Imperial Assassin (4 page)

The circular hall was dim, lit only by the torches mounted in brackets around the walls. Shadows danced and flickered in the niches and alcoves, tormenting the vision of any
who were unfamiliar with the vagaries of the chamber. It was a strange place. Secret. So much so that one could be forgiven for sensing paranoia in its design.

The central floor space was empty aside from an enclosed, raised podium, large enough for a single man to stand in. Next to it was a dark hole in the chamber floor, concealing a flight of
tightly spiralling steps that descended into blackness. The podium was like a pulpit in design, though no priest had ever visited this dread place. The staircase that plunged beneath the floor led
to the most secret places of the inner sanctum – the chambers of the Guildmaster. Few had seen what those chambers held.

The ceiling of the hall was high and domed, but not ostentatiously so. Although the craftsmen who had delved this place into the rock had carved decorated, arching buttresses that met at the
centre point of the chamber roof, the room had been designed to be practical rather than ceremonial. Twenty alcoves had been carved into the chamber wall. Each was independent of the others, with
no immediate access from one alcove to the next. A wall, built to an average man’s waist height across the front of each alcove, made them look almost stable-like from the centre of the
chamber. All were identical in design and size save for the carved insignia on the wooden access gate through the front wall of each recess. None was internally lit. The architect’s intent
was clear. Those in the alcoves were to remain anonymous and be considered equals, with no prospect of being promoted above another except to the position of Guildmaster.

A sudden movement in the centre of the chamber grabbed the attention of those seated silently waiting in the alcoves. The shadow that marked the well of descending stairs bulged upwards as a
black shape flowed from the forbidden depths. It was the Guildmaster, hooded and cloaked in the traditional black garb of the Assassins’ Guild. All of the assassins were similarly dressed,
their identities concealed from one another by their deeply cowled hoods and the darkness of the alcoves.

The shadowy figure climbed smoothly up onto the podium, rising up the steps as if floating on a cushion of air. If the chamber had been quiet before the Guildmaster’s appearance, it was
deathly silent now. A torch guttered, the sound of it amplified by the stillness. The figure in black looked around the room, slowly turning full circle as he paused to focus his gaze into each of
the alcoves in turn. Most were occupied. It was the most complete gathering of the Guild for many months. That fact alone gave testimony to the serious nature of the meeting.

‘I accept . . .’ the Guildmaster prompted.

As one, the assassins began chanting the litany of the creed by which they lived.

The echoing mantra finished and silence descended once more.

When he began speaking, the Guildmaster’s voice was warm and friendly, in stark contrast with his bleak appearance and dread position. Some amongst the Guild had thought him a strange
choice when he had risen to lead them, as his voice gave the impression of a gentle grandfather taking care of his family. None, however, disputed his reputation as a professional killer. Deception
was one of the key qualities of a successful assassin. The Guildmaster possessed this skill in abundance.

‘Brothers, it is good that so many of you are in attendance. I cannot stress the gravity of this meeting enough. The outcome of today’s discussion will shape the future of our Guild
more than any since I became Guildmaster. In over six hundred years, our brotherhood has never faced such a crisis as the one confronting us now. We have news to discuss, options to consider, and
difficult decisions to make.’

The Guildmaster paused for a second to allow his opening words to sink in. He was not prone to exaggeration.

‘Please bear with me if you are familiar with any of the following, but I think it important that everyone knows the facts before we debate any course of action. I’m sure that all
here are aware that the Emperor returned last week from Thrandor. The true purpose of his visit there is not known, but the common perception is that he went to negotiate peace. He sent an
Ambassador to Mantor some months ago. Brother Falcon infiltrated the party under contract by a fellow Brother. This was an unusual arrangement, and not one of which I approve. An assassin
contracting a fellow assassin to serve a per-sonal goal flirts dangerously with breaching the creed. Any considering employing such an arrangement in future should consult with me first. I will not
have Brothers believing they are above our laws. We have maintained our reputation over the centuries by following the creed. If we abandon it, then we will become no better than common murderers.
I am not willing to be painted with such colours.’

He paused and there was a gentle mutter of agreement from around the chamber.

‘Let’s save discussion of that internal matter for another day.’ The chamber fell silent again, save for the sound of his voice. ‘Matters have arisen that require us all
to focus our attention outwards. The new Emperor has been initiating policies during the last two days that impact hugely on the Guild. Brother Scorpion, would you please make your report to the
Brothers?’

‘Of course, Guildmaster, though I’m sure most here are already aware of my tidings.’

Where the Guildmaster’s voice was warm and friendly, full of expression and rich with variations in tone and pace, Scorpion’s was cold and lifeless. Words fell from his lips like
dead wood from a tree – a thudding, inert mass, shed without feeling.

‘At the eighth hour yesterday morning, the Emperor sent forth his criers with news to the citizens of Shandrim. Part of the proclamation concerned us directly. The Emperor has declared the
Guild
anaethus drax –
illegal and outcast for as long as his reign shall last. Any assassin caught in Shandrim after the midday call of the next rest day shall be summarily
executed.’

‘But that’s only three days away!’ a voice exclaimed from the other side of the chamber.

‘Indeed, Brother Firedrake, which is why this meeting was called at once.’ The Guildmaster spoke gently. ‘There was more, but Brother Scorpion has stated the worst of it. Let
us debate our response to this declaration before we consider anything else, for it is the crux of why we’re here.’

