An Assassin's Anthem

Althea looked out into the trees and waited. The forest was quiet. Snow fell lightly from above, swirling and adding to the growing layer. She frowned and waited. Come on. I need to head back to the front.

A cowled man jogged through the trees, spewing snow behind him. He slowed and walked up. “Hello, Althea.”

“Hello, Lin,” Althea replied. She turned and walked underneath the boughs of a massive pine next to her, leaving the falling snow behind.

“How is your project progressing?” Lin asked.

“Poorly.” Althea turned and looked toward the distant front. “They are barely holding on. Without Riley, they will fall.”

Lin frowned. “How is her progress?”

“She has been practicing void magic and pushing her psychic. She’ll get skills soon.” Althea smiled. “Her noble skills are growing too.”

“Thank the gods,” Lin said with a long breath. “Is she safe?” he asked.

“For the moment. Do we get her out?” Althea asked, turning back to him.

“Is she still advancing?” Lin asked.

“This week, yes. Beyond that, who knows.”

“I’ll inform the council. Tip the scales or flee, Althea. I know the cost will be great, but we cannot lose her.”

Altha grimaced. “You know what it will mean if we lose.”

“Yes. That’s why we left her there.” Lin swallowed. “But we can’t lose her… Has she decided?”

“Not yet. I’ve planted seeds.” Althea frowned. “Permission to tell her?”

“The council is bickering about that.” Lin frowned. “Officially, no. Unofficially, do whatever will help our cause the most."

Althea nodded. “I’ll see you next week, and we’ll either turn the tides or be fleeing.”

Lin nodded. “Agreed.”

Althea reached out and shook his hand. “Gods guide.” She turned and raced toward the front, snow churning behind her. Her mind turned to the limited options she had to tip the balance. She frowned. Where is Roger anyway?

~~~

Roger’s blades flashed. Blood spattered on the ground, leaving a spray on the white snow. Spinning, he kicked a soldier away and heard the sound of the falling head. It thumped into the snow.

“Gods condemn you,” a soldier gasped, blood running down his side.

The enemy soldier raised his sword and swung, smashing it into Roger’s blade.

Roger parried and stabbed, sinking his blades into the man’s guts. This entire plan is a disaster. Spinning like a dervish, he danced through the enemy forces, cutting foes down.

A soldier gestured, and fire flickered through the air. Diving forward, Roger bounced off the ground and threw his blade, sinking it into the man’s chest.

An eruption of steam, water, and flame burst through the fort, rumbling and sending a growing plume into the air. Grimacing, Roger triggered his skill. Time slowed. Foes were clad in a red outline.

He ran and slashed, decapitating any foes in his path. As suddenly as it began, it ended.

Blood sprayed around him, and the remaining enemies surged forward.

“A thousand gold to the one who kills that one!” a man bellowed, pointing at Roger.

Roger dove into the shadows and fluttered like the wind, rippling away in a cloud of black.

Landing on the wall, he looked down at the mess. A stream of soldiers was racing across the field, surging toward the broken wall in the fort. He looked down at the fallen soldiers that lay in pools of blood. We will not survive this.

Even as he thought it, he saw people raise their hands in surrender. Several turned and fled. Roger grimaced and fluttered down the wall. Hold the gate and then leave.

His blades flashed. Blood sprayed, and he heard the call.

“Retreat!” a knight shouted. “We’ll hold the gate!” He surged forward, his massive axe rending the soldier in front of him.

Roger stabbed a soldier and moved closer to the knights, forming a small barrier of death while the soldiers turned and fled, racing out of the gate.

An enemy flicked her hands. A ball of fire roared and burst upon a hasty stone wall, sending flame waves rolling through the keep and blasting soldiers like rag dolls.

Roger grimaced and felt his hair burn. He stabbed another soldier and used the blood to extinguish what remained of the flame. Racing forward, he rapidly executed the staggered enemies who’d been blasted.

“Stop firing on your own troops!” a man bellowed, his cloak smoldering.

Roger leapt and slashed, cutting the man’s throat. Spinning, he vaulted over a burning wagon and landed lightly next to the knights. “How long?” he muttered.

“We buy them fifteen minutes and pray that your daughter shows up tomorrow,” the knight hissed.

Roger grimaced. “Gods, it’s far too difficult to get anti-magic skills.”

“Unless you’re in the war,” another knight muttered. She grinned and held up her shield. The shield glowed a vibrant light.

The arcing bolt of lightning slammed into it and cascaded through enemies instead, burning the smoldering troops inside. Laughing, she stabbed another soldier.

Roger turned and looked at the masses streaming across the battlefield. “Can any of you stop them?”

“Nope. They’ll counter,” the woman said, slamming her shield into a soldier and sending him splashing into the mud.

“Got any poison?” the knight beside him asked, cleaving a soldier in half with his greatsword.

“A dozen vials,” Roger said, stabbing an enemy soldier in the eye. He launched himself from the group and cut through everything. Can I poison them somehow?

Cutting down six archers, he vaulted back into the group.

“Give them to me,” a bowman said.

Roger ducked into the group, pulled them out, and watched the poison vanish.

“When we run, run fast.” The man grinned and reached for his bow.

Roger resumed executions. Minutes passed by agonizingly slow.

“Run!” a knight shouted.

Turning, the group raced out of the gate. A billowing fog of poison burst and spread behind them.