The Assassin's Creed: Terror

This story is written from the view of seventeen-year-old Michael, a born thief and trickster. During an outing to rob the king's palace, he falls upon a dark secret that the Assassin's Creed is meeting within the very palace walls. As he struggles with a confused tangle of emotions that he's never felt before, Michael becomes the sole person to know of the plot. Unable to find the courage to tell the auhtorities, he struggles with his guilty conciousness, until he uncovers the plan to murder th

Chapter 1


Shane Malcovitch lay awake in his bed. His eyes, closed to slits, scanned the room for what seemed like the hundredth time. A shadow crossed the shaft of moonlight falling from the window, and he heard the subtle thump of feet hitting the stone floor. His grip tensed on the sword hidden at his side and he closed his eyes briefly to calm himself. He needed his wits about him.

When he carefully opened them again, still only to slits, a slender figure leaned over him; a curved sword in her grip, for it was most definitely a woman. Two cat-like green eyes, framed in long black lashes, stared blankly at him. A strand of black hair, escaped from her headband, brushed against her black hood, which hid most of her face. Her eyes, still scanning him with a far away look in them, were like glowing orbs in the dark room. She was clothed completely in black, even her hands were covered. A piece of cloth was torn from her sleeve, revealing a blackened scar, the only skin visible.

Cut into her skin was the likeness of two curved swords, connected in a circle, which framed two intricate letters, ‘A’ and ‘C’. This girl was a member of the Assassin’s Creed.

Her sword flashed suddenly downward, and Shane whipped his own up to stop it, and was surprised at the force of her blow. Yelling for his guards, her fought to block her sword, which pressed down on his own. No surprise registered in the girl’s eyes, and she suddenly twisted away, and just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. Shane leapt out of bed as three guards ran into the room. The youngest stared over Shane’s shoulder, but before words of warning could form on his lips, there was a swish of something passing through the air, and an arrow blossomed from their master’s chest. Three more arrows swiftly followed, and the three guards fell also, not one of them to ever give information about the Assassin’s Creed.

The girl dropped from the windowsill to the street below. Running from shadow to shadow, her feet made no sound. An emerald amulet slipped out of her collar and swung like a pendulum as she ran, glowing faintly. Her eyes, still blank, gave no hint of remorse or guilt for what she had done.




The town woke the next morning to the knowledge that one of their own had again fallen victim to the Assassin’s Creed.

The king slammed his fist against his breakfast table, causing the dishes to rattle in protest.

“How can this be happening?” he exclaimed, the anger in his voice directed not at his high commander and captain of the guard, but at the situation in whole. “I’ve doubled security measures, sent secret police throughout the entire city to look up anything suspicious, and put my entire military on guard duty, yet there is another attack on my people since this confounded Assassin’s Creed showed up.” He stood and began to pace, finally stopping before the captain of the guard.

“Give the names and professions of the victims again.”

The captain took a scroll from the deaf and blindfolded servant beside him and began to read.

“First death: Franklin Boulevart, merchant. Second death: Anastasia von Ralnerisk, Mistress of Rainvor Court. Third: Henry Cooper, baker. Fourth: Lucas Quorang, advisor of the third court. Fifth: Carter Anderson, blacksmith. Sixth: Anthony Greenville, farmer. Seventh: Tanya Earlmire, duchess of the fifth court, along with two of her guards. And eighth: Shane Malcovitch, Knight of the first court, along with three of his guards.” The captain rolled the scroll up again and placed it in the servant’s arms.

The king, still pacing, spoke, “None of them appear to have anything in common?”

“No, Your Highness.”

”And not one of them survived to tell us anything about the Assassin’s Creed,” he said, exasperation in his voice.

The high commander cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Majesty, have you considered that it is possible that your own people are paying the Assassin’s Creed to kill these people?”

“Yes,” the king said, “But if it is so easy for people to find them and give them money and information, we would have been able to find them by now.” The commander said nothing, knowing the king was right. A knock sounded on the door leading into the room, and a boy of about seventeen entered.

Bowing deeply, he looked to the king with deep brown eyes. He was not dressed as a servant.

“The guard has returned,” he said in a deep voice. “They believe they may have found something in regards to the Assassin’s Creed.” Suspicion immediately entered the king’s gaze.

“How do you know my guard is searching for the Assassin’s Creed?” he said, tone sharp.

“Let’s just say your secret police don’t keep very many secrets when they come to the tavern every night,” the boy said. “My father owns the tavern.” He turned as if to leave, but the king stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Michael,” he said, a smile lighting his face.

“You have done well, Michael,” he said. Letting go of the boy’s shoulder, he left the room, commander and captain beside him. None of them noticed that the boy had not left behind them.

Michael smiled. That worked better than I thought it would. When they had needed someone to run the message that the guard had returned, he had immediately volunteered, but not because he wanted to send the message. The boy had other things to do. Slipping through the servant’s door, he pulled off the top layer of clothing he had on and placed it on a shelf in the wall. Now, dressed in the garb of a servant, he slipped into the main hallway of the castle.

Keeping his head down so his black hair covered his eyes, and slouching his shoulders, he made his way towards the left wing of the palace, where the vault was located.

“You, boy,” a woman’s voice called. He turned to see a servant with honey colored hair looking at him.

“Yes?” he asked, disguising his voice with a deep peasant’s accent.

“Identification? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Michael flashed her a smile and pulled a paper card out of his pocket, forgery of course, but done well enough to fool the best decipherer in all of Rainvor. The girl glanced it over and handed it back to him grudgingly.

“Fine,” she said, and turned and walked the other way. Michael felt a wave of relief wash over him, and with a sense of triumph, set out towards the vault.

The End

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