Chapter V

Few knew of the secret waterways in and out of the city of Diga, the Dammed City, and that was what made the tunnels under the city such a perfect place to meet in secret. Those called to meet there approached from streams, outside the city, and down the mountain, which ran into caves in the mountainside, and eventually into the city itself. The city was built on a series of dams in the foothills, which meant that many other city-states had to trade with Diga for water, or the king of Diga would cut them off from the rivers. The design of the dams was brilliant, really, at any time the king could lower the gates over the streams and the water would be redirected either to one of the other cities, or even into the sea. Not a single city-state in the West commanded so much control over such a valuable resource.

That night, with the moon covered in shadow and the stars hidden by clouds, a perfect night for sinister deeds, seven boats rowed their way into the tunnels leading into Diga, against the flow of the streams. Nothing could hold these men and women back from their goal, for a chance of fortune was waiting for them on the other side.

In time, they'd all rowed their way to a pool under the city streets. The room was nearly pitch black, only lit by a few candles on the walls, and one sitting on a table, which was sitting on a small, artificial, stone island in the middle of the pool. There were eight chairs set up at the table, with one of them already occupied. Each of the seven individuals rowing into the under-city could see a short woman wearing a black cloak with her hood up sitting at the table, a large envelope in her hands.

The seven stepped out of their boats and tied them to posts on the island, and each approached the table, taking a seat. “Welcome, dear friends,” the woman in the cloak said. Her voice was low, but the moment she spoke everyone knew who she was. No doubt in their minds, this was Zephyr they were speaking to, the right hand of King Cyril, ruler of the city of Diga, and head of his spy network. They'd all worked for her before, though none of them could speak to anyone, not even their families, of the work they'd done for her.

“As you know,” Zephyr continued, “Our war with the city of Uvino ended in a truce just a few years ago. Hired killers like yourselves have had a hard time finding work since then, yes?”

“You'd be surprised how rare it is anyone's willing to pay to have someone killed in peace time. A few of us have been considering starting feuds between the noble houses just to get some work again.”

“I'm glad you restrained yourselves,” said Zephyr. “Especially now that King Cyril-”

“Long live the king!” The seven said in unison.

Zephyr continued, “Has a job for you.” Zephyr placed the envelope on the table and pulled out documents from within. One was a map of the nearby kingdom of Arx, one was a portrait of a boy, roughly thirteen years of age, and one was a contract, with seven signature lines, yet to be signed. “The second son of King Gianni of Uvino, Prince Paolo, traveled to the kingdom of Arx recently. From what we understand, King Gianni intends to present him as a suitor for their newly-crowned queen. This presents both a problem and an opportunity. If Prince Paolo marries the queen of Arx a marriage alliance will form, and then King Gianni only needs to find the smallest excuse to start a war with us, find some way to make it appear that we are the aggressors, and the Arxian armies will come bearing down on us. We cannot fight an army that size.”

“And, if the queen of Arx is ambitious, she'll know that once she has control of Diga she can slowly gain control of all of the other surrounding city-states, with Uvino's help.”

“Correct,” said Zephyr, “But here's where the opportunity lies. If Prince Paolo were to die in Arx, and if it was clearly murder, and if we could make it look like the Arxians were somehow responsible, then King Gianni is likely to start a war with Arx. Sure, he can't win a war like that, he'd know that well enough, but when a father loses a son, especially one so young and innocent as Paolo is, he's blinded by rage. He'll sacrifice everything just to make the people of Arx suffer for his son's death.”

“You want us to kill a boy so young he's never fathered children?”

Zephyr smirked, “Bit late to grow a conscience now, Tassos. Yes, I want you to kill the boy. I've already taken into account that this mission is more dangerous than usual, and that it might incur the wrath of some of the gods you serve. That's why the reward is one-hundred thousand oros.”

Each of the assassins at the table drew in a sharp breath hearing that. Even one-thousand oros was enough for one to never have to work again. One-hundred thousand oros was extraordinary, it was almost hard to believe that King Cyril even had enough to spare for such a reward.

Zephyr produced a quill and ink-well from within her cloak, “Remember, you must make sure that it looks like Arxians killed Prince Paolo, and not just commoners either. Someone whom the queen of Arx won't just have executed to appease King Gianni. If there is any reason to doubt that Arxians are responsible, then you will forfeit the reward. If this murder is traced back to us then understand that before the Arxian and Uvino armies crush us we will hunt down and kill your families in retaliation for sealing our fates. If you accept this mission sign here.” Zephyr indicated the contract on the table and held out the quill for the assassins.

