Story:Conquest/Corsail/Trials of the Silent Killer/Part 4

Part 4: The Final Mission For once, Corsail and Thorne did not need to awaken before sunrise. They were able to get up on their own time, having had ample rest that they wanted and not just brief rest that they required for another mission. They could both search the town freely to look for breakfast, without fear of being seen and endangering their next mission. And they had time to take proper care of their health, not simply stitch up wounds or take cheap treatments to simply keep them going for one more mission.

While he did not have to, Thorne awoke early regardless for his exercise routine. Corsail had awoken by the time he had completed it, and without even speaking a word, they knew it was time for them to head into the closest town. At this point, they were almost like brothers in touch with the thoughts of one another. The two walked mostly the same path without saying a word, until Corsail took a left away from the marketplace.

"Where are you going?" Thorne asked, slightly puzzled.

"We must wash," Corsail said. "I imagine neither of us have had the opportunity to in a while."

Corsail made it sound so straight forward and sensible. Thorne had become so accustomed to trying to discern the thoughts of his tutor that he felt the need to challenge something like this.

"Why not eat first?" he asked. "I imagine you're as hungry as I am."

"But you do not have to wear this armour around with you," Corsail said simply.

Of course, it now made sense. Corsail never seemed to complain or feel the slightest itch, and it was almost noiseless despite being so heavy, so Thorne almost forgot that Corsail was in fact wearing very heavy armour. He wondered who had crafted it, or what metal it was made of, for it to be such a comfortable fit, and yet still useful both to defend from harm and to remain unhidden.

Perhaps the armament was not actually thick or heavy, and simply existed to mask his identity. Or perhaps it was somehow magically charmed, defending against offensive magic physical blows with white magic, not metal. That raised two other questions. The first: who created this armour? It was doubtful that it could be enchanted with white magic if it were not a man of the Church, but it was almost reminiscent of that worn by the Judges. The second: just how old was the armour? Legends about Corsail dated back at least a hundred years. Perhaps the first Corsail still existed when black magic was commonly found?

"You are curious about my armour," Corsail remarked, having noticed Thorne eyeing it.

"Yes," Thorne responded. "Do you know much about it?"

"Alas, I do not," Corsail responded. "It was mine when the last Corsail gave it up. He did not know its origins either. We have only legends to go on, and we cannot trust them. Most of them are exaggerated."

"Is it comfortable?" Thorne asked.

Corsail did not immediately respond. Instead, just before the public baths, Corsail took the two behind an alleyway to allow him to remove his armour unseen. Wearing the armour in broad daylight did not look suspicious to bystanders as most assumed it was merely a costume. But removing it to reveal the face of what could clearly be assumed to be a veteran soldier would definitely raise suspicion, even if they did not know the exact identity of the man wearing the armour.

Corsail removed his helmet and looked at Thorne. Underneath, he had long, brown hair and a thick beard covering his chin, though this was the sign only of a man who hadn't looked after his appearance. It was hard to tell what Corsail would have looked like without it, other than his bright green eyes which gave a solemn, tired look at Thorne. As he removed his lower armour and folded it, his attire was much like that of Thorne's: rugged, and made of inexpensive cloth. One could assume he was a simple working class man in his 50s.

"In some ways," Corsail responded, in a much softer voice than when he had worn the helmet, "it is, but in other ways, it is anything but that. It grants me comfort knowing it protects me from most harm, not only in battle, but in masking my self. In other ways, it gives me great discomfort, knowing it has defined who I am for thirty years now, and that attached to it are many legends that I must live up to."

Thorne did not look puzzled at all. He simply thought about how alike the two were. Before they had trained together, he never would've imagined that he could relate to Corsail in any way.

"I apologise," Corsail said. Thorne noticed he was speaking slightly differently with his helmet removed. He was gentler in tone, and much more open to discussing himself. "I realise that was not what your question referred to. It is comfortable in that it fits me well and never feels awkward."

"I see," Thorne responded. "However, I must ask. Now that I have seen your face, I wish to know more about you."

"Yes," Corsail responded with smile, "I imagine you do. My name is Jozua Kauran. I hail from Dorter, me and my sister were both orphans. We were merchants, following our family business, until I had my business and my sister taken from me."

"I see," Thorne said. "You never had the background of an assassin. Yet you adapted so well."

"Yes," Jozua said. Or perhaps, Thorne thought, he should now be referred to as Jozua, with the mask removed. "I vowed to myself to take revenge, and so I hired an assassin named Corsail. I did not know at the time that I would wish to be so involved in that assassin's work that I would later take his place."

