As Long As I'm Feared
The Sharpshooter felt a brief sense of fear as he entered New York.
It was well past midnight and the town was cloaked in an eerie silence. This wasn't the first time he came there at that hour, but tonight seemed particularly foreboding. He came for what most people would consider evil reasons. But those people knew nothing; they didn't know what evil was. Sadly, Caleb knew exactly what it was.
He jumped off his horse, a pleasant breeze swayed by that temporarily eased his thoughts. He never liked the city; he commonly got lost. It was cramped and loud. He preferred the wild expanse of the frontier, where he could breathe easier.
A couple of guards stood up ahead, looking either extremely tired or partially drunk. One of the more alert ones looked up at The Sharpshooter with a suspicious eye, he called to him, "What's your business out here so late at night?"
"Need a drink that's all, thought I'd stop by. I was close enough anyway," Caleb responded casually, walking past them.
"Hey," The guard continued, prompting Caleb to stop reluctantly.
"Yeah?" He said, barely turning to face the guard.
"How good of a shot are you?" He asked strangely enough, gesturing to the rifle hanging of Caleb's shoulder.
The Sharpshooter found it hard not to laugh at the question, but managed to shrug modestly, "As good as anyone I suppose. But I only shoot animals, not people, if that's what you're getting at."
"Not at all," the guard spoke, "Although I wish it was just that. We've been told to warn anyone passing through after midnight about a man that's been causing trouble around here."
This fact was rather interesting to Caleb, although it could easily just be a robber or some petty drunkard, "What kind of trouble?"
"A lunatic," He said with a scowl, "Some murderer that's been carving up innocent men all over the place. People here have been calling him The Nightstalker."
"I'm guessing because he stalks, and kills his victims only in the protection of night," Caleb assumed. He's heard of this Nightstalker before, William had mentioned the gruesome remains of bodies found at dawn in the city. Caleb had asked if they ever thought of contacting him, but William didn't find much good in trying to recruit someone of that nature.
"We have enough mentally challenged people in this brotherhood," The Huntsman had said, "We don't need a man who clearly has his own agenda."
"I'll keep an eye out for anything odd," Caleb said simply, "thanks for the warning." He left the guards, continuing into the city.
It didn't take long for Caleb to find his target, to his own surprise. The man was wandering the dark on some sort of mission from the looks of it. He was armed with a sword that his hand held at all times, and by the way he checked every corner he was waiting for something.
Caleb wondered if the target knew he was coming. The man's alertness certainly made it hard for him to follow without being seen. Eventually the target darted into an alley with a newly found speed. If he truly did know that Caleb was after him, then he had to be quick.
He sighed, going to find a ladder to the roof. He was not nearly as nimble as William or Fillian, who can climb up the side of buildings like it is nothing.
His target did not go far, in fact, he barely moved at all. Caleb slide to the edge of the roof, watching the man stand in the middle of the empty space. The darkness consumed most of the area, only sparely lit with a couple lanterns. Quietly, Caleb pulled out his rifle, aiming it steadily at the man's head. The roof was low enough that he could jump off and run after his shot if he had to.
"I know you're there!" The target suddenly shouted, loud enough for Caleb to lose his focus. Was he really discovered? He didn't believe he was that horrendous at stealth. However, the target did not move to face Caleb, but stared wildly around at the empty shadows.
"Who are you talking to?" Caleb mumbled to himself, deciding to observe just a bit longer.
"I know you have been stalking me tonight, and I won't fear you. If you wish to take my life then I will go down fighting," He tightened the grip on his sword as he talked to darkness. As Caleb imagined, there was no response. He wondered then just how unstable your mind actually had to be to join the Templars.
The target continued, his voice increasingly on edge, "Why don't you come out? Are you actually afraid to fight with honor for once in your life, instead of hiding in the damn shadows?"
"Alright, enough of this," The Sharpshooter raised his musket again, regaining the aim he acquired before. Behind his target, he saw a flicker of movement, just barely visible. A second later a sudden, sharp pain erupted in Caleb's shoulder, his balance on the edge of the roof failing at the realization of it. He fell, trying as he could to roll off his good shoulder. Ramming into a wall, Caleb cursed vividly, feeling the thrown knife pushing deeper into his flesh.
"What…?" His target gasped, now staring at him with some look that was a mix of surprise and confusion. Caleb pulled himself up the wall, leaning on it as he held his bleeding shoulder. When he looked back at his target a figure stood behind him.
