A/N Sorry for the short chapter and long wait. Between a management job I spend 50+ hours a week at, and a badly abscessed tooth, I haven't had much time to devote to this as I would like. I will deal more with the Signet Assassin's past in the next few chapters as I flesh out his back story. I have several more in the works as well. I hope you enjoy.
The deck of the ship creaked and heaved slightly as she made her way through shallow green swells. A good leeward breeze made for favorable sailing. The sky above boasted only a few clouds, intent on their own business, they ignored the scene below. The vessel, named Queen Margo's Pride, was a small merchant ship, old but serviceable still. The Captain knew his craft and didn't neglect spending gold on needed repairs and refurbishment. She wasn't nearly as fast as a newer vessel with better trim and sails, but she wasn't as costly to man or keep afloat either. A bucket she may be, but a reliable bucket. With her freshly scraped hull she was making a steady seven knots. Very respectable indeed for an old girl. Her crew was well-trained and obviously knew their ship and fellow shipmates well.
The assassin, traveling under the guise of a prosperous merchant, had booked passage as one of only three passengers currently aboard. He didn't mind the slower passage, it gave him time to think. Time to think and time to plan. His resources in the target area were sparse, reliable information was hard to come by and months out of date. He usually could parse out the wheat from the chaff, a skill that had served him well over the years. There wasn't much to go on however, and what there was, didn't make a lot of sense. He didn't dare rely entirely on what his employer offered, it was too often biased and actually hindered his efforts. They frequently left out important details if it made them look bad, or didn't fit in with what they wanted you to believe.
According to the old gnome, a term he had taken to calling the little runt of a man who employed him, the Queen was a witch, and highly dangerous. She had to be brought to heel for the safety of everyone. He tried to make it sound like he was a moral crusader, and this was a holy endeavor. The assassin knew better. A few inquiries and he discovered that the old gnome stood to lose a large amount of revenue if the trade sanctions imposed by the Queen were to stand. It was an old story. His employer wasn't innocent by any means and tried to cover up that fact. What the assassin found amusing was that the old gnome thought he cared. If I thought about legalities, who was right, who was wrong, what was just or unjust, I wouldn't be an assassin he thought. And if my employers did, they wouldn't hire me or others like me he mused. That was one of the reasons he became what he was, he hated the aristocracy. He believed them to be leeches and parasites on society. He didn't care if they all killed each other off. He embraced it, enjoyed it, had made it his life's work the past few decades. The voyage had a few days left to it, he allowed himself the luxury of thinking about the past, of reminiscing about what could have been. What should have been.
Of course I wasn't born the Signet Assassin. I haven't needed or wanted to be called by my real name in years. Elazar was my given name. It sounded strange even to me now, over thirty years later. I was an only son and lived with my mother. I never knew my father. My questions about him were cut off short by my mother.
"He died in the wars" was the most satisfactory answer I ever received. I learned quickly that the pain those questions caused her was not worth the asking.
We lived on the outskirts of a small town famous for the horses bred there. Our modest farm dedicated most of its hectares to growing barley as silage for the horse trade. We planted the others in clover and rye and worked a three-part rotation system as was common to most farms in our area. I didn't know the work was hard since that was all I had ever done since I could remember. I loved going fishing in the small stream near our cottage in what little free time I had. I rarely came home empty-handed and my mother welcomed the change in menu. The patience it took to be a successful angler had bode me well later in life.
I was coming home with two perch and a fat trout I had caught when it all changed. I was thinking how good that trout was going to taste for dinner. My mama had a way with trout, all breaded up and fried, it made my mouth water thinking of it. Maybe that's why I didn't see the men until it was too late. I should have sensed something was wrong, but I was too intent on my stomach to notice.
There were several strange horses in the yard. That should have sent me running, but it didn't. It was the noises coming from our small cottage that galvanized me into sprinting. I didn't realize then that I ran in the wrong direction. The door was wide open, Mama never left it open, that told me something was horribly amiss. I burst through not knowing what to expect, resolving to stop it no matter what. I never dreamed in my worst nightmares that I would witness what I did. My mother was lying on the small table that served as the focus of our small home. Held in place by three rough men, she thrashed about screaming and swearing oaths I didn't realize that she even knew. Their intent was clear, I may have been a lad of nine, but I knew enough about men and woman to know what was happening.
"Well well what do we have here?" one of the craven bastards said as I ran into the tiny room. A hero come to save the day? All three of them laughed at the man's foul wit.
My mother looked over with fear in her eyes, "RUN" she screamed, "Elazar run!"
I froze in place, panic gripped me like a rabbit in a foxes gaze. Another one of the bandits came in unseen behind me and cuffed me in the head so hard it knocked me down, stars swam in my eyes. He then picked me up like I was a doll and hurled me into the wall.
"You just sit there and watch little brat, or you'll regret it." Try to run and I'll gut your mother like those fish on your stringer, the big thug said.
Numb with pain and shock, I had no choice but comply. My mother suffered the abuses of all the men present, all six of them. I could only stare in shame and disgrace.
"We got what we came for, and bit more as well" said the apparent leader, time to mount up and head back to the company.
"What about the wench and her brat," replied one of the nastier looking ones, what do you want to do with them he sneered.
"Take the lad, we're running short on chore boys, he'll live if he'll work." Dispose of the woman. She gave us what we needed, but there's no need to leave witnesses about to spread tales.
And with that the leader grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and made me watch my mother die.
"Sorry lass, thanks for the good time, but orders are orders," said the nasty one as he closed on my mothers prostrate form. She cried silently as the blade came down quickly. He looked at me as he wiped my mother's life off his blade and sheathed it. "Be grateful I made it quick and merciful," he said as he smiled and walked past.
"Alright play times over, mount up" said the leader. I was unceremoniously shackled and tossed on the back of one of their horses and my new life of hell began.