Chapter 8 Morning

Zorrik woke with a strangled scream in his throat and his body covered in sweat. He took deep breaths, trying to slow his breathing and his racing heart. Daylight streamed in through his open shutters, and a light breeze was all that was left of the wind from the night before. Zorrik recovered quickly, pushing the dream from his mind, and looked over at the window. A small bird landed on the stone windowsill and chirped a few times. Its feathers were a deep purple and crimson with a shock of delicate, white breast feathers. It looked over at Zorrik, cocked its crested head, and chirped one last time before flying away.

Zorrik sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes. Maybe he was getting too old for this business, he thought, and then chuckled. He was still one of the best, and it was all he knew. What else was he going to do with the long years he had ahead? He dragged himself out of bed and stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. Once the sweat was washed away and he'd shaved, he felt refreshed and ready for the day. He quickly wrapped his red robes around him, and tied them with a black sash at his waist. Then he put his steel gray hair in the accustomed high ponytail, revealing the undercut beneath. Once he was dressed, he grabbed a piece of fruit from his kitchen and stepped out of his dwelling to greet the day.

Zorrik would normally be one of the first to rise. He loved watching the sky change from black to purple to orange, feeling the warmth of the morning sun before it became too hot to stand. So, it was strange for him to walk among the Assassins' barracks, seeing the young ones, half awake, leaving for breakfast and training. He knew the dining hall would be full, which is why he took the fruit. It wasn't an ideal breakfast for the coming hours of training, but it was still better than dealing with the curious stares and awed whispers of the young Assassins-in-training. He bit into the sweet fruit that was crisp and tasted of honey. At least it would give him a little energy.

From the barracks, he walked to the courtyard. Unlike most of the Royal Palace complex, the courtyard wasn't lined with stone. Instead, it had a simple dirt floor. The Assassins' Courtyard was used for training, where no punches were pulled, and no landing was softened. The last thing they needed was the Empire's elite soldiers suffering unnecessary injuries on stone floors. He walked along the edge of the courtyard, passing between the trees, and watched as one of the cohorts of younger Apprentices practiced their morning routines. Kicks and punches were delivered in unison. There were no exclamations or cries of power as they did it. An Assassin's job was secret, their strength silent. These students had been practicing this routine far beyond the need for a Master to model it, but a Master still supervised, walking between the rows of students, making sure their form was perfect. She noticed Zorrik out of the corner of her eye and nodded, ever so slightly.

Zorrik returned the nod and walked on. He had his own classes, but luckily, they were not until the afternoon. Normally, he would train on his own. Keeping in shape as an Assassin meant more than physical fitness and fight routines. There was also keeping the mind in shape and weapons practice. Each Assassin, once graduated to Novice, chose their own weapon to master, along with the use of various knives. Zorrik's weapon of choice was the bow. Practice would have to wait, though. This morning, Zorrik was meeting with the Grand Assassin and one of the Royals, to discuss what he'd learned the night before.

Once away from the Assassins' Headquarters, the opulence of the Royal Palace returned. Stone cobbled streets, flowering trees, fountains mocking the desert, and large houses all lined the way to the castle. Zorrik wasn't going to the castle, though. Even as an Assassin, invitations to the castle were few and far between. Instead, he made his way to an administrative building that acted as the Palace's city hall. Considering the night and morning he'd had, instead of impressing, the gleam of offwhite stone all around only succeeded in giving him a headache.

He hurried inside and was directed to one of the rooms. It was called a meeting room, but it was still elegantly decorated and furnished, fit for a member of the Royal Family. Luckily, they hadn't been waiting for him long, and luckily, he and the Grand Assassin were meeting with a Royal who wouldn't mind. He was a tall, dark man with a mustache and goatee. His brown eyes were bright and a little mischievous, but he smiled easily and took business in stride.

Zorrik gave his apologies, but they were waived away, and the three of them sat down to discuss the merchant, the city, and the Rebellion which had, unexpectedly, made its way down from the lands far to the North. The meeting went much more quickly than Zorrik had expected, and he was glad to get away from the discussion of politics. Still, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if the Royal Family wasn't taking the threat as seriously as it should.

As he walked back through the Assassins' Headquarters, he heard voices coming from the large training building. He glanced up at the rampart walls, but couldn't see anything, so he went inside and climbed the stairs to the roof. When he opened the door, he saw that a couple of classes of younger students were being put through their paces. A sea of white robes filled the rooftop, with two Disciples calling out orders and pairing up students for sparring. At first, he went unnoticed, then a few of the students stopped their lessons and began to whisper to each other. After a few moments, the Disciples noticed and got their students back in line.

One of the Disciples, a tall, blonde woman, jogged over to Zorrik and nodded in welcome. She beckoned him to walk among the students, but Zorrik wasn't paying attention to her. He noticed one of the Novices, the same small girl who'd desperately wanted to watch him the night before, sparring with a larger boy. He smiled at her determination, but then noticed something amiss at the rampart. Zorrik pushed the Disciple aside and sprinted through the sea of Novices as a kick shoved the girl into the rampart. As her back hit the stone, it suddenly gave way.