The Thief, The Assasin

*so this is a small snippet of a story revolving around the Eternal Council, an immortal council of 12 guardians, each with specific roles and abilities.  This short piece spotlights Ithiniel, the Thief, and his sister, Adriel, the Healer, after they have located and delivered a special artifact to a wealthy merchant house, only to be betrayed by that house...*

(This may be slightly out of context as it is only part of a much longer story)

HE KNELT over her, unable to think, unable to breathe as he saw the blood, his sister’s soul already slowly seeping out of the wounds on her chest and neck. He shook his head. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his, her gaze staring up past him at the moon peeking through the silver clouds above.

“Adriel…” his voice was barely a whisper, broken at the ends, weakly fluttering on the night breeze. The fragile sound was shattered and dismissed by her sigh, her refusal to accept his help. He tried to fight the frustration building within him, which threatened to burst out into an uncontrollable rage. He looked at the gashes again, “Teach me how to help you,” he pleaded, “Teach me how to save you.”

She closed her eyes, blinking for a long moment before staring off again into the distance behind him. Ithiniel bit his tongue, the hopeless fear inside him nearly exploding outwards. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the thin vial with the small needle point on the end. He glanced at his sister’s eyes again, which were still focused far away from him, and raised the syringe.

Her hand shot up, gripping his wrist, and her eyes finally met his for a brief second before quickly looking away again. “Keep your poison away from me,” was all she said. Her words met the Thief’s ears and ran like ice into his blood and his spirit, carving a frozen path to his heart, which hadn’t stopped aching in a thousand years. She would never forgive him for what he had done to her, to her lover. She would sooner die.

He felt a hot tear burn its way down his cheek as he watched her leave her body, the wisps of her soul ascending into the night air like the thin smoke of a burning flower becoming lost against the dark sky.

It took every ounce of willpower within him to stop Ithiniel from screaming out at the moon, as in his mind he yelled curses at every single man and woman who ever bore the sigil of the Muoranni House. Springing to his feet, he wheeled around, and his eyes locked on the flag flying in the distance, on the stag and ring insignia which burned in his mind.

In three bounds he reached the low wall bordering the upper class district of the city, nimbly scaling the side and throwing himself over the top. Sprinting down the wall, he made his way along the rooftops towards the Muoranni estate three blocks away.

He slowed as he approached, kneeling on the roof of a neighbouring house, glancing from window to window for his target. Seeing nothing, he set his sights on a large chamber near the back of the mansion, where the balcony doors were closed shut, only one small side window remained open. In a smooth series of movements, the Thief leapt from his position on the roof, swinging from the eavestrough of the estate and slipping through the tiny gap into the room.

Crouching silently by the window, Ithiniel waited for a moment as his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. The only light in the chamber came from the thin sliver of moonlight sneaking through the window beneath which he sat, and the flickering glow of a candle next to a bed which sat in the very centre of the room. The Thief noticed that there was a woman sitting next to the bed, speaking quietly to someone lying under the covers. She was giving the person sips of water, and dabbing their forehead with a cloth. Ithiniel knew in an instant that the person in the bed was the man he had poisoned earlier. Who the woman was, the Thief didn’t care. She was helping the man responsible for Adriel’s death, a Muoranni, an enemy. The merchant was still shivering and gasping weakly for air, the venom in his veins holding him on the edge of death, but not allowing him to die just yet.

Neither of the two seemed to have noticed Ithiniel make his silent entrance, and neither one noticed the Thief creep over to the bed, coming up behind the woman. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he sprung forward, putting one hand over her mouth as he cut her throat. He watched the merchant’s eyes go wide as the woman’s life poured out of her with the blood, her spirit gasping as it leaked into the air. The man in the bed tried to scream, his voice catching in his dry throat, only able to let out two frail coughs as Ithiniel lowered the woman’s body to the cold marble floor.

