Chapter II

The rains of Alba

The boy was sitting out in the valley watching the herd of his family. His homeland was not particularly known for its pleasant summer weather but this day was a welcome exception. The sun was standing high and warming as he sat there on a rock on the hillside. He could feel the soft cool breeze on his face which blew through grass and the white leaved trees making a soft familiar rustling sound. The whispering of the trees they called it. Centuries ago the wise men listened to sound of the trees whispering without words and the talking of the voiceless streams. They spoke to the wise men; they guided them and showed them the tools of knowledge and understanding. The people listened to the wise men and the wise men listened to the land… until the Empire came and the Abbey with them who burned them as heretics.

The young boy remembered the stories; he had heard them all when he was little from all the old crones of the village. As he sat there on a rock down in the valley he looked up behind him up above to the towering mountains, the peeks of which was normally shrouded in clouds but was now visible. He looked back down to the valley and at its fields, forests and streams and wondered to himself; what if the land was still trying to contact them. What if the land was still yelling their low voiceless cries at man, begging them to listen? But the wise men were gone and no one listened to the voiceless whispers of the land anymore.

The boy laid back down on the rock and looked up at the blue sky. Only a few small clouds were moving across the limitless sky. He closed his eyes and thought about the sea. He had only seen it once when he was with his grandfather on a trip to a port to sell some pelts that they had collected from the animals they had hunted. He remembered seeing the endless blue sea as they came over a hill. He saw a hundred small white stripes lining on the water and then disappearing only to appear in a different place. He remembered seeing the huge ships coming and going out of the port and dreamt that one day he would be sailing onboard one of those ships. But that were all they were, dreams. He was needed where he was, at home. He had just turned thirteen and he was a man now so he had to accept the responsibilities that were placed upon him.

He suddenly heard a loud bang in the distance and opened his eyes, the sky had turned dark. He looked up and saw black smoke coming from the distance, from his home. He immediately started running. He was scared, what had happened? A fire in a barn, no it was too much smoke to be just the barn. Maybe it was the tavern? As he got closer he heard screaming and clinging of blades. He ran up the final hill overlooking the village, his pulse was pounding. Once on the top of the hill he saw his village burning, every single house. The smithy was burning, the stable was burning and even the little outhouse was burning. He ran into the village, there was chaos everywhere. Women were running with their children in their arms and men with swords were charging into the smoke from where fighting could be heard.

"Restrict the wandering gaze witch looks hither and yonder!" he could hear chanting from the smoke. "Restrict the lying tongue that is like a spark in a man's mouth!" he heard more chanting as he ran into the smoke.

"Brother…" He heard a familiar voice near him and through the smoke he saw his sister, his sweet little sister. She was barely eight years old, she looked pale and there was blood on her face. Her white hair looked even whiter because of her pale face. He looked at her chest and saw a cold steel serpent spouting out of it before being withdrawn. She fell to her knees, never taking her gaze off him.

"I feel… cold." She said with a weak voice as blood poured from her mouth. He ran to her and held her as she fell to the ground. He looked into her eyes; they were blank and didn't move, she was dead, his sweet sister was dead. Tears came streaming out of his eyes. A shadow loomed over him as he cried over his sister's corpse. He looked up to see a hideous golden mask holding the bloody steel serpentine.

Slar woke up in a haze. He was panting and drenched in sweat, nightmares. They were getting worse. Ever since he took this damned job he had been haunted by memories long repressed. He had tried not to think about it but there was something that he couldn't quite explain that made him think about what he did, what he had done and what he was going to do. Some fresh air might help, he thought. It was still night and there was very dark. He lit a lantern in his room and walked out into the hallway to get to the deck. The hallway was dark; there was no light in this hour. There was very few people on deck; just a couple of guys who were assigned to the night shift. Slar walked to the port side railing and looked at the other ships of the Prince's fleet sailing right next to and behind the ship. He could only see the lanterns of the ships. The only movements onboard the ships were small lights moving about; it was the night watch on the other ships as well.

