Cael, the legendary King of all Nambria, sat upon his throne in silence while the memories flooded his mind in a cascade of images. His black hair now shined with silver, and the lines on his flesh were more than scars from battle. Age walked with him from morning to nightfall, and Death always lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment to take him. One of these suitors lined up before him would be his death, of that he was certain.
He let out a heavy sigh and glared at the next in line. “You, what do you offer my daughter?”
The young man stepped forward and bowed. “I offer my lands, my gold, and my love, Sire.”
Cael rolled his eyes. “Your love, your lands, and your gold?” Cael cocked a brow at the young man. “My daughter has more land and gold than you do, knight. So you offer her love alone, which will not be enough to satisfy her.”
“Majesty, I believe that my love will suffice,” said the young man.
Cael chuckled. “You may have seen my daughter, but have you ever met her?”
“No, Sire, I have not had the pleasure.”
Cael studied him a moment before continuing. He leaned forward. “I think you should meet her before you offer your love to her.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Cael turned his head to the right. “Titus,” he said with a nod.
A very large dark-skinned man stepped forward and smiled at the young man. “This way,” he said in a voice that sounded as though it came from the underworlds. He led a trembling boy into a side chamber off the throne room and returned to Cael’s side.
“Adventure,” the next one replied to Cael’s question.
Titus’ brow arched, and his own memories raced through his mind. He smirked at the suitors. They only knew of Cael the King. They did not know of Cael’s beginnings, how he became King, or how Titus became the Captain of his guard, not that the latter would mean much to any of them.
“What do you know of adventure, boy?” Cael responded with a pound of his fist to the arm of his throne, almost breaking the arm of the chair that had been broken once long ago. Cael and Adventure were old acquaintances. It was how he met Ríonach’s mother. It was also how he almost died when he took the job to assassinate the Fae Queen. A specific memory lingered in his mind—
Queen Niamh awoke to shouts coming from the camp outside the temple in which she temporarily resided ever since her castle had been taken over by her love’s brother—Zachariah. Her love was dead many moons now, and Zachariah had attempted to win her heart, without much success. When that failed, he decided to use force and took her Queendom, and they had been sparring ever since, but he could not completely overtake her Queendom unless she was to die or marry him, so her death was on his mind.
She looked at Xion, her wolf, and the beast stood at full attention, listening with care to the sounds outside. Niamh threw the pelts off and dressed in haste. More shouts came, this time from within the temple, and she hurried to tie her hide boots. Metal screeched outside her room, a garbled scream sounded, then silence. A low growl came from Xion, and the wolf lowered her head, aligning it with her back. Xion stood still, keenly watching the doorway. Niamh froze beside her wolf guardian, her sword out of reach. The wolf padded softly, excited for an attack, while footsteps that Niamh could not hear grew closer.
The curtain covering the doorway suddenly ripped open, and he stood, watching not Niamh, but her guardian wolf. The blood of the Queen’s guards dripped from his sword and he waited for the wolf's attack, but his presence confused Xion at first.
Niamh noted that the crest emblazoned upon his chest did not belong to her. She spoke, her voice dripping malice. “Sean, you traitorous bastard! I shall have you gutted for this.” Her eyes left his face and peered through the doorway behind him, only to find every one of her guards inside the temple dead. Sean wore their slaughtered blood as a trophy upon his shining armor.
He laughed while he eyed the wolf. “Only if you can do so yourself, Niamh. Your army is dead.”
Her eyes shifted to his face again and her upper lip curled. A short, low growl came from Xion’s throat, and as the wolf lunged for him, Niamh went for her sword.
Sean brought his left hand around and punched Xion in the side of the head while she was mid-air, and he pushed his sword into the wolf’s chest. She fell to the floor with a yelp and died a quick death unbefitting her majestic stature. Sean then brought his blade around on Niamh, and the two met with a step toward one another, each stopping at the other’s neck when they felt the cool blade against their own. Sean grinned. He had waited years for this moment, needing to see who the better warrior was. Niamh’s face bore no reaction. It stayed cold, like the frozen landscape, leaving him to wonder at the plans of action going though her mind. By now, she surely had several.
