Ok, here is something that popped into my head....I get so many ideas, that it really annoys me. Seriously. I have to learn to focus. Anyways, enough whining. This story was kinda just jotted down in Word and is very rough. It is about a man (a boy, really) that is part of a country's elite assassination guild. It's going to be a story of intrigue, betrayal, and how thoughtless obedience may be good for a ruling body to keep control of its citizens, but not necessarily good for those it commands. I plan (hope, really) to make it a series called the Onyx Throne, and this is tentatively titled:


Pieces of the Game



♦ Placed pieces♦




We were born of strife
Molded into conscienceless tools of war
We bring a message to those who would do harm
To our throne, to our people, to our honor
We are the shadows that can only exist in light

-Morslindas, shadow agent



Ultain bowed deeply to the ambassador. He left the meeting chamber quickly and silently. He didn’t look back. He didn’t touch the scroll case hidden under his cape and he didn’t make eye contact with any of the many travelers in the wide hallways that made up the upper palace. There was nothing new for him to see here in any case. Ultain had been coming to the upper palace, the seat of the Onyx Throne in the city of Promise, for many months now. His master had said it was training to make him comfortable in the world of the nobles. There would come a time when he would be called upon by the Onyx Throne to perform his duty. His master had said that his mission would most likely take him to an environment much like that of the upper palace.

So for that reason, Ultain had been used—unhappily, he might add—as a courier by his master. He wanted to do more training. He wanted to learn the secret ways of the agents. He wanted to be like his father. His master has repeatedly explained to him that what he was doing was important to his growth. That the documents he carried were some of the most prized objects of the Onyx Throne.

Even though Ultain met with ambassadors and nobility several times a quarter, he found it hard to believe that anything they needed transported by a fifteen turns old boy could be of any value.

Thinking about the whole affair always made him cross. He considered dallying in the Grand Museum at the center of the palace instead of going straight back to his master. That was one of the only joys he experienced coming here. The museum contained a vast repository of the history of the Onyx Throne. Ultain thought most of it dull, but was always fascinated by the pieces attributed to the records of the Shadow Agents. Of course there were more precious pieces in the Dome of Shadows, the ancestral headquarters of the agency, but the ones at the Grand Museum just seemed more exciting.

As part of his training, as his master put it, Ultain had to learn every single hallway, passage way, stairway, and room location from the maps he was provided. His master had gravely explained to him that those maps were rare. He was sworn, quite seriously, to secrecy. No one is to know that we have possession of these maps, Ultain. Master had said with a grim smile. There are some close to the Onyx Throne that would construe our use of them as an opening to paths, literal and figurative, that shouldn’t be available to our brotherhood.

Ultain thought for a moment before choosing a series of narrow hallways that would provide the least congested path to the Grand Museum. Those hallways seemed to be use by the servants for the most part. They bowed politely to him when they passed, and Ultain nodded his head in return. Some of the servants were young—about his age—and they talked quietly to each other when they appeared in groups. The boys carried on gruff little tales of the escapades they performed. The girls giggled and whispered about lords knew what, especially when he passed them. Ultain felt a bit envious that those youths were able to enjoy each others company. He didn’t have such an opportunity. He was currently the youngest at the Dome of Shadows by a long stretch. The closest in age to him was Jareno, and he was at least twelve turns his senior. Jareno didn’t show any interest in dealing with Ultain outside of training.






♦ Opening Move ♦



When the Onyx Throne calls
I will be ready to walk the halls
of the enemy like an invisible hand
of that throne itself. For my land
I will take a life
I will give my life
For the Onyx Throne calls

-anonymous shadow agent



There wasn’t too much blood. At least not as much bleeding as Ultain expected there to be. The blade had missed his vital organs, so he would live. That is, if he didn’t fall down the narrow staircase and dash open his skull on a step. He paused for a minute on a landing, trying to catch his breath and listening for any sounds of pursuit. He had chosen a little used staircase of the lower palace to make his escape when the screaming started. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was trailing one of his body fluids through the Onyx Throne’s halls. So far he hadn’t met anyone as he stumbled down into the restricted common levels. He had also looked back several times during his descent and only saw small scatterings of red drops left in his wake. His wounds stung fiercely but he dare not look at them. He kept his bundled cape pressed to his side and tried his best to ignore the damage.

The pain was a small price to pay for his stupidity. He should have known better. He should have kept his senses and not let that fool of a noble provoke him. Even with the rich boy’s toadies’ cutting words battering at him, he was able to grit his teeth and bow his head. Everything would have been fine if the female with the preening buffoon didn’t find Ultain’s demurring to the noble so amusing. How could he continue to back down then? But, no, Ultain knew that he had made a mistake. He could already hear his master’s reproving voice. Ultain, he would say, how many times have I warned you to control your pride? Your role is to serve. Our kind must move in silence, act in silence, and wait in silence when not called upon.

At least he hadn’t killed the dandy. He wasn’t in any danger of dying as long as his hanger-ons got him some medical attention quickly. Ultain had made sure not to pierce the noble too deeply with his dagger. He only wished that the noble’s sword had been used just as deftly. The damned fool nearly decapitated him once or twice. Ultain couldn’t help taunting him when the noble’s swordsmanship was so obviously lacking. It also didn’t help that the dandy was more than seven years Ultain’s senior, and his friends’ jeers made regarding the age gap, enraged the noble even further. The whole situation was rather ridiculous!

Ultain allowed himself a wild giggle before he was forced to suppress it with a sharp gasp. It only hurts when I laugh, he thought to himself ruefully. He quickened his pace as much as his body would permit, and was finally able to reach a landing with access to the Military Quarter. No one that wasn’t in the service of the Onyx Throne was likely to enter there. He finally felt like he could relax at least a little bit.

The Military Quarter—or the MILK as its inhabitants were wont to call it—was a strange paradoxical mixture of order and disorder. Regular soldiers from most every division of the Onyx Throne’s forces wandered in small groups horsing about. Some swayed wildly; still high on whatever intoxicant they had taken in at the various play palaces that made a good living off the steady stream out of the MILK. Alternately, there were ranked squads and divisions of ground assault forces that marched silently through the wide avenues that split up the large structures that housed the various forces.

The loud and playful soldiers on leave were mostly ignored by the others on duty. That was unless they interfered with the marching formations. That was when the Military Quarter Watchers—or MILK Men—seemed to appear to apprehend the offending soldiers. On most occasions the intoxicated men and women went with the MILK Men with little fuss, but there were times when they had to be restrained.

It was just one of these lively encounters that Ultain weaved deliriously and quite innocently into. One of the MILK Men felt Ultain stumble into her and assumed he was attempting to assault her. She pushed him back with a warning shock from her watch-stick. Ultain’s body moved with a mind of its own. The MILK Man—or woman, in this case—was down on the ground with a broken arm before Ultain knew what he had done.

He didn’t have time to open his mouth to explain before watch-sticks from every direction shot more voltage through him than his body could handle. The last thing he saw as his sight faded was a helmeted face staring down at him. The last thing he thought as his mind began to shut down was that his master was going to kill him.