Thorns Bring Crimson Hands Ch. 1

 Sometimes I liked to think back. Try to remember her, but it was much too foggy to get a clear image. Her voice was garbled and I could only make out the feeling, warm. She was warm and everything else was cold, like the ones who took her from us. I was so young then, I was defenseless. I didn't stay defenseless for long after she passed. Father knew exactly how to make me feel strong again. I started my training at four.

I pledged to avenge her.

The thunder ripped Nicolas from his thoughts, he was perched on a drenched wooden balcony, outside of a dirty glass window. He scoffed silently, a noble lived here. One of the scum involved in his mothers murder.

A horse trekked sluggishly across the mountainside up to the estate. It's lone rider painfully unaware. He probably felt comfort riding out to his secluded safe haven. It would not be safe this night. The splashing steps of the horse and the uproarious thunder made so much noise it was easy for Nick to rattle the balcony door's lock loose.

After slightly parting the doors, he could see into the man's unremarkable bedroom, with a crack of lightning his shadow loomed into the room. He crouched, there were unlit candles and scattered parchment, an unmade bed with richly colored covers; a poor man could tidy better. He noticed then the sword by the armour. Was this the man's defense? Well. Nicolas swept across the floor and snatched the blade from its place of hiding.

The blade was a short sword. The length of it was from elbow to wrist of the bearer, and the width of the flat of the blade was two inches at the pummel narrowing to a pointed tip. It seemed almost impractical, but it was well sharpened. Nicolas crept back onto the balcony, the rider was stabling his mare. After weighing the blade in one hand and flipping it Nick caught it. The balance was off, heavy towards the pummel like a throwing knife. Nicolas turned and sunk the blade into a tree some distance from the balcony.

The sound was again masked by the storm as lightning whipped through the sky. He took out a dagger of his own and moved into the corner of the balcony against the wall, a blind spot from the doors. The great entrance of the estate screamed open, allowing the nobleman entry. It was a Sunday, and the house servants were holding Sabbath with the bread they had baked Saturday.

So the creak anointed the empty house will a hollow feeling. The heavy sound of the man's hard heeled leather boots was certaintly intimidating, but his weight did not command Nick. He only used his dagger to trace a Yr on the balcony as he waited. The assassin's customary symbol of death.

The nobleman had went to his pantry, he had not baked any breads for his Sabbath. Instead he would partake of someone else's toil. Nicolas was familiar with the bitterness of 'noble Christianity'.

Those who were too rich in material to dirty their hands in things other than trivial gossip. Unkind and judging working only to please themselves the nobles observe only the laws of Christianity that benefit them. Nicolas listened past the incessant rain that the wind whipped at his clothes in a fray of numbing droplets as he rested his head against the wall. He heard the man rustling in the pantry like a great mouse, after bread and cheese no doubt. With his standing it would be expected he wash it down with a rich red wine. The servants were cutting loaves of bread into sixteenths to feed their starving families, and this noble would call Nicolas a savage pagan as they drank rainwater from the holes in their rooves.

Even then the noble didn't find himself comfortable enough as he journeyed up the stairs to the comfort of his room. "Go back out for a while," Nicolas whispered, "enjoy a walk in the rain. It is your last night on earth. Feel it in the bare feet and let the rain mix in your wine. Drink and pray to your god." He sighed. "Do what is not in your nature. Do not touch the top stairs now. Do not let your last moments be of slug like gluttony."

The noble stopped at the top stair and pushed open his door. He hadn't heard a word between his climbing and his chewing, but he noticed immediately that his short sword was missing. He called out into the dark room, "Hello?"

Only the wind answered him. Nicolas resorted his grip on the rain slick dagger as the man fell prey to his curiosity. The noble had noticed the balcony door was ajar. He moved forward and pushed the doors outwards entirely opened. He stood between the doors, and a door stood between himself and Nicolas. Nick rose to his feet an unmoving looming nightmare unnoticed in the nobles peripheral as he stepped forward to gape at his sword hanging in the side of the tree.

Deftly the dagger reach slipping around him, not yet cutting his throat. The man stuttered unintelligibly. Nick hushed him. "Have honor."

The man began to speak but Nick countered. "This is your last breath, who would answer you better me or your god?" The noble began to pray, and as soon as Nicolas heard 'amen' he moved the dagger from the mans throat to between his ribs.The man trembled thrice and went limp.

"May you rest in heaven, for you can never see Valhalla Christian." Nicolas said solemnly.

With that he left, leaping down from the balcony and tearing the short sword out of the tree. He wondered if the Christian noble would have used his weapon if he had the chance.

Nicolas highly doubted it, the man did not seem capable. Must have been why his mothers death was arranged as a poisoning. Not even in dishonorable combat. She died from eating bad food, so he couldn't even see her in the afterlife.

He wiped the rain from his face in annoyance, shaking the droplets from his hand, but they were soon replaced. He walked faster and tugged his cloak around him pulling his hood down further. He could never stay warm and the weather wasn't helping. His stomach burned and his senses heightened. He groaned in frustration before lurching towards one of the buildings. "No!"

He stopped short and turned away from the hut. He set his jaw and started taking shaking steps away and towards the castle. "Just get to the damned thing!"

Each step took twice the effort as before, but he preferred not to prey upon the weak. He should have helped himself when greeted by the noble. It was too late for that now. Instead he stalked towards the castles guard tower. The gaurds were fed well, they could handle donations.