With one quick movement, his free hand came up while he moved his head away from her blade, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. He then pushed her backwards and turned her around in a jolt, bringing her back against his chest and her sword arm across her own chest, trapping her free arm behind her. Then he forced her to her knees while she yelled in contempt. The sword fell from her hand when his fingers pinched between her knuckles, and the grin spread across Sean’s lips.
“Oh Niamh,” he whispered in her ear. “I never thought it would be so simple.”
“Do not think too highly of yourself,” she spat. “I am not done with you yet.”
“Oh, yes you are,” he replied and hit her on the back of her head with the butt of his sword. She slumped forward and he let her fall to the floor. He kicked her sword out of reach and sheathed his own before calling one of his men in to help him. Once they wrapped her in her cloak and some pelts, Sean threw her over his shoulder and carried her out to the horses.
“Burn it all,” he commanded. His men lifted Niamh up and Sean pulled her onto the horse, placing her in front of him. Then he turned the horse around, and he and his army rode off, leaving only a few behind to burn the camp to the ground and gather a few things.
Cael, the assassin hired to kill the Queen, returned that morning to find Niamh’s camp uprooted, dead bodies strewn about, and tents still afire. Fear gripped his heart and froze his mind for one hellish moment. After several days of attempts to kill her, she had stolen Cael’s heart instead, and paid him more gold to kill the man who had hired him. It was a bloody battle between the two, over the throne of these lands, and no one had any guesses as to who would win. Regaining his senses, he jumped from his horse and, sword drawn, ran into the temple, looking for her—the Queen—who would be his woman. In his worried rush, he nearly tripped over one of her guards lying in the entryway.
“Careful, warrior,” he warned himself. “No need to hurry to your death.”
Pausing, he drew a deep breath and began his search. He pushed what was left of her room’s curtain aside and tried to decipher the chaos. His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail while his ears listened for any remote sound. Niamh had been sleeping before the attack, he noticed. Missing was her shield and sword, as well as her cloak and a few pelts from her bed.
Seeing the dead wolf, Cael sadly shook his head. Not even the beast could protect Niamh from whatever had happened. He knelt beside Xion and ran his hand through her bloodied fur while fear for her mistress gnawed at his nerves.
“Poor pup,” he mumbled, staring at the gash in her chest. Having lost such majestic creatures himself, he closed his eyes and prayed to the gods for her. He wondered how such an attack took place when Niamh always knew when Cael arrived. There could be only one answer.
He jumped up and ran outside, searching for anyone still alive. Niamh had but a small army, and it seemed that a battalion had attacked—a highly skilled battalion. The smell of Death crept over the blood-soaked earth while fires died down to smoldering embers. When someone moaned a few paces away, he jumped over to find one of Niamh’s personal guards. He crouched beside the man and pulled him up by his shirt.
“Where is she?” he demanded, knowing that Death was about to take the man. The guard moaned again. Cael, furious, slapped his face. “Where is she, damn it?”
“Ssss…” he hissed.
Cael pulled the guard’s face close to his own. “If you care anything of her, you will tell me what happened.”
“Sean…” he muttered.
“Are you certain?”
The guard slowly nodded, and then he fell limp, dead. Cael dropped him and ran to his black steed, Gohlyath.
Over the days of Cael’s attempts on Niamh, he had wondered about Sean for two reasons. One, as High Guard, Sean should have killed him after his first attempt on Niamh’s life—no matter what her orders were. And two, after that first attempt, the Queen’s protection shrank rather than grew. Now he knew why. He shook his head in disgust. Apparently, the man played the puppet to Zachariah’s strings. Cael despised traitors, and had killed many in his time.
Reason number three leapt into his mind. Zachariah had been expecting Cael when he went to assassinate the would-be king of these lands, with only Niamh and Sean knowing of Cael’s plan. He knew it had felt like a trap when he stepped into Zachariah’s chambers. Zachariah thought Cael had taken too long in disposing of the Queen, and had a price on the assassin’s head as well.
