Chapter 3 The Novice

In the center of the city, shining like a beacon on a hill with its gleaming stone blocks, stood the Imperial Palace. It was large enough to be a city unto itself, with the Royal Family's castle, surrounded by the smaller but still luxurious houses of magistrates and other officials. And at the hill's edge, overlooking part of the city, was the Assassins Guild's headquarters. The Assassins had their own barracks and quarters, along with lookout posts, which made up the outer ring of the Imperial Palace. The Assassins were always on duty, ready to protect the Royal Family or the Imperial City at a moment's notice. From the hill, they could see the entire city, and for miles beyond it, should any enemies build an army and try to attack. It had been many centuries since anyone had tried to overthrow the Empire, but the Assassins remained on guard, every vigilant.

The Assassins Guild's headquarters was built of the same eggshell colored stone blocks, with training rooms, meditation rooms, and school rooms inside. It had a flat stone roof surrounded by ramparts for the sentries who stood guard at all hours of the day and night, keeping watch over the city. They watched to keep the people of the city safe, but also to watch them for any treasonous behavior. Usually, sentry duty was a solitary affair, done by a single Disciple in their robes of blue and black, but not tonight. Tonight, as the sentry stood watch, there was an audience of white robed Novices, dotted here and there with a brown robed Apprentice. They were huddled together at the rampart, passing around a spyglass.

"Hey, it's my turn," a couple of them said, trying to push in to the edge and take the glass.

"What's he doing?" another said.

The next generation of Assassins was watching Zorrik's progress through the city below. They all knew of his legendary status, though few of them had had the privilege of meeting him yet. Training with Zorrik didn't start until the last years of apprenticeship, and most of his students were older than the ones out tonight.

Members of the Assassins Guild usually came from high-status families, those living within the Palace walls. Children were often pledged for the training as a sign of fealty to the Royal Family, and came to the Guild not much older than toddlers. Even though they lived nearby, they would rarely see their families again after that, only at official functions, and the occasionally gifted private visit. Children would train as Novices until their early teens, and then graduate to Apprentices. This stage was the longest stage, the proving stage, and how long it lasted depended on the Apprentice. No apprenticeship lasted less than ten years, with many taking twenty. Becoming an Assassin wasn't guaranteed, and most never passed the apprenticeship stage. The few that did would graduate to Disciple, where they would hone their crafts by training one-on-one with a Master, who would ultimately decide their fate. A Disciple's Master would decide when their training was finished, whether they were better suited to stealth missions or soldiering, and recommend what part of the Empire to assign them to.

The young Assassins-in-training gasped as they watched Zorrik leap from the market building, and then cheered as he made his landing. The cheering was short-lived, and they all gasped again as he slipped down the tile roof. Then they sighed in relief as he recovered. The Disciple standing sentry glanced their way with a huff, but a tiny smile touched the corners of his mouth.

"Come on. Stop hogging the spyglass," a young girl said. Her hair was tied back in an intricate plait. It wasn't for fashion, but a practical way to keep the girl's hair out of her face as she trained. She was small, though, only a few years into her training, and the older girls and boys ignored her.

"I can't see," she complained again, her high voice drowned out by the excited exclamations of the others. Finally, she angrily pushed her way past a few of her fellow Novices and yanked on the brown, bell-shaped sleeve of the boy holding the spyglass.

The boy's arm slipped down, and he almost dropped the glass. "Hey!" he growled. "You almost made me break it."

"I wanna look too," the little girl said.

The boy laughed and lifted the glass back up to his eye. "Nobody cares what you want."

The small Novice crossed her arms and pouted her lips. She huffed at the boy, but he ignored her. The other kids had all gone back to trying to see Zorrik, but they had all been watching the argument between their fellow students and had lost track of the Master Assassin. They scanned the rooftops for him, but he was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, the Apprentice with the spyglass shouted, "There!" As they all followed his gaze, trying to see what he was seeing, he whispered, "What is that?"

The others grew quiet and looked over at him. He leaned in, as if he could get closer, and then, in a strained voice, said, "It's a Grendval."

The children gasped, and the small novice hopped up and down. "I wanna see, I wanna see!" she squeaked.

Again, the boy ignored her, barely able to hear her over the din of excited voices. They all yelled and cheered as Zorrik fought the beast far below them. Even the sentry stepped closer to the edge of the rampart to squint at the action. The small girl, though, grew more and more frustrated. Finally, she stepped back up to the boy and stomped on his foot as hard as she could.

The boy cried out in pain and handed the spyglass to another boy standing next to him. He rubbed his foot and turned to the small Novice.

"You're going to regret that," he growled, but the girl was undeterred.

As the boy reached for her, a deep voice cut through the chaos. "Enough," it said, calmly. "Let her look."