"You'll trouble me no longer." the figure chuckled, darting forward and plunging a thin hook into the man's neck. He ripped away just a few seconds too late for the man to feel nothing. Caleb watched the corpse fall unceremoniously on the ground, blood pooling almost immediately from his torn out throat.
This wasn't the first kill Caleb has seen with a hook. William, had one as his favorite weapon. Somehow, though, this particular death was abnormally stomach turning to him.
Perhaps it was the way the murderer looked at him afterword.
"Honestly these kills are starting to become less special to me," He said with genuine disappointment, "They are all the same."
"You must be The Night Stalker," Caleb said evenly, readjusting his grip on his wound. He could see the man enough to know he was thin and wore come sort of costume made of leather. Although he was a small man compared to most, he practically breathed intimidation.
Caleb was not easily scared, though.
"I don't know what could have possibly given it away," The Stalker responded, chuckling, "You don't sound very afraid for someone about to die."
"You have no reason to kill me."
The Stalker laughed, looking briefly at the corpse of Caleb's target, "I find it funny that a man who speaks of honor so readily would try and trick me with such a simple plan."
Now it made sense.
The Stalker believed Caleb was working for that Templar, as a sneak attack. It wasn't that hard to think that, he supposed; he was aiming toward him.
The Stalker said, walking closer to Caleb, "Although, you are certainly different. Where the hell did they find a man willing to look death in the eyes?"
"It isn't that unique of a quality," Caleb scoffed, "And I don't know what your meaning is. You stole my target." The Stalker seemed slightly surprised, but Caleb couldn't make the distinction. A bandana covered most of his face.
"If you don't believe me, I can prove it," he pointed over to the corpse with some effort, "He should have a ring on him, it's pretty fancy looking and has this a red cross-like symbol." The killer made a skeptical sound, but walked over to the corpse, kicking one of his arms out into view.
Caleb sighed in relief at the ring that glittered on the corpse's finger, "He's…well he's part of a group that…my people have been fighting for a long while now."
"The Templars. I am aware," he looked at Caleb with new interest, "That makes you the Assassin. I've never seen one. Plenty of the Templars though; a rather bothersome amount."
"You…know about us?" Caleb couldn't believe he's stayed alive this long, or even having this conversation with such an infamous killer that was on the grounds of casual.
"I've been approached by the Templars on many occasions. They want my skill, but they'll never have that."
"Why do you deny them? I thought you only killed for coin," It was a question that, at this point, Caleb knew wasn't true, but he was curious.
"That's a lie, one of many. Money has as little meaning to me as honor. I kill because I can, I kill for my own kind of justice…" He trailed off, "You got me talking, impressive."
"I do not judge," Caleb said, "I'm guessing they aren't your kind of people."
"No. They are not."
There was a silence then. Caleb looked back at his wound, seeing the hilt of the knife poking out. He had to get the damn thing out, he was bleeding out, even if it was slow.
"Ah, that's right, you're in pain," The Stalker said, as if just remembering it then.
"A bit, thanks for that."
The sound of charging footsteps made both men tense up. Guards. The Stalker growled, "Now look what you've done."
"This is your fault. If you weren't so damn paranoid—"
"What did you expect me to think, sharpshooter?" The Stalker hurried to Caleb, clapping a hand over his mouth, "The Templars have wanted my blood for years." He dragged Caleb with a surprising amount of strength behind a square of fence. The Assassin bit down on his tongue, the pain was starting to become unbearable. The fall did not leave him unscathed.
The Stalker released him, hidden in the shadows. The guards wasted no time surrounding the alley, cursing vividly as they discovered the body. Caleb faintly heard The Stalker chuckle at the reaction. He wasn't surprised that a man like him would find enjoyment from a death like that.
Caleb looked over at the wall. His eyes flashed as he saw an entrance to the underground tunnels just a few feet away. He had forgotten the tunnel system in the cities. It could get both of them out.
"Bloody Hell! That man is relentless," one of them grumbled, sounding rather sick.
"Look around, maybe he left something," Another said, but doubted his own statement.
"We need to get out of here," Caleb whispered.
"No, we don't," The Stalker pulled out the thin iron hook still splattered with blood from the Templar, "This will be quick."
He began to leave but Caleb grabbed his wrist, "They have done nothing, there is no reason to kill them."
The Stalker stared at him, his eyes cold and bitter, "It matters not. They are insignificant, and will only cause trouble if I keep them breathing."