But Sean… Where would he take her, once he saw Zachariah was dead? And Niamh, what would happen to her now? Cael’s thoughts tumbled and crashed against each other, bringing his fears no relief.
A spark filled his eyes. “Of course,” he said. Once Sean saw Zachariah was dead, he could not kill her. She was the Queen of these lands, after all, and Sean would need her to become King himself, if that was his ambition. Killing a King and taking his lands was one thing, but no one in all the worlds would ever kill a Queen simply to take her lands. They would have to marry her first, especially if the Queen was Fae. She would live… for a while, at least. That is, until he figured out how to kill her. It was not a simple job, killing a Fae. Very few men knew how, and only one woman that came to Cael’s mind.
“That might give me enough time,” he mumbled. “Come on, Gohlyath. We have some work to do.” He kicked the horse into motion and headed for the Highlands.
Puffs of steamy white mist billowed through the black steed’s nostrils as the pair walked through the blanketed dormant forest. Snow-capped mountains surrounded them as he searched for that small glimmer of color that deserted the land around them, with exception to the sky, and even it was a dismal grey, the color drained out of it when the dark days fell upon them. He searched for the warmth that he knew hid deep within the layers of this white palace, a place where he would be welcome.
A gust of ice-chilled wind whipped through the trees, releasing snow from their twisted black branches to reveal a hidden treasure. A tattered piece of once-red cloth hung, tied to a branch long ago, and he smiled beneath the wrap that protected his face from winter’s kiss. A marker, which meant he was close. They continued along the path and he found another hidden treasure within the branches of a bush. He pushed his black steed along the path. A little farther down, the horse’s nostrils flared, and he bobbed his head up and down. The rider pulled down the protective cloth and inhaled deeply. He smiled and patted the steed on the neck.
“Good boy.” He repositioned the cloth and they moved toward the enticing scent, warmth, and men of his nature.
He passed by the lagoon, its waterfall frozen in solitude, barely trickling underneath the layers of ice. He recalled meeting his first love there—a powerful woman whose unequaled beauty ran deep into her soul. He wondered where she had gone, for she disappeared one evening without a word. Not long after, his chosen profession turned into an obsession, driving him until he became the best of his kind.
The scent grew stronger as they made their way around the ice pond and through the heavily lined trees that formed the gateway into this hidden world. The glow of firelight came from within the small tavern. To its right stood a large barn, where he sheltered his horse before making his way through the deep snow to the tavern’s front door.
Upon entering, he shook himself off. Behind him, ominous silence filled the air as the tavern’s patrons ceased conversation and filling their bellies with mead and stew. All eyes stared at the strange man who had dared to enter their domain. He unwrapped the cloth protecting his face, and at his revealed identity, one man stood from his table near the hearth.
“Cael!” His boisterous chuckle accompanied hands held out before him in welcome. The large man with darkened skin towered over Cael any day. His hair, as black as Cael’s horse, twisted down his neck and over his shoulders in braids that had not seen a good bath since his birth. His deep voice reminded the warrior of a shade, and if it were not for the scar that stretched from the top of his left ear to the edge of his jaw, he would not have seemed mortal.
Cael nodded while he removed his coat of pelts. “Titus,” he acknowledged the aptly named giant.
“What brings you here?” Titus asked when Cael moved toward him.
“Warmth,” Cael replied, and the others returned to their conversations and clamor began to fill the tavern again.
“Come, sit with me then,” Titus offered. Cael obliged, and he stepped next to the hearth and warmed his hands before sitting down.
“Thank you,” he said kindly.
Titus nodded and took a drink of his mead while a wench brought Cael a bowl of stew and a mug of the finest mead in these parts. Cael threw a gold piece on the table and picked up the bowl.
“There is a rather large bounty on your head,” Titus mentioned as softly as his deep voice would allow, and it caught the attention of those nearby.
Cael’s eyes shifted to meet Titus’ round deep brown eyes. “I do not doubt it,” he replied and continued to eat.
Titus laughed, deep and hearty. “You know of this, then?” He made it a question, and Cael nodded. “Pray tell, what have you done?”
“Upset our would-be king, apparently.”
“May I ask what prompted the bastard’s disapproval?”