One of the assassins reached out and took the quill from Zephyr's hand. In a flash, and in a movement so quick that the passing air put out the candle, one of the other assassin's thrust a stiletto dagger through the first one's wrist. The assassin whose wrist had just been stabbed stared in disbelief, screaming, as his wrist bled out and he fell to the ground. The assassin who stabbed that one in the wrist then began to produce more daggers from under his cloak and planting them firmly in the chests and throats of the other assassins at the table. The other assassins all scrambled to draw their swords or crossbows, only to fall in bloody heaps on the floor. The assassin whom Zephyr called “Tassos” managed to deflect the first blow, aimed at his face. In spite of this, though, the traitor planted a long dagger between his ribs. Within a few seconds every assassin at the table was dead, except for one, the aggressor who'd started the little skirmish.

He lit the candle once more and threw back his hood, revealing that he was a man in his early twenties, with his red hair and beard in spiral curls. He took up the quill in his hand and laughed, “I'll take the job,” he said, dipping the quill in the ink well.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” said Zephyr, looking at the bleeding bodies on the floor, some not quite dead yet, but not long for the world.

“I disagree. I don't much like competition, especially for a reward that high. Besides, that was just plain damn fun!”

The assassin with the ringlets put the quill to the parchment of the contract, beginning to sign his name. He caught, in the corner of his eye, a knowing smile cross Zephyr's face, and before he could react he felt a thin wire pulled tightly against his throat, cutting into his flesh and choking off his air. As he clawed at the small wire around his throat, he felt cold breath tickle his ear, and a man's voice whispered, “We could've worked together, you know, all been rich. Instead you threw that away over greed. There are some things that even an acolyte of the Father cannot tolerate.” The wire was given a sharp, hard yank, and it cut straight through the assassin's neck, cutting his head clean off.

Standing behind the crumpling corpse, covered in blood, both his own and that of his victim, was Tassos, with the dagger still sticking out of his chest. He calmly pulled the dagger from between his ribs and dropped it onto the stone floor of the island, the tip breaking on the tiles.

“You live up to your reputation, Tassos,” Zephyr said, watching as Tassos produced a sewing needle and thread from his pocket and began sewing closed the wound in his chest.

“Whatever. Honestly, I just wish he hadn't gone and done that, some of these people would have been great allies.” Pushing back his hood, Tassos revealed his hair, which was cut short and prematurely white, while he appeared to be in his late twenties at the oldest. His skin was pale, sickly, and his eyes were the color of bronze or copper.

“All the more gold for you, then?”

“More gold than I need, but I'll take it.” Once Tassos had finished sewing up his wound he took the quill and signed the contract.

“You're doing this city a great service, old friend,” said Zephyr.

“And I do the city of Uvino a great disservice. Ultimately, I don't care what happens to Diga and Uvino, I care about providing for my family and appeasing the Father.” Tassos looked down at the bodies lying in bloody heaps on the floor, “Six deaths. May the Mother give six births in their honor.”

“One of them stuck a dagger in your chest, tried to stab you in the heart. You want him honored?”

“With the number of lives he took? Surely this man served the Father well, whether he realized it or not.” Tassos picked up the map and the painting of Prince Paolo, pocketing both. “I’ll need these.”

“Is there anything else you’ll need?”

“No. Thank you.” Tassos gave Zephyr a bow and climbed back into the boat that took him into the under-city, rowing away, now using the current to carry him away from there. Further down the stream he found his horse, where he’d left her tied up, and rode her back to his estate.

Tassos’ estate was outside the limits of any of the city-states, a large piece of farmland he’d bought with all of the money he’d made as an assassin, though none except his previous employers knew the true source of his wealth. Most thought that his wealth simply came from the land itself, and the farming done upon it. He had several hired hands, and even bought a handful of slaves, to work the fields, many of which worked there mostly so they could have a place to live, and he had hired swordsmen guarding the estate from raiders and marauders.

Most of the fields of the estate were filled with hulled wheat, but there were also orchards with apple and orange trees, a vineyard with green and red grapes, and even the occasional olive tree. Several small huts were scattered about the land, here and there, homes for the hired hands and hired swords. In the middle of the estate, on a hill, was Tassos’ mansion. It was a house made of strong wood, painted white, with two floors, and many rooms. The soil closest to the mansion was used to grow flowers instead of crops, and, while only Tassos knew this, each of the flowers, beautiful as they were, contained deadly poisons, which Tassos used in his work.

As Tassos rode up to the mansion he could see, waiting for him in the doorway, his wife, Theria, and their daughter, Azalea. Theria had been Tassos’ father’s slave years ago, and Tassos grew up with her serving him. When they grew up he bought her freedom from his father and proposed marriage to her right away. When she became pregnant with his child they’d come to an agreement that if she gave birth to a son he would be allowed to name that son, but if she gave birth to a daughter she would get to pick the name. When their daughter was born she named their little girl after the Azalea flowers in the garden outside the mansion. Tassos kept quiet about it, but he was secretly horrified that his wife had named their daughter after a flower he grew because of the poisons he so often made from its nectar.

