Gordon’s eyes widen in fear as he understands what is happening…his own doom is soon to be at hand…
The rapid twangs of bows is followed by over a dozen of his men slumping to the ground, a second volley is followed by another in short order as the citizens of Providence storm out of the smoke clouds and debris; they are taking their town back once and for all.
Somehow the people of Providence have found the courage and means to stand against the Assassins Guild; despite the knowledge they will all perish in the end…
Charging like the wildest of fanatics they head right for Gordon and his men.
He has only two very simple choices to make – stand here and die for sure, or retreat into the manor. All that matters is for him to decide which he fears less: the mob or the silent manor house.
"Retreat to the manor house with all haste…Go! Go! Go!"
Half of his troops make it to the doorway, the rest dying under the hail of arrows and then under the blades of the mob when they sweep up over them. Just as he clears the doorway, one of his men pulls him to the side with an unaccustomed roughness, though as a salvo of poisoned arrows miss turning him into a hat rack for one time he does not mind.
With a resounding slam the great iron doors are closed, the cross bar firmly secured.
The citizens of Providence pound with impudent fury on the other side, their howls for blood and vengeance retorting like the cries of the banshees on the moors, foretelling of his pending death and judgment to come in the next life.
Gordon thanks his fortune that Gerald built the manor as a fortress first and a home second…now the bigger enemy outside is out of his hair, all that remains to be done is find and gut Master Gerald.
Passing from the entry foyer into the luxurious great hall, Master Gordon sees that things are definitely, and desperately wrong on a massive scale. The agents of Master Gerald lay all over the place, their armored bodies heaped three or four deep on the great stairwell ascending in the middle of the hall to the dimly lit halls above.
Each of them bears the same markings of their death, a single, well executed cut to the heart or the neck; with a few felled from envenomed darts…
"I guess Gerald finally went insane and killed most of his own men?" Gordon asked to no one in particular.
One of his men howls in shock and surprise, back-peddling from a side room. His broken, hastily spoken words and gestures indicate trouble may await them beyond; until he enters behind his bodyguards…the remains of his six scouts, sent into the manor earlier, hang upside down by their feet from ceiling, a silken rope secures them to the great wooden rafters of the ceiling.
Upon each one is a single slip of paper…which Gordon directs removed and the bodies to be cut down…
The paper reads:
Flee or share the same fate as I, death awaits you all around.
The men who took up the papers, five in all, are observed to have their eyes roll up into their heads, deep pink and red froth emerging from their mouths as they fall over dead.
Within seconds of their passing, the agents who have been cutting the silken rope began to choke, hands start to move to clench at their throats until muscles suddenly lock, eyes bulging out and turning blood red. Each of the seven men begin to take on surreal forms as their bodily muscles all begin to contract, inflicting untold of pain and soon causing the loud cry of bones snapping one after another…
Until at last the neck bone sunders and allows them the escape of death.
Gordon looks with absolute horror at the double trap that someone has set; a contact poison, absorbed through the skin, on the slips of paper; and then on the ropes themselves…just where someone would place their hands to cut the rope, and let their dead down…
The hanging bodies move like a pendulum, as small bells rings in harmony of their movement, the call to the grave all of them will occupy for eternity.
Gordon shouts for his men to spread out and search the lower floor; to scour all life from every room and hall that exists in the place.
He looks back to the great iron doors, hearing the people of Providence being given orders to find a large beam or log they can use as a battering ram. He knows from the strength of the doors there will be only a small bit of time until they are battered down.
"Master Gordon I have something here," one of his agents calls from a room at the end of the hall.
A moment later there comes the ringing of a small bell yet again…followed by the holocaust of fire and shrapnel that tears the agent and the three other men in the room with him, into smoldering lumps of flesh and meat that no longer can be recognized.