Thorne stayed silent, but morbidly curious.

"As I followed him," Jozua continued, "and learned how he worked, I began to realise an important thing. Hatred leads only to more hatred. A thirst for revenge will only prompt another. Furthermore, a pursuit of fortune does not lead to happiness. It only leads to a fear of losing it and a thirst for more. And it is these two things that fuel most conflict that us humans engage in. Such pointless conflict that claims the lives of far too many people. I learned to divorce myself from such things. But by that time, it was too late. Blood was on my hands, and nothing was left for me but the life of an assassin."

It had taken long while listening to this story for Thorne to find something to relate to. He too had been misled into this new life by such things. It only made him sad to think of the potential that he could have lived up to were it not for that. And applied broadly, just how much could the human race propser if it did not pursue needless conflict?

"You and I witnessed this first hand," Jozua said. "As we killed some of those who were corrupted by those two very elements. A lust for power, and a lust for vengeance."

"Yes," Thorne responded. "You opened my eyes. I have seen that it exists everywhere, and not just the Church."

"Indeed," Jozua nodded. "It has built up tensions a lot around this land. When you experience the struggles of the powerful firsthand as I have, you get a much better sense of the tensions between peoples than you would even if you felt the mood of the public. And I believe I feel the tensions rising."

"Yes," Thorne said, "I have felt the same sense, even if it felt subtle. As we struck at the powerful ourselves, I did not get the sense of comfort or boastfulness that I would expect. I got a nervous sense, and not just in your presence."

"War is coming, Thorne," Jozua said solemnly. "War is coming to these lands. All we can do is try to delay it. But when it comes, these lands will need assassins like us more than ever."

There was a slightly longer silence than usual as the two thought about it.

"Come to think about it," Jozua said, "I do not know much about you either. My own student, in fact. I know only your first name, and that you were from an assassins' guild."

"I never thought it important," Thorne responded. "I did not believe you would be interested."

"Hah," Jozua chuckled. "I would have listened had you spoken about yourself. I do not look down on others, even if it may appear so."

"I see," Thorne said. "In that case, I am Thorne Aristale. I too hail from Dorter, though from the borders of Kjordiah. My parents worked for the Judges, and I became associated with an assassin's guild. I learned of their death mere hours before I set off on my mission to kill the same priest you were set to kill on your own. I had never before seen death..."

"We both know the rest," Jozua said.

There was a brief silence before as Jozua folded up his armour. He sighed, before turning once again to Thorne.

"I can wash away the blood on this armour," he said, "but I cannot wash away my deeds wearing it. I can wash away the blood on my blades, but I cannot wash away the memories of every single man and woman whose lives they ended."

"You did it for a good cause," Thorne said. "You only killed those who are wicked."

"No," Jozua said sharply. "Remember what I told you. Both of us kill because it is our mission, because it is all we can do. There is no point hiding behind justifications like those. An end to any human life is tragic. Even the most vile, despicable who profits at the expense of others is a friend and a benefactor to others. And even the most hateful and wicked woman who has claimed lives may still be a mother and a wife to some."

"Right," Thorne said embarassed. He had almost forgotten that Jozua was still Corsail with the armour removed. "I should realise that. You must have slain dozens while wearing that armour. It must be emotionally taxing."

"Less so now," Jozua said. "I realise that it is the sole reason I continue to breathe. And I realise that if it weren't me, it'd be some poor soul like you." There was a brief pause. "Tell me, what guild are you from?"

"I am from the Blades of Mist," Thorne said. "They are affiliated with but independent from the Judges."

"Do you still know people there?" Jozua asked.

"Not really," Thorne said. "I barely recall their names."

"What were the women like?" Jozua asked before grunting.

"They were excellent assassins," Thorne said. "Masterful at disguise."

"That is not what I meant," Jozua asked. He began to almost worry how distanced Thorne had become from a truly normal life.

"I have an attachment to no one," Thorne said simply, realising the purpose of the question. "Not now my family have fallen. In truth, you are the only family I have left."

Jozua smiled. He almost realised this himself, as there were little other reason for Thorne to stay around.

"There is only one person I am still in touch with," Thorne responded, "the same woman whom I collect our bounties from. She is Sremala. She taught me most of my technique. I consider her a friend."

"I see," Jozua said. "Come. Let us wash and then eat."

Both physically and mentally refreshed now, Thorne met up again with Corsail. He was almost disappointed that he could no longer think of him as 'Jozua'. The two went to find breakfast, but they both knew that they would now part ways. As they left the marketplace and left to the road leading out of the town, they turned towards one another.