Slar decided to go the bow of the ship to see if he could see something in the horizon. He walked by two drowsy watchmen siting by a barrel. One of the men had a bottle of rum in his hand and looked very sleepy; the other was trying to keep his companion awake so he didn't have to sit on watch alone. Slar continued towards the bow. As he walked onto to the bow he looked at the massive turret and stopped to admire it for a moment.

"Impressive isn't it?" Slar was surprised to hear a voice from the bow. In the darkness he could just barely make out the appearance of the man in the shadow, it was the Admiral.

"Yes it truly is," Slar responded.

"A single well placed hit is enough to cut a small schooner in two. I'm sorry but we haven't formally been introduced, Admiral Thimothy Fairway." The Admiral stretched out his hand to the assassin who grabbed it after a short pause.

"Well His Highness is right; you do have a strong grip." The Admiral said with a chuckle. The two men placed themselves at the very front of the ships and looked out towards the horizon.

"When will we reach Morley?" the assassin asked.

"Tomorrow night," the Admiral answered.

"How is it there?"

"It's the land of a talented, dedicated and cheerful people who fought teeth and claw for their independence!" the Admiral said proudly.

"And lost." The assassin added the admiral looked at him angrily for a moment before conceding.

"Yes we did." The admiral agreed sadly. "My grandfather died on these seas. He was blown up by a navy ship as he was trying to bring supplies into Caulkenny." The admiral looked sadly at the sea and sighed.

"We never stood a chance."

"And what makes you think it will be different this time?"

"They are weak now and they aren't prepared. Once we make landfall the people will rise up against the Empire and join us in ridding our Isle of the Gristilian scum!"

The two men stood in silence for a few minutes before the Admiral took his leave and made for the officers' quarters. Tomorrow night, Slar thought. Slar stood there for several minutes before he realized how tired he was and too left for his quarters. On his way back to his quarters he passed the two watchmen who had both fallen asleep, one with his head on the others shoulder. Slar climbed back below deck to the officers' quarters. The dim light of Slar's lantern gave a gloomy yellow glove in the hallway. He slipped quietly into his quarters, extinguished the lantern, laid down on the bed and closed his eyes. Slar couldn't sleep for the rest of that night; he just laid there and stared at the ceiling. After many sleepless hours dawn finally broke. Slar didn't bother getting out of his bed and just laid there. He listened to the thumping of boots, the screeching of the ship and the muffled voices from the deck. After hours of indifferent boredom, Slar finally fell asleep.

Slar was woken by knocking on the door. The drowsy assassin dragged himself out of his bed and moved to the door. Outside two guards stood waiting.

"His Highness requests your presence in the war room, sir." One of the guards said.

"Very well, I will be there shortly." Slar said to the guards.

Slar closed the door and lit a lantern so he could see what he was doing, night had come and all was dark. A flash of lighting briefly lightened the room before he could light the lantern. Slar took a bucket of seawater and poured it over himself so he could be fully roused. After the salty awakening Slar cleaned and dressed himself. A few minutes later Slar was outside the war room, two green coated guards were standing at attention by the door. Upon entering the war room, Slar saw the Prince, the Admiral and several other officers standing around the table, several maps had been laid out over the large map of The Isles, maps of Alba.

"Ah Slar, it is good to see you," the Admiral started.

"Yes, your mission starts tonight. We are right on the coast off Alba. The only thing now is to capture those guns before the invasion can commence." The Prince said, "We are in luck, the storm will give us the perfect cover, they will never see us coming!" The storm might not be too much of a problem for the larger vessels of the fleet to handle but Slar had to get close to the cliff without his boat being smashed against it. The thought of being sucked down with the undercurrents to a watery grave sent a chill down the assassin's spine.

"The landing party is ready. All our hope is riding on you my friend don't let me down." The Prince concluded.