From another room, just down the side hall from here a small bell sounds yet again; followed by the crashing of heavy furnishings to the ground. Soon enough Gordon sees the sight of bookcases piled on top of three of his men, one limb extended from beneath them holding a small golden unicorn that has a almost invisible cord of silk tied about it.
One guard gives off a soft gurgling sound, passing into the convulsions of death from where a slender venom coated blowgun dart has hit him in the neck. Another guard suddenly jumps in front of Gordon, shielding him from the second to arrive. As he falls into death the remaining guards fire off their crossbows into the shadows above, seeking out their unseen assailant on the level above.
Despite their best efforts three more guards fall into the eternal night all shall know of at the end of their days.
"Someone is playing games here with us," he said, enraged beyond anything now. He is going to make his old associate Master Gerald pay dearly for this, ending his madness and the insane game once and for all; tonight the gambit Gerald has played comes to an end – and violently at that if Gordon has his way…
If he only knew how true his words are; just not as he has expected…
"Back to the foyer on the double; get under shelter now and keep watch. When we have gathered get ready to storm the stairs and eliminate whoever is up there. Understand clearly, no survivors at all, absolutely no one is to live…when we find Gerald he is MINE alone!" Gordon tells his men, rage beyond reason and rationality burning in his body.
Gerald will pay in the most hideous methods he can imagine; for bringing his world crashing down around him in his efforts to dispose of Grandfather.
Crossbows or blades ready for battle, covering every possible spot of ambush they advance back the way they have come…unaware of the amethyst eyes watching them from the shadows.
Gordon leads eight men into a side room, a small study untouched by the carnage already inflicted on the place.
Far above the band of armed men, twin eyes of amethyst sparkle with the fiercest of flames, matching the grin of glee upon her face; they had no clue as to where she hid as she downed the ones with her blowgun…these assassins are true amateurs indeed.
Silent as anything, even death would have been hard pressed to hear her pass by; she shifted from her location to the next, ready to watch and inflict the terror in full these assassins deserve; payment for the terror they have for too long inflicted unchecked on others.
Assassin against assassin…The ultimate portion of the gambit…
Queen against King on the chess board…
======
Master Gordon turned to give the signal for the rush up the stairs. He explained the plan – secure the landing, spread out room by room in large groups and kill everything. The first hollow, booming slams of a ram on the great iron doors ring loud and clear through the manor; telling all they are running out of time to deal with the enemy within for once the doors are breached, they will face the wrath of those outside.
With a gesture the first group rushes up the stairs, while a second covers them, crossbows aimed at each of the shadows above…only for all to freeze when the soft chiming of a bell comes yet again when the first one up the staircase brushes a trip cord 2/3rd of the way up…
Gordon sees the fine silken cord jerk for a moment to where it leads up to the rafters and connecting with a dozen small silken nets…that loosen instantly, scattering their contents of many small, egg shaped spheres out towards the floor below…
He turns and dives with all haste that panic can induce into the room, knowing that he rushed against certain death as his final, desperate leap sends him into an uncontrolled roll ending with him slamming into the far bookcase…
- BOOM!
- BOOM!
- BOOM!
Master Gordon barely avoids the falling books and massive bookcases that sought to crush him. Five of his surviving band covers him, creating a solid armored wall between their boss and the room’s entrance. Once the smoke clears, a quick peak out shows the carnage, his men torn apart by shrapnel and fire…
Such is the scene that no one can describe it…one of the survivors’ rushes into another room, grasping a vase to empty his stomach out into…only to be met by the fangs of a deadly Tai-Pan snake. Within moments he joins his companions in death.
The explosions…
The same kind of explosions reported to have taken out Cinnius; only the strength of the manor’s design kept all of it from coming down on top of him instantly. "Charge the stairs, anything moves ahead of us, shoot to kill and waste no time…"
The great iron entry doors bang like a massive gong, the mob outside getting more coordinated in their efforts to breach them. Master Gordon estimates he has less than twenty minutes before they break open; and death will come in the most horrendous manner from without.