Cael finished the stew and set the bowl on the table. He lifted his mug and smiled. “He paid me to rid of Queen Niamh,” he replied
“And yet she still lives,” Titus said.
“I changed my mind,” Cael answered and took a drink of his mead.
“And tried to take him instead?” Titus asked, and Cael nodded.
He stopped mid-nod as his eyebrows rose. “Tried?” he inquired of the word Titus used.
“He still lives,” Titus said.
Cael lowered his head and shook it slowly. “Damn!”
“You did not realize you had not killed the man?”
“No, everything happened too fast. I was set up.”
Titus nodded. “You would expect anything less from that bastard?”
Cael shook his head. “I should have been more careful.”
“You should have killed him when you had the chance,” Titus replied.
Cael looked incredulous. “How many people survive a star in the head and a dagger in the side?”
Titus reached up and parted the hair on the left side of his head to show Cael a scar about two fingers in width. “How many indeed?”
Cael nodded, and a smirk formed on his lips. “So, that explains you.”
Titus chuckled. “It is only one of many things.” He leaned forward. “So, Cael my friend, what do you intend to do about your problem?”
Cael took another swig of mead and set the mug on the table as he leaned forward. “Find Niamh.”
Titus’ brow arched. “Why?”
Cael looked at him long and hard before responding. “Because she paid me to kill Zachariah.”
“And the son of a whore paid you to kill her,” Titus replied. “You have broken one of your own rules, Cael.”
“I know.” He searched his friend’s face. “Have you ever met her?” Titus shook his head. “She is beauty and strength beyond words.”
“You have fallen for your mark,” Titus stated. “It is always a bad sign when a beautiful woman is the mark.” Cael nodded in agreement. “What of Saoirse?”
“What about her?” Cael asked.
“I thought the two of you would raise little assassin children together.”
Cael snorted and shook his head. “I guess she had other plans.”
“You still have not found her?” Titus asked.
“I have not looked for her,” he replied. “And why should I? She is the one who left in the middle of the night.”
“Perhaps it is because you forced the issue,” Titus suggested.
Cael scowled. “Why are we discussing this?”
“Because you are a stubborn man,” Titus replied.
“Well, it is not up for discussion,” Cael stated. “By the gods, man, you sound like a woman!”
Titus laughed. “So do you, my friend.”
Cael crossed his arms on the table. “So, how many know of the price on my head?”
“Every last one of us.”
“Then why am I still sitting here?”
“Simply because you are our brother.” Titus leaned closer to him. “And I do not believe anyone wishes to test their abilities against you.” He chuckled softly. “Not that I blame them. I, for one, have no desire to test you. You are my friend, and you are a legend among us. Stories are already told of your deeds.”
Cael dismissed the sentiment with a wave of his hand. “Deeds of death-for-hire make no legends.”
“They do when the deeds involve you. You are the only one of us who hires out for the death of people worse than you or I. So do not consider the Queen lightly. You took the job for a reason, and I have heard stories about her.”
“Rumors fly from twisted mouths,” Cael said and sighed. “Do not believe everything you hear, Titus. The woman does not breathe fire.”
“And perhaps you should be more careful with your eyes,” Titus said. “I am curious. Did she show you fear when you went to slay her?” Cael shook his head. “A woman who shows no fear is not to be trusted.”
“Saoirse knew no fear,” Cael stated.
“Funny, I would take her running off in the middle of the night as a sign of fear.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “Or just pure hatred of me.” He twisted his mug in a circle upon the table as he thought, and Titus laughed. “So, if Zachariah is not dead, then Niamh must be in the castle.”
“Do you want help?” Titus asked.
Cael shook his head. “We would never get in now,” he said. “He has more than likely tripled his guard.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” Titus asked with a smirk.
Cael chuckled. “Never, but I would not be going in for a kill this time. I would be going in to find Niamh, and that may be too risky.”
“And he would be expecting you,” Titus offered, and Cael nodded. “Too bad. It sounds like an entertaining prospect.”
“Do we have any ‘friends’ in the castle?” Cael asked.