"Corsail, I thank you," Thorne spoke up first. He was about to refer to him as 'Jozua' to make it more personal, but realised that anyone could be listening. There were those who still wanted Jozua Kauran dead for what he had done, but very few who wished to confront Corsail. "You have been not only a fantastic tutor to me, but you have been like an older brother whom I have never had. I cannot repay you for this."

"You too, Thorne," Corsail said, "have been like a family I have never had. I would not have chosen anyone to carry out my final mission with me. I can only hope that you learned a lot from me."

The two didn't speak for a few moments, before Thorne had the courage to speak his mind.

"And yet," he said hurriedly, "there's still so much more I think I can learn from you. And I never had the chance to. I still feel inferior to you. And I do not know how to continue from here."

"No," Corsail said, "you do. You know what the future holds for you."

"I do not!" Thorne burst out. He had learned to suppress his emotion, but he was not applying it here. "I do not know what I must do. And I do not know if I have the strength to do it alone."

"Only you can decide what your future holds", Thorne said. "You know that one day, you too will have to complete your final mission as you helped me complete mine. Perhaps, on that day, I shall return the favour help you."

Thorne looked to his feet, and looked to Corsail, trying to fight the tear forming in his eye.

"Farewell, my brother," he said, as he allowed one to roll down his cheek. If Corsail's mask were removed, perhaps Jozua would have the same solemn expression on his.

"Farewell," Corsail responded.

The two turned away from each other. Corsail would set up camp by another hill and look to see who would need his services, while Thorne would return to his guild, the Blades of Mist, for the same purpose. They left with heavy hearts.

But their hearts were not heavy because they would not see one another again. Rather, because they knew exactly how their next encounter would play out.

Thorne knew Corsail too well by this point. He had perfectly located the precise hill on which Corsail would set up camp, calculated based on the exact distance from the nearest town to it, and from just where he would go to look for a new assignment. He traveled there alone, taking very little with him. As he arrived, just as he had expected, Corsail awaited him.

"You are back so soon?" Corsail asked. "I knew you would find me, but I did not know how long it would take you."

"I suppose I continue to surprise you," Thorne said, as he stood still. Corsail stood. The two were used to silences between their dialogue, but this silence was ended more abruptly than usual.

"We both know why you are here," Corsail said simply.

"Then you know why I must kill you," Thorne answered, as he drew his sword. "You are my final assignment. My mission is, as it always was, to kill you."

"Yes," Corsail responded, as he drew out his blades. "The Blades of Mist were not going to tolerate my presence. I am an unknown entity to the powerful. I may be extremely useful, or a thorn in their side. They do not know even my name."

"You are partly correct," Thorne said, "but that is not why they ultimately decided they wanted you dead. A woman you killed, Guildmaster Aristale."

"I see," Corsail said.

"I fight you not because you killed my aunt," Thorne said, "but because she was a close affiliate of both the Judges and the Guild. They want you dead, and they want me to kill you."

"They believe that you will fight to avenge your aunt," Corsail said. "That is why they want the killer to be you."

"Yes," Thorne said. "They are wrong when they think I will fight for revenge. But they are right when they think I will hold nothing back."

"Neither shall I," Corsail responded. He readied his blades in combat stance.

The two approached one another with caution. It was Thorne who struck first. He took up his two swords, and swung the right sword around only for Corsail to block it and kick him back. Thorne was shaken by his strength, but blocked Corsail's next swipe with his left sword. They both drew their weapons back, and swung them at each other, meeting in the middle as they both blocked each other.

Thorne they sent his knee straight into Corsail's stomach, but the armour grazed his knee cap as he fell. Corsail attempted to use the opportunity to stab his side, but Thorne swung back and blocked, then stomped on his foot and thrust his elbow into Corsail again, knocking him back.

Thorne managed to cut into Corsail's left upper arm, but could not pierce the armour further. He, too, had sustained cuts as Corsail's armour and blades had grazed him, on his knees, shoulders and forearms. Thorne often managed to slash into Corsail's armour, but never much before Corsail could simply knock away at him.

The two sustained blows from one another, but they fought as equals. Both knew the technique of the other, and both were just as quick. Corsail may have been stronger, but Thorne's reflexes were faster, and his swords sharper. The adrenaline rush they felt as they crossed swords kept them fighting, but eventually, their wounds caught up with them. They began to feel the exhaustion of the fight.

Moving slower and breathing heavier, they crossed swords one last time. And it was one last slice of Thorne's blade that cut a great wound piercing Corsail's armour, slicing his back. He fell still, paralyzed, exhausted and without the energy to fight on. Thorne stood over him, aiming his sword. It was only right that he exchange a few words with his tutor, no, his brother, before taking his life.