Slar went back to his quarters to ready his gear. Slar found his sword. It was a short single edged sword, light and versatile, perfect for getting through tight places and slitting people's throats. Slar had four small double edged razor sharp daggers perfectly balanced for throwing or close quarter assassination tucked into small holsters on his chest. He had a small satchel hanging on his side with special concussion grenades that would explode in a bright flash that would blind anyone in the vicinity. In addition to these gadgets he had a few small foot traps based on those used to hunt bears from his homeland. Upon stepping on the center of the trap two sharp jaws would be sprung from either sides of the trap and boar its way into the unfortunate victim's leg, either immobilizing them or slow them down severely. But his pride and joy was his special wrist mounted crossbow. The crossbow had a special auto-reloading system that utilized the recoil from the fired projectile to load another. The crossbow had three interchangeable magazines running along his forearm for regular bolts, darts with a special toxin that would put the target to sleep, and for emergencies he had bolts loaded with volatile whale oil that would explode on impact. For the especially hard to get targets he had a few darts loaded with a rare poison from the deadly Pandyssian Black Viper that could kill a grown man in seconds. Should everything else fail him he had two hidden blades on the tip of his boots to surprise his captors, and of course a knife in his boot, one can never beat a classic. Slar dressed himself in all black with a tight black tricot under his dark cloak and hood; a black scarf concealed his face only exposing his eyes and the area around them. The assassin was now ready. He walked out of his quarters and headed for the upper deck.

There was much activity on the deck; everyone were preparing for the invasion. Sailors ran around the deck, preparing the cannons, securing the rigging and moving small arms and swords around. All this had to be done in near complete darkness and the rain wasn't helping the visibility. In the middle of the deck stood around thirty soldiers armed and standing at attention as an officer was informing them of their orders, they were the landing party, or at least part of it, which would help secure the fort once Slar got the gates open. Slar walked to the railing to look ahead. He could faintly see light in the horizon. It was the city of Alba, they had reached Morley.

Slar looked towards the command deck and saw the Prince standing there observing his men. He was wearing a green raincoat over his white uniform. He didn't wear a hat or a hood so his golden brown hair and beard was soaked in rain but he still had that determined look on his face as he stared ahead at his homeland that he had never known. Slar had never liked nobles or royalties much but there was something about this young prince that genuinely impressed him. He was saying that he wanted to liberate his people and reclaim his birthright. It remained to be seen if he was only focused on the latter and the former was just the same bullshit justifications that Slar had heard a hundred times from the nobles that had employed him. Slar however felt that something was different about this one; he seemed genuinely concerned for his people.

The Prince's gaze met the assassin's. The Prince gave him a silent nod to signal him to start the operation. Slar turned around and walked to a waiting boat hanging off the side of the ship, a waiting man was standing there.

"Well alright matey, let's be going then." The boatman said and climbed into the vessel. Slar climbed in right behind him. The boatman sat on the back of the boat near the steering handle, Slar placed himself across from him. The boat was winched down into the unruly water and was released. The boatman started the puttering engine and steered the vessel towards Alba.

"This is it assassin. The moment of truth." The boatman said as he maneuvered the vessel between the towering waves. A flash of lightning struck and lit the boatman's face. Slar recognized him; he was the same guard that he had met outside the cave in Serkonos, the same guard that had lead him through the tunnels to the Prince's ship.

"So we meet again," Slar said to the boatman.

"Yes we do. I wasn't sure you would recognize me, since you have been colluding with the Prince and all them higher ups and all." The boatman answered.

"I never forget a face."

The two looked ahead towards the cliff; the fortress was visible on the top of it. The roaring waves smashed against the cliffside and left a wall of white foam falling back into the waves, kind of like the foam from a freshly tapped glass of beer.

"Steady as she goes! We don't want those waves to swallow us won't we?" Slar said as loud as he could.

"Don't worry, mate, I'll lead us safely through this watery gauntlet." The boatman confidently answered.

The boat closed in on the cliff; Slar could see the storm drain sticking out of its side. The waves, now up to two meters high, hit just short of the drain itself, this had to be timed very correctly.

