An Assassin for the Elves By Lucia J. Floan

As he gazed at the frail limb, limp in the grass, his anger boiled. Aias had been crippled his entire life, forced to watch as his brothers wielded swords and aimed bows carved from the White Tree. He never had, and never would, unless… no, no chance, no way. You’re too weak, too afraid. The whispering Voice seeped through his mind. Leave me alone. A quiet, never. He crammed that sound into the back of his head with a furious shove, misery surging upward. How many times had it accused him of what he’d known. Every day it grew louder, more commanding. He could hear It’s tone, laughing accusations. Each time it spoke, the past trickled through a mental barrier. Life had been simple. Innocent in the mind of a young boy. Simple... until then. His mother’s death. The day when truth finally emerged for the first time. The truth that the world was dark, corrupted. The truth that his childhood had been a lie. Twisted into a perfect world. The truth... that the voice had whispered. A tiny thought slid into his mind. Maybe It was right. He did happen to be a prince, secretly skilled with a bow, and hardly ever noticed. Maybe he could prove himself. The absurdity of the thought caused him to shake his head. No. Yes. Impossible. The instant rebellion of the word made Aias breath in sharply. You could at least try. A second voice caused him to look up, ignoring the gnawing thoughts. “Your Highness,” A tall elf, his tunic bearing the emblem of a patron, looked down at him, “the King would like you to converse in the convocation of the royals and elders.” Aias nearly laughed at the pompous drawl. “He wants me to be there?” The patron’s smile disappeared, “You’re supposed to be there.” Ignoring the disdainful tone, Aias stood and, without another word, limped to the hall with the help of his curled, silver pole.

“My son!” the King called out, so obvious that everyone turned to gaze at the entering prince. Aias brushed off the greeting and slumped into his seat. Why was he, of all the princes, here? It wasn’t like they always needed him. Besides, it was unusual to have a meeting at this time of day. He tried to sort out his thoughts, hardly acknowledging the conference. Everyone around him seemed intent on discussing the neighboring elves. Then, a single word: assassination. Aias jerked to attention and watched his father pace the room. Had he heard it right? Assassination? This could be your chance. He flinched, trying to push away the eerie sound. Go away. But I can’t, it laughed, you made me. I'm. In. Your. Head. It felt like a knife slicing through his skull. Stifling a cry, he ground his teeth and stuffed that voice into an isolated, locked box.. No one had noticed, thankfully. The elves were watching the King’s every move and listening to every sound uttered from his lips. They always did, but Aias’ interest had been drawn with one single word. As he listened further, his attention was seized completely. “They’ve crossed through the boundary.” Murmurs entwined the room. “The sighting was from the east.” More whispers, a few harsh oaths. “The one witness said… that they wore silver cloaks.” The room erupted. Aias was well acquainted with the sworn oath. The oath that had pushed their sworn enemies, the Silvern Elves, from the boundary. The oath that spoke to terminate. He was silent; he knew it was coming. Your chance… The voice sounded so sure, so tempting. You could do it. You could prove yourself. Kill them. He tried to shake it off, but it haunted him. Maybe. Yesssssss, you could. Prove yourself. Show them you’re not a weakling. His stomach churned, and he felt sick. No, he couldn't. You could. He tore his attention back to his father, breath sharp. “They are making their way farther into Elvinia.” Aias ignored the harsh words that circled around him. “It will mean assassination.” There it was again. The simple word, pressing him. Forcing him… “I’ll do it!” Aias was stunned to hear his own voice. No cheers, no hurrahs. Only laughter. Simple, evil laughter. “Just a boy!” cried one. “He has his studies!” Another elderly elf yelled out. “Studies? He’s crippled.” All the sounds blurred, and despairing pain crept up around him. They all think you’re a feeble, crippled, good-for-nothing, little boy. That’s how they see you. Do you want that? Aias tried to ignore the pressing fury. Stop. It laughed its cruel, heartless laugh. You will, eventually. Then, silence. Aias heaved a sigh of relief, only to find himself amongst hundreds of eyes. All staring. Right. At. Him. He could feel color in his face drain away. “Son,” the King approached him, eyes flickering with the sheer absurdity Aias had expected, “you want to assassinate?” Aias's voice caught in his throat, “Yes, Your Majesty.” The King laughed. “No need to call me ‘Your Majesty,’ son, but, please, you must be joking.” Aias struggled to answer. “No… Father.” The King’s smile dissipated. “Never.” More laughs swirled around the room. Aias hung his head. “You are crippled, son. Incapable of doing… much. Not you, but your brother, Eroan, will take on the challenge, along with any other... except you.” Every word stung. His thoughts were blank with anger. Without another word, Aias stood and left the hall, humiliation pummeling his every move. I told you. The voice was back. This time, Aias didn’t fight it. They think you’re weak, but, now, I see you’re ready to cooperate. No, I’m not ready to cooperate. Aias hissed the next words aloud, “I’m ready to be an assassin.” The door swung closed. Aias was left in the shadows. Turning to his wall, he ran his hand across the polished surface until, click, the barrier gave way to black. Familiar with the darkness, Aias thrust his hand through, grasping around a familiar, smooth wood, and pulled it out. Before him, the hours of hurt and despair shaped itself into a plain, wooden bow. Every hour he’d spent making it, every second he’d shaped its form, seemed far away. When he’d been ten, his father had agreed to give him a long knife for “protection.” That knife had shaped this weapon before him. That knife... was built to kill. And that’s why he needed them, both of them. Someone’s coming. He shoved the wall back into place and slid the bow into a clasp behind him, covered by his cloak. The voice was always there. It had taken control. Not total control, more like a distant— “Brother!” The door swung open, revealing Eroan and two others. Aias forced a smile, but the memory from just hours ago had resurfaced. He gritted his teeth and managed to turn his back away from them. Eroan stepped in, followed by another brother, another prince, Lyaris. Aias stepped up to the wall, pressing the bow firmly against it. Leave. They don’t hear you, the voice scrutinized, you’ve grown so accustomed to talking to me, you… An eerie chortle. Be quiet. The princes smiled at their younger brother. “We had wanted to say farewell before we left.” Aias nodded, but remained silent. Lyaris looked down. “We’re bringing your other brothers.” Aias could feel his face heat up. “Which ones?” “All of them… besides us.” He steeled his expression, balancing precariously on his single sturdy leg. “Just wanted to tell you…” Eroan trailed off. Aias’s answer was hard. “Thanks.” “I…” Eroan trailed off, “I’m sorry you couldn’t come.” He reached out, placing his hand on Aias’ shoulder. “You know Father’s right.” Aias felt fury building up inside him. “We are sorry, Aias.” Aias glared at them, straight in the eyes, rage swimming through his mind. “Then vouch for me. Help me convince our father.” He paused, waiting for an answer. Thick silence. “I’m sorry…” “No. You’re not.” “We are, truly, Aias—” “Get out.” “Please—” “Get out!” Aias shouted, swinging his arm to the side, sending a silver, luminescence orb shattering to the floor. Lyaris backed up. Eroan looked worried. “Aias—” “Leave!” he screamed, slamming the door in their wake and crumpling to the floor. Why… Even your family thinks you're feeble, incapable of doing… “much.” Aias recognized the laugh, evil in its own reassuring way. They don’t… They do. I can’t— Aias’ mind protested. You will. Not now... Even his consciousness sounded weary. Tonight. Aias stood, retrieved his bow, and examined it for damage. It was untouched and ready.