Bounding quickly they cross the foyer, the main hall and up the stairs, trying not to look at the remains of so many dead…then the first to the upper landing looks about as a small bell chimes, followed by his grunt of pain and slumping to the ground…already in the final throes of death from the poisoned needle in his throat.
======
The four remaining guards charge past Gordon, covering all approaches as he comes up behind them. He takes just enough time to pick up the dead mans crossbow and a handful of bolts, each one tipped in lethal venom. Making sure one is fixed on the bow, he tells them to head down the right hand hall. The attack came from the left, so they will circle back around and corner their prey – it can only be Gerald…maybe…
Room by room they search, quickly and efficiently, finding nothing more than bodies and silence. With the second floor cleared, they ascend a small stairwell to the third level. No ambush awaits them at the landing as they expected, just an area for the servants to eat at…the table still set with tea and biscuits out.
Three of his men grab the partly filled cups while the fourth watches, declining any sustenance. In less than a minute the poison inside the tea sends them into pain wracked death, leaving Gordon and his lone surviving guard looking on at their horror filled faces, blood frothing from mouth and nose.
The other man gave a sudden grunt, then collapses before Gordon’s eyes, going into death on the end of a deadly dart and its poison.
Gordon dives into a nearby room, barely avoiding the mechanical trap that sends spears with razor sharp blades a moment too late.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
So comes the steady pounding on the great iron doors…
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Blow after steady blow, like a beating heart, the clock winds down with each one for Master Gordon.
Pulling the spears out of the doorway Gordon hesitates; sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, as a small, subtle sound comes from his left, just down the hallway. Carefully as possible, he eases his hand around the corner and into the hall, to see if any reaction is generated.
Then he lowers himself to the floor, and eases his head outward, crossbow in hand to shoot the first target that comes into sight…
Only to have a trio of the envenomed darts miss him by a hairs breadth in quick succession. His desperate roll to the side and kicking out with his feet, propelling him into the hall, saved his skin…or so he figures…
Then again, with a madman as Gerald appears to have become, anything is possible…
Breathing hard, rage and terror mixing together, he bellows out for anyone around to hear clearly, "GERALD! COME AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!"
He quickly heads deeper into the manors upper floor…
======
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The clarion call sounds again, fainter yet more and more steady of that battering ram on the iron doors.
Crossbow held out in front of him he sweeps the long hallway, stopping by each silent room, glancing quickly into them to see if anyone waits in ambush. All is in perfect condition, looking as their occupants left them this morning…save that they will no longer be coming back. So silent is everything that not even a single mouse is to be heard moving in the area.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Finally he advances close enough to the end to see where the end of the hall turns sharply to the left and the right, two branches and three rooms to pass for the ambush to come. Three rooms to search and then the halls to check; where is Gerald to be found?
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Three rooms become two with a quick glance.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The next one has a partially closed door, with a shadowy silhouette off to one side; something is not right, the figure is just too still. As he reaches for the door of the last room to be checked, he stops. Just a hairs breath from his hand is the doors brass handle, the faintest glimmer of poison coating it – if he had touched it with his bare hand, death would take him quickly.
A beautiful trap, lure him one way, force him to go for the unopened door and have the handle poisoned. It has almost worked – which means Gerald has to be around one of the corners ahead…which one…
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Sweat streams down his head and neck, as he knows the end game is now at hand…but which way…to the left or the right…which way…
======
From nearby, among the very structure of the building, one moves silent as death; becoming the very shadows as she follows the last assassin. Footfalls so quiet that even a sleeping mouse is not roused, she moves ahead to prepare the end game…soon justice will be delivered after so long of time…and in such a dramatic way…
Once in position, she hears the soft footfalls echoing to her ears like the thunder of a heard of beasts in a full panic approaching. Her prey nears with each passing beat of a heart.
