Alacrity

My newest short story.

For Kirby. 

Alacrity

By Adam Gonzales

"It starts with light and ends with light, and in between there is darkness." - Sendhil Ramamurthy

Gwen blew a sharp whistle with her right hand. The wind was blowing hard and drowned out most of the sound, but she knew that Kingser would answer her call. She waited on the edge of the forest, the strong gusts blowing against the bright green of the rolling hills around her. In the distance, far to her right and just past the end of the forest, deep blue clouds were forming. She waited patiently for Kingser, her auburn hair playing with the wind.

                Lightning flashed across the sky in the distance. Its bright red light was too far to illuminate the hills where Gwen stood, but the impending nature of its coming was enough to set her on edge. She closed her violet eyes, looking for Peter in her Mind's Eye. The low sound of hoof steps broke her concentration and caused her to snap her eyes open. It didn't matter, she could no longer see him there.

                Kingser trotted up to her with his gold mane flowing.  He turned to her with an uneasy eye, his black coat reflecting the waning sun. Gwen smiled and pressed her hand against Kingser's neck.

                "We need to go home, Kingser. I need you to take me there before the storm hits. Can you do that for me?"

                Kingser snorted, nostrils flaring. He stamped his feet and whinnied as he looked toward the blue of the storm. Red lightning streaked through the clouds once again.

                "I know, Kingser. Trust me, I do. But we need to do this. If we don't then they all die. Even Helen."

                The large stallion gave a final stamp with his feet and brought himself to rest. Gwen gave him a weak smile and threw herself over his back. She felt his muscles tense as she clutched onto his mane. Leaning next to his left ear, she pressed her body flat against his back. "Fly, Kingser," she whispered.

                They were off in a flash. Gwen was able to make out the distortion of the colors around her as Kingser took off. She had always been in awe of his remarkable speed and found his ability of Celerity incredible. No other living thing on the planet could match Kingser's speed--only light was able to compete. And like all other Actives, Kingser's power came from the sun itself. And the Evenstorm was closer than ever now.

                Gwen closed her eyes again and squeezed Kingser sides with her legs. She felt the him slow to a normal gallop so that she could concentrate long enough to use one of her own Active abilities. She opened her Mind's Eye and thought of Helen. Colors began to mix and swirl in her head until she finally was able to see the face of her younger sister scream in terror. Red light flickered in Helen's eyes and Gwen could make out the faint image of the sun splitting apart in the reflection.

                When Gwen opened her eyes, she immediately looked to the sky. They were headed towards the Evenstorm at a steady pace, making their way towards the small city below them at the base of the large hill. If the Evenstorm continued then it would soon consume the sun, tearing it in half and stealing the powers of all the Actives on the world of Talvalier. If that happened then her sister would die. Of that, Gwen was sure.

                After all, she could see all possible futures.

                The  Evenstorm continued to crawl ahead, the city of Avalice just outside its reach. Gwen tightened her grip and clicked her tongue, signaling Kingser to regain momentum. They were there in seconds. It took a moment for the world around them to focus back into place, but the colors quickly lost their blur and adjusted to normalcy.

                Avalice had one dirt road that stretched from the gate of the city's entrance to the open field that lay far at its back. The buildings were made from rosewood and were topped with open-thatched gable roofs. The road was clogged with people staring up at the Evenstorm with frightful eyes. The deep blue of the clouds were almost upon them. Lightning continued to spark through the clouds, igniting them in blood red fire that subsided almost as soon as it had begun. They were only minutes away from their doom.

                Her violet eyes flashing in the shifting light, Gwen ushered Kingser ahead, yelling at the swarm of people in front of them to part before her. Halfway through the city is where her aunt lived; where she would find Helen. She couldn't lose her only sister, not after she had already lost Peter. She had all this power, but felt so helpless in her ability to actually protect those who she loved. Her love for Peter had been beyond anything that she ever thought she could feel and now he was gone. If she lost Helen then she had nothing left to live for.

