Assassin's Curse Read online

  Assassin’s Curse

  by

  DEBRA L. MARTIN

  DAVID W. SMALL

  2012 Copyright © by Debra L Martin & David W Small

  Cover Art © by John Dotegowski

  Cover Design © by www.TERyvsions.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  We would like to thank our beta readers, KC May, Rhonda Karp, Sam Barger, and Dan Mackey, for their patience, insight and support in bringing ASSASSIN’S CURSE to publication. We would also like to thank our fabulous editor, Katy Sozaeva, for her meticulous attention to our manuscript. Lastly, we would like to thank our graphic artists, John Dotegowski for the cover image, and T.M. Roy for the cover design. You have all made this book infinitely better.

  The Prophecy of the Witch Stone

  From the line of power twice born

  To the power born twice

  Shall arise the seekers of the Stone.

  Look for the sign of the witch in two joined

  For they shall be the saviors

  Who shall grasp the power from darkness

  And bring it into the light

  For when the flower blossoms

  Then will be the time

  For their powers shall be twined within a single aspect

  And stand balanced on the sword’s edge of good and evil.

  False guidance shall lead to the path of doom

  And will spell destruction of all

  That they were brought about to save.

  Prologue

  The boy stood in the middle of the room staring blankly at the wall.

  Choose well was all he remembered.

  The room was about sixty paces long and probably half as wide. It was two stories’ high with numerous oil lamps set along the upper walls that provided more than adequate lighting for the entire room. A balcony ran along three of the four walls and provided a means to observe any event happening below. There was one door leading in and out of the room, but it was blocked by a large, well-muscled man dressed completely in black. His eyes were deadpan, like those of a cold-blooded killer.

  The air was relatively cool, but the young boy felt a drip of sweat run down his back. He tried to hide his nervousness beneath a façade of serenity while staring at the wall, but he could feel the butterflies roiling in his stomach, threatening to unman him.

  The wall the boy stared at contained all conceivable manner of weapons, from short throwing knives to elegantly curved swords to long-handled halberds with wickedly curved barbs and spikes. The boy had to choose something soon or forfeit his chance to test again for another year. He would not let this opportunity pass, because this was the day he had trained long and hard for, the day he had anticipated for the last three years, and the day when he would finally prove himself worthy. Today he would test to become an apprentice in the guild of assassins.

  The rules of the test were simple: choose your weapon and fight. Any novice who aspired to test for apprenticeship had twenty short minutes to fight and draw blood from their opponent. Whatever weapon a novice chose to test with would be the school in which they would be apprenticed if they passed. There were five schools: Sword, Knife, Axe, Staff, and Bow. The tests were short, brutal, and bloody, designed to ensure that no one advanced who did not rightly deserve to. Their opponents were fully trained brothers of the guild who gave no quarter or latitude to the would-be contenders. Many tested for the honor, but few passed their first time, and some even lost their lives in the attempt.

  Jeda had decided many months ago to choose a pair of fighting knives as his weapon of choice. He was good with knives, both in hand-to-hand combat and throwing, and liked the way they felt perfectly balanced in his hands. He had been steadfast in his weapon of choice until the moment he entered the room and saw Brother Mave waiting for him. A slight grimace passed over his face, but he quickly composed himself. The last thing he wanted was for Mave to see he was scared. Mave was dressed in the traditional, assassin color of black, but also wore a distinguishable symbol of red, crossed swords on the bandana holding back his hair. That symbol marked him as a preeminent sword expert within the guild, second only to the masters in the School of Swords. Knives were excellent, close-in fighting weapons, but Jeda was not good enough with them to draw blood from a sword expert like Mave. Now he stood immobilized, staring at the weapons wall, furiously trying to think of what he should do next. He knew he would have to choose wisely if he was to survive this day.

  Damn, of all the brothers in this guild, how could I be so lucky as to get Mave? Jeda thought sarcastically. He stepped forward and reached for the weapon he thought he would have the most luck with.

  No sense in changing now.

  ***

  Mave saw the boy look his way and inwardly smiled. He knew the boy was scared, and rightly so. It was not chance that brought him here today, but a carefully orchestrated scheme to make sure he tested the boy. He felt Jeda was no more than a third-year upstart who did not deserve the opportunity to test for apprenticeship. Most novices trained for five or six years before petitioning to test. Mave was going to make sure that the boy did not pass. That was as it should be, for it was Mave who had brought Jeda to the guild in the first place. He should be the one to put the boy in his place and teach him humility.

  Jeda finally reached up and took a pair of fighting knives off the wall.

  Mave shook his head at the boy’s choice. I knew it. The boy may know how to fight, but he knows nothing of winning.

  “Begin,” said the dispassionate voice of the master-in-attendance judging the test.

  Mave strode forward, closing the distance and eliminating the only advantage knives would give the boy. Without the distance to throw them, they were completely useless against swords.

