Ashes of the Sterling Legacy

Chapter 8: Echoes of the Past

A ghost does not bleed, but the men who made him a ghost certainly can.

Arthur did not pull his hand away from the leather scroll. He kept his fingers resting lightly on the parchment, his body completely still beneath the heavy silver plates of his father ancestral armor. His mind raced, calculating the exact distance between himself, the pedestal, and the deep shadow in the corner where the voice had originated.

A tall, slender figure stepped forward into the dim illumination of the singular wall torch. He wore no armor, only form-fitting black leather that seemed to swallow the light around it. His face was partially covered by a dark silk mask, but his eyes were entirely visible, sharp, cold, and filled with a twisted sense of amusement.

"I knew I recognized that walk when you crossed the courtyard," the man said, his voice a low, raspy whisper that sounded like dry leaves scraping across stone. "The way you hold your shoulders. The way you carry the weight of that silver breastplate. You look exactly like your father did right before I drove a blade through his ribs."

Arthur slowly turned his torso, his gaze locking onto the killer eyes. "Kaelen."

"So you do remember me," Kaelen said, a cruel smile stretching the fabric of his mask. "I am truly honored, little prince. When Victor told me that someone had survived the ravine five years ago, I did not want to believe it. I took great pride in clearing out the Sterling bloodline. It seems I was sloppy."

"You were very sloppy," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a freezing, dead register. "Because you left me alive to hunt you down."

"You think you are the hunter here?" Kaelen laughed softly, the sound entirely devoid of real mirth. "You walked straight into a cage, boy. Look around you. You are in the deepest vault of the inner ring. Nobody can hear you scream down here."

"I do not plan on screaming," Arthur said.

In a fraction of a second, the space between them vanished. Kaelen moved with terrifying, unnatural speed, sliding through the shadows of the narrow archive aisle like an eel in water. A long, slender obsidian dagger appeared in his right hand, the edge coated in a thick, shimmering purple liquid that smelled faintly of bitter almonds. He thrust the blade directly toward the exposed gap beneath Arthur helmet.

Arthur did not panic. He did not retreat. He fell back on the precise, immovable defense taught by Master Vance during his grueling years of training in the frozen peaks. He pivoted his left heel slightly, shifting his center of gravity backward just enough to let the poisoned blade graze the polished surface of his shoulder plate with a harsh metallic screech.

"Fast," Kaelen muttered, instantly twisting his wrist to reverse the strike, aiming a secondary hidden blade from his left sleeve toward Arthur liver. "But you cannot defend against what you cannot see."

"I can see you perfectly," Arthur said.

Arthur brought his right forearm down like a hammer, utilizing the thick iron bracer of his armor to intercept Kaelen left wrist. The impact was loud and solid, stopping the hidden blade a mere inch from his flank. Instead of pushing the assassin back, Arthur closed the distance even further, stepping inside Kaelen guard to limit the reach of the longer obsidian dagger.

"You fight differently," Kaelen hissed, his breath hot against Arthur visor as their arms locked together in a frantic struggle for leverage. "This is not the standard Sterling style. Where did you learn this?"

"From a man who knows how to kill traitors," Arthur said.

Kaelen twisted his body with immense flexibility, throwing his weight backward to break the lock. As he detached himself, he kicked out with his right boot, revealing a spring-loaded toe blade that snapped toward Arthur throat. Arthur tilted his head back, the steel tip missing his chin by a hair, then counter-attacked with a short, brutal palm strike aimed directly at the assassin sternum.

Kaelen blocked the strike with the flat of his dagger, but the sheer physical force of the blow rattled his teeth and forced him to stumble backward into a tall wooden shelf filled with ancient legal ledgers. A shower of dust and loose parchment fell over his shoulders.

"You are stronger than your father was," Kaelen said, wiping a smear of dark blood from his mouth as he regained his balance. "He relied too much on his cosmic energy aura. You fight like a wild animal."

"My father was a man of honor," Arthur said, stepping forward through the falling paper, his boots heavy and unyielding on the stone floor. "I am not."

"Good," Kaelen snarled, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Then let us see how your honor handles this."

The assassin reached into his leather vest, tearing open three small clay spheres. He dropped them at his feet, and a thick, unnatural cloud of dense black smoke erupted instantly, obscuring the entire narrow aisle. The scent of poison filled the air, stinging Arthur eyes and throat.

Arthur closed his eyes completely. He did not need them. He listened to the shifting of the air, the faint scrape of leather against granite, and the rhythm of Kaelen breathing.

A sharp whistle cut through the smoke from the left side. Arthur raised his left arm, catching two poisoned throwing stars on the thickest part of his shoulder guard. Before the metal stars could even drop to the floor, Kaelen materialized from the right side, his obsidian dagger plunging downward toward the back of Arthur neck.

"Die, ghost," Kaelen yelled.

Arthur did not move his head. He waited until the very last millisecond, until the tip of the blade was close enough to scratch his skin. Then, with a sudden, explosive rotation of his hips, he ducked underneath the strike. He reached out with two fingers, channeling a tiny, highly concentrated pulse of physical force directly into his fingertips.

He struck Kaelen right beneath the armpit, hitting the central neural cluster with absolute precision.

Kaelen entire body stiffened instantly. The obsidian dagger slipped from his paralyzed fingers, clattering loudly against the stone cobblestones. His eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror as the paralysis spread rapidly down his torso and into his legs, locking his muscles into rigid blocks. He collapsed sideways, crashing heavily into the iron base of the document pedestal.

"What did you do to me?" Kaelen gasped, his jaw barely able to move as he stared up at Arthur from the floor. "I cannot feel my limbs."

Arthur walked over to the paralyzed assassin, looking down at him without a single ounce of mercy in his eyes. He reached out with his boot and kicked the obsidian dagger far into the shadows of the archive.

"It is a vital nerve strike," Arthur said, his voice flat and smooth. "Your body will not move for at least three hours, Kaelen. By the time the guards find you, I will be long gone."

"Victor will find you," Kaelen whispered, spit bubbling at the corner of his lips as he struggled to breathe. "The Crown Prince will hunt you to the ends of the earth. You cannot change what happened five years ago. Your family is dead. Your legacy is ashes."

"My legacy is standing right in front of you," Arthur said.

He turned away from the paralyzed killer, walking back to the stone pedestal in the center of the vault. He reached down and picked up the leather bound scroll, sliding the signed imperial treaty securely beneath the silver breastplate of his armor, making sure the official wax seals were protected against his chest.

"This document will destroy your master," Arthur said to the silent room.

He turned on his heel and walked rapidly back toward the restricted archive entrance, his heavy iron boots clicking against the floorboards as he prepared to exit the Ministry of Records the same way he had entered.

Before Arthur could reach the threshold, a sudden, loud, mechanical clang resonated violently through the granite walls. The massive, reinforced iron security doors of the Ministry slammed shut with immense force, the thick bolts sliding into the stone frames from the outside with a heavy, definitive thud.

Arthur lunged forward, grabbing the iron handle of the main door, but it was completely locked down.

A low, sinister hissing sound began to echo from the high stone ceilings. Arthur looked up, his eyes narrowing as he saw a thick, green, fast-acting vapor pouring aggressively out of the ventilation grates, rapidly filling the upper tiers of the room and dropping toward the floor like a deadly blanket of fog.