Even from his wife and daughter Tassos kept his true profession a secret. He told them both that he was a merchant, and that all his traveling was to sell goods in the cities, or to buy new caravans to transport goods to foreign kingdoms.

“Papa!” Azalea shouted as she ran down the path to meet Tassos. Tassos dismounted from his horse and knelt down, scooping her up in his arms and kissing her cheeks. “Papa! You're scruff tickles!”

“I thought you liked the prickly kisses,” Tassos said, spinning with his five-year-old daughter in his arms.

“Mama made supper already. Whenever you're home she makes me eat vegetables. Blech!”

“You have to eat your vegetables, Azalea,” Tassos said, carrying her as he walked towards the mansion.

“Pork and chicken are better.”

“I imagine they taste better, but that doesn't make them better.” Tassos never ate meat. He always had great compassion for animals. When he was a boy his father showed him how to slaughter and butcher chickens, goats, and pigs. Tassos always cringed whenever he ended an animal's life, always felt horrible afterward, and since leaving his father's home Tassos vowed never to eat flesh again. When someone asked Tassos how an assassin, who had no trouble killing men, had trouble killing animals he responded, “Animals are innocent. Their only purpose, their single desire is to be. They don't know right from wrong, so they do no wrong. People are not so innocent, their purpose is to gain, and they'll crush anyone who gets in the way of what they want. They know the harm they do, and they do it anyway.”

Theria sidled up to Tassos, a loving smile across her face, giving Tassos a wink when their eyes met. “I trust your little trip was profitable?” When she spoke these words she was never actually asking that question, her real question was, “Will you be staying a while?” She understood that her husband's job involved a lot of traveling, and she didn't blame him for always being away, but she still preferred to have him home more often.

“I'll have to make another trip soon, and when that trip is done we'll be richer than we've ever been, my dear.” Tassos gave Theria a brief but tender kiss on the lips, to which Azalea wrinkled her nose and gagged. “But let's not talk about that tonight. Tonight, let's just enjoy each other.”

Tassos lifted Azalea up and placed the backs of her knees on his shoulders, ducking into the doorway of the mansion. Azalea spread her arms wide and flapped them up and down, pretending to fly. The walls of the foyer were decorated with tapestries and paintings, some by famous artists, others by talented ones who'd not yet gained fame and fortune. On either side of the grand staircase stood two statues, one of the Father and one of the Mother, Tassos' gods. Both statues were made of white stone. The Father had a stern and strong face, with a short beard and shaved head. His right hand rested on the hilt of the sword in his belt, and his left hand was clenched in a fist. The Mother's face was kind and inviting. She had long hair in three braids, a rose in her left hand, and her right hand held out in a beckoning gesture.

Tassos, Theria, and Azalea all sat at the dinner table, and the servants brought in the meal Theria had cooked, a meal consisting of boiled cabbage, broccoli, and roasted tomatoes, with a side of black beans. Azalea turned up her nose at the meal, but she'd learned by then that if she didn't eat her vegetables she wouldn't get lemon cake afterward, so, with much exaggerated gagging and slow chewing, she ate the vegetables.

“Anything interesting happen while I was away?” Tassos asked between bites.

“Clodia quit,” Theria replied.

“Azalea's tutor? Why?”

“She said another family made her a better offer, and she was going off to teach their children reading and mathematics.”

Tassos rolled his eyes, “Is that all anyone cares about anymore? Gold? I hope her new students are little imps who make her job a living-”

“Dear! Not in front of Azalea!” Theria hissed. She knew her husband had a mean side to him that came out every now and then, especially when he felt that someone had slighted those he loved, but she didn't want Azalea seeing that side of him.

“Sorry. You're right.” Tassos turned to Azalea, “Don't worry, we'll get you a new, better tutor soon.”

Azalea groaned in displeasure at the thought of more lessons. She wished all her days could just be filled with games and running around in the orchards. Some of Tassos' slaves had children Azalea's age, and she played with them when she wasn't studying. When she was studying she would steal glances out the windows at the slave children, who were enjoying the sunny days. Since Clodia had left Azalea had spent more days outside, having fun than usual.

“None of that, now,” Tassos said to Azalea, “When you're all grown up and know how to read and write you'll be glad for those lessons.”

“No I won't,” Azalea said, pouting.

“I know you think that now...Tell you what, when I come back from this next trip I'll bring you back a new toy, alright? I'll be going to Arx. Word has it some of the prettiest dolls and nicest model ships are made there.”

Azalea smiled at the sound of that, “Really?”

“I promise, when I return you'll have a new toy.” Tassos tousled her hair, “But you have to promise to be nice to the new tutor and be good for your mother, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, papa.”

“Good girl.”