Amateurs indeed, these so called ‘masters of death,’ amateurs indeed…
======
Step by step he stealthily advances, straining his ears to pick up the slightest sound; every instinct honed by his years of dealing in death yells that Gerald is off to the left. Just shy of the intersection, he shifts his balance and stance to jump ahead, planning to come in low and shoot high…any return shot of Gerald will pass right over him.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Springing out he lands and shoots…
Into completely empty space…
The crossbow bolt slams into the far wall with a dull thud, the same sound in his heart as he awaits arrow or blade to slide into his heart.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
His world collapses completely, the doors will shortly be breached, and the death blow is to fall before that by the hand of Gerald; for one time in his career the deadliest of the four assassins has made a mistake…
Blind instinct alone saved his life, as he flings the now useless crossbow above his bared neck and head; feels the solid, strong and all too real bite of a blade deep into its wooden mass. Twisting to one side he shoves with strength topped by sheer panic and fear as the blade pulls free of the wood, and two quick slashes miss him by a hairs breadth, two lockets of his hair falling to the ground in silent grace.
Gerald continues his frantic twisting, turning, rolling and hopping dance with the assassin pursuing him; for who else could possibly command such skill as to take him by surprise. Even with all his skill, training and honed battle experience he cannot help but feel as if he is being toyed with…
Then the hilt of his opponents’ sword slams full force into his forehead, and only a wild, fortune blessed kick out that connects with a meaty thud saves his life. He has only a moment to spare as his opponents blade lands on the ground with a loud clanging sound, leaving him the choice of offense, defense or pragmatic (i.e. run like Hades for his life).
As he shakes his head to clear his blurred vision, he hears the soft thump of his opponent regaining their feet; and the gentle sliding of a blade on stone as its rightful wielder takes it up once again.
Offense, defense or pragmatic…what tactic is he to employ?
Whipping out a throwing knife from his sleeve; he uses it to parry the next slash coming his way, the echo of steel on steel carry far into the charnel house that Gerald’s manor has become. He blocks the next three of his foe, who jumps from shadow to shadow, always one step ahead of him, driving him back step by step, yet not taking the openings in his desperate defense to press home the killing blow…
Pressing him back…
Into a trap…one set to catch him from behind.
In desperation, understanding dawning that the assassin here before him is only to push him back into the trap Gerald has obviously set up for him he redoubles his defenses, refusing to yield up a foot of ground unless he absolutely has to…
Bumping into a small podium, Gordon pulls on the massive vase atop it with all his might, seeking to slow or crush his opponent beneath its great mass. The resulting crash whirls up a swirling, dancing, bellowing cloud of dust and dirt from which he hastily retreats, crouching low to one side, ready to spring the instant his opponent comes through the cloud.
Taking a second blade in hand, he knows his foe will now die, for there is only one way past the cloud of dust and it is right past Gordon. He will stop this assassin that Gerald has pitted against him, and then deal with his old "friend" in person…
The second blade is gripped tight in his hand by its razor sharp point, ready for the coming throw…
He needs only one second of time for the perfect throw, the blow to end all blows…so he waits, and steady and still as death, as only a master assassin can…
And waits…
And waits…
And waits…until the sweat begins to run down his face and neck, his arm muscles straining to be unleashed…
He strains his hearing for the whisper of sound to tell of Gerald’s forces closing in from behind; while he still waits for the assassin to come from ahead.
For a continuing eternity of time he waits; tense and ready, muscles screaming in pain and turning to leaden weights from maintaining a crouched pose into an eternity of time; yet only deathly silence is heard…
Nothing, no noise at all…his opponent has to be waiting for him to come forward…through the settling cloud of dust that now shows the shadows beyond, all the lighting extinguished for the giving of complete cover…
The world of the assassin, waiting to spring death on Gordon the instant he enters…
"Unless," Gordon softly whispers to himself, "the assassin has worked around me…"
A near silent whisper comes from nearby, over his shoulder…
He twirls about, a full half circle and thrusts out his one blade to block the expected blow; the other flung with great force to his target….that is not there…
He knows death is at hand, having turned his back on his opponent and prepares to feel the fiery kiss of steel into his back…
The blow does not come from behind though; it comes from ABOVE!