"Get me as close as you can." Slar yelled over the storm. The boatman steered the boat with its portside towards the drain. A wave took the boat and moved it towards the drain and the cliff in a terrifying speed. The boat was just a few meters away from the drain now.

"Now!" the boatman yelled and Slar lunged himself from the boat. The moment felt like an eternity as he flew through the rain towards the drain. The boat had started to descend just as he jumped; he hoped he still had enough momentum to reach the drain. Just as it seemed he was going to miss the jump and fall down into the unforgiving waves, he managed to get a firm grip around the very slippery end of the drain. Slar managed to drag himself into the drain just before a huge wave grazed the bottom of it.

"Good luck, mate, all hopes riding on you!" he could faintly hear through the storm as the boatman sailed off. Now for the fun part, Slar thought to himself as he moved through the drain. The drain was big enough for him to walk crouched through with little problem; the only problem was to keep his footing in the slippery drain. He reached the other end of the drain and stared up into a long shaft reaching towards the surface. The metal in the shaft was covered by a thick green slick from all the water. Slar readied on of the special abilities of his wristbow; a built in grappling hook. Slar took aim and fired the hook up the shaft; the hook hit the top and was tightly secured. Slar hooked the line into his belt, placed his boot against the slick covered wall and started climbing. The shaft was a good fifty meters high so it was a long and difficult climb up the slippery wall. He was only a scant ten meters from the top when he heard something that made his bones chill.

"Ho there! We are standing to our knees in water here. Open the drain." The voice came from the top. Slar could hear the crumbling sound of a large metal gate being opened. In just a few seconds the water would come streaming down the drain and Slar would be flushed back out into the stormy sea. Slar climbed as if possessed towards the top but knew that he would never reach it in time, and what good would it do anyway? He would just be flushed out by the water coming from the top. Then he saw something that could be his salvation; a small service vent just big enough for someone to hide in, was just a meter above his head. Slar climbed even faster now that he heard the water starting to stream through the drain. Slar managed to climb into the vent just before the grey water came thundering down the shaft. He sat with his back against the wall, resting his head against it before breathing a sigh of relief.

"I hate water!" he mumbled to himself as the water fell down the drain for a couple of more minutes. After the stream of water finished he could hear the metal door being closed again. Slar poked his head out and looked up; the grappling hook had been flushed down with water. No way up there, he thought and turned around to see where the vent would lead him. Slar, to his relief, found that the vent went further into the fort. After a few minutes he reached a rusty grate in the end of the vent. Slar carefully removed the grate and crept quietly out of the vent. Slar found himself behind some crates and quietly climbed on top of them to get a better view of the situation. He laid down on the crate and crawled to the end of it. He was in the inner courtyard; the ammunition chamber and the cannon battery was here. Slar quietly sneaked down and onto the ground to avoid anyone from seeing him. He needed to get on the battlements so he could sneak to the outer gate. There were several red coated Gristilian guards patrolling the grounds; he had to be careful and not alert them. Slar sneaked towards the staircase leading up onto the battlements. He hid in the shadows next to the staircase and waited for a guard to get down the stairs. The guard turned once down the stairs and walked towards where Slar was hiding. Slar sneaked deeper into the shadows and waited for the guard to pass by him. He quickly jumped out of hiding and grabbed the guard in a chokehold from behind and dragged him back into the shadows. Once the guard stopped resisting and slipped into unconsciousness, Slar gently placed the guard on the ground out of site.

Slar moved to the edge of the shadows beneath the stairs. The coast was clear. Slar swiftly and quietly moved up the stairs and was on the battlements. There was a small jump of about three meters between the battlements of the inner and the outer courtyard. Slar jumped down onto the battlements of the outer courtyard and took cover behind a crate. Two guards were standing on the battlements talking. Slar remained hidden and listened to what they were saying.

"Have you heard that the guy who killed the Empress got out of Coldridge?" one of the guards said.

