In tenth-era Eldrin, two young boys, orphaned at a young age, are mentored by a wealthy man to become assassins. Then, after the tragic murder of their adopted father, the boys, now young men, seek to demolish the insurgence of ten years earlier, La Vigilantanos. *Note*: Graphic Violence. Not for the faint of heart. P.S. This series falls into multiple categories, and each book will most likely have its own genre.

Cover courtesy of TheFuzz


3. Tools of Revenge

Chapter 3

Tools of Revenge


When we arrived at the bank, it was bright and sunny, the wind strong, ruffling my shirt sleeves. Alder and I approached the marvelous columns of the largest bank in all of Icra, or, as the empire called it, west Eldrin. The marble walls loomed high above us. Two statues of Loren the Great, the first emperor of Eldrin, stood on pedestals. Them seemed to watch us, like sentinels, not letting us get out of line. We then entered. Everything was white marble and gold. Many people imagined the heavens to look like this; clean, pristine, and extremely expensive. 

We approached the man at the counter of the bank. He was a plump, pale man, with multiple chins. It was evident he did not venture outside much, and likely spent most of his day here. He was very, and I mean very, warty, like a toad. He was jotting down seemingly arbitrary notes, probably just passing the time. We stood in front of him for about three minutes, just watching him write, until I lost my patience. I slammed my fist on his counter. He looked up, looking bored. Now, though, I had no regard for how tedious his job may be.

"Vault 301," I demanded. I would no longer waste words on this toad of a man. My authority obviously did not phase him, probably from the multitude of "powerful" business men, angry as I was at this repulsive man.

"Key, please," he said in a quite thick Eastern accent. I fetched the key from my coin pouch and dropped it on the counter. He picked it up, delicately, and spun it around precisely, probably looking for an insignia of some kind, so that a fake key could not be forged without the real key. "Everything seems to be in order," he said, poshly. "Demetri, come, boy."

A teen, probably sixteen, came jogging around the corner. He was short and scrawny, with bifocals falling of of his nose. He constantly had to wipe his stringy black hair out of his eyes. He was one of those boys that would be picked on as a child. I immediately felt pity for him, as I always did with those that were picked on, or discriminated against.

We stood for a moment, waiting to be escorted into the inner reaches of the bank. "Don't just stand there, you whelp! Guide them to the vault!" the toad yelled in a high, screechy voice. The boy became frightened, his knees shaking.

"Um, y-yes. Right this w-way, kind sirs," the boy whimpered in yet another Eastern accent. I realized he must be the toads son, adopted, most likely, as these two did not share a resemblance. He scurried down the hall behind the desk, stopping at the entrance and waiting for us to follow. And follow we did.

After the first twenty feet of the hall, it became a incline, and we slowly descended into the bowels of the bank. After the first twenty feet of the incline, the marble ended, and, in its place, was rough, un-manicured stone. We twisted and turned, this way and that. waiting to reach our destination.

Soon, we reached the end of the narrow incline, and the ground flattened. We stood in an enormous cavern. The ceiling was hundreds of feet above us, a perfect dome, the walls lined with platforms and indents, where the vaults lay. 

"Odds on the left, evens on the right," he explained in his quiet voice. "What was your vault number?"

"301," I answered curtly. I then, on a stroke of curiosity, asked him, "Is that banker your father, boy?" His eyes darkened behind his bifocals, and he nodded slowly.

"He is a wretch of a man. Absolutely repulsive. He adopted me when we both still lived in the East. Oh, as the days go by, my hate for him grows larger. I've been raised by him for twelve years, and never once has he shown any regard for me! When I am old enough to leave this place, he will be leaving this earth. When I get my hands on him, I-" as he started to raise his voice, I put my hand on his shoulder, interrupting him. He sighed.

"I apologize. Your vault is right this way sirs," he said, indicating the left side. He took us to the third platform up, and stopped at the first door. He took the key, inserted it into the slot, and several gears started twisting and grinding, slowly opening the massive steel door.

Inside the vault was a set of chests, each with an insignia on the top, an elegant a. Alder and I exchanged glances, anxious as to what are final gifts are. Simultaneously, we opened the lids. Inside was a set of clothes, a vest, a cloak, boots, and gloves. Mine were accented in multiple places with dark green and white, while the main colors were gray and black.

I removed the clothes, and under them, I found a scabbard. Protruding out from the end was a beautifully crafted sword handle, and I assumed the blade would be as much. As I unsheathed my sword, a beautiful rapier, I was awestruck at the utter craftsmanship that went into making this blade. It was thin, about three feet long, and an inch wide. near the cross guard were detailed flourish designs. I re-sheathed the sword and placed it next to the clothes. Inside the chest I also found a dagger, with a scabbard similar to the sword's. 

When I unsheathed the knife, I realized it was crafted by the same man as the sword, as the two had very similar designs. The dagger was a foot long, with a five inch leather-wrapped grip. It's grip was different in that it did not have the finger guard like the sword, but instead just a cross-guard. I re-sheathed the dagger. 

Next, in the chest, was a belt of throwing knives, about ten, alongside with a small, rectangular box. Inside the box was a multitude of spare throwing knives, in case I lost the ten on the belt. I decided to equip all of these new weapons.

I took of my current cloak and vest, and put on my new gray vest. Under the left and right arms were holding straps for a dagger scabbard, and on the lower back were five slots on either side, for throwing knives, along with the additional ten on the belt I put on. The vest, I could now feel, was plate metal with cloth finely wrapped around it, giving an immense amount of mobility, and protecting my chest as well. The belt also came with a scabbard slot for my sword, which I slid in. I put my dagger under my arm, and donned the black and green hooded cloak. The cloak was simple and standard, other than the hood. 

I looked in the chest, and noticed one more object. A pendant. An a, just like the insignia on the chest. I shed a single tear. Our father, always helping us along, even if not physically, but with his actions and teachings.

I looked up and noticed Alder had also equipped his gifts. Instead of blades, though, he had firearms. Two long-barreled flintlock pistols on his belt, two smaller ones strapped under his armpits along his ribcage, and a rifle on his back. The flintlocks, while relatively standard, were well designed and very detailed, like my blades. His rifle, though, was very different. It was bronze, with multiple valves and gears protruding from the sides of it. 

His cloak and vest were identical to mine, except accented in blue. We were now ready to fight Le Vigilantanos. And we would stop at nothing to destroy them. I turned to the young boy that brought us here. And I said to him, "You are of strong will, if not physically. If you ever do decide to go down the path of justice to the unworthy, I will train you. Find