After dinner, and the lemon cake dessert, Tassos put Azalea to bed. He read her another chapter from her favorite book, “The Wolves of Firefall,” a silly fantasy about talking wolves and such nonsense. Truthfully, the book was intended for an audience slightly older than Azalea, but she enjoyed it so much that Tassos couldn't refuse her.

Azalea always loved the voices Tassos would use when speaking for the wolves. Each one had a different personality, and the characters came alive when he made his voice gruffer or softer. “Some day you'll be able to read it youself, Azalea,” he told her, once he'd finished the chapter.

“I don't want to.”

“Did you say your prayers to the Mother?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Did you chew your mint herbs?” Mint herbs were their way of maintaining dental hygiene, and Tassos believed strongly in the importance of keeping one's teeth clean.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Tassos gave her a kiss on the forehead, “Good night, little bean.”

“Good night, Papa.”

On his way out, Tassos blew out the lantern lighting the room and closed the door most of the way.

Down the hall he came to his bedroom. Inside a few candles dimly lit the room, and Theria stood by their bed, clad only in a white sheet wrapped around her. “Welcome home.”

“Glad to be home,” Tassos said, smiling at her and crossing the room to kiss her deeply. Theria fell back onto the bed, pulling Tassos down on top of her, and Tassos immediately began to venerate her body with his lips and fingertips with such passion that the gods may have considered this a form of worship and struck him down for blasphemy. She felt so soft on his lips, on his fingertips. The warmth of her body was something he longed for so much whenever he was away. With his mouth he slowly unwrapped her voluptuous curves, trailing kisses and bites along her neck, her arms, her chest, and any other sensitive places he could find. Theria moaned and writhed under his attentions, having missed this attention so much, and knowing that she'd miss it so much more while he was gone.

They'd come to an agreement some years ago. Since he was always away on trips to make more gold he told her that in his absence she was allowed to take other lovers, so long as she promised that such lovers would always consume stoneseed root and thistles, which caused temporary sterility, before copulating with her. She'd fulfilled her needs while he was away in this fashion, but there was nothing so exhilarating in the bedroom as a lover who truly loved you, and so there was no true substitute for being with her husband.

For hours the two of them made love, savoring one another's touch and whispering sensual words in each other's ears, until finally both of them were too exhausted to continue.

In the morning, the warmth of the sun's light peeked in through the curtains, waking the couple sleeping in each other's arms. “Good morning,” Tassos whispered, his voice a bit hoarse.

“Hi.” Theria ran her fingers through his short hair and lightly scratched his scalp. “Do you really have to go on this trip?”

“You know I do.”

“We have so much already. You really don't need to work any more.”

“I don't, but I don't want Azalea to have to work either,” Tassos said, “This opportunity...it's huge. With the gold I'll make from this trip Azalea will never have to work a day in her life, and if she invests the gold wisely neither will her children.” He wanted to add that the Father had blessed him so much, he was afraid of what might happen if he stopped serving him so faithfully, but, as usual, he had to keep that aspect of his life secret, even from the woman he loved.

“What are you selling?” Theria asked.

“What?”

“In Arx, what are you selling that will make you such a fortune?”

Theria rarely asked questions like this, so Tassos was a little caught off guard. He had to think fast. “I'm not just selling goods, I'm setting up a permanent trade caravan between Arx and the city of Diga. The Digan Merchant's Guild hired me to make the deal.”

“And what are they hoping to trade?”

This was a difficult one. Diga produced very little of its own goods, most of its wealth came from a water tax. Granted, this made them extremely wealthy, but it also meant they didn't have many exports. “Truffles. Truffles don't grow in Arx.” Truffles were worth their weight in gold, considering how rare and hard to find they were.

“Truffles don't grow in Diga either.”

“True, but they do grow in the city of Sporati, and Diga has started accepting that in place of gold for their water tax. They've been sending so many truffles lately that King Cyril wanted the Merchant's Guild to find a way to profit from it. That's their export now.”

“I see,” Theria said. Tassos could tell that she didn't totally believe him, but she didn't question him any further. In truth, he was pretty sure she didn't believe he really was a merchant, but she never got upset enough about his deception to call him on it. Perhaps it was because she simply loved him that much, perhaps it was because she didn't care where the money came from because of what a luxurious life she lived, or perhaps she merely didn't want to know what her husband was really doing when he traveled. After all, she'd lived a life of happiness and luxury so long, wouldn't it just ruin everything for her if she discovered it was all bought with blood money.

Tassos wondered sometimes what his wife thought he was really doing. Did she think he was a bandit? A mercenary? A thief? A spy? Or had she actually figured out that he was an assassin?

“Then be safe, and finish your job quickly.” Theria leaned forward until her lips were touching his ear and whispered, “Because next time you come home I'm going to attack you like a wild cat.”