‘Kill the Emperor,’ a voice stated immediately. ‘His reign will then end and his proclamation will be void.’

Mutters of approval and otherwise echoed around the chamber.

‘A tempting proposal, Brother Viper, but not one that we can implement without destroying our integrity,’ the Guildmaster replied. ‘I’ll not deny that removing the
Emperor has crossed my mind, but it would breach the creed on several counts. Firstly there is no contract. Secondly by killing the Emperor we would risk the collapse of the Empire. The creed
specifically prohibits us from knowingly initiating a chain of events that has a high chance of destroying Shandar. We have our place in society, but it is not for us to dismantle the Empire by our
actions. Thirdly, and finally, this proclamation looks likely to have been sparked by one of our own. The creed does not allow us to strike back in such a case.’

‘One of our own?’

‘Who?’

‘Why would a member of the Guild do such a thing?’

Questions came from all directions like bolts from a dozen crossbows. The Guildmaster stood firm and unmoving in the crossfire, allowing the wave of questions to wash over him. When the eruption
of voices died away he spoke again.

‘It doesn’t matter
who
caused it. The Emperor would have made this proclamation before long regardless. He is prejudiced against the Guild. Let that be reason enough. The
question we should be asking is what are we going to do about it? I have already given the reasons why we cannot kill the Emperor, though that option will be kept under constant review. I will not
discount the idea as a last resort.’

‘If we cannot kill
him,
then let’s strike where it would hurt him most,’ purred a female voice.

‘And where would that be, Brother Fox?’ the Guildmaster asked, smiling beneath the deep shadow of his hood as he attempted to anticipate her proposal. He knew her to be a natural
strategist with a sharp mind. Whatever she proposed was likely to be worth listening to.

‘The Legions, Guildmaster. Let us hit the Legions. Surabar has devoted his life to the armies of the Empire. That is where his heart is. Soldiers go to battle. They die. It is what
they’re paid for. The average man on the street will care little if we pick off a few key Commanders. It will not cause much public outcry, but Emperor Surabar will feel the pain of their
passing as if they were close family. He does not like unnecessary death. He will get the message quickly enough.’

The Guildmaster nearly laughed aloud. Trust the Fox to see past the obvious and find a cunning solution. She was a fox indeed, and a worthy bearer of her symbolic predator’s insignia. The
Legions were the perfect place to strike. It would not be difficult to find people willing to pay a small fee to see particular Legion Commanders die suddenly. That would satisfy the creed. Yes, it
was a good plan. It was easy to implement, unlikely to outrage either the common people or the Nobility, yet sure to give the Emperor the desired message.

‘Your suggestion has a lot of merit, Brother Fox. If we are to take the offensive, this seems a positive way ahead. I say “if”, for we should at least consider the
Emperor’s standpoint. If I were to play his advocate here, then I would have to ask what our role is in today’s world. Has the Guild outlived its purpose? Are we a relic of the past
that has survived beyond its time? The Emperor would have us believe this is so. The Assassins’ Guild has been a part of life in Shandrim for a millennium. It’s easy to see how the
Bakers’ Guild and the Merchants’ Guild have a consistent role to play, but does today’s society really need assassins? The Emperor would argue it does not. He sees us as
murderers, or hired thugs who act as a destabilising influence in society. Do any here feel empathy for this point of view?’

There was a long moment of silence before the woman spoke again.

‘Guildmaster, there are none here who do not believe in our purpose. We have a creed that has stood the test of a thousand years. We have as much of a right to exist here in Shandrim as
the merchants, the bakers, or any other trade you care to name. We do not kill indiscriminately. If a Nobleman had taken the Mantle, this decree would never have been made.’

‘Yes, the military have always displayed ignorance of our role here in the city, and around the Empire,’ agreed another.

‘Aye, they bleat that we are murderers, yet they slaughter men far more innocent than many we are contracted to kill.’

The Guildmaster nodded. ‘It is well that you’re all in agreement. Who here feels we should seek to make our point by taking contracts on military targets?’

A wave of ‘ayes’ sounded through the chamber, echoing slightly with the chorus.

‘Those against?’

Silence.

‘So be it. I will seek those wishing to place such contracts and will make assignments over the next few days. Now, on to other matters . . .’

Femke knocked on the door of the Emperor’s study. At the prompt order to enter from within, she wasted no time in obeying. Nothing had changed in the room since her last
visit. It was a bleak workspace, with nothing to give it warmth. The large desk, behind which the Emperor sat, was the main feature of the room. A few crossed weapons on the walls were the only
items of décor, and these seemed to add to the cold, imposing atmosphere rather than detract from it.

The Emperor smiled warmly as she entered and indicated with a wave of his hand that she should sit down. Femke bowed and looked around to where Surabar’s wave had directed her. There were
a few wooden chairs positioned against the wall nearest the door, so she moved one of the chairs out towards the desk and carefully sat down.

‘How are the injuries healing, Femke? I can see from here that you’re still suffering some discomfort,’ Surabar asked gently.

‘They’re getting better slowly thank you, your Imperial Majesty. It’s frustrating to feel like an invalid, but I’m moving much more freely now. My ribs appear to be
knitting back together well. They’re sore, but that is to be expected.’