The first smashing fist, or flat palm misses crushing his larynx by a hairs breath, then comes a savage flurry of kicks, jabs, and open handed attacks; such skill and attacks he has never imagined anyone could be capable of unleashing…
His body rings as blow after blow strikes home, the pattern becoming all too clear as his opponent, dressed all in black and grey clothing, dredging up a memory from long ago…Shan Tiel, the old man on the mountain and his style of unarmed fighting…
He is facing the old man himself!
The one legend speaks of in dread whispers, the only one even the Grandfather of Assassins gave all deference to in the tales told; a matter of honor and a debt long expected to be paid over some old matter.
Three roundhouse kicks smash him into the walls and then drive him to the floor; from which his assailant grabs him by the collar and lifts him off the ground, only to batter him more with an open hand, delivering blows so much harder than any punch he has ever endured.
Throwing a wild punch, his wrist is grabbed and his forward momentum is added to the massive strength of his foe in the throw that slams him into the wall, the audible sound of ribs shattering heard by the both of them.
Then the beating stops…blinded, panicked, and driven by imagined demons of his assailant all about…
Fleeing in blind panic Gordon bounces down the right hand hallway, slamming off of walls and around the next corner; only to come face to face with Gerald…more precisely, his body, slowly swinging upside down from the rope running up through the rafters.
His roars of uttermost panic echo long and loud across all the silent spaces of the manor.
======
Upon the body is a single note:
Gordon – you are the last of the four, you took my family in blood and fire; so I take yours as well, your family of the guild and their city. You have danced to my tune for the last few weeks, I have controlled all, including now how you shall die. Ten years ago you sewed the seeds for your own destruction.
"The girl…" he mutters, now understanding who he has been dealing with; the little girl of the banker they missed all those years ago.
- Thud.
The impact of the dart feels like that of a sharp hornets sting; followed by the burning, spreading of the poison upon its tip now coursing through his veins.
The poison steals all the strength in his body, leaving him as loose as a rag doll casually tossed aside; only to be picked up like a sack of grain by a strong, young lady…and carried down to the main hall where she ties him to the banister of the stairwell. She moves to where he can see her eyes, those blazing fires of amethyst that tell his death is now at hand…and to show off the small billiard ball in her hand, which she places next to his manhood.
As she walks off to a side hall, he sees one hand release a sling with a small lead shot within it; then the sling is spun…once…twice…three times and released back in his direction, followed by her lightning dive into a side room for cover. His eyes tracked the lead shot coming at its target…the billiard ball…
He has just enough time to hear the front doors giving way from the mobs relentless pounding before the lead shot makes impact; and detonates the fiery witches brew held within.
Needless to say, the ending for Master Gordon was both bright and fiery.
As the mob rushes about through the smoke and scorched room they see someone else has already done much of their work and commence to plundering all they can take of value…no one pays attention to the smoldering, scorched and torn corpse by the banister that was the former Master Gordon.
Word soon reaches them that the rest of the assassins guild has been crushed, the last dragged down unto death; the liberation of Providence is at last accomplished.
The cost though has been high, for many are injured, some so bad they will join the fallen before the next dawn is seen. Buildings and homes have been destroyed or damaged; yet the town celebrates, for so long they have been terrorized by the Guild of Assassins and now they are free.
The mysterious lady and her Associate showed that the guild could be beaten, helped arm and organize them; and now they are free.
She with the Amethyst eyes walks among them in ease, dressed to appear as any other person, not wanting to be found out. Her grandfather and family now rest, the latter avenged once and for all; in taking her home and family she has returned the favor in spades, taking the town of Providence from the guild while shattering it at the same time.
