Story:Conquest/Corsail/Trials of the Silent Killer/Part 2

Part 2: The Swordborne

There are two extremely different environments in which the priests of the Church engage. The one that most believers associate with the Church is within the churches themselves, among the congregation, preaching the word of God to their many believers. Teaching messages of love, of redemption, and of hope. Of how they can truly make a difference in the eyes of God and make the world they inhabit a better place, if only they support the noble goals of the church.

And then there was the much darker environment, one that most non-believers associate with the church. The corrupt rooms behind the scenes, the fat friars feasting on expensive meals and spending the money they collected from their followers on beer and prostitutes: the very things they preach as sinful. Practising none of what they preach as they laugh about how much money they could collect from followers who are none-the-wiser, sleeping with the same women they condemn, and repeating hearsay of the pesky priests from Kjdoriah who stuck to the holy scripts and had given them dull lectures.

The parties of Father Aeinsberg were a perfect example of the much darker side. A high priest on the outskirts of Dorter, where money was valued so much more than God, he had a sizeable influence over the Church in the entire nation. There was little competition over Church land in Dorter, for there was little support, but what support was there was extremely loyal and faithful. Aeinsberg himself was known widely throughout Dorter, infamous in the sects which reviled the Church and famous among those who did not. And yet, no one truly knew his face, or much of his appearance. He himself never attended services, instead other priests did in his name, he merely collected their money as the other priests working for him preached how noble and great he was. In truth, Aeinsberg was an irreligious conman who wished for fortune.

And like many of the more corrupt priests who favoured fortune over God, he hosted parties with the other priests who were in on the corruption. The priests who knew of the con that was Aeinsberg, all sucking up to him to get as much of a cut of his gold if they could, and often plotting to kill him even more than the Judges were. His latest feast among these circles was going to create a lot of buzz, if only the annoying deeply religious friars didn't ruin things.

The newest feast, hosted in a large mansion that one could only assume was his own, was very much a lively event. A large table in the center for all the friars and priests to enjoy their large, meaty meals, and a few benches for their wives and their servants whom were less important in their eyes dotted around the table in a perfect line around the table, to remind the priests that they were more important, but to give the peasants a treat in allowing them to be so close to the bigger table.

To the newest servant hired by one of the priests attending, the grandeur of the room, of the paintings held up around it and the many other servants bringing in food, it was both overwhelming and intimidating. The men sat and laughed, many discussing at lengths their fortunes and their cons to show off both to their wives feigning adoration and to one another as a contest. The fattest man, which one could safely assume was Aeinsberg, sat at the very end of the table, looking the most chuff of all, and not even bothering to list his accomplishments, for this feast spoke for itself. To this servant, who was yet to become accustomed to the lives of his new clients, it was very peculiar seeing the priests without their priestly attire and their solemn or respectful faces, with their mouths instead stuffed with meat.

The servant reached into the kitchen on the far end of the room, opposite of the table, next to the room in which the men left their coats and close to the exit door on the right side of the room. Out of the large assortment of meats, he placed one on his plate, and carried it to the friar he had been instructed to. He never knew the names of these men, despite them expecting him to know theirs, while not mutually expected to know his. Nervously, he shaked as he approached the friar, who was too engaged in his discussion with his peers to give him any sneering look. He was about to return to the kitchen, before he heard a voice.

"Oi, you!" a priest called. The servant turned his head to him, his arm around the shoulder of his wife who smiled abnormally, his other gesturing towards the servant. "Bring me a massive steak, will you?"

"Yes, of course," the servant responded, as he turned back.

"Oh," the priest said with a certain arrogance, "and get some for the girl here, she won't stop blabbering on."

"Right awa- urm, what do you want again?" the servant asked nervously. He stood around waiting for an answer, but the priest had already turned away to laugh at the story of the man he spoke to. His wife stood up and approached the servant.

"Hold on," she said sounding comforting, "I'll show you". As she left the table, she looked towards him with her eyes widening, making confident strides towards him. The servant continued to shake nervously, not wanting to be noticed by the priest, and yet still admiring the woman. Her face was beautiful, and she wore a dress much nobler than any he had seen where he was from. Though he knew he should ignore her advances, he couldn't help himself but play along.

