Read Online The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1) by Blake Rivers - Free Book Online
Authors: Blake Rivers
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been born, and he’d joined the ranks of the Guard at just fifteen, eventually becoming captain, with a duty to guard the city from outside threats, inside insurgence, and to govern the city in temporary stead of the lord. Of course, throughout his whole life, there had been no lord.
Hero had heard tell of the peace under Lord Graeme, how benevolent a ruler he’d been, and how the lands had flourished, but oh, how the city had fallen in just thirty years.
Now, people tore the city apart each night. Masked, cloaked, and hooded, they’d hunt each other in packs, fighting against the Guard, against each other—anarchy had overtaken reason and the city was in chaos, as it had been for as long as Hero had ever known.
Men, women, and children were beaten and killed, buildings razed to the ground, and though the Guard fought to protect the city, it was its very people that were beaten one night, only to burn the next. At the dawn of each new day, each man was a kinsman—a blacksmith’s apprentice, a stable boy, a dressmaker—and what was Hero to do?
Hero closed his eyes and listened to a sweet, soft voice that floated to him from somewhere, carried on the wind. Was it from the city? The sound was close and impossible…
He was no longer alone.
The girl sat a ways away, cross-legged in the centre of the ramparts, hooded and cloaked, her long dark hair against her chest in streams. In front of her was a smouldering cairn of wood that burst into flame. The day began to darken.
Hero approached, sword in hand. The cold stone walkway was gone from beneath him, replaced by a forest floor strewn with pine-needles. The transition was seamless and spinning round to find his city, Hero found only trees. In the distance he heard a rumble of thunder, and in the air he smelt fire and rain. He walked to the flames as they rose higher, hiding a girl behind.
“This is a strange magic,” he said as the sweet, tribal melody came to an end, leaving only the crackling of wood between them.
“Hero of the Guard,” her voice only a shade from the sound of her song, “the most important days of your life are about to start.”
“Who are you?” he asked, crouching down.
“Who I am is of no importance,” she said. “What is of importance is that you know me to be your guide, and that you heed my advice.”
“My guide? Why do I need a guide?”
“Today you will be approached by those with much magic, and from there you’ll race against your darkest adversary to win the prize of the purest hope.” The girl thrust her hands into the fire, turning the flames a purple and green. “See here, Hero of the Guard, look into the flame. See your task ahead.”
Hero’s eyes were drawn into the twists and turns of flickering colours that created images of unicorns and dark clouds, and of a girl in flight.
The fire flamed orange once more and rose higher between them, the images gone.
“You succeed, but you also lose.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, standing up, the fire rising higher still. “I’ll succeed and lose in what?”
The flames leapt toward him and threw him back against the ramparts, a mist of ash settling on his robes, a plume of smoke rising and disappearing into the morning blue. A whisper touched his ear like a kiss. “Be ready,” it sang, lapsing into the same melody he heard now, her song lifted in the storm, calling to him.
He climbed the dark stairwell out into the storm, where dark clouds of black and green were gathered above, seen through sheets of grey rain that soaked him to the bone. He spun out of the ruins, calling out to the girl.
“Where are you?” he shouted into the storm. “I have come!” The sky flickered, flashed, and across the grass, through the grey mist, Hero saw a dark figure silhouetted—gone in a flash.
It wasn’t the girl.
The soft voice came from every direction, and Hero spun, blinded by the light and dark. He held his sword aloft, the wind whistling against the steel
Hero had heard tell of the peace under Lord Graeme, how benevolent a ruler he’d been, and how the lands had flourished, but oh, how the city had fallen in just thirty years.
Now, people tore the city apart each night. Masked, cloaked, and hooded, they’d hunt each other in packs, fighting against the Guard, against each other—anarchy had overtaken reason and the city was in chaos, as it had been for as long as Hero had ever known.
Men, women, and children were beaten and killed, buildings razed to the ground, and though the Guard fought to protect the city, it was its very people that were beaten one night, only to burn the next. At the dawn of each new day, each man was a kinsman—a blacksmith’s apprentice, a stable boy, a dressmaker—and what was Hero to do?
Hero closed his eyes and listened to a sweet, soft voice that floated to him from somewhere, carried on the wind. Was it from the city? The sound was close and impossible…
He was no longer alone.
The girl sat a ways away, cross-legged in the centre of the ramparts, hooded and cloaked, her long dark hair against her chest in streams. In front of her was a smouldering cairn of wood that burst into flame. The day began to darken.
Hero approached, sword in hand. The cold stone walkway was gone from beneath him, replaced by a forest floor strewn with pine-needles. The transition was seamless and spinning round to find his city, Hero found only trees. In the distance he heard a rumble of thunder, and in the air he smelt fire and rain. He walked to the flames as they rose higher, hiding a girl behind.
“This is a strange magic,” he said as the sweet, tribal melody came to an end, leaving only the crackling of wood between them.
“Hero of the Guard,” her voice only a shade from the sound of her song, “the most important days of your life are about to start.”
“Who are you?” he asked, crouching down.
“Who I am is of no importance,” she said. “What is of importance is that you know me to be your guide, and that you heed my advice.”
“My guide? Why do I need a guide?”
“Today you will be approached by those with much magic, and from there you’ll race against your darkest adversary to win the prize of the purest hope.” The girl thrust her hands into the fire, turning the flames a purple and green. “See here, Hero of the Guard, look into the flame. See your task ahead.”
Hero’s eyes were drawn into the twists and turns of flickering colours that created images of unicorns and dark clouds, and of a girl in flight.
The fire flamed orange once more and rose higher between them, the images gone.
“You succeed, but you also lose.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, standing up, the fire rising higher still. “I’ll succeed and lose in what?”
The flames leapt toward him and threw him back against the ramparts, a mist of ash settling on his robes, a plume of smoke rising and disappearing into the morning blue. A whisper touched his ear like a kiss. “Be ready,” it sang, lapsing into the same melody he heard now, her song lifted in the storm, calling to him.
He climbed the dark stairwell out into the storm, where dark clouds of black and green were gathered above, seen through sheets of grey rain that soaked him to the bone. He spun out of the ruins, calling out to the girl.
“Where are you?” he shouted into the storm. “I have come!” The sky flickered, flashed, and across the grass, through the grey mist, Hero saw a dark figure silhouetted—gone in a flash.
It wasn’t the girl.
The soft voice came from every direction, and Hero spun, blinded by the light and dark. He held his sword aloft, the wind whistling against the steel
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