"What did they release him?" the other asked.

"Yeah they just let the guy who shoved a blade into the Empress that he had sworn to protect and kidnapped her daughter go. They just told him to behave himself next time. What do you think dumbass?!"

"Ok, ok asshole but how'd he get out?"

"I read the report. One moment all were fine and dandy, nothing unusual was going on and then BOOM! The front gate blew up. Every guard on watch was put on high alert; no one had seen anyone escape. When they did a headcount on the prisoners they found the Lord Protector's cell empty, well partially empty, one of the guards was laying unconsciousness there with a goodbye note on him!

"Hmpf, that's a bold move."

"That's not the strangest part; no one fucking died! Some of the guards were missing but they were quickly found unconscious hidden in dumpsters and other shit, some of the guys even turned up by themselves, claiming that some guy attacked them from behind."

"Well shit! But they must have looked for him or at least seen him."

"He most likely escaped into the sewers but the guys that were there didn't see or hear anything."

"And when did all this happen?"

"Just four days ago. I'm telling you, the Lord Regent is pretty anxious to recapture him."

"Yeah he should be. Personally I don't believe that Corvo did it though."

"Then who else could do it?"

"I dunno but probably someone with some serious connections though, doesn't really make much sense that the Empress' personal bodyguard would kill her."

"Maybe, damned I'm hungry! Wanna get something to eat."

"Yeah sure let's go." The two guards passed dangerously close to the crate Slar was hiding behind. Slar made himself as small as he could and crouched into the corner. The guards walked past and down the stairs they went. Slar got out from behind the crate and moved swiftly across the battlements. When moving along the battlements he noticed something that could complicate the mission. Out in the middle of the courtyard there was one of those automated watchtowers. The large metal tower rotated around and peered with its giant spotlight into the shadows. The tower was facing the gate; the landing party would be massacred if they stormed through the gate with that thing still operational. Slar looked around for options. Somehow he had to put that thing down without alerting the entire fort. Slar looked at the high wall dividing the inner and outer courtyards. There were two banners hanging down above the gate to the inner courtyard.

That's it! Slar thought and ran towards the wall. As he ran he came across an obstacle; a lone guard was standing watch on the wall in front of him. There was no time. Slar quickly stormed the guard and slit his throat before he even realized what was happening. Unable to scream, Slar threw him over the battlements and kept moving. As Slar came close to the pole and the banner, he jumped from the battlements towards the courtyard. In midair, Slar activated his grappling hook and fired it at the pole holding the banner. The hook connected and Slar used the momentum from the jump and swung around and lounged himself towards the watchtower. There was still a large gap between him and the tower but it was the only way. When he was as close to the tower as the line could allow, he disconnected and flew the last meters to the tower. He reached it and took a firm grip around the railing on the control platform. Slar lifted himself up onto it. He had some experience with equipment like these. The very rich or the very powerful, often one and the same, which often were his targets, usually used some Sokolov technology at their compounds. The trick was to find the whale oil tank somewhere on the apparatus. Slar opened the cabinet holding the tank. With a careful move he removed the tank. Right next to the cabinet there was the control panel for the tower. Slar thought of the terrible impracticality of shutting the thing down if it should malfunction.

"Hey what's up? The tower's not working!" a voice came from below.

"Hey who's up there? Sound the alarm, Intruder!" Ah shit, Slar thought and jumped down from the deactivated tower.

"There he is! Stop him, fire!" several shots rang and flew right past the assassin. Slar turned and threw one of his flash grenades at the group of guards shooting at him, blinding and disorienting them. The gate, he thought, he had to get to the gate. He plunged his sword into the chest of a guard between him and the entrance to the gatehouse. Two guards stormed out of the gatehouse pistols in hands. Slar used the corpse of his recently slayed victim as a meat shield against the bullets. Sticking his arm out from behind the dead man he fired two bolts swiftly from his wristbow, hitting one of the guards in the neck and the other got pinned to the wall by the bolt hitting him in the shoulder. As the guard struggled to get off the wall he was knocked out by Slar as he ran past with a fist to the face. As he ran through the hallway to the gate control room a guard came lounging at him sword drawn. Slar quickly countered his lash and kneed him in the stomach. He finished the guard off with a stab through the back of his neck as he stood bent over.