"I must again thank you," Thorne said solemnly, "you have improved me as a person, and you have helped guide me through the two months that have defined my life. It pains me inside that I must end yours."

"But you had the strength to," Corsail said. "You knew that your emotions, your feelings, cannot hinder your mission, and that you must fight on. You have made me proud. I am honoured to have died to your blade, and I would not have it any other way."

Before Thorne ended Corsail's life, he allowed Corsail to remove his helmet, and speak to him as Jozua. Jozua turned his head slightly towards Thorne. The two noticed the tears in their eyes.

Thorne said. "Even though I defeated you in battle," Thorne said, "I still...I still feel weaker than you. I still feel that you were always the greater man. I will not feel the same again without your guiding hand."

"You have become a greater man than me," Jozua said. "You will be a greater assassin than I was." Jozua shut his eyes, as Thorne thrust his blade into Jozua's back. And with that, the life of Jozua Kauran was over.

Sremala of the Blades of Mist slowly approached the hut she had been directed to. It was a small wooden hut that was being rented briefly, with just enough space for a single bedroom, and far out of the way of the rest of the great cities of Dorter. If her sources were correct, now home to Thorne Aristale. She did not have good news for him, but she went in with good faith.

The door was open for her already. Thorne did not seem to be afraid of intruders. She entered the hut, and opened the bedroom door. As she had suspected, Thorne was there, with his back turned to her, working away at armour. But he was aware of her presence. She smiled faintly, knowing she were about to deliver unfortunate news.

"You know no one believed your story, right?" she asked. "We know that the man who killed your aunt was Corsail. We know also that you are intelligent enough to know he is a real assassin, and not a myth."

"I see," Thorne responded, still concentrating.

"Jozua Kauran has long disappeared to the east," Sremala continued, "and been gone for years. As impressive as it was that you found his corpse, it does not inspire much confidence in you."

"I imagine I am expelled," Thorne responded.

"Yes," Sremala said, trying to keep a soft tone. "I am afraid so. I cannot fight for your continued inclusion if you lie to us."

"This is fair enough," Thorne continued. "It is not the outcome I would have chosen, but it is an outcome I will accept."

"Thorne," Sremala said sternly, "it will not just be Corsail on their hit list now. It will be you as well. They believe you are in league with him."

"And what do you believe?" he asked.

Sremala paused. She didn't know what to say. Thorne turned to her, having stopped work on his armour. She was a tall, blonde woman with an attractive figure, wearing noble clothes. She would easily blend in with most crowds, even if Thorne knew she was far deadlier than she looked.

"I don't know what to believe," she said. "But I am willing to keep a secret. That is one thing we must be good at in our line of work, no?"

"Well, what's in it for me?" Thorne asked with a smile. It was the first time he could lighten up since he had became an assassin.

"Oh, I dunno," she said chuckling, "some wine afterwards, maybe?"

"This is agreeable," Thorne said. In fact it really was agreeable. It was now easy to tell if she were being genuine if she would offer such a light gesture, but not appear to be going out of her way to sway him for information. Even among friends, Thorne still needed to be on the lookout.

"Alright," she said. "Please tell me what happened."

"I found Corsail," Thorne said. "I confronted him, and I killed him. But understand, 'Corsail' is merely a title. So the man I killed was Jozua Kauran, who possessed that title, and that armour."

"I see," she nodded, unsurprised. "So Kauran never vanished. He just became Corsail."

"Yes," he said. He reached for his armour, as it was clear she knew where this was going.

"I imagine you will not vanish either," she said.

"Thorne Aristale will, as far as you are concerned, vanish" Thorne responded. He placed on the armour and helmet, as he stood up. "But Corsail will not. I hope you understand."

Sremala nodded slowly. She gave a nervous smile.

"I expect it. I cannot guarantee your safety," she said. "I hope you understand."

"I understand."

The understanding between them reminded Thorne briefly of his bond with Jozua. How the two had known one another so well that they had begun to think alike. In fact, it was that Thorne had been trying to learn from Jozua and emulate him, knowing that he would have a lot to live up to. Perhaps even subconsciously, he had always known it.

As he bid Sremala farewell, he bid goodbye to the last bond he had with anyone. He was his own man, now. He still wasn't even sure he was up for the task, but he knew what he had to do.

He was Corsail, the Swordborn. He was the legendary assassin that the powerful craved to have on their side, but feared to have as their enemy. He knew not when, and not who would cause it, but war was coming. And he would have to fight in it.