From the edge of the forest, Aias watched the horses gallop into the woods, framed by their silver surroundings. The assassins, who had trained day and night for this day, bent low to the horses’ necks. In moments, they were gone. Aias’ hood shadowed his face, casting his vision into grey. The crowd of elves cheered from the white courtyard as the warriors disappeared. The King smiled proudly from an overhanging balcony, draped with golden flowers. Aias was disgusted. As the sun plunged lower in the sky, Aias stood waiting, motionless, castle’s shadow slipping over his boots. The area was deserted. Only Aias and It were left. We need to go now. Yesssssss, but you need a horse. No, I don’t. Aias looked up to the darkening sky, his hood falling about his neck, and let out a long, low whistle. In seconds, a shadow enveloped him. Large, black wings fanned out, and a feathered body casting a dark silhouette in the sky. A griffin. The Voice sounded, for once, amazed. Not, “a griffin”. An old friend, Aias corrected as he gazed at the nearing form. The griffin dove, landing silently in one swift motion. Its voice entered Aias’ head. Aias, friend. The silky voice drifted around in his mind. Sharian. Aias grinned. The griffin spread its wings, You needed me? Aias nodded his head. If you’re able. Of course, the griffin answered, I still owe you, don’t I? He laughed silently, walking towards the massive, black form. You don’t. This is a simple favor. Glad to oblige. The griffin turned its beak up to the sky. If you want to catch up with the horseback riders, you’re going to need to leave now. Yes, we should. The voice had stayed silent through it all, surprisingly. He dismissed the thought, and managed to vault onto Sharian’s back. Let’s go. Your father doesn’t know, does he? No? The griffin laughed warmly as Aias hugged closer to the neck. Sharain, he’ll know if we don’t leave soon. Fine, we’ll go, The griffin answered, a laugh rumbling through his frame. Once more, the ebony wings spread to their full length and rose. In moments, the ground was far below, night creeping over it like a spindly hand. Sharian… It was The Voice, hesitantly speaking. The griffin’s tone was sharp. Aias, who is this. Aias clutched the griffin’s neck. It’s… It. No answer. They flew on, eastward.