The servant simply stood there, uneasy, and yet excited. The woman first looked around to see if anyone was watching, before placing both of her hands on his chest. He was taken aback at first, and looked around awkwardly, noticing that all his fellow servants were busy, and the priests all engaged in conversation. He looked back at her, as she reached into his ear.

"I hate that man," she whispered, in a flirtatious manner. "Let's head into the cloakroom."

The servant nodded frantically, unsure what to do. He was but a lowly man, and had never thought himself attractive or anything other than ordinary. And this woman was beautiful. There was no way he'd ever get this opportunity again. In his excitement, he walked with her straight towards the cloakroom next to the kitchen. He looked at her face, as she kept her cute smile and excited eyes. He opened the door, held it open for her, not just because she was a woman, but because in his line of work, it was his job. She appeared puzzled, almost flattered at first, as she went in ahead of him, and he followed. But immediately, her expression turned to a frown, as did his.

A hand was clasped over his mouth, as he was wrenched around a corner and onto the floor, before he could even take in the details of this room. On the ground in pain, he attempted to wrestle away the arm of his captor, for it was not the woman. And as he looked up from the arm that held him down, his eyes widened in fright. He had heard stories of this armor, but he had no idea that it was based in any reality at all.

Having subdued the servant and held a blade to him to keep his silence, Corsail tugged him further into the end corner of the room, as they were hidden away behind many of the coats hung up. Him, Thorne, and the woman who had brought the servant in, all sat at the corner of the room, where they would not be heard over the loud noise of laughter from the room opposite.

"Ugh, I really hate feigning attraction," the woman said. "You'd better be paying me a lot."

"Indeed," Corsail responded assuringly. "Judging by your dress, I assume you have already put the money in advance to good use."

"Hah," she said. "I mostly used that to look convincing. But seriously, you made me sleep with that waste of skin for a priest? What kind of simpleton is conned into believing his garbage? Seriously, I'd demand more money if you weren't...y'know..."

"Indeed," Corsail responded, this time affirming his authority. "You are aware of the plan, yes?"

"I am," she said, sounding irritated at the thought of having to return the priest soon. "I'll leave the pills right beneath the food."

"Good," Corsail said. He turned to Thorne, whose attire was extremely bare, and whose knees had been bruised from attempting to climb into the building. "Make a note of all of these details. You should be able to picture everything in the room with your mind alone."

"Got it," Thorne said. He was almost as nervous as the servant. Thorne then turned to the gagged servant, and ripped the gag from his mouth. The servant cried out, before Thorne clamped a hand over his mouth. "Silence, dimwit, don't get us caught or you'll be dead."

The servant nodded desperately, his eyes pleading with Thorne. Thorne violently tossed the servant's head back, as it hit the wall, and he was allowed to speak.

"Just tell me what you want," the servant pleaded desperately, "tell me what you want an-and I'll get out of here! I already hated this job..."

"Good," Thorne said, "there's no guarantee you'll keep it, or your life."

"Thorne," Corsail snapped, scolding Thorne. "Do not unnecessarily punish this victim. He will be of use to us. Intimidation is not the only way to gain favours from someone."

"Right," Thorne said apologetically, as his stern and assertive expression turned to one of sincerity. He waited for Corsail to speak to the servant, but Corsail did not raise a word. It was clear he wanted Thorne to do the talking, and work out what to do for himself. Nervously, Thorne speak again. "Okay, we need to you to stay in this room and stay silent. There shall be an opportunity to exit this place when eventually all hell breaks loose. Until then, you shall remain in this room. Clear?"

"Clear!" cried the servant in desperation. "Please, just, what do you want from me? I have nothing to offer you!"

"Not true," Thorne said attempting to sound more confident and negotiable, "not true. You have much you can offer us about the layout of this room. Neither myself nor Corsail can currently use it."

"Th-then how did you get in here?!" the servant asked.