Caleb pointed to the tunnel entrance, his hand shaking from effort, "The tunnels…we can go through there, sneak away. I'm sure you've done it before."
"I never needed to evade guards, until you showed up." The Stalker pulled off, inching away, keeping quiet to the barely aware guards.
Caleb couldn't watch him go, he couldn't bear to hear all the screams. The night already took a turn for the worse; he didn't want more death than needed. Carefully, he pulled a pistol from his coat. He'd had it the entire time, but there was something about the fellow murderer that stopped him from ending the conflict immediately. Perhaps it was because of the pain of concentration or…that he knew nothing about the Stalker's actions and if they were justified. He was a murderer himself, so were all the Assassins. He never quite could figure what he truly fought for anymore. Maybe that Stalker knew precisely what he killed for, but at the moment, Caleb didn't care.
The Stalker looked at Caleb, noticing the gun, "What are you doing?"
"If you take another step I'll shoot. They'll know where we are. And I doubt you can take on a pack of guards all by yourself." It was a bold statement for the Assassin to state, but it was the best he could come up with. The Stalker was small and agile, easily able to slip past a few guards. However, Caleb questioned how many guards the Stalker could truly stand without getting overrun.
"You are willing to give your own life for the lives a few guards?" The Stalker seemed baffled at this statement, "That's ridiculous."
"It is, but it just feels right, and I go with my instinct," Caleb said, aiming the pistol up. He could easily let the guards die, easily. He could let them die and probably forget they even existed within the span of a day. It wasn't often though, and he wasn't willing to try even now.
Although, he was beginning to lose his vision.
He had forgotten how much he was bleeding, and how much pain he felt as he held the pistol. His thoughts became more faded, and his hearing deafening. He thought he heard the Stalker say something to him, and one of his arms being moved, but after that there was nothing.
~…..~
Caleb woke in a familiar looking room.
It was a circular bunker that was placed deep in the tunnels in case an Assassin raised above a certain level of notoriety. He was lying on one of the straw beds, dreadfully sore and confused. There was bandage wrapped skillfully around his shoulder, and most of the severe pain was through. He slowly looked to the side, seeing Fillian sitting on a chair near him, playing carelessly with his musket. It was the one he brought to kill the Templar.
"Hey…stop fiddlin' with that, she's one of my favorites," Caleb grunted, lifting himself up only a little.
Fillian jumped slightly, dropped the gun to the dissatisfaction of Caleb, and grinned sheepishly, "Eh, you're awake. I thought you'd be out for a bit longer."
"Why am I here? I passed out…"
"Dead is more like it. I'm surprised you even woke up. That gash was a bitch to sew up—"
"Wait, repeat that for me?"
The Robber's grin turned into a satisfied smirk, "That's right. All you big shots can stab though some hearts but none of you can sew a decent cut."
The Sharpshooter knew for a fact that William was the one who taught Fillian how to sew wounds. However he didn't feel the need to break the kid's spirit. Fillian was aware of the basic technique, but it involved thin twine and a rusty sewing needle.
"Right…how did I get here?"
"Apparently the Irishman saw some skinny guy dragging you down the tunnels and took it as a bad sign."
"Skinny guy? You mean The Nightstalker?" If it was, why was he dragging him around? Did he think he was dead? Or was he helping them both?
Fillian seemed to be tapping into his memory, "Ah, right, that's what Frenchy called him."
"What happened? Do you know where he is now?"
"Well, you know that carpenter, he's not exactly the fastest rabbit in the field. Skinny guy dropped you and booked it down the tunnels, he ran into Frenchy."
"Did…you kill him?" Caleb felt a disturbing amount of worry for the Stalker. His only hope was that William didn't jump to conclusions.
"Nah, I don't know much after that. That skinny guy wasn't real happy about getting caught though. He's a scary looking bastard though, almost tore my throat out. Frenchy dropped me in here and said 'fix him, and for the love of God don't kill him'." Fillian concluded with a less than substantial imitation of William's French accent.
"That man didn't—well he did do this to me but—I need to talk to him," Caleb lifted himself halfway out of the bed and immediately regretted it, dropped back down with a pained groan.
"Easy there, I think you broke a couple ribs. Don't know how you managed that but I've done it before, it's bloody annoying."
"Get William here, now," Caleb ordered.
"Uh, I don't exactly want to be disturbing him—"
"Fillian," Caleb said sternly. The Robber scowled, hating that voice. It was effective though, as he stood and left the room in a hurry.