Slar ran into the gate control room where he was met by an officer aiming his pistol at him. Slar dodged the shot by jumping behind a table and before the guard could reload he jumped out and shot a bolt into his chest. Now the controls were his. Slar opened the gate and looked from the window as the landing party charged through it with rifles and swords. Slar ran outside to meet them. To his surprise he found the boatman who had ferried him to the fort in command.

"Alright lads, forward for the king! Forward for Morley!" the boatman was shouting as he waved for his green coated men to charge through the gate. Slar and the boatman fought shoulder to shoulder as a fierce battle for the fort began. Some Morlish soldiers had used climbing ropes to get onto the battlements from the outside and were laying covering fire for their comrades below.

"Slar, you must get the other gate open!" the boatman yelled over the sound of shots and clinging blades. Slar ran onto the battlements killing two guards in the proses, one with a point blank shot from his wristbow to the throat. He recruited two Morlish soldiers to boost him up the three meters high wall to the inner courtyard and threw down a rope for them and three more soldiers to get up from. Slar then led the group down from the battlements and to the gate, fighting off several guards in the proses. Once down, Slar ordered two of the soldiers to open the gate as he and the three other covered them. The two soldiers opened the gate and their comrades stormed through with the boatman at the head of the charge. A firing line of five guards armed with rifles caused some heavy casualties. Slar armed one of his explosive bolts and fired it at the position. The firing line was decimated by the explosion. The ammunition storage was quickly secured with most of the remaining garrison surrendering. Slar and the boatman ran up onto the battery where a lone officer was guarding the guns.

"Blasted rebels and brigands, leave my fort now!" the officer angrily snapped at them.

"Afraid I can't do that sir; this fort now belongs to the Kingdom of Morley." The boatman answered coldly.

The officer angrily raised his gun and fired; he missed Slar and engaged him in a fierce duel. Slar was unable to penetrate his defenses and he struggled to fight him off. The officer charged at the assassin angrily but Slar used his swiftness to dodge and counter his attack by kicking him to the ground to the ground. Slar moved in for the kill but the officer rolled out of the way of the sword and got back on his feet. Slar attacked and the two locked their blades together. The assassin used the advantage to fire a bolt into the officer's leg. Wounded and partially immobilized, the officer limped towards the guns. Slar forced the officer up against the battlements but the officer's fierce and desperate defense didn't leave any openings to attack. Eventually Slar knocked the officer's sword hand against the battlements and cut it off with a swift hack. The officer reached for his gun but Slar stabbed him through the stomach before he could draw it. Stunned, the officer was kicked off the battlements by Slar and fell down into the stormy sea below.

Slar turned and saw the boatman leaning against one of the guns, holding his gut. Slar quickly moved over there and examined the wound. The officer had hit him with the shot intended for Slar.

"It's nothing to worry about, just a flesh wound." The boatman exhaled.

"Now what?" Slar asked. The boatman drew a gun, aimed it at the sky and fired. A bright red flare was shot high into the shy and lit up the stormy night as if it was day. Far out to sea, hundreds of small lanterns were lit accompanied by a thundering chant that overpowered the thunder itself.

"Long live the King! Long live the King!" they chanted. The men of the landing party now in control of the fort took up the chant as they lowered the Imperial banner and raised the royal banner of Morley.

"Oh yeah and by the way, the name's Floyd." The boatman said stretching a hand at the assassin. Slar immediately took his hand and said his name.

"So this is it eh, no way back now, mate." Floyd said.

"Indeed." The assassin agreed as they watched the fleet with The Sins of The Father at the head sailed unchallenged into the port of Alba.