"Irrelevant," Thorne snapped, before catching the glare from Corsail's eye. "But if you must know," he followed up in a softer voice, "we got in through the roof. Our lady here told us exactly which point to enter to reach a room like this. It is mostly a formality, a place for guests to leave their belongings to appear to be more hospitable. In truth, it's anything but hospitable."

Thorne turned once again to Corsail, who nodded slowly. He appeared to be satisfied with what he was doing.

"We're here, if you hadn't already guessed, to kill Aeinsberg," Thorne continued, more confident in his softer tone of voice. "And we knew you were their newest servant, and therefore your face would be not be as familiar to the priests."

"M-meaning tha-"

"Yes," Thorne said, "I will take your place. You will remain here."

Thorne turned his head towards the woman and nodded to her, as she left the room to return to the priest who believed was wedded to her. Luckily, she had not spent enough time here that anyone would be suspicious, yet. He turned again to Corsail. It was clear that Corsail was deliberately giving Thorne control over the situation. It was their fifth assassination together, and slowly but surely, Thorne was picking up on how Corsail was performing. Now knowing that he needed this servant on their side, he continued to explain his position.

"Aeinsberg is a corrupt priest," he continued, "that much I'm sure you already know. He's as much an enemy to the Church as he is the Judges. He's an enemy even to those loyal followers who believe he was sent by God. He takes their money to host parties like this."

"For fun," the servant said, much calmer and yet still afraid.

"Not quite," Thorne said. "No one knows his appearance, so he can very easily blend in with a normal merchant of Dorter and have all the fun he wants with all the women he wants. No, Aeinsberg hosts these parties to evaluate the price of loyalty of his servants. They'll at some point brag about how much money they cut from him when they sent their money straight to him, and..." Thorne's confidence began to waver, as he lost track of some of the details. He turned to Corsail, who continued.

"And it is easy to manipulate them when they get together to drink," Corsail said, finishing for his student. "Not only does it bring out their boastfulness, it presents the perfect opportunity for a slow acting poison."

"But the poison we will be using," Thorne continued, "will not be slow acting. It will immediately strike at them all." The servant's eyes widened, but not in horror at what they were about to do, but in fear for Thorne, who had gained his trust.

"B-but the servants have to taste the drink first!" he cried out. "And they'll obviously choose the newest and most ex-expendable one, s-so how will you-"

"Exactly!" Thorne said. He caught a glare from Corsail, as he had spoken too loudly in excitement, and then quietened down as he continued. "And that's why it was perfect to take your place. But do not fear for me. I will hide an antidote above-"

"Underneath," Corsail interjected almost frustrated, but mostly just in fear for his student's life.

"-underneath my tongue," Thorne continued, embarrassed, "and swallow before it can act. The priests will be none the wiser."

"There are those who will live," Corsail said. "This is why I will be positioned outside of this room in the halls to catch the stragglers. Aeinsberg is not the only problem, all of these priests are part of this group which corrupts the Church and its people."

The servant nodded. He didn't even bother to ask what their motives were.

"Do you want me to tell you everything I know?" he asked. They nodded, as he began to spill the beans on the details briefly.

Dressed in the simple clothing of the servant whose clothes he had taken, Thorne re-entered the room without any enthusiasm. He checked the details quickly, feigning awkward looks towards the wives of the priests or the other servants to mask his head as it moved around to establish and memorise every detail about the room that the servant may not have picked up on. From the exact look of the wooden furniture and mats to the clothing and face of each of the attendants, he attempted to fill his mind with whatever information he could within just a few looks.

Thorne didn't need to feign his awkwardness and fear that would have been characteristic of the servant. He attempted to dodge the sneering glares he received, and while he was paranoid that they may notice his face, looking away to hide it appeared to them to simply be his embarrassment as he went to the kitchen to bring in more food. It baffled him that these men would still demand more after how much they'd already been given, but he was not here to question that.

Underneath one of the larger steaks, as he had been promised, the woman laid out a few small pills. This was the antidote. Checking that no one was around, he thrust them into his mouth and shoved them underneath his tongue. It made sense now why underneath was far more sensible then above - had he held them above his tongue, he could have accidentally swallowed them early.