A few minutes went by before William appeared, looking frustrated as he usually did. His expression changed a bit when he saw Caleb was breathing.
"I can explain what happened," Caleb said quickly.
"You're lucky you're not dead." William said shortly, sitting in the chair beside the bed, his coat sleeve slightly stained with blood, "and please, explain. I don't want to keep that maniac alive any longer then I have to."
"He's…definitely a maniac, yeah. But he was after the same man I was," Caleb replied, forcing himself to sit up despite the pain, "it honestly was a huge misunderstanding." He glances at the blood staining William's jacket, "did you get hurt?"
William leaned back, rolling his sleeve back to reveal his heavily bandaged arm, "You stalker friend caught me with his hook. It's of no concern. How do you know he's not a Templar?"
"He told me he's been approached by them, but has refused every time. Now they want him dead, that's probably why he wanted to kill the same man."
"That doesn't convince me."
"Does he look or act anything like a Templar?"
"No, but I tend to expect anything from our adversaries. Have you seen Victor Wolcott?"
Caleb sighed in frustration, "Listen, why don't you just ask him?"
"That would be hard since he's unconscious."
"When he wakes up then."
"Who knows when that will be-"
William is interrupted when Fillian runs back into the room, stopping himself on the door, "Uh…we've got a problem." William attempts to speak but Fillian stops him short, "I promise this wasn't my fault this time!"
"I find that hard to believe. Utterly impossible, actually." William growled, standing once again.
"I'm serious. That skinny guy that was dragging Caleb, he woke up and…yeah, he wasn't happy." The thief shifted to a more active stance now that his breath returned, "O'Brian is trying to calm him down."
Caleb scoffed, "John would sooner bash his own teeth in then have a conversation," he struggled up, standing with a hand gripping his shoulder, and "where is he?"
"You're in no state to be standing let alone facing a mentally unstable murderer. Don't be an idiot." William reasoned with his own strange way of expressing concern.
"Then how have I managed myself in a room with you two for this long?" Caleb muttered, snatching up his musket as he exits the room. Fillian chuckles, though he's immediately silenced by William's glare.
As soon as he stepped out, a knife zoomed past his face. The fact that he was nearly hit by one again had made him start to rethink his life, but he puts that aside. Down the hall, he heard yelling in a thick Irish accent, "God dammit man! Stay still!"
Caleb followed the noise to the end of the hall, where John and the Night Stalker were at a stand-still, the later dodging every move that is made to catch him but failing to find and openings for escape. Caleb wondered how the Stalker was moving so well for someone who was knocked out cold. William and Fillian ran up beside Caleb, blocking off the hall just as the Stalker frees himself from the small area John had trapped him in. He skidded to a stop, stepping back a bit with understated growl, "You people are persistent."
"Why bother keeping me alive like this anyway? I haven't exactly been the nicest of fellows, have I." the Stalker seemed to smile, watching Caleb with silent amusement, "But I guess I didn't kill you, so it wouldn't be warranted."
"You're alive because I want to know who you are." William said with a commanding voice, one that overshadowed the thickness of his accent, "You've certainly been more trouble then you're worth if you're an enemy."
With a surprisingly lively chuckle, the man removed his hat and pulled down the mask hiding his face. He was a contrastingly average looking man with slightly messy brown hair and eyes hazel enough to rival a wolf's, "You don't know me, Huntsman, no one does. My true identity is of no consequence." He paused, looking at them all, "You know, I rather like you lot. You certainly love to kill the same people I do. If it stops the carpenter over there from tiring himself out, I'd like to help you in your endeavors."
"You're seriously asking to become one of us?" William asked with a mix of surprise and suspicion, narrowing his eyes, "Why should we trust you?"
"You shouldn't. Like I said, we're killing the same people. Even if I'm not a formal member, I might as well be. It's common sense." He returned his hat to his head when he received only a continued narrowed stare in response, "I'll take my leave, if that is all you have to say."
"Just wait." Caleb chimed in, gripping the smaller man's shoulder, "If you want to be one of us, you have to play by our rules."
William growled, "That's not your decision, Caleb."
"Well you were taking too long." Caleb retorted, turning back to the Stalker, "Our rules, got it?"
The Stalker smirked, "As long as I'm feared." He said softly, though the carried more weight than that. He moved past them without another word.
John walked up beside them, "Eh, should I stop him?"
"Nope." Caleb answered before William can, ignoring the glare he gets because of it, "He won't be a problem. Not anymore."