Assassin's Creed
The Shadow's Friend
Prelog
It's time the world knew the truth. time the people knew what was out there. and what was there to protect them. People they thought were dead, are alive. Friends and foes alike. my name is Stephino DeCorta i am an Assassin and this, is my story.
Chapter one
Today is my 16th birthday. It should mark the move from child to adult. It should house the Happiness of such a prestigious occasion. From here, life changes. I may carry a blade, and marry if I choose. But for me. Today is the day my family fell apart.
It all started at my father's villa in Trieste. As usual I was up, as winters light broke the icy bonds of night and scattered rays of golden yellow crimson read and sapphire blue across the cloudless canvas of the sky. I walked out onto the Balcony. Resting my hands on the railing, leaning forward, yawning in the process. My hair was all over the place as I thought of the day ahead. It was my birthday, that was certain, but what lay ahead of me I had no idea. My thoughts drifted out to sea as I walked back into the house. My father was waiting for me.
"Ciao Stephino," he called, "I see your sister and brother are not yet up,"
"Morning papa," I said, "no Lucio still sleeps and Sofia is taking an age to get ready,"
"No change there then," my father chuckled, "come I have something to show you," I smiled and fell into step by his side, "how are you feeling today?" he asked and I nodded replying that I was fine. My father was Guiseppe DeCorta, a rich business man who owned a major shipping fleet here in Trieste. He led me though the caught yard, and into his study. I stood obediently in front of the old oak desk, like a school boy in the head master's office.
"As you know," he said, smiling, "today you cease to be a boy. And begin your journey as a man." He opened a draw and took from it a rectangular parcel and a long oblong box. For my part I could hardly contain the smile which was gaging to escape my pursed lips. My Father stretched out his hand, passing me the parcel.
"This is from your mother," he said, "she hopes that you will wear it with pride," I opened the parcel and pulled out the contents. A red cloak fell around my feet. I studied it. It was light, yet durable, with our family crest sewn in the centre. My father stood up and nodded at the parcel. "It is not yet empty," he gestured to the paper packaging that lay on the desk. Carefully I folded the cloak up, placing it on the desk before taking out the white material inside the parcel. I held it up, it was a white sleeveless jacket, with a hood and crimson red lining. I pulled it on over the white shirt and waist coat I wore and shuffled about. It fitted snugly and offered a full range of movement. It was warm and cosy yet still managed to be light and airy. My father walked around the desk to fasten on the cloak.
"You look, devilishly handsome," he said, shoving my shoulder gently, "how does it feel?"
"Fantastico papa," I said, almost speechless, "I don't know what to say," he laughed and beamed,
"Good," mused my father. He reached for the oblong box and passed it to me. "Here," he said. But as I went to take the box he moved it out of reach, "before you take it, know this. A true man is not quick to anger, or aggression." He passed me the box. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine. "If you ever have to use this Stephino, don't muck about. Finish the fight before it gets stupid,"
"I promise father," I said, and opened the box. What I saw inside took away my breath. The gleaming blade of the sword shone up in my face, as I ran my hand down to the satin laced handle. The hand-guard fitted neatly against my hand and as I took the blade from the box it felt as if it was but a feather. Laying the blade on the table I secured the sheath around my waist, then slipped the sword inside. I looked across at my father and smiled. His face was straight but I could tell by the look in his eyes he was holding something back.
"What is wrong papa?" I enquired,
"Nothing, my son ," he said before beaming at me and placing both hands securely on my shoulders.
"Know this," he said, "I may not have been a good man in past years, but I am proud to call you my son." These words still haunt me, even though events that were to come have been and gone.
"Grazie papa," I said, we embraced before I left in search of my mother.
Five minutes later my mother called me. When I arrived I found her in her normal dress, her brunette hair pinned back behind so it fell down her back. She smiled as I approached.
"Ah Stephino," she beamed, "I have a job for you, if you'd be so kind," I chuckled,
"Yes mother what is it you need?"
"I have a message waiting down at the cope, it is in regard to the books I have ordered, and would you mind fetching it?"
I smiled, "of course mother," I turned on my heel and left the sanctity of our villa.
By now the sun was just daring to peak over the roves of the Trieste buildings. The Cope was on the other side of town and was a twenty minute walk along the roads. However I had no intention of going by road. Using the wall as a bounce board I scaled the side of a sturdy looking building. The ledges were moist from due the night before and at times I felt a bit dubious, but eventually the golden lit rooftops were within reach. I sprinted along the roof tops, jumping gaps and sidling along the beams between streets. This was the way to travel, to go where few people dare venture, to glimpse views that a select few get to see. To run the roves is to taste adrenalin, to seek out adventure and to defy the laws or normality. It sets you free and that is why I continue to peruse it.
The city was just waking as I flitted across the roof tops. My heart raced as I leapt the gap between roves. I skipped over scaffolding and vaulted walls. I climbed buildings and ran over the beams as agile as a cat. In the distance I could see the mountains and the sun fell at my back, warming my body, driving me on wards. As I ran I thought. I was now 16. I had a sword, and the skills to move onward. The world was my ouster. My mind was a mixture of anticipation at putting my skills to the test. But dread at drawing my first blood. Slowly the cooing of multiple pigeons, and the smell of their excrement, crept up on me like a ghost, becoming almost intolerable.
Trying not to gag, I pulled out the pigeon with our note and slipped the rolled paper from its holder. Tucking it into the fold of my new jacket, I made my way into the shadows and down onto the streets. I ducked and weaved in-between the people, who were now filling the streets. I passed without much notice, except for a few well wishes from merchants whom knew father.