The ruckus in the dining room died out suddenly, as one of the priests raised his voice to announce the toast.

"And to our host for today," the priest said, "the man who every peasant wishes he was for his greatness in God's eyes - and who we wish we were for his gold - Aeinsberg!"

A unilateral cheer came from the fat priests in the inner table, and the wives lucky enough to be allowed close to join in and appease their rich husbands. The remaining servants simply smiled and waved as they sat back in their benches, while one closer to the edge of the room and right by the exit stayed silent and his expression unchanged. Aeinsberg stood up, and called to Thorne.

"You!" he beamed. "What was your name again?"

Thorne stood from his bench, and turned to him, horrified. He had not thought to ask the servant his name. It was often not a question assassins thought of. The only name that ever mattered to them was that of their targets. He awkwardly looked around, his heart racing, as he was unable to say.

"Shy, eh?" Aeinsberg asked. "Bring us the wine!"

Another roaring cheer from the priests, who banged on the table waiting for him. If Thorne believed in God, right now he would be praying to himself. He hurried into the kitchen and fetched the large bucket of wine that had been ceremoniously left for the end of the feast, after which the men would likely engage in whatever drunken behavior until they fell asleep in the same room. Quickly pulling out the poison vial, he poured it into the wine. As Corsail had promised him, it made no apparent difference to how it looked other than creating ripples when poured in.

Gulping as he felt around for the pill with his tongue to make sure it was there, he hurried it into the room and poured it into the cups of each of priests. Were it not for the fact that he was specifically supposed to appear nervous, Corsail would likely scold him for spilling the drink and leaving behind any suspicion that he was not who he claimed to be. Many of the priests jeered at him, and as he poured Aeinsberg's cup, he expected Aeinsberg to ask him to taste the wine. Instead, Aeinsberg simply looked at him for a few moments as he stood there awkwardly.

"Well, what're you waiting for then, boy?" he asked, and nodded towards the cup. Thorne continued to stay still. "Taste it!"

"Sorry, father," he said, awkwardly. He took the cup, and took a small sip, his heart racing as he knew he had willingly put poison in his body. Swallowing a small amount of the drink, he rapidly thrust his tongue around to force the pull down his throat. He turned to spot the irritated look of Aeinsberg at him having too little, and thrust the golden cup down quickly. It hit the wooden table, but nothing spilled, and so Aeinsberg smiled. He lifted it in the air, as all the priests cheered, toasted, and drank.

Sure enough, it was a mere minute before the men began to cough and choke loudly. Their coughs grew louder as they breathed heavily, overly exaggerating as if expecting the servants to rush to cure them. Their eyes first widened with fear, before sharpening at one another. Cries of "you bastard!" and "it was you!" came from the men who struggled with one another, whacking away and throwing food at each other just as they choked. Aeinsberg was the only one who snivelled at Thorne, knowing he had something to do with it, before he too fell flat on his face.

All the servants and wives frantically fled the room in fear, each leaving in a panic out of the exit to the right. Thorne at this point recognised each of them, and noticed only a single servant missing, the one who had sat closest to the left exit and stayed silent. And Thorne knew that the exit to the left, which led to the back garden, was where he would meet Corsail. First, he headed into the cloakroom, whistled to the servant to let him know it was safe, and then rushed out of the left door, expecting to run through many hallways before meeting his mentor again.

But instead, his mentor stood, blades drawn, with the severed limbs of a man below his feet. Thorne stopped, puzzled, and looked at the man. It was one of the servants, the one who had stayed close to the exit, the one who did not toast when the others did. Thorne narrowed his eyes in confusion as he approached the bleeding man.

"Damnit," the man cried out, "the stories said you were good...I believed none of them!"

"You should believe some," Corsail said assertively, "shouldn't you, Aeinsberg?"

