A Chivalrous Tail: The Assassins Code 2

A horse grazed quietly near the wall of one of the Northern Fortress Cities.  The guards payed it no mind, horses were common enough.  If they had seen who had been riding that horse they would have been a bit more alert.  He sat at the base of that great wall and waited for the guards to pass.  The Assassin had timed out there patrol and counted how many made up each patrol.  A pair would walk by then a half minute of nothing followed by another pair, then almost fifteen minutes of nothing followed by another patrol.  Rinse, wash, repeat.

He put on his camouflaged cloak when the patrol left.  One side of the cloak was colored like stones and concrete, mostly grays and blues.  The other side dyed shades green and brown like a forest.  If he needed to the Assassin could disappear into almost any background.  Unfortunately the wolves used their noses as much as eyesight for tracking.

The Assassin waited for another patrol to pass and started up the side of the wall, his nimble fingers finding holds in the rough stone.  A few minutes later he watched another patrol walk past him.  As soon as they were well away he pulled himself over the wall and into the great city.  He looked back over the wall, twenty maybe twenty-five feet in a few minutes he could do better.

He walked along the wall for a bit trying to find the easiest way down.  The whole structure slopped towards the city getting wider near the base probably in the hopes that if it fell to an army it would fall out not in.  It reminded him of a bowl.

The sound of running boots snapped him from his thoughts.  The next patrol was running right at him.

“Told you I smelled human.  What are ya about?  Humans ain’t allowed on the wall.” One of the wolves shouted at him.  The three of them took defensive positions, two in front one behind with a bow, only the archer readied his weapon.  He could kill three guards... three?  Had he miscounted, a sudden flare of light at one of the guard towers answered him, the fourth had set off the alarm. No doubt several guard units were already on their way to this stretch of wall.

“Well?  I’m needing an answer!” Came the gruff voice of the wolven guard.  The Assassin looked over his shoulder for the other patrol.  He couldn’t see them but they were probably running towards him.  One of the guards in front of him stepped forward The Assassin stepped back as well and drew out his short sword.

“Looks like he wants a fight.” The advancing guard seemed amused by the thought.

“Then let’s give him one.” The other swordsman replied.  A throwing knife rushed past his face and he gasped but didn’t break his defensive stance.  “Where did that come from?!”

“Looks like yer aim is off boy.” The first laughed.

“Not really.” The archer answered he was bleeding from one shoulder and his bowstring had been cut “I can’t move my right arm.” The archer seemed to be in shock, he was new to the patrol and had not seen any sort of action. In fact it was his first injury on the job.  The two sword wielding guards looked back at their foe, realizing he just might be dangerous.

The first guard rushed him his shield held high pulling it back and slashing out when he neared his opponent.  The Assassin leapt back from the slash and pivoted on his heel narrowly dodging a thrust from the second guard.  The first came back at him punching out his shield as he got close trying to nock him off the wall.  The Assassin jumped back again falling into a roll as the first tried to cut him down where he landed.

The Assassin stood up from the roll perfectly balanced and immediately took a defensive posture as the two guards stalked in.  The sound of boots behind him warned of the other patrols arrival.  The Assassin looked over his shoulder again then back at the two in front of him.  The missing soldier from before was also running to reinforce the two in front of him.

The Assassin didn’t want to fight seven armed guards and if he did he wouldn’t escape uninjured.  In battle improvisation is a fighters best friend and some times risks must be taken to insure survival. So say the masters.

The Assassin sheathed his short sword and bowed to the two who had been fighting him, they looked at each other equally confused.  He turned and stepped back almost backwards off the wall.  He pulled back one foot and kicked it’s metal heel on the stone below him and then back flipped off the wall twisting so that his back was facing it.

The guards ran to where he had been and stared over the wall.  The Assassin falling rapidly towards the ground could only hope this crazy trick would work.  The metal plates on the heels of his boots hit the wall first and he slid down the side of the wall sparks flying wildly behind him.  And so he escaped capture or death, riding a wall of rock twenty-five feet to the ground one hand held out before him the other behind him, cloak snapping frantically as he rushed down the slope of the wall.  The whole ride lasted a few seconds but that was a few seconds he would remember to his dying day.

Up above seven stunned and amazed guards watched his descent.  And watched as he jumped horizontally away from the wall rolling to stop, relatively unharmed.  “He’s mad.” The first guard gasped.

“Absolutely insane.” Another agreed

“I can’t move my right arm... he broke it... my arm... guys...” The forgotten archer victim muttered repeatedly.

At the bottom of the wall the Assassin looked back up at the guards then at the two long scratch marks on the wall and finally to his feet were the grass burned up under his glowing heels.  He silently thanked the makers of the boots for insulating them, he had not even thought about the heat before jumping off the wall.  He looked at it again and grinned, He knew he could do better.  He turned on his heel, grinding burnt grass into ash, and ran into the city.