Stalemate | A Rise To Power

𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅ ◈ ⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

His first stop was at the nearest tavern. Some coins loosened tongues, and it didn't take him long to confirm that Filip was in the South negotiating with Ulysses. The assassin paid for his beverage before slipping out and walking down the Main Road. He didn't need a compass to know which way he was going, even with his hood pulled down his face, and he strode at a fast pace, swerving around others using the road. He could easily detect highwaymen, knowing their moves, and kept out of their way.

After a few hours of walking, he turned left and strode through the cobbled roads of a town, avoiding horse dung as he walked. The clatter of horse hooves on the road rang throughout the village, along with the noises of shouting and haggling between villagers. No one paid him much heed, all absorbed in their own daily business. In the West, most commoners wore short tunics, sweating in the hot weather, unlike the senators and rich, who wore silk togas to distinguish their rank. The assassin was the only one wearing boots instead of sandals, and many stared at him as he strode through, a hooded stranger carrying weapons. None spoke of it, however; he moved so quickly and silently that most people would later doubt that they had seen him at all.

He kept his head down as he walked to the fountain in the middle of four conjoining roads. It towered above him, an impressive piece of architecture with the statue of a male archer balancing on top of a large slab. Shops clustered together tightly around the fountain; brooch makers, chandlers, pubs, even a few blacksmiths. He stopped to glance up at the impressive temple towering above the other buildings. He could hear hymns spilling out from the large open entryway as people sang in The Giving, a ceremony held every year before the harvest was collected.

The sound of the singing was melancholy and floated across the air to where he stood, almost fully masked by the trickle of the fountain, but still audible as it blended with the organ; a mix of baritones and altos mixed to make a haunting tune, singing to the gods and praying for them to have mercy.

"With the love you bestow upon us,

Prithee, save us all.

Bless our crops and spare our kin,

So that the fields may bloom.

Bring us food and save us from droughts,

Forgive us for our sin."

It began to rain as he turned, the droplets pattering loudly around him as the sky wept, but he didn't blink twice. Rain was a nuisance, but not a major problem. He bought a bundle of bread and cheese before striding into the stables for a tavern. A stable boy looked up, his eyes widening.

"Uh, sir, do you have a horse...?"

The assassin replied by hitting him in a pressure point in his neck, causing him to drop to the ground, unconscious. He smiled slightly as he opened a stable door and saddled a black, sturdy mare before climbing on.

"I do now," he informed the boy before tying his bundle of food to the horse and riding off. The bastard who owned the horse would probably be infuriated to find it missing, and the stable boy would be blamed. The poor boy would have a terrible day, but at least the assassin had dropped a silver Dagnate into his pocket for his troubles. He could go get a few drinks after.

After some time, he found the road beginning to thin, the pebbles turning to sand and the farms turning to dense forest. He took the next left, riding through trees until he found himself in front of a cave, the same one he had met his comrades at for hidden meetings.

It was so long ago. The Mainland Miscreants had not been together since Giulio betrayed Vittorio, sending the group down different directions.

Will they even be here? he wondered.