Aias fought to stay awake. White stars streaked the dark sky, night wore on. Every second inched by, and every minute seemed like an hour. Sharian hadn’t spoken since Aias had mentioned It several hours ago. The silence was agonizing. He was too afraid of confronting Sharian, mind spoken or not. Time ticked by. Light eased into the sky. Dawn broke. A long yawn issued from Aias’ mouth; he was exhausted. When darkness was pushed over the horizon, Aias ground his teeth. He would have to speak with Sharian. His insides twisted with the instinctive warning, he could tell his brothers were close. Sharian? His voice, though just a thought, shook. The griffin’s answer was hard. Yes? My brothers… Aias trailed off. They’re ahead. You can see them. Aias turned his gaze upward, squinting against the rising sun. Several dark silhouettes dotted the ground. They’re on foot. Sharian’s voice slipped into his thoughts. I should be... Aias—, the griffin paused, thank you. For what? His confusion was blatant. For everything. The griffin spiraled to earth, landing with a beat of his wings. Wordlessly, Aias slid off Sharian’s back and crumpled onto the soft ground. He looked up as, once more, a dark form filled the sky. Thank you. He knew Sharian had heard, but no answer was needed. Aias watched his friend disappear and picked up his pole. A familiar hissing voice filled his ears. Hurry! It screeched, you need to get ahead! Aias put one foot down, and began to trudge on.

They were just ahead now, only several yards away, but they didn’t see him. His brothers slept, rumbles filling the empty air. Aias stepped past them, giving them hardly a glance. He was so close, only a few more hills… The sounds of the sleeping assassins drifted away as he continued. His good leg screamed at him, but he pressed on. Every tree was a simple part of scenery, and every step an agonizing effort. He stopped. The sky was filled with silence, then a haunting melody filled his ears. It sounded… sad. That’s them! The Silvern Elves! The Voice shouted. Go! Kill them!

He paused only a moment before clearing the ridge. Already, darkness crept around through the forest. He couldn’t see the source of the sound. His hand reached around back, grasping the wood as he had done days ago. He pulled it out and knocked an arrow. The sound was just around the corner, and words drifted out. For all the days… Every pain, every moment… I’ll be with you. The misery you endure... The sadness that grasps your heart... Only temporary in this dark. I’ll be with you. Sleep, sleep, I’ll be with you. The song sounded familiar, Aias shook it off. Kill them! The Voice was in a frenzy. Kill them! He edged forward, one hand on the cliff wall and the other grasping his bow. Then he saw them. Two Silvern Elves sat huddled on the ridge, one held by the other. It was a woman, eyes closed, humming the melody. In her arms, lay a small girl, thin and frail. Kill them! The Voice ordered, now! A memory surfaced, from long ago. Aias recognized it instantly. He was three, curled up in his mothers arms, sobbing. “I don’t want to be crippled!” his tiny, desperate voice filled the air. “Shhhh.” More sobs. “Daddy hates me.” “No he doesn’t.” “Did you see his face when I asked? He was disgusted.” “He wants to protect you.” He remembered this. It was his mother before her death. Another memory clawed its way from the dark. It was black, everyone dressed in black. Circlets, cloaks, tunics. Even the King’s crown had been recast to ebony. From a five-year-old’s view, Aias looked up. Ahead of him, a tall elf bowed his head. “Mommy.” It was his own voice again, small and vulnerable. An elf, dress swirling with silver mist, knelt beside him. Not his mother. Her hand rubbed his back, comforting words floating about him. Empty. He shook it away, pain clutching his already broken heart. In a flash, one more recognition of his past groped for his notice. For all the days… Every pain, every moment… I’ll be with you. The misery you endure… The sadness that grasps your heart… Only temporary in this dark. I’ll be with you. Sleep, sleep, I’ll be with you. It was his mother’s voice, dancing like the moon and stars. He held up the bow, crude and splintered, an arrow hanging limply at its side. This course wood, toiled for what? Running his hands along the base, he took one last look and snapped it in two. The woman gasped, and the girl jerked awake. They stared at him, shivering. He gazed out, over the cliff and into the beyond. The bow fell from his hand, tumbling down out of sight. He turned back to the elves. “You need to go. Now.” He glared up at the shimmering sky and whistled a long, low whistle. “Sharian will come for you. Leave with him, to the North. You will be safe there.” Without another sound, Aias limped away from the mountain, The Voice gone. Forever gone.