the innocents you have slaughtered without the slightest regret.”
“No reward is reaped without sacrifice. If a few people must lay their life down for the rest of the nation, then they ought to do so proudly and nobly.”
“Your mind is twisted, Drakthir.” Zarja said with contempt. “It will be an honor to do the world a service in ridding you.”
Drakthir laughed and began to pull a blade from his side, but gasped as a slender sword protruded itself from his chest. Looking down, Drakthir saw the sword and turned to see Thane was the one who wielded it. Gurgling, he pulled himself off the blade and collapsed to the ground; the crown falling from his head and hitting the floor and shattering into a dozen pieces.
“Hoping to redeem yourself?” Zarja asked sarcastically.
“What’s that phrase about being as wealthy as a king? Killing Drakthir’s murderer ought to grant me rule, shouldn’t it?” Thane said wickedly, wiping his blade on the dead king’s cloak. “Besides, there’s not much better than a fair fight.”
With a wordless snarl, Zarja rushed the assassin and feigned to the left, then striking at the right. Thane parried the move, however, and returned a sweep at his chest, which Zarja leaped back to barely avoid. Jumping back forward, Zarja attempted to press the offense and force Thane to retreat, though the assassin was having none of it. He held his ground and fended off each of Zarja’s strikes, slipping in small jab attempts when he could.
Zarja was forced to retreat as the assassin went on the aggression and struck in a flurry of attacks. He was barely able to fend them off as he kept stepping back. Feeling the king’s corpse on the back of his heel, he attempted to step over but felt his boot slip in the pool of blood. Falling back with a curse, Zarja landed on his back and Thane took no hesitation to lung on top of him.
As the assassin lunged, Zarja grabbed his wrists to keep the blade from stabbing him. As they struggled, Zarja quickly grabbed a small dagger from the assassin’s belt and thrust it into his kidney, twisting the blade back and forth as Thane yelled in pain. Dropping the blade, he collapsed and looked up to Zarja in disdain.
“I’ll see you in the Void, Dal’Marin.” he said, spitting blood at him as Zarja thrust the blade into his chest, killing him instantly.
Zarja dropped the sword and limped away slowly, chuckling to himself out of sheer relief. “It’s over,” he whispered silently, then groaning and lowering a hand to his waist. Surprised, he found the hilt of a dagger sticking out of him, which he pulled. Looking at the blade, he saw a faint green sheen on the otherwise grey dagger and sniffed the blade. The unmistakable smell of poison filled his nostrils and he couldn’t help but to laugh hysterically, dropping the dagger to the floor.
“You clever bastard.” he said in a hoarse whisper, limping forward a few more steps before falling to one knee. Each breath was a labor for him as he felt as if his lungs were on fire. Taking his last gasp, he fell flat to the cold stone and went still.
* * *
You or myself, there will be death today.