Thorne's eyes narrowed further as a puzzled, scrunched up look on his face formed. But eventually, it made perfect sense to him. No one had ever known Aeinsberg's appearance. It was easy to hire a decoy and to present himself to others as a pompous, larger than life and forever smiling man, fool others into believing it was him, and have the decoy leave the room as the priests were left alone to talk behind his back. And Aeinsberg was not here to enjoy it, but to have their loyalty tested, blamed on the subordinate priests who were all suspicious of one another, and take their money for his own. The poison would not only draw Aeinsberg out, but it would kill his subordinates on the side.

Aeinsberg lay on the floor in pain, his face fuming with rage at his humiliating defeat, before he turned to laughter.

"You may kill me," he said, "but whatever cause you fight for is futile! The Church will still exist in Dorter for as long as it has followers in Dorter. And the Church will always have men like me! Whether you were sent by those do-gooders or by those putrid Judges, it matters not. You'll never get us all!"

Corsail stomped on Aeinsbergs' thin stomach, as he cried out. It almost amused Thorne to see what the influential Aeinsberg had been reduced to, but he knew that Corsail taught him not to take childish pride in this work. Corsail peered closer to Aeinsberg, and far more threatening.

"I have taken hundreds of lives within a single week," he said, "and many of them have had empty threats and desperate grasps at what little pride they can feign before their final breath such as yourself. Why should you be any different?"

Aeinsberg lay there, with not a word in response. Corsail grunted, and sliced off his head. He turned to Thorne.

"Will there be guards?" Thorne asked.

"Many," Corsail said. "Aeinsberg was far more paranoid than most lives we have taken so far. Expect there to be many at the gates."

Thorne nodded. And as the two of them left the enormous mansion, much as Corsail had predicted, many guards awaited them. There was no point in trying to climb over the walls this time, so the best approach was to fight it out. Corsail's arm-blades and thrown knives would easily mow down many of the guards, but it was Thorne who rushed headfirst into battle.

Swinging his trusty dual-wielded swords around, Thorne sliced off the heads and limbs of his opponents. He moved far faster than them, examined each of their moves to predict which way they would turn before cutting through them, his sword the sharpest that money could buy and his control over them as great as Corsail's over his arm-blades. Within a minute, twenty of the well-trained guards were defeated, even as Thorne stumbled over his clumsier moves, to be inches away from death before Corsail took them out to save him.

They were clear of trouble, and made a dash away from the village.

Returning to their camp, Corsail and Thorne sat by the fire. The two, as was standard, had not spoken a word since completing their mission, for they both knew what to do. Thorne claimed the bounty from whoever offered it and used it to repay the help of the servant and the courtesan who'd posed as the wife of a priest for them, and Corsail acquired food for them both.

"You performed well," Corsail said. "Though I do not need to point out where you still need improvement."

"Yes," Thorne said solemnly, "you do not. I was clumsy with my blade, overexcited, and I made poor judgement on negotiation. I spent perhaps too much time, and were it not for our circumstances of the man whom I imitated, I could have easily cost us the mission by spending too much time."

Corsail nodded without saying a word. There was a pause for a while.

"What a wretched place," Thorne said. "The Church is full of villainy and has not a hint of honesty."

"You have been exposed only to the corrupt side," Corsail said. "I do not need to kill any of the more honest priests."

"There exists such a thing?" Thorne asked. But he immediately regretted it, as Corsail shamed him into silence when he spoke with scorn next.

"Do not be so close minded," Corsail asserted. "The Church may be reprehensible to you, but to many, it is a sign of hope in a miserable planet."

"It is false hope if you ask me," replied Thorne. "And it is completely irrational. They cannot prove their God exists."

"And can you prove he does not?" Corsail asked.

"It is not me who must prove a negative," Thorne responded. "But I feel that there is proof of a lack of existence in God all around us. If God is truly an all-loving, all-powerful, all-knowing being, why would he create a world of such misery and suffering, where there is such a disparity between those born with much and those born with nothing? And how can any being have limitless power? Can God make a rock he cannot lift?"

"What ideal world would you expect God to create?" Corsail asked. "Is it ever truly possible to create a utopian world with no death, where life is permanent, without running out of room? Without stripping mankind of its free will? Can you really understand an all-powerful being in the way you would understand a human? You would be unwise to challenge the deeply held beliefs of many people solely for your own preference, when it is so fundamental to their world view, which they have a right to."