                The group of people in front of her aunt's house absentmindedly gave room for her and Kingser, never averting their gaze from the billowing clouds of blood above them. Gwen slid off of Kingser and lightly kissed his neck in thanks as she walked to the door of her aunt's house. As always, Kingser responded with a jerk of his head and a swish of his tail. Gwen brushed the sides of her brown leggings and made sure her bodice was buttoned over her olive shirt. The end very well might have been near, but Gwen knew that Helen would not tolerate unkemptness. She gave a hopeful look over her shoulder to Kingser and then knocked on the birch door.

                For a moment she was scared that no one would answer. But after a particularly large blast of lightning split the sky, the door opened. Her aunt Evelyn stood in the doorway, a slight look of confusion on her face.

                "Gwendolyn?"

                Gwen didn't wait for an invitation in, and instead slipped through the door. Evelyn closed it behind her and spun around.

                "What are you doing here? It isn't safe!"

                The low hum of murmurs and gasps from the people on the road could barely be heard inside the small and cramped house. Besides the cluttered eating table and counter there was only a small desk riddled with stacks of paper, and a closed door at the back of the room. Gwen started for it.

                "She's not there, Gwen!"

                Gwen turned around sharply. "What? Where is she?"

                "I put her somewhere safe." Evelyn was doing her best to avoid eye contact with Gwen. Her dark hair shielded her eyes as she pretended to be interested in what was happening outside the window to her right.

                Gwen felt her left eye twitch. "You put her somewhere safe? She isn't an object that can be placed somewhere, Evelyn!"

                "But she can kill us all if this storm does what I think it will!"

                "And just what is that exactly?"

                Her aunt leveled her head with Gwen's. "I know you've seen it too, Gwen! You saw the future, didn't you? You get that ability from me! If the sun splits apart then there's still some hope for some of us! But if Helen is near when that happens and she loses her power, then we're all as good as dead!"

                Red light splashed across the floor through the window. Gwen took a step towards her aunt and threw her left arm behind her back. The small desk toppled over and smashed against the back wall, propelled by the pure, un-caged, energy that Gwen was able to manipulate; her second, and final power.

                "You've seen the future, Evelyn? You know as well as I do that we can only see possible outcomes! I can stop it, stop all of them from dying, but I need to speak with Helen before I do!"

                This gave Evelyn pause. She turned away from Gwen and walked to the window. Kingser was waiting just beyond its glass. "Have you seen how that one ends, Gwen? It might not even be worth it."

                Gwen snorted. "Really now? Growing a conscience after everything you've done? What could possibly be worse then everyone here dying because you didn't even try?"

                "So you haven't seen it then." It wasn't a question.

                "No, I haven't. But it doesn't matter now. We don't have time for this, Evelyn! You need to tell me where Helen is so that we I can say goodbye! I know she's nearby, otherwise Avalice wouldn't even be standing! That's the only reason I allowed her to stay with you in the first place!"

                Evelyn was acting surprisingly calm. She pulled away from the window and turned to Gwen with a sad eye. She sat down, letting out a weighted sigh.

                "Your sister has helped Avalice  so much, Gwen. Her power is remarkable, and without her we couldn't have gotten as far as we have in rebuilding the collapsed mines underneath the city. The builders can only do so much, but with Helen's power to control earth they've been able to stop this city from collapsing! We're so close to finishing, Gwen! If you take her away now then everything will fall apart!"

                "And if I don't do something now, Evelyn, then she loses her power and the whole city caves anyway! At least this way, we have a chance! And I don't need her to leave the city in order to stop this from happening! You always do this! You can't always play God! You might have been blessed with more powers than the rest of us Actives, but that doesn't give you the right to decide our fates!"

                Her aunt's eyes grew wet. She stifled a sniff as she turned the other way. "What happened to Peter has nothing to do with what is happening now Gwen."