As I passed the blacksmith, he called out to me.
"Stephino, come, I've something for you."
Carlos Freago had been firm friends with my father for as long as I could remember. He had made me numerous toys from what seemed like scrap but, as I got older, the toys leant themselves more and more to becoming tools.
For my twelfth birthday, I can remember him handing me a bow and matching set of arrows. He had guided me in how to use them and so, almost 9 years later, I can shoot almost as good as I can handle a sword. He smiled at me as I approached
"Happy birthday my boy!" He cried as we shook hands, "how are you?"
"Good thank-you," I smiled, "how fares you and your Madonna?"
"We are good my friend," he smiled, "business has been decent and so life fairs well," he beckoned me into the shop, leading me out to his workshop.
"And what of Isabelle? How is she?" I asked, and received a cheeky glance from Carlos.
"She is good seignior" he said, mischievously, "Why do you ask? I must say, u do dress like a man off to charm a lady,"
I laughed.
"It was just as a gesture of interest," I smiled, but Carlos new all too well I got on well with the women, and could get I decent kiss off of most I talked to. The fact Isabelle was by far the most beautiful in Trieste, only worsened suspicions. So, in fairness, he had good cause to question my interest. However today was not one of those days,
"No Carlos, this is a new clothing given by my mother." I smiled, "no women to charm today'"
We both laughed as the old black smith came to a halt beside an array of knives and pointy stars.
"Take your pick," the old man said, waving a hand across the tray, "they are made to the highest quality I can assure you,"
I chuckled "any blade crafted at your hand is of excellent quality sir, of that I am certain." It was a poor excuse of flattery but' made the blacksmith beam in pride all the same.
I looked down at the array of knives. I was shocked by the variation in styles, but my eyes were slowly drawn to a set of vicious looking stars with a small smooth hole in the centre. I picked one up and spun it gently in my palm. The old blacksmith caught my interest and picked one up himself.
"These seignior," he said, "are Shuriken. They are used by the people in the east as throwing instruments," to demonstrate he flicked one at the opposite wall. The tiny disc flew three the air like a bolt of lightning, embedding itself in the wall on the other side of the hall. "I got the plans from one of your father's sailors who'd been that way. Quite effective if I may say so."
"I'll take your word for it," I said. But internally I was itching to try them out. "May I?" I asked indicating to the desk. Carlos nodded and, copying his action, I flicked the star across the room. It curved wildly, before bouncing off the wall and clattering to the floor near a water jug.
"I think," chuckled the old man, "I may have to teach you to use them," he smiled before passing me a leather pouch with ten of the blackened stars packed into it.
"Strap it mid-thigh, on your throwing side," he laughed before adding "I suggest I give you a few lessons before you use them to impress more of your women," I smiled.
"Grazie Carlos," I said, embracing him, "for everything."
"Watching you grow into a man has been thanks enough seignior Corte," we shared another warm handshake as Isabelle walked in,
"Father have you seen-" she stopped mid-sentence when she saw me. Her dazzling hazel eyes widened in shock as she stood stock still.
" Buongiorno signora," I said with a bow, and a smile,
"Yes my dear?" Asked Carlos, but Isabelle blanked him and scuttled out of view.
"Something I said?" I asked jokingly,
"With her," Isabelle's father said, "anything is possible," we laughed. Before I strapped on my gift, and left for home.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the front door. The lock had been busted in and the wood was splintered about the edges. I entered with caution, hand resting on the handle of my sword. The yard was deathly quiet. Not music. Not voices. Only silence. All of my senses were on high alert now, something bad had happened. I could feel it.
It was then that I saw Paulo. He was my father's man servant. So full of life before I left, he now lay in a growing pool of his own crimson blood.
I gaged. It is funny to think the sight of death repulsed me then. But worry for my mother, father, and siblings now overwhelmed me. Drawing my sword, I called out
"Father! Mother! Sophia! Antonio! Where are you?"
"There is nobody hear child," snapped a wheezy voice behind me. I spun round and saw two imperial guards materialise from the shadows.
"We have orders to take you in alive," said the first
"Personally I prefer the dead option" wheezed the other.
They advanced simultaneously. My heart raced. Suddenly the first guard and I reacted instinctively, spinning inside the savage blow, drawing my blade across the man's chest. The man dropped like a stoat and his partner backed off a little. Still high on adrenalin I dodged the first and second attack made by the remaining guard before knocking him out with a blow to the nose.
The fight had taken less than two minutes but the images of their dead and unconscious bodies still haunts me. I ran to my father's study
"Father!" I cried. No answer. I bolted up stairs, my panic rising with my every step. Into my mother's chamber I burst, only to find her servant, Elizabeth, cowering in the corner, sobbing relentlessly.
Dropping my sword, I rushed over. She screamed, as I pulled her into a hug but I persisted
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! It's me Stephino! It's me!"
After a few seconds she stopped struggling and sobbed into my shoulder. More minutes still passed before I could calm her to the extent of an explanation.
"You mother, your father, they have been taken. Arrested. Your brother and sister too." She sobbed again and I tried to get more from her
"By who Elizabeth? Tell me who!"
"The guards!" She cried," In the name of Thomas Francetti,"
"Where are they Elizabeth?" I hounded, my own worry rising faster,
"You mother and father were taken to the black tower. Your brother and sister… I don't know"
This was bad. The black tower was a tower made to house only the darkest of criminals. What was going on? A number of questions bombarded my skull.
"Is there some place u can go?" I asked Elizabeth softly. She nodded, "go there, you never worked here ok?" Again she nodded before fleeing the bedroom. Leaving me on my own with a bloodied sword and a multitude of thoughts