And in the same quest, her Associate has won his name and honor back.
That evening from a nearby hilltop she and Shan Fae watch the fireworks of victory soar over Providence. Many have died to win their freedom, and wonder who the mysterious amethyst eyed lady actually is; some have speculated she is not human, being an avenging angel from the heavens sent to answer their desperate prayers.
"My lady," he begins, somewhat abashed as his voice cracks ever so slightly with emotion, "I wish you could stay here; there is plenty for us to do together, maybe…" he looked to see where her ever handy throwing knife was located, and shifted slightly to put a hunk of wood between her and his manhood…
It never hurts to be safe when it comes to her skill with those throwing knives…
"Maybe we could even have a family together…I don’t even know your real name yet, or if you even have one. It’s the one question of yourself you never answered…" he asked with a rueful look on his face; not even sure if she will answer him.
She smiled softly, reached out for his hand and then motioned with her fingers over his palm; revealing in the intricate sign language more than he ever could have imagined.
His eyes just widened in absolute shock!
Never had he made the connection…he never would have!
Her eyes glimmered with mischief and amusement, the amethyst fires dancing to and fro; as he accepts at last that she is the daughter of his long dead sister; the one who the four assassins – Finneous, Gordon, Gerald and
Cinnius had murdered at the order of the now deceased Grandfather of Assassins.
She is HIS NEICE!!!
His shocked look remains until she eases up on her tippy toes, and gently kisses him on the lips; arms wrapping about his neck. He looks into her eyes, and sees the warmth and love reflected back at him, and yet, another secret her smile tells of more news coming his way…
She softly strokes his cheek with one set of fingers, conveying in what most would regard as a gesture of affection, yet is their silent hand language, the next shock of his life…
Make those two shocks…
"You’re kidding?" he says, backing up a short distance within her grasp.
She shakes her head to let him know she is not kidding or jesting in the least…
She is going to stay in Providence with him; and there is even better news…they will have a family of their own after all; as she gently takes one of his hands in her own and places it upon her belly, letting him imagine the life growing within, though he knows it will be months yet before the first kicks will be felt…
"Oh my lady, I am so happy for the both of us…" as he dances around like a drunken bumble bee, she just shakes her head, rolling eyes to the heavens and covers her face from the embarrassing mannerism he is so displaying.
"Master Shan…" a voice comes from nearby, causing the two of them to see a band of townsfolk coming over; munching away on the remains of the wild boars he so generously provided for their victory feast.
"Master Shan," the new mayor of Providence spoke, his face covered in the sauce used to baste the boar’s ribs, "can you tell us what happened to the guilds Grandfather? You were seen to capture him, and take him away, if he is still alive we want to execute him ourselves…"
Carrying a sheepish look of consternation on his face Shan Fae looks at them, gulps, looks to his lady who just shrugs her shoulders, and looks back to the mayor…
"No the Grandfather is no longer alive," Shan Fae said, "lets just say he was bored to death…"
He looks back to his lady, and all that they have accomplished. For as with her uncle, she was trained by Shan Tiel in the ways and secrets of the ninja, the feared and deadly assassins of the Far East, to give her the edge among the deadliest killers of the western lands.
Shan Fae just watches as her gaze lifts up to the night sky; the clusters of stars forming a river high in the heavens above, rendering unto her a mysterious, unworldly presence. It is that river of stars she has chosen as her personal name…"Pan li Lung," or the "Celestial River Dragon of the Heavens."
It also has a second and more fitting name…
"One who delivers vengeance for the innocent and the helpless."
And so it is that this tale of the Assassins Gambit comes to an end; two who risked all for justice, and to see the people of Providence free of the Assassins Guild have won the game. They now enter into the life of a family, and a time of peace. Yet should the need arise, they will go to do battle against any others who wish to take their home away…
So one story closes; and a new legend, of she who has the amethyst eyes is born.
(fin)
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