                "I--This has nothing to do with that!"

                A massive blast of red filled the sky outside and a low roar shook the room. It would happen soon. Gwen had to leave. She wouldn't get to say farewell to her sister after all. She gave her aunt a sneer and walked to the door.

                "Wait."

                Gwen stopped. "What?"

                "Have you noticed that your powers grow more prominent when you ride Kingser? Your able to see the future more clearly, right? Have you tried using your Alacrity while riding him? Have you used any of your energy transference?"

                Gwen turned around, her eyes narrowed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

                Evelyn gave a weak smile. "Kingser is an Active."

                "Of course he is. He can run really fast. Celerity, they call it. But you're still wasting my time."

                "No, sweetie," Evelyn pulled her hair out of her face and stood up. "You gave him the power to run fast and he magnified it for you, making him even faster. You transferred energy into him unknowingly and he used his power to amplify it."

                Gwen's eyes grew wide. "But--That was Peter's power!"

                "Animals can't be Actives, Gwen. They've never been able to."

                "You told me Peter died! I brought him to you and you said you weren't able to help him when I returned! He wasn't even here!"

                "I never said he was dead. I only said that I wasn't able to heal his wounds."

                "Then how?!"

                Evelyn reached for something under her jerkin. A thing gold chain with a small bottle attached hung on the end. A butterfly flitted inside. She unplugged the bottle and held out her finger for the butterfly land. "Future Sight, Healing, Enhanced Sight, they have all helped me well. But my true power lies here, Gwen."

                She pressed against the butterfly with her free hand and Gwen watched in amazement as a human body seemed to emerge from inside the insect. The butterfly remained, but the small body of a six-year-old human child was present as well, standing there, beside her aunt. The girl blinked in bewilderment and, after seeing Gwen, squealed in excitement and ran into her arms.

                "Gwen!"

                "H-Helen?"

                Gwen held on firmly to her little sister, her eyes filling with tears. She picked her up and kissed her cheeks repeatedly. She kept her in her arms and turned to Evelyn. "What just happened?"

                "My true power. Body Insertion. I am able to force a body to occupy the same space as the body of another, be it man or animal. If they are an Active, then their power remains. Just as it did for Helen, and just as it did for Peter."

                Helen continued to giggle and hold onto her sister. Gwen nuzzled her and smiled, but her eyes were full of fear and hope. "So Kingser…?"

                Evelyn nodded. " But he cannot leave that body, for his own is beyond repair. He knows this. But Gwen, you do need him in order to stop the Evenstorm! Together, you can make it all go away. I have seen it! But you need to know that it won't happen without great and terrible pain for you both!"

                Gwen set Helen down, kissing her again on her forehead. "It's fine, aunt. Now that I know Peter has been with me this whole time, I have no need to fear." She smiled fondly, tears welling in her eyes. "With him, I know I can do what needs to be done. Thank you."

                Turning back to the door for the last time, she felt a little body rush into her. Helen was clinging to her with all her might. "You're going already? But you just got here! And you came all prettied up! And I haven't seen you in forever! And I don't want you to go!"

                Crouching down to the floor, Gwen grabbed a hold of her sister and swiveled her around so that they were facing each other. She parted the brown hair out of her Helen's face. "I know Helen. But I have to go now, okay? I need to make sure that everyone here remains safe. Do you understand?" She kissed her cheek. "I need to keep you safe. I love you Helen. Just promise me one thing, okay?"

                The little girl was trying so hard to fight back a wave of tears. She was hiccupping in her attempts, her face flushed red. "O-okay."

                "I need you to listen to aunt Evelyn and promise you'll do as she says. I need you to stay safe."

                Helen nodded, tears finally bursting through her eyes. She started to sob, and gripped Gwen shoulders with tight fists. Then she let go and ran to her aunt, clinging to Evelyn's long white skirt and staring at Gwen through blurred eyes. Gwen smiled and rubbed her nose as she finally made her way through the door.