The Thief moved to the bedside, almost laughing as the rat wrapped in the plush sheets squirmed away from him, hardly able to move. Ithiniel placed a hand on each of the merchant’s shoulders and leaned in close.

“Do you want to live?” He hissed at the dying man, staring directly into his eyes, seeing his soul barely clinging to the broken body of the rich bastard. The pale face nodded, cold sweat pouring down. The Thief smirked, “Of course you do.”

He then saw the merchant’s eyes shoot to something behind Ithiniel, and he heard the knob on the door click. Wheeling around, Ithiniel slid across the floor into the shadows near the opening door. A man entered, dressed in noble’s clothes, but wearing a blade on his hip. He closed the door behind him just before spotting the woman’s body lying in a pool of blood at the foot of the bed. Before the man could make a sound, Ithiniel’s hand was over his mouth, his dagger pointing into his throat.

“If you enjoy this world and wish to remain here, you will refrain from moving,” The Thief muttered into the man’s ear. “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth, and you are going to whisper to me, or I will kill you. Understand?” The man nodded furiously, and Ithiniel released his hand, leaving the dagger still pointing into the man’s neck. “Now,” Ithiniel spoke in a low voice, “Who are you?”

The man’s voice was a shaky whisper, “I am Vilak, head of House Muoranni’s Wealth Guard. Who are-”

“How many men are standing guard outside this door?” The Thief pushed his blade harder into the guard’s neck, “Speak.” He could tell that the man was looking to the merchant, his employer, for permission to speak. Ithiniel sighed, “How much does he pay you? Do you know who I am? That pig is in that bed because of me, and I can double whatever coin he throws your way.”

Vilek paused, shuddering before speaking, “Two,” he gasped, trying to struggle away from the dagger, “One on each side, plus three more patrolling the halls.”

Ithiniel smiled, “Thank you, Vilek.” Then the Thief pushed the blade into the throat of the captain, gently lowering his body to the marble, and leaning him against the wall by the door as dark red blood pooled around him.

Ithiniel then approached the door and, drawing his second Yashkti dagger, he swung the door open. He took one step into the hall, and looking quickly to his left and right he saw a pair of Wealth Guards standing on either side of the doorway. The Thief took aim at the exposed skin on their necks, swiftly piercing both of their throats at once with his daggers before they could even realize what was happening. As if performing a choreographed dance, both guards began to collapse limply towards the floor. The Thief grabbed each of them under one arm and dragged them into the room, before closing the door behind him, locking it with a soft click.

After quietly laying the guards next to their captain, Ithiniel turned once more to the merchant, who had managed to worm his way to the floor, and was trying to drag himself towards the balcony doors.

“Greedy, selfish, dishonest, and impatient.” The Thief shook his head as he strode over to the wriggling maggot. Mid step, he swung out his right foot and stomped down hard onto the merchant’s hand, most likely breaking it based on the loud crunch and the raspy cry of pain that seeped out of the dying man’s mouth.

“Now,” Ithiniel said, kneeling down and flipping the merchant onto his back, “I don’t care where you took the Enowid uf Gmu. I don’t care who you are working for. We will find all of that out soon enough without you. All I want to know is why. Why did you betray us, after we helped you gain so much? Why did my sister have to die for you?”

The merchant stared blankly into the Thief’s eyes for a moment, before a sickly grin began to spread across his pale face, “Because immortality is not invulnerability, thief. You cannot simply hide forever. We will always find you, and we will break you, as we have broken you tonight. Look around you. Look what you have done for me.”

The thief glanced around the room at the bodies of his victims. It had been a thousand years since he vowed never to kill again, and for a thousand years he had kept his vow. His failure sank to the bottom of his stomach to join his heart, making him feel sick of himself.

Filled with a new rage, the Thief drew his dagger one more time, and without hesitation carved a long, deep, slow line across the merchant’s neck, watching as the dying pig left his body wide eyed and twitching on the cold floor.

The Assassin rose then, and with one more glance at all of the blood he had spilled, swung open the balcony doors and leapt out into the night.