Chapter 9: Assassination Plot 1
POV: Alaric
Avalon Calendar, Year 103, Month of Frost, Twentieth Day
The gardens of the Abbey of the Silent Winds were unlike anything I had seen before. Even in the chill of winter, they exuded a quiet beauty. The frost-covered shrubs glistened under the pale sunlight, and the gentle whisper of the wind through the barren trees brought a sense of peace that made it hard to believe the world outside was filled with so much turmoil.
I tugged my cloak tighter around me as I wandered along the stone paths. It was my favorite time of day—the early morning, when the abbey was still and quiet, save for the rustling leaves and the soft chants of the monks in the chapel.
The abbey had become a refuge for me in the weeks since my awakening ritual. It was here that Father had sent me to begin my spiritual education, and while the monks' lessons were calm and thoughtful, I often found myself restless. The world beyond these walls tugged at me with its mysteries and dangers, and no amount of quiet reflection could make me forget that.
Still, I couldn't deny the peace this place offered. I reached out to touch the branch of a frost-covered tree, marveling at the delicate patterns etched into its bark. My breath hung in the air, curling upward like wisps of smoke.
"Prince Alaric," a voice called, breaking the stillness.
I turned to see Brother Eryndor, one of the monks who often guided my lessons. His lined face was kind, though his eyes carried the weight of years spent in prayer and contemplation.
"Yes, Brother?" I asked, brushing the frost from my glove.
"I see you've taken to the gardens again," he said, his voice warm. "You must have walked every path by now."
"Almost," I admitted with a small smile. "I like the quiet here."
He nodded, his hands folded into his robe. "The abbey was built for reflection. It is said that in the silence, one may hear the whispers of the Creator."
I tilted my head, glancing around. "If the Creator is speaking, I haven't heard anything yet."
Brother Eryndor chuckled softly. "Patience, young prince. The Creator's voice comes in many forms, but only when the time is right."
I continued my walk after Brother Eryndor departed, allowing my mind to drift. Thoughts of my lessons with Master Arven mingled with memories of the palace and the faces of my family. I missed them, especially Elira's giggles and Cedric's teasing.
As I turned a corner near the edge of the garden, a strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck. I stopped, looking around, but there was nothing unusual—just the quiet paths and the frost-covered statues of saints.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. My hand instinctively went to the small dagger tucked into my belt, a gift from Father before I left for the abbey. "For protection," he'd said.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying with it a faint rustling sound. My heart quickened, and I turned slowly, scanning the garden. A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision, but when I looked again, it was gone.
"Hello?" I called, my voice steady but low.
No answer.
My grip tightened on the dagger as I moved cautiously toward the sound. I told myself it was nothing, just the wind stirring the branches. But deep down, I felt the hairs on my neck rise, as if my body knew what my mind didn't yet accept.
The abbey was supposed to be a place of sanctuary, but at that moment, it didn't feel safe at all.
I reached the edge of the garden, where the stone paths gave way to a small clearing bordered by the forest. The silence here was different—heavier. I took a step forward, then another, my eyes scanning the shadows cast by the bare trees.
A sudden crunch of leaves made me spin around, dagger raised. My breath came faster now, and I crouched slightly, just as Master Arven had taught me.
"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice louder this time.
Nothing but the rustle of branches.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement—a blur of black darting between the trees. My heart thundered in my chest, and I took a step back, gripping the dagger so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
The blur reappeared, closer this time, and I caught a glimpse of a figure cloaked in black. My instincts screamed at me to run, but my feet stayed rooted in place.
"Show yourself!" I shouted, forcing my voice to stay firm.
The figure stepped out of the shadows, and for the first time, I saw them clearly. A woman with striking features, her face half-covered by a dark scarf, and cold, calculating eyes that seemed to pierce through me.
"Well, well," she said, her voice smooth and almost amused. "The little prince has a backbone. That will make this more interesting."
I didn't wait for her to say more. My training with Master Arven kicked in, and I lunged forward, aiming the dagger at her side.
She dodged easily, her movements fluid and precise. "You're quick," she said, drawing a short blade from her belt. "But you're still just a child."
I ignored her taunts, spinning around to face her again. My mind raced as I tried to remember what Master Arven had taught me about combat. Stay focused. Don't let fear control you.
She attacked first, her blade flashing toward me in a swift arc. I barely managed to block it with my dagger, the force of the blow sending a shock through my arm.
"You've got fight in you," she said, a smirk playing at her lips. "But let's see how long you can last."
As we exchanged blows, I realized I was outmatched. She was faster, stronger, and more experienced. But I couldn't give up. If I went down, it wouldn't be without a fight.
I ducked under her next strike, using the opening to slash at her leg. My blade grazed her, drawing a thin line of blood.
Her smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. "Lucky shot," she muttered, her tone sharper now.
I didn't have time to respond. A second figure appeared behind her, a massive man with bulging muscles and a wicked-looking axe. My stomach dropped. One opponent had been hard enough—two felt impossible.
"Stay focused," I told myself, backing toward the abbey. If I could get close enough to call for help, maybe I stood a chance.
The man grinned, his axe glinting in the pale sunlight. "You've got guts, kid. But it's over now."
I tightened my grip on the dagger, my heart pounding. This wasn't how I imagined my morning walk ending. But I refused to let fear take over.
As they closed in on me, something deep inside me stirred—a spark of energy that felt ancient and powerful. I didn't know what it was, but I grasped onto it, letting it flood through me.
The next thing I knew, a burst of golden light erupted from my body, blinding the assassins. They stumbled back, shouting in surprise.
"What the—?" the woman exclaimed, shielding her eyes.
The light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me dazed but unharmed. The assassins were still there, but they looked shaken, their confidence cracked.
I didn't wait for them to recover. I turned and ran toward the abbey, my legs pumping as fast as they could.
"Stop him!" The woman shouted, but her voice sounded distant, drowned out by the pounding of my heart.
As I reached the garden's edge, I heard the bells of the abbey ringing—a warning to all within its walls. Help was coming, but I wasn't sure if it would arrive in time.
For the first time since arriving at the abbey, I realized just how dangerous the world outside the palace truly was. And as I ran, I couldn't help but wonder: Who wanted me dead? And why?
(Continue...)