                "Goodbye," she whispered, closing the door behind her.

                She was instantly blinded by a massive web of red lightning that spread across the blue clouds just ahead of them. The sun was almost covered and Gwen knew there was almost no time left. She hurried over to Kingser as the crowd of people screamed and began to scatter. Kingser was stamping his feet and neighing incessantly. But when Gwen yelled out his name, he instantly steeled himself. She rushed to him and pressed the side of her face against his neck.

                "Oh Peter, I didn't know."

                Kingser swished his tail and whinnied.

                "I love you Peter, and I've missed you so much, but we need to stop the sun before everyone dies. And I need your help."

                The horse jerked his head. Gwen smiled and closed her eyes, making sure to keep her hand pressed against Kingser's coat. In her Mind's Eye it all became clear. She knew what was necessary and was ready to pay for the cost that it would take. She opened her eyes and climbed on Kingser's back, clutching his gold mane.

                "This is it, Peter. This is where we make our last stand. Are you ready?"

                Kingser snorted.

                "Right, then. Fly, Peter."

                The were off, heading towards the last sunny spot in all of Talvalier just beyond the edge of Avalice. They were there in moments. Gwen slowly slid off of Kingser and looked up to the gap in the clouds. She kept Kingser's mane clutched in her left hand. Then, with all the energy she had--with her pure force of Alacrity--she unleashed a blast of energy into the sky. And she let Kingser magnify its intensity.

                Light emerged from her body and shot into the sky in quickening waves--bursts of life shooting out of both her and Kingser and erupting into the clouds above. The clouds began to part as the blasts of power continued to speed up exponentially, eventually condensing into a solid beam of unrelenting force. Gwen could feel her body giving way, could feel her soul living her body as payment for her divine act. She was rising slowly, leaving her body behind, and was astonished to find, not Kingser's mane in her left hand, but the gentle hand of another human being. She turned to her left and grinned.

                Peter was there with her, discarding his horse's shell to join her in her sacrifice as the clouds continued to swiftly disperse. The red lightning was becoming less and less prominent until only small sparks began to swirl through the fading clouds. Gwen knew this life was over, but she was beyond glad that she was able to spend it with the one who had mattered most to her. Peter's spirit brought her into his own as the last of the waves rushed through them, the mortal vessels still standing strong below.

                And somehow he kissed her.

                It lasted for an eternity. For ten eternities. It lasted far longer than Gwen even thought possible. She melted against him; his taste, his smell, his warmth--even in etherealness--engulfing her in a storm far more violent and powerful than anything the Evenstorm had to offer.  Reality was banished from their presence in its touch and Gwen knew, that despite all that had happened, that no matter what she had ever told herself, this was all she had ever wanted.

                After a time, she broke the kiss. She never wanted it to stop, but she knew that it had to. The overflowing Alacrity that surrounded them was dying along with their bodies, and Gwen was able to make out the small figure of Helen far below, looking to a clear and open sky free of cloud and shade. She felt a squeeze in her hand and found Peter slowly rising, beckoning her upward as he reached for the sun. Gwen let the fire of the sun fill her up as she gave her little sister one last look, and then--hand in hand with the one she loved--departed to the world beyond.

                And all became Light.

Candle in the Dark (Revised)

Candle in the Dark

By Adam Gonzales

The Victorian hall was lavishly decorated. The six bullion chandeliers that hung high above the elegant marble floor below lit up the sparkling whites and golds of the seven grand tables that filled the hall. Each was set with a tablecloth made from the finest silk and laced with beautiful gold embroidery. Only the head table was any different from the rest. Clothed in deep red velvet, it was shaped into a half circle in order to stand out amongst the other six rectangular tables. That was where the Ambassador would take his seat. That was the spot Lucien patiently watched.