"You sound awfully defensive," Thorne said almost in disgust at his mentor. He was much more confident that the two were closer now that they could have these discussions. "Do you worship God?"

"I said nothing about worshipping God," Corsail said. "I simply said that your view lacks nuance. You fail to understand the alternative point of view. There is no reason God cannot exist, nor religion."

"But it is so irrational," Thorne said. "It does not offer certain truths, it offers lies. And you have seen there how organised religion can become easily corrupted. The Judges may not be perfect, and many may be equally power-mad or corruptible, but I do believe they were right that a society not bound by belief in a God for which no evidence exists is a greater society."

"My issue is not with the existence or lack thereof of God", Corsail continued. "You simply lack nuance in your worldview. There are good men and women, and there are bad men and women. It matters not which faction they are a member of. And they each have their own ideas of good and bad. It is not for us as assassins to judge which is right or wrong."

"But, what?" Thorne's face was extremely puzzled as he turned to his mentor. "How do you decide who to kill, then? You do not collect money for their deaths, and you always waste the enormous wealth we earn on bribes or weapons. How have you decided our list of corrupt priests and merchants to slay? Have you been takin-"

"Enough," Corsail spoke firmly, silencing his tutor. Thorne's face remained puzzled, but he dare not respond. "An assassin has a mission, and fulfils that mission. His career is over the second he loses his impartiality, and with it, the trust of his clients. Your judgement of right or wrong is irrelevant. And I do not care if you were raised in a family close to the Judges, if I tell us we will kill a Judge next, you will kill them."

Thorne hung his head in silence. He had so many more burning questions, but was now afraid to ask any of them. And yet he knew that they would keep him awake at night if he did not ask another.

"I do not understand," Thorne said. "What is the purpose-"

"Of killing without making any judgement?" Corsail finished for him, correctly guessing Thorne's question. "As an assassin, you do not have the privilege of deciding who you kill once you accept a mission. You may choose who to kill when collecting a bounty, but not when assigned a task. You will stick to your client regardless. You may choose your client, but not your mission. The minute you betray your mission for any morality you may have, the minute your career ends."

"But it makes no-"

"Yes it does," Corsail interjected before Thorne could even begin his question. "It makes sense if you merely stop and think about what your role as an assassin is, and which client would want to hire you. You will not exercise judgement based on any morals or values you held before you came an assassin. You condemned yourself to that life when you claimed your first kill. Your conscience has eased, with each kill since, has it not?" Thorne nodded hurriedly. "This is not because you are doing the right thing, or because you are doing the wrong thing and fooling yourself into thinking it is right. You are simply doing the only thing you can as an assassin: your mission."

"But Corsail," Thorne interjected desperately, "I wasn't asking about the job of an assassin, I know that an assassin doesn't get to make that choice. I know that this life is horrible and I wish I hadn't bought into the stories of glory and fortune that led me here. I am simply asking, why do you do this job, give me these missions, if you do not seek the wealth it brings you, and if your beliefs are not grounded in morality?"

Corsail remained silent. Could Thorne see through his armor, he would've seen a scrunched up and disappointed face. Thorne sighed, looked to the floor away from Corsail, as he prepared for the condescending lecture that followed.

"It is not your concern why I am doing this. Or why you are being given a mission. When you approached me, you asked me if I could teach you how to be the best assassin you could be. And that is exactly what I am teaching you now. I did not need to bring a boy like you around, but I chose to regardless. Perhaps you would like to leave, and find your own way, if my teaching is not good enough for you."

Thorne sighed once more, and pleaded with Corsail for the final time tonight.

"But, please," he asked solemnly, "I wish to stay with you, but...can I at least know, as your student, what your motives are? What your purpose is?"

Corsail stayed silent again, as Thorne waited for a few moments. He gave up, and stood up to collect his journal, write a new entry, and sleep.

"All in good time," Corsail said. Thorne stopped, and looked back at him, as he spoke again. "You will understand soon."