The Stryker Chronicles

Prologue

The moon stole slowly over the horizon as the weak sun of winter dipped, illuminating the spires and towers of Varaba. It was going to be a cold night, and an ominous rumbling from the eastern mountains suggested snowfall.

Slowly, the streets emptied as the grand clock in the main square neared curfew time. Shopkeepers put their shutters down and locked their shops. The raucous cheers of a group of youths clustered around a pair of snarling dogs stopped as they too ran home, to a hot meal and a warm bed. As a stark opposite, the beggar children shrank into doorways and tried to find shelter wherever they could, huddling against each other in their rags. The chatter of thousands of men and women faded from hearing as the Night Patrols began making their rounds. Occasionally there was a shout as they found a drunkard or a straggler on the streets. Their misery would no doubt be ended soon enough.

There was a slithering sound as a masked man, with hair as black as ink, unfolded himself from an abandoned fruit crate in the shadows of a side alley. The man had a tattoo on his arm, a rather detailed impression of a cat; or was it a panther? In any case, it was just as black as his mask and his clothes; not to mention his skin. The tall, muscular man stretched himself with a tiny groan. What a small fucking crate: he was gonna find the person who'd had the bright idea to pack him in that stinking apple truck. He pulled out a small case from under his clothes and cracked his knuckles as quietly as possible. He had no intention whatsoever of getting captured by one of the moronic Patrol squads. No time to waste, anyway. The mystery man brought his arm closer to his face as he tapped a grey armband. A hologram appeared just above it, showing a blinking red line leading to a green destination point. The man frowned and manipulated the armband; almost instantly, the hologram spread to show the whole city of Varaha in a three-dimensional view. Committing the route to memory, the black-robed man prepared to leave.

Suddenly he froze as a final shutter banged far above him and quickly ducked into the shadows. A few half-rotten tomatoes splashed onto the alley floor (clearly a more affluent family, the poor ones would happily have killed for even one of the fruits) and the man relaxed. He slipped out of the alley, darting looks all around as he made his way silently through the eerily silent town. A dirty tomcat hissed as the man made his way across the street, and darted into the newly vacated alley.

After an hour of weaving around Patrols and idiot partygoers, he was almost at the City Hall. The snow had started falling. Although it did muffle his footsteps, it also made hearing others much, much harder. The man turned another corner and almost ran straight into a guard, before catching himself and leaping swiftly away. Luckily, the guard was drinking from a bottle he and his comrades were passing around; the man had neither been heard nor seen. Silent as a predator stalking his kill, he climbed nimbly up a ladder on the side of the City Hall to the roof, praying that none of the guards looked his way. The man took a moment to catch his breath after an hour of hiding and running. Considered separately, these are easy enough tasks; when combined, they became nearly impossible to accomplish, especially in a well-built, walled city such as Varaha. Then he looked around him, alert for any signs of an ambush. Being surprised was never a good sign of your level of preparation. It was embarrassing enough that he'd nearly run into a stupid City guard. So very, very amateurish of him.

He took the case from his robes. Opening it almost reverentially, he put together pieces of metal and wood, until he held an odd weapon in his hands. It looked almost like a blowpipe, except attached to a rifle with telescopic sights. He grinned - it was only the second time he'd got to use it, and it was always exhilarating to use a new weapon to execute a job. Breathing out to relax his body, the assassin dropped to the ground and sighted a house just across the street. Focusing his trained eyes, he could make out an indistinct form sitting in a chair. The man breathed in and out once more, before shooting. There was a small whoosh and crack as the dart penetrated the glass and then the man's neck.
The assassin waited. Then the man got up and turned to face the window. Even from the next rooftop, he could see his face - or rather the lack of it. A golem! It was a trap! He sprang to his feet and pulled his dagger, putting his centre of gravity low. Then a sense of preternatural stillness invaded his being, and he ducked and rolled. There was an ear-splitting crash as a slender woman embedded a long, curved katana into the clay where he had just been sitting. She cursed and pulled at it.

He snatched up the rifle and aimed it at the other assassin, firing without hesitation. She froze and toppled off the roof. He chucked the rifle off along with her - he had no need of it when he had his dagger. The assassin was starting to panic slightly...this job was supposed to be easy money, a hit-and-run. Not a duel with actual attackers. He didn't have the weapons for such an encounter, nor the energy.

He heard a scrape behind him, and whirled to see a muscular, topless man brandishing an axe walking in an unhurried fashion towards him. Then he just lost patience and ran at the dude, ducking and slashing.... but he never hit flesh. SHIT! It was an illusion to get him off balance. But his blade had been just a second too late, for he could feel a sharp, cold surface against the tender skin of his neck, just against his jugular vein. A soft voice hissed into his ear, "You really need to learn some new tricks, love. Jumping you is almost too easy. Also, dumbass, you forgot to update your visor. You would have seen us coming a mile away. "

Then the chilly blade invaded his throat, and he felt no more.

To Be Continued