Pieces

Thronebreaker, pt 1

I thought it would better suit the idea of WattPad if I posted a short story in a few segments. This is an intro to a character nicknamed Thronebreaker who will eventually get her own book. Two more segments will follow. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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The year the Empire fell began like any other in recent memory: celebration.

The Assassin knew the night would end with blood.

She crouched at the edge of the cliff overlooking the city of Veneshal. Black strands of hair brushed her tanned cheek, and she swept them away, eyes fixed on her goal far below. She peered into the distant shadows and dove.

Her grey cloak whipped behind her as she plummeted three hundred feet toward the highest tower of the magnificent building below. A cloud of black dust burst around her, and she froze in the air a hand's length above the stone. Her foot touched down with serene poise.

The Assassin observed the next rooftop of the magnificent structure. She stood invisible in the night, hooded and covered in loose grey fabric, hidden from the city lights. Glimmering rings sat on pedestals around the manors of nobility. They twinkled in the night like stars fallen to the earth.

Refocused magic. Arcanists are present.

The contract required a public killing, so the Assassin expected confrontation with a magic-user. She felt neither fear nor excitement at the challenge. She merely noted the complication and planned her reactions.

Throughout Veneshal, ornate paper lanterns hung above commoners' doorframes in such great numbers that the few clouds and the rippling bay around the port city glowed like amber. Music and the clamor of the New Year's celebration rose to the assassin's ears.

But no building shone as bright, and no celebration echoed as loud as that on which the Assassin now stood. The Baricund dominated Veneshal's skyline, both a fortress and the grand mansion of the Condral family, nobles with blood ties to the Emperor himself. Tarrandin Condral oversaw all trade that came through the docks, so he possessed enough wealth for frivolity. He held feasts and diversions year-round. Tonight's celebration surpassed them all. Based on the plan the Assassin had been given, several thousand favored attendees would be inside the Baricund. The crowd outside doubled that number.

Irrelevant to the mission. The ground exits are a worst-case option. Not even a team of Arcanists can keep up with me once I get outside.

Fifteen men guarded the courtyard below, sweating in shining plate armor. The unlucky few assigned to crowd control. Probably another score of guards within.

No one watched the rooftop. The cliff face jutted out high above the Baricund. Rappelling down was impossible.

Then again, no one has seen powers like mine.

She gazed down at the stone roof and pictured the floor plans she memorized. Tarrandin would have withdrawn to the private ballroom by now, surrounded by four hundred chosen guests. His top lackeys and businessmen, most likely. Anyone connected to Hazfis Ral.

Ral's criminal ties spread throughout every major city and town across the Empire. On receiving her mission, the Assassin wondered whether the enigmatic figure that indirectly purchased her services was Ral himself. Counting Tarrandin Condral, four of her last seven targets worked in Ral's network. He's cleaning house, or someone is sending him a message.

But the Assassin was not concerned about Hazfis Ral. The man with the money does not matter. I have a contract; I will fulfill it.

She picked one stone on the rooftop and reached out in her mind. Shadows stretched and oozed like spilled ink running across a sheet of paper. At her command, the darkness gathered in a slow swirl around her chosen stone until she could not see it. A whip-crack broke the silence as the stone shattered. The pool of shadow exerted tremendous force on the adjacent stones. Jagged lines spider-webbed out from the edges.