Guests of the Ambassador were bustling gaily, exchanging words of gossip in the proper fashion, but no one dared to take a seat until their host arrived. So Lucien was forced to mingle through the thick sea of silk and linen dress clothes, occasionally feigning interest in the pitiful social façade of the guests by feeding them a false smile or nod of the head every few minutes. It was degrading enough, to be sure, that he was required to mask himself with frilled cuffs and a stuffed shirt, and as a result he kept his communal interactions to a minimum. He wore a crème suit that boasted a collar that was much too high and stiff for his liking, with pearl buttons and green trimmings. But what offset him the most was his hair. It felt unnatural to, as the phrase went, ‘tame one’s hair’ and yet he had found himself slicking it back for the occasion. Every once in awhile, licks of mahogany would fall loosely in front of his olive eyes, only to be quickly pushed back once more—he needed to do his best in order to maintain an outward appearance of divine respectability, for such was the standard.

An hour passed before the Ambassador’s arrival, so as to give time for the guests to become comfortably acquainted with one another. And, true, Lucien did recognize the woman to his left and the man to his right from earlier lackluster encounters, but he could not recollect their names or positions for the life of him—it was not his concern. She was probably the wife of some important nobleman and he, the son of an acclaimed politician, no doubt (it was not difficult to deduce the foolish frailties of men in such worldly company), and as such Lucien’s interest in them was only pushed further away. And despite the fact that they were all cold-hearted, envious beasts under their skin, Lucien found the ‘well-mannered’, ‘sophisticated’ superficial pretenses to be the truly disgusting portraits. It was quite disheartening but true nonetheless, and if it was anything to go by then the Ambassador was the ugliest among the uglies.

He glided into the hall wearing a frocked coat that matched the lush red of the velvet tablecloth in front of him—a man in grey and black tassels escorting him wispily to his place at the head of the hall—and a radiant shirt with a gold cravat underneath—not to mention his gold cuff links and golden monocle. Lucien sneered: too much gold. Gold belonged in pockets, not upon one’s viewing spectacles. It irked him, to be sure, but he strained himself to peer past the Ambassador’s vanities in order to collect his thoughts for the task at hand. And although Lucien felt that his irritability was a stain across his face, no one else seemed to notice. Lucien found this remarkable until it came to his attention that murmurs were flitting across the hall, everyone’s interest fixated upon the woman dressed in black lace to the Ambassador’s right.

“If I am not mistaken,” the woman to Lucien’s left whispered, “that is not the Good Ambassador’s wife.”

Similar comments and remarks were arising in hushed tones at all of the tables, save the Ambassador’s. Lucien managed to quickly contort his face into some sort of semblance that resembled concern in order to meld himself into the overall hive mind of the dinner party. It was easy; not that the news surprised him, for it was the reason that he was present in such a suffocating assembly—but Lucien found himself somewhat preoccupied by the Ambassador’s escort more than anything else. Suspicion and vigilance caused Lucien’s false stupor to portray some sense of raison d'être. That and the gold coins that were weighing down his breast pocket.

The Ambassador, being the ostentatious host that he was, took the ill-gained attention and twisted it into his favor. He stood up, placing his left hand in his pants pocket and raising his champagne glass with his right. White teeth flashed brightly underneath his perfectly combed mustache as he smiled largely for all to see. His parted brown hair reflected the yellow light from the chandeliers above and his rich blue eyes slowly swept his audience as he cleared his throat. The hall became instantly silent other than the shuffling of the servants’ feet as they flitted between the tables carrying discarded glasses of champagne. Every pupil in the room locked onto the Good Ambassador, the Respectable Ambassador, the Kind Ambassador, the Honored Ambassador. Lucien stifled a cough of laughter—all these humble names were not fitting for such a man. The Adulterous Ambassador would be more fitting. Even so, the guests of the lying fiend slipped to the edges of their seats as he began to speak.

“My esteemed friends and colleagues, I am sure that you have all been somewhat mystified as to the night’s purpose. As you may or may not have observed, my dear wife Angelica—whom many of you are well acquainted with—is not present here tonight. The reason being is that I, months prior to our current engagement in this hall, found her to be playing part in an affair most scandalous.”

The hall became instantly calamitous. People gave utter disregard to the proper code of dignity and began to gasp and mutter loudly. One man even, to the disgust of those beside him, sprayed out the champagne that he was drinking across his table. Lucien did nothing of the sort. He simply sipped his cider and placed his glass gently back on the table. True, this did bring a moral complication to mind on whether or not he should still carry out his task knowing that the Ambassador’s wife could be the genuine infidel, but, again, the gold in his pocket cried out his name. Lucien shrugged—money was money and he was not being paid by the Ambassador’s wife to sort out the law of chastity. No, he was hired to do something that he found to be much less conflicting.

The cries of shock and subtle murmurs from the crowd became slowly muffled as the Ambassador pulled his left hand from his pocket to raise it for silence. His right hand still clutching his glass of champagne, he gave a nod of the head to his beloved audience as he, once more, began to speak.

“I thank you all for your concern and sympathy, but that is not why I requested your audience here tonight, although it plays a major part in its purpose. You see, I have called you all here to proudly announce my betrothal to the beautiful Malinda Wennebriar whom you see present at my side this very minute.”

If it was possible, the hall became even louder than it had previously been. An affair and an engagement announcement within the same evening was unheard of. And amidst the uproar the Ambassador set down his glass and opened his arms wide yelling over the hubbub, “Come! Share my happiness! Meet me in good health!”

Almost every person was up out of their seat, rushing to greet the Ambassador in congratulation. All save Lucien. A smirk slipped across his face as he rose out of his chair and did his best to make his way to the back of the crowd at an angle where he would have a decent view of his target. It was difficult to catch a glimpse of the Good Ambassador’s face above the bobbing heads of people who seemed to be drooling over shaking the man’s hand. To which, naturally, the Good Ambassador was obliged to do. One respectable balding gentleman found his way to the Ambassador’s left and gave a warm greeting before leaning to his ear to whisper something apparently provocative. As the man pulled away from his ear, the Good Ambassador began to laugh loudly, although the noise was lost to the steady hum of excited voices. This was Lucien’s moment—exactly what he had been patiently waiting for. His thoughts raced as adrenaline flooded throughout his body, but rather than succumb to its intoxicating pleasure he wiped his mind clean and breathed in deeply, as was his ritual.

Lucien slid his hand into his pocket and quickly arched it towards the Ambassador’s face, mid-laugh, releasing his grip on the object that he had so carefully concealed. A shrill scream of horror reverberated off the marble walls of the hall as every eye wandered sickeningly to the Ambassador. The hilt of a pearl, double-edged basilard dagger was sticking out of the Good Ambassador’s open mouth, deep red splashed across the visible part of its blade and the curl of his lip. Lucien could not help but chuckle as a spurt of blood sprayed out of his mouth—he had timed his throw perfectly, catching the Ambassador on a downbeat, knowing that he would try gasping for air upon impact. The crimson blood melded with the velvet tablecloth as it jetted upon the table, but did wonders on the Ambassador’s pale face as it gushed down the sides of his mouth. Flecks of red speckled his gold cravat and his new fiancé, proving to escalate her already desperate screams. And, just as Lucien had known they would, the guests all tried to aid the Poor Ambassador as his eyes rolled violently backwards and his body seeped into brutal spasms.

Lucien turned sharply and started to run to his escape. He knew that the Ambassador would surely have men that would try and stop him—for the Ambassador’s escort was suddenly absent—but he was prepared. Stealing away into the shadows of the massive corridor just outside the hall, Lucien pulled out a long dirk dagger from a concealed pocket in his sleeve, careful not to touch its heavily poisoned blade. Turning around the second corner he came to, he was thrilled to find two men blocking his path. They were both wearing light chain mail and helmets pulled down over their heads. Each wielding a long steel blade, they readied themselves in an offensive stance, placing their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Lucien laughed. “That armor is not going to protect you, friends.”

 

The two men shared an anxious glance as Lucien walked forward slowly, keeping his dagger hand pressed against his thigh. The first man rushed towards him, holding his sword in the backhanded fashion. And as he swung his weapon at his target, Lucien dropped swiftly to the ground and hacked the bare opening in the man’s crotch, where the armor failed to protect. There was a piercing cry as the man collapsed to the floor, clutching the burning wound that would kill him within ten minutes time. Lucien stepped over his writhing body and nodded his head at the second man. There was a pause in his stance as he contemplated on whether or not he should do as he was supposed but he decided against faltering and raised his falchion over his shoulder, crying a fierce battle cry as he did so. The sword crashed to the ground missing Lucien as he speedily side-stepped the attack. There was a fleeting moment of fear in the man’s eyes as he realized his fate. But it was quickly replaced with wide-eyed shock as Lucien slashed the bare side of the man’s neck just underneath his helmet. Blood spewed out of the precise gash in his skin and a red rash, a side-effect of the poison, began to spread around the wound. Not that it mattered—unlike the previous victim, this man was instantly dead. His body lurched forward and buckled down to the stone ground below.

Lucien sighed as he kicked aside the body in front of him so that he was able to continue forward with some sort of dignity. He stepped purposefully towards the wooden door at the end of the hall but was stopped short by the thin poisonous needles that slipped in front of his face and embedded into the wall’s soft grout to his right. ‘Ah,’ Lucien thought with a sort of relaxation, ‘there it is.’

Lucien turned to his left, down the connecting corridor, and flashed a smile at the man standing at the hall’s end. He wore a dark grey suit lined with black velvet that matched the man’s short shadowy hair. Grey and black tassels hung loosely at his sides and back; the mark of a contracted assassin—the mark of a bodyguard. Lucien smirked as the man’s amber eyes narrowed in anticipation.  He knew this man well: they were fashioned from the same fabric—schooled in the same guild. Promystus.

“So you decided not to stop me from killing that fool of a man? Was that not your job?” Lucien bantered.

Promystus stepped forward lazily, his voice bordering on a drawl. “My dear Lucien, my job was to defend the dignity of an honorable man. It was not specified on whether or not he still needed to be living.”

Lucien tensed himself, readying for an attack from Promystus. “And why, pray tell, is there no one else here to help defend this so called dignity?”

Promystus laughed. “Dear friend, that pretentious idiot was far too pompous to even think that anyone out there could possibly dislike him. Besides myself there are barely twenty guards within this whole estate. But I would like to think that I would present more than enough of a challenge.”

Lucien slammed his body to the ground as another needle shot down the hall. Promystus uttered a curse and began running down the long corridor, his eyes fixated upon Lucien. Lucien rolled and quickly shot to his feet, barreling forward as he slipped a thin knife from out of the lip of his boot. He flicked it forward but Promystus dashed to the side, momentarily running on the base of the wall in order to evade the attack. A grin flickered on the assassin’s face as he arched in the air over Lucien, his heel smashing across Lucien’s forehead. A thin cut opened across Lucien’s face as a small trickle of blood trailed down his nose. Lucien flung himself off the ground and turned to face Promystus. He was holding a small dueling cane that had been hanging at his side, his fist clenched tightly around its metal grip. Lucien darted to Promystus’ side and threw his elbow into his ribs before he time to react. Promystus uttered a grunt as he dropped his dueling cane and crashed against the wall.

Lucien had the cane in seconds but was shocked to find himself kicked in the gut before he had time to swing it across Promystus’ face. Lucien lurched forward and gasped in pain as his head was smashed into the stone wall. Blood gushed from above his ear and as he struggled to get himself up.