  The boy stood stock-still, visibly trembling as Mave approached. His frozen fear was pathetic and almost embarrassing. Mave would cut him slightly with his first blade and knock him out with the handle of his second, putting a quick end to this charade of a test. Twirling his swords in a deadly dance, Mave felt no sympathy for the boy. Today’s failure would set Jeda back at least a year and give him more time to learn proper respect and modesty, traits Mave felt he was sorely lacking.

  The young fool doesn’t know what he’s in for.

  As Mave swung the first blade to catch the boy across the cheek, something unexpected happened. Jeda dove forward, under the first blade, and whipped one of his knives at Mave’s exposed side. Mave deflected the throw with his second sword. If he had not been such an excellent swordsman, the throw would have a scored a hit.

  Maybe not quite the fool I took him for. Mave spun around swinging the sword in a deadly arc to face the boy as Jeda jumped to his feet. The swing cut the boy high on the arm and he cried out in shock and pain. The cut was deep and bleeding heavily, rendering the arm useless. The boy went down on one knee, but Mave moved cautiously forward. He would not be caught off-guard a second time by the boy’s cleverness. When Mave came within a sword’s reach of him, the boy jumped forward into a diving roll and threw his second, remaining knife. Mave anticipated the move and easily deflected the throw, shaking his head at the boy’s stupidity in throwing away his last means of defense. As he turned to face Jeda, he realized
his mistake. He felt a blade slice through his trousers, burning and drawing a bright-crimson line along his leg. Jeda had used the second throw to distract Mave from his true objective: the first blade that Mave had deflected. The boy had used his diving roll to reach that first blade, left forgotten on the floor.

  How did he get that knife so quickly and throw it so precisely? Mave wondered, looking down at his bleeding leg.

  “Enough. Blood has been drawn by Novice Jeda,” said the master’s voice from the balcony. “He is elevated to the rank of apprentice.”

  Mave studied Jeda with a smoldering anger. He was a good fifteen feet away and was wobbling on his feet from loss of blood. It didn’t seem possible that he could have thrown that knife in his condition. Mave knew the boy must have somehow cheated.

  This is not over; no one makes a fool of me.

  Chapter 1 - Fate

  In the darkness of night, a shadow moved furtively through the back alleys of the city. The air was cold, and tendrils of misty fog rolled off the waterfront, creeping through empty streets, searching with incorporeal fingers for the foolish and fearless alike. The few lanterns that hung along the major avenues shone bleakly through the fog, but did little to dispel the murkiness of the night. The city of Constantine, in the kingdom of Tavia, was a large, bustling capital, boasting many taverns and inns for travelers and locals alike. The revelers had long since gone home to their loved ones or lonely hovels, leaving the streets empty for more nefarious late-night activities. The occasional patrol of city guards could be heard moving through the empty streets, giving the good and honest citizens huddled in their beds a fleeting sense of security.

  Skirting the lighted sections of the city streets, the shadow moved wraith-like, gliding along on its journey, full of purpose and intent. It finally stopped at the mouth of an alleyway and leaned into the darkened walls, staring at its destination—a small hut nestled amongst its neighbors. The faint hue of candlelight cast through the veiled window of the hut stood in stark contrast to the surrounding blackness. It was a shining beacon, drawing the skulking shadow forward like a moth to a flame. Closing on the hut, the figure leaned up against the window’s glass and peered into the room. Through the seam of the window curtains, the shadow spied its quarry: a young mother and father playing and laughing with their two infant daughters.

  The mother turned and moved to the window, parting the curtains slightly to stare into the pitch-black night. Her brow was furrowed as she looked out the window, but the shadow had moved, melting into the gloomy blackness, leaving the mother a view of the street, empty and dark like her worries.

  ***

  Miriam DeLongo was startled when she saw a ghostly shadow outside the window of her small hut. She had been jumpy and nervous all night, but there was something outside that she definitely saw. She glanced over to Tomas, but he was playing with the children. He saw no shadows. The girls had captured his full attention as they laughed and played together. Miriam moved to the window and crouched slightly to look out the glass. She saw nothing but her own reflection staring back. She had a beautiful face that was nearly perfect in its symmetry, but tonight her reflection showed a face fraught with worry. She stood up and pushed her blonde hair out of her face, revealing a pair of eyes that were beautiful for a totally different reason. She had the light-golden eyes that marked her as a worker of magic and witchery.

  A subtle brightness filled the window and she glanced out again, watching as the moon poked through a thin layer of clouds. It was full and beautiful, one the locals called a witching moon. Miriam was a powerful witch and this moon should have been a fitting portent to the beginning of her new life. She had made the painful decision to leave the coven of her sisters and live instead with her beloved fiancé and their newborn twins. She wanted to raise their girls in a peaceful environment with Tomas, the man she was to marry next week. Magic was fraught with intrigue and inherent dangers and she wanted no part of that for her girls.

  But with all the portents pointing to joy and happiness, why did she feel a foreboding sense of danger?