Titus thought a moment while scratching his head, and Cael could only imagine what creatures could be running from his fingers. “Perhaps one or two,” Titus replied. “Will you be in the area for a while?”
“I could be,” Cael responded.
“Good,” Titus said. “Now, have another mead to warm yourself. It is going to be a long, cold night.”
By nightfall, Cael procured a small band of men from the tavern. The task was not difficult since they all hated the would-be King of these frozen lands. He made no promises to them other than payment for their services. These men sought neither honor nor heroic deeds. Gallantry held no appeal. These men helped themselves to whatever they wanted. As outcasts, they answered to no one but themselves, and between them, agreed on a slim set of rules. No king held their respect, and many of them, Cael included, had killed royalty from neighboring lands. The only royalty to have ever given them respect was their Fae Queen, and it was something they returned to only her.
The tavern had a small Inn with a few rooms for sleeping or wenching. Cael paid for one of the rooms, and after checking on Gohlyath, he bedded down alone. He had no desire for a woman’s flesh, to which Titus teased him greatly, but while Niamh sat in a cold, dark dungeon awaiting or enduring who knew what tortures, he would sleep alone. But, sleep refused to come, as his skin remembered her touch, his lips the taste of her own. His jaws flexed when he thought of her in Zachariah’s clutches. He would not make a mistake the next time he saw the man. Zachariah would die.
Morning came with a knock on his door from Titus, who told Cael that the horses were ready. Cael nodded as he gathered his things and they walked into the tavern together to eat before their journey.
“Where are we going?” Titus asked as he bit off a large chunk of bread. The piece dangled from his mouth before he pulled it in with his tongue and chomped on it. Crumbs fell into his hair, but he bothered not to shake them out, leaving small remnants of his meal for as long as they could hang on.
“Niamh’s camp,” Cael answered after the distraction of Titus’ slobbering meal.
“Did you not just come from there?” Titus asked.
Cael nodded. “I want to see what’s left,” he said. “I did not have a chance to get a good look around.”
“You tried to track them.” Again, Cael nodded. “In that storm? Are you mad?”
“I found this place, did I not?”
“This place has markers,” Titus said. “I doubt her captors left signs.” Cael shook his head. “Did you see them at all?”
“Yes, in the distance,” he replied. “The army was much larger than her own.”
“That is why you think the bastard may have tripled the guard,” Titus stated, and Cael nodded once more.
“It is also the reason I think it impossible to penetrate the castle,” Cael said. “You are going to speak with your friend, and meet us later?”
“Yes,” Titus replied with a nod as he ripped another chunk from the loaf in his hand and shoved it into his mouth.
“We should go then,” Cael said as he stood. He threw a gold piece on the table and looked at Titus. “I want to use the full day.”
Titus agreed and stood, but snagged the bread to carry with him.
They wrapped themselves in pelts before heading out the door. Gohlyath was nowhere in sight. Cael turned to Titus with question marks in his eyes.
Titus chuckled, deep and low. “That damned horse of yours would not let anyone near him,” he said. “He is a fine specimen.”
Cael nodded and trudged through the snow toward the barn. Upon entering, he saw Gohlyath standing alone. The horse threw his head up and snorted, his long mane moving softly against his neck as Cael walked up to him.
“Good boy, Gohlyath,” Cael said as he patted him on the shoulder. He ran his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Good boy.” He pulled an apple from his pocket and fed it to him. Then he stepped away to get his riding gear. “We have to go back to the camp,” Cael said. “Do you think you can remember the way?” Gohlyath whinnied and put a hoof to the ground. “Good,” Cael replied. “I can always count on you.”
He walked Gohlyath out of the barn and climbed onto his back. Then he rode over to Titus, already on his horse.
“Do you know the old temple in the Canistra Mountains?” Cael asked him.
Titus nodded. “Astrid’s temple, yes.”
“That is where we are heading.”
“I shall meet you there before nightfall,” Titus said, and he turned his horse and rode off.
Cael sat on his horse, left with the rest of the men he had gathered. He nodded, waved his hand, and began to make his way along the trail leading out of the clandestine world known only to his kind—assassins.