Promystus chuckled despite his heavy breathing.

“Poor Lucien. Always was the valiant and noble one, were you not? You never quite understood that being an assassin was not a question of morality.”

Promystus was close enough now to Lucien that he could have easily stabbed him had he the strength. The man was pulling out a long dagger from his sleeve, readying it for Lucien’s death. Lucien would have none of that. In a sudden burst of adrenaline, Lucien reached for Promystus’ leg and sank his teeth into his skin. Promystus howled. As he toppled over, Lucien downed a small vial of liquid that he had been saving in his pocket for such an occasion—liquid opium; a mix that would temporarily keep Lucien stable and strong.

Pulling the dueling cane off the floor, Lucien turned to Promystus and sighed, struggling to speak. “Promystus. What you never understood was that ambiguity is the reason you never can seem to get your priorities straight—the reason that you constantly fail.”

In one swift motion, Lucien bashed in Promystus’ skull and smiled ever so slightly as the cracking of bone reverberated throughout the corridor. He tossed the shattered cane to the side and stepped lightly over Promystus’ body, wiping the blood off his face. Then, without turning back, he spoke. “It seems that it was not the Ambassador that was the fool.”

Pushing the wooden door that the men had been guarding open, he stepped out into the cold chill of the night, his feet meshing into the wet earth as he spied a carriage some two hundred meters in the distance—his avenue of escape. An alarm rang out in the sound of a gong as the panic within the elegant hall finally reached the gates of the Ambassador’s magnificent stone manor. Lucien knew that a dash to the carriage was almost futile, as there were at least five armed men (albeit protected only by thick leather plating) between him and it, but he tried it despite his better instincts. Slapping mud up off of the ground as he bolted forward, he pulled a small misericorde dagger out from his pants pocket with his free hand and flung it at the closest armed sentry. It stuck firmly under the man’s mandible and he slipped to the ground. Knowing that he would not make it if he tried to fight them all off, he passed swiftly by the following two bemused sentinels without a second thought. By the time he reached the third patrol they were all aware and ready for a fight. Lucien was stunned as the man smashed the broad side of his rebated against his right shoulder, causing him to lose his grip on his dagger and fall to the ground. The opium mixture was fading and Lucien needed to compensate for time lost to Promystus. Thinking rapidly, he slammed the man’s shins with a heavy kick so as to send the man to the earth. Then, pushing himself back on his feet and clutching his side from Promystus’ earlier attack, Lucien bashed in the man’s teeth with his heel. There was a loud crack as the shattered bones snapped out of place, but Lucien was used to such noises in his exertion. He did not bother searching for his venomous blade as the fifth guard rushed at him with a double-handed battle ax. Instead he swept forward beneath the heavy weapon and smashed his elbow into the man’s gut. And as the man lurched forward to gasp for air, Lucien wrapped his arms around his neck and looked into his face as his olive eyes flashed in the dark of the evening. In one fluid motion that was only possible for one as deft as Lucien, the man’s head was forced at an angle that was not possible to achieve in the world of the living. A splitting crack filled the air as Lucien released the man’s body from his arms, a delightful and satisfying sound—even if there was no time to actually enjoy it.

There were voices growing close behind Lucien. The two guards that Lucien had passed were almost upon him, and the carriage lay in wait only ten meters ahead. His shoulder still in pain, Lucien hastened to the navy blue coach as fast as his body would let him. Swinging the door open as he reached its sliver handle, he slumped into the sticky leather of the seat inside and yelled for the driver to depart. And as the strident galloping of the horses’ hooves patted the ground, Lucien smiled smugly. Warmth filled his body as the opium began to subside, and he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the cloth sack of gold. He tossed it gently up and down, matching the horse trots, and sighed contentedly as he looked to the dull night clouds outside. The Ambassador was dead, and all was well with Lucien.