  That damned prophecy, she thought to herself.

  She turned from the window at the peals of laughter, watching Tomas as he held the two girls and twirled them in a tight circle. The babies screamed with joy at the ride and Tomas laughed along with them. Miriam couldn’t tell who was having more fun, her soon-to-be husband or her children. The innocence of their laughter tore at her heart. The scene was perfect and she wanted to freeze it in time: the happily ever after, right out of the fairytales her mother had told her when she was a child. She tried to shake off her black mood, but her sense of dread stuck with her and she worried all the more.

  Tomas looked over and saw the grimace on her face. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she replied, smiling and shifting the subject. “They love it when you play with them. I can feel the happiness gushing from them.”

  “Of course they do,” he said teasingly. “They know who their daddy is. I don’t need any special powers to feel how happy they are when we play together.”

  Tomas held the girls until they calmed down before moving over to their crib and gently putting them down. A small moue of protest was all he got for their abandonment. He caressed their brows, comforting them with his touch. He tucked their blankets around them, fastening each one tightly with the two pins he had brought this evening. The pins displayed the crest of the noble Berkshire family, as was fitting for the newest heirs to the Berkshire house. He smiled down at them once more before turning his attention back to their mother. He looked closely at her and saw tension in her furrowed brow and the set of her shoulders. She was trying to hold something inside, but it was radiating from her like a fountain of anxiety. He could only guess that the impending move to his family estates was at the root of her stress. The initial meeting that Tomas and Miriam had undergone with his mother did not exactly go as he had hoped. In fact, it probably could not have gone any worse.

  Tomas was the heir to his family’s seat and would be appointed next year as the Count of Berkshire. His mother had aspirations for a woman of noble birth, one equal to his status, to be her son’s wife, not some “witch of low, undignified birth.” Miriam had been mortified at his mother’s callous words and had fled the house in tears. Unfortunately, living anywhere but on ancestral lands would not be appropriate for the future count. As much as he wanted to grant Miriam’s every wish and desire, this was one thing he could not compromise on.

  “Turn around and let me get rid of some of that tension,” Tomas said, kneading Miriam’s neck and shoulders. “Still worried about the move, Love?”

  Miriam didn’t answer immediately, instead enjoying the feel of Tomas’s strong fingers as he worked his own brand of magic. The knots in her shoulders slowly eased and she relaxed back into his embrace.

  “It’s hard right now,” she said. “First, I left the coven with barely a word. There were quite a few of my sisters there that will be disappointed when they find I’ve taken a husband and will not be returning. And then there is your mother. You know she doesn’t particularly like me. For the gods’ sakes Tomas, she said I would be the ruin of you. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “My beloved Miriam,” Tomas said softly, nuzzling her ear. “It doesn’t matter what she says. Next week, we will be married and you will be the future Countess of Berkshire. Together we will raise the girls in the style you all deserve. Trust me; we will be the envy of the nobility. As for the coven, you will be visiting your sisters whenever you want, or invite them to visit the estates. Either way, you won’t be leaving anyone or anything behind.”

  Miriam turned and gazed lovingly at the wonderful man holding her in his arms.

  “I love you so…”

  The sound like the crack of lightning pierced the night as the hut’s front door came crashing inward. They both jumped and stared at the menacing specter standing in the doorway. The figure threw back her cowl and gl
ared at the young couple. Miriam gasped as she recognized Elizabeth, one of the elder witches of the Constantine Coven, standing before them. Apparently, leaving the coven had done more than disappoint some of her sister witches. Elizabeth stood in the doorway full of righteous anger, and she was an intimidating sight to behold.

  “What a touching scene, the two of you holding each other so lovingly,” the old witch sneered. She pointed her finger at the young mother. “Miriam, you should know better. This little love affair is over. It was doomed the moment you gave birth to those twins. I should have never let you out of my sight once those babies were born.”

  “Elizabeth,” Miriam cried, alarmed at seeing the elder and hearing the twins begin to fuss. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve come to get you and the babies and return you to your rightful home. Do you think the coven would let you waste the gift of these twins on some flight of fancy like him?”

  “Wait, please,” Miriam pleaded, grabbing Tomas’ hand. “You don’t understand. We love each other. We are to be married and want to raise our children together.”

  The elder witch’s sneer turned to contempt.

  “You gave your pledge to the coven, girl. You and the babies will not abandon your fellow sisters. You’re returning with me. This boy may be the heir to the Berkshire throne, but he shall do so without you.”

  “Please, Elizabeth,” Miriam replied, stepping toward the twins’ crib, hearing them crying within. “I don’t want to return to the coven. I want to stay with Tomas.”

  “That is truly pathetic. I certainly had higher hopes for you. Did you know that his family has a disturbing and angry history when it comes to our kind? Did he bother to tell you all the dark, ugly secrets his family hides? Would you endanger the safety of your children to the likes of them? I think not. Gather your things; we are leaving.”