CHAPTER THREE – THE BLADES OF OSIRIS! 

Cairo, Egypt 

Khalid took off his costume and placed them in a universal cleaning machine in the room. The room was prominently dark, the only source of light being a window, more of a hole, very close to the ceiling. This was his lair. His weapons hung around the room, knives, arrows, crossbows, knuckle blades, shurikens and all sorts of crude assassinator weapons. The lair was an underground two-bedroom apartment situated beneath a continental hotel in Cairo. All his training and weapons had been sponsored and taken care of by a lady who chose to be referred to as Baroness. She had seen him assassinate people in the streets of Cairo and was impressed by how neat and stealthy, though amateur, he had done the jobs. She had approached him after one kill, the innocent-yet-determined look still in his eyes, and took him under her “wing”, though she was never close to him since then again. She bred him through different instructors in martial arts, acrobatics, weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. She had tested him with tasks, all of which he excelled. They shared a bond so close even with them not physically seeing. She aided him in his personal missions, given he had a clear reason. One of such was that which he had just done - eliminating a serial killer of Egyptian girls. The sticky substance came off his hands after seconds of scrubbing, washing and rinsing in the basin. He had a bath in his bathroom and retired to his room. He lay on his bed and began reminiscing on the day his father and mother died. No, the day his father and mother were assassinated. The day his life was flipped over like a gambling coin, the two sides heavily contrasted. The man who saved him from the coup that day sold him to some slave master the next day. From an imminent prince to a house worker in the slums of Alexandria, that was one bad flip. The coldness and inhumanity he saw in the slums turned his heart cold. It was the survival of the fittest in the house. Boys fought and unintentionally killed their colleagues over food, water, even space. Somehow, he had managed to survive every fight he was involved in. His royal upbringing made him outstanding in the house as both workers and masters liked him. The workers would come to him for answers to clear their uncertainties and the masters would give him works that required intellectual capacities. Soon he was elevated to the indoor quarters of the masters. That was where he met the grand owner of the house and the man didn’t like him. Probably because he found his intelligence undeserving or because he was smarter than his own children, Khalid couldn’t tell. The man made sure he earned his food. Manly tasks were assigned to him, intellectual or not. The day he had access to the man’s private quarters, he didn’t hesitate in killing him, an act that changed him forever. He could not tell when such murderous intent germinated in him but he didn’t feel remorse after carrying it out. He handled it with such furtiveness that even amazed his own self. After then, he began plotting his escape. He involved most of his former teammates in his quest and used them as ploys to achieve his own escape. Their cries of death were still fresh in his ears, a sound that never bothered him. He began carrying out little assassinations in the streets of Alexandria before moving to Cairo, a much more fertile ground for his new business. This was where he “met” the Baroness. It wasn’t a real meeting as she communicated with him from the other side of her limo while he sat bodied on the other side. He was drugged inside the car and woke up in the apartment which now served as his lair. He heard the sound of clanging metal from his kitchen and quickly got up. He took a watch from his bedside table and removed one of its leather straps, revealing a blade which protruded from the case. Slowly and silently, he walked to his kitchen, following the drops of blood he saw along the way. He got to the kitchen and saw a black-clothed man lying with his back on the cabinet and his face to the blood-stained floor. The man held his abdominal region which dripped blood, mixing with the one dripping from his back. He was literally sitting on blood. Khalid didn’t let his defensive stance or caution ease as he was used to ploys similar to this. 

“Who are you?” he asked sternly, his gaze on the man as though he would spring up anytime. 

“Khalid” the man said weakly, he was obviously lacking strength. Khalid’s eyes widened at the mention of his name. Little to nobody knew of his existence in Cairo let alone his real name. To his clients, he referred to himself as the Armourer, a name one of them originally gave him, referencing his wide range of weapon availability at any given time. There was no use in feigning denial. This man knew him and knew him well. 

“Who are you?” he asked again, this time more seriously. A threat to the privacy of his business was not to be taken lightly. The man lifted his head and Khalid’s stance neutralized. The man who had saved him from the coup and sold him to some slave master the next day. Despite the effects of age on his facial appearance, he could still recognize him. He walked to the man and knelt beside him. “What happened to you and how did you find me?” he asked him. 

“At least save me first” the man muttered as he looked Khalid in the face. 

----- 

Hours later, the man work up to see himself well cleaned, bandaged and on a luxurious bed. His hands and legs being tied were the only not-so-fancy things. Khalid sat on a chair beside him, his gaze fixed like death on him. “How did you find me?” he repeated his question. 

The man sat up, his hands still tied. “A fine-looking lady. Her name was Nailah or Nalila, one of those whore-given names” he said with a better vigor than before. Khalid relaxed a bit. Nailah was the closest thing he had to a romantic encounter. But it ended the moment it began. He had saved her from some thugs in a dark alley. She had told him she loved the lethal way he dealt with the thugs. She had told him she couldn’t get home at that hour anymore as her landlord had closes the entrance by that time. He had offered to take her to an inn or hotel but she informed him that she was injured and still needed protection. He had taken her to his apartment with a blindfold on her eyes. Unknown to him she had tracked the route to his home and bugged his laptop. She had then reintroduced herself days later as a spy looking for an assassin. He was not the one she expected but was intrigued by his brutal yet compassionate gesture. He had told her he was not compassionate and his actions were more of irritation towards the thugs and pity for the possibility of her landing into another set of thugs. She had known his location and he couldn’t just relocate. What would the Baroness have thought of a girl busting him? They continued in a back and forth sequence of meetings till one day she paid him a surprise visit. They had gotten drunk, only her though, and she spilled her life story and most of her secrets. He had chosen to tell her of his life story too as a fair trade. 

“How did you find her?” he asked the man. 

“She was working for Hasani stupid” the man chuckled. “It never occurred to you did it?” 

“Why would he employ a spy?” Khalid asked further. 

“You are still a boy obviously. So many truths in front of you but you fail to grasp any” the man mocked him. Khalid flicked the watch-knife and brought it close to the man’s throat. 

“Don’t play games with me” he warned. “I’ve evened the save already. Killing you now won’t make any difference” he added. 

The man laughed. “I am a dead man either ways. I only came here to tell you the truth” 

“What truth man!” Khalid snapped. 

“The Blades of Osiris!” 

“What about them?” Khalid asked. 

“Your uncle Hasani planned the coup of your father on his coronation. The entire cabinet was aware. The city adjudicator, the priest, the pope, the port master, some foreign dignitaries, the kingmaker, they were all aware. They felt your father was too diplomatic. They needed someone who would be fierce and advance New Memphis into an empire like the old Egypt” the man paused. 

Khalid was silent. He just gazed at the man, his blade still close to the man’s throat. “Continue” 

“Hasani employed the services of the Osiris Blades, a team of elite swordsmen who loved the taste of blood and breaking of hymens more than wine. Everyone thought they were there to honor their pledge to the crown. But they were there for your father’s guards. The guards were loyal to your family and could never be bought over to Hasani’s side. They pledged to the crown, its rightful bearer. The assassination was clean and the deed was done. Only you couldn’t be found. Hasani has been tracing you for years till he got wind of a new assassin in the streets of Cairo. He wished to employ your services but the whore never reported back. He sent me to find and kill her but she had already told me about the real you. ” the man concluded. 

Khalid stared at the ground quietly for some minutes. The man never took his eyes off him. “I have three questions for you” he said finally. “Why did you save me only to sell me off later?” 

“I saved you because if felt like the right thing to do. You were not a threat yet so killing you would have been useless then” the man replied. “As for selling you, it was for both our benefits. It was a ploy to deceive the slave traders that I was one of them and you were just a commodity. Had the word of your escape spread faster, we both would have been dead” he explained. 

“Who put the sword through my mother?” Khalid asked, his gaze still on the ground. 

“One of the top-ranking blades. Horashul. He particularly requested to kill your mother” the man replied. He saw a tear drop to the ground from Khalid’s eyes. 

“Who took the shot on my father?” Khalid asked, this time his voice grave. 

The man looked away. He was silent. Khalid looked up, his eyes as red as death itself, if death was as red as they said. 

“Who shot my father?!” he thundered, standing up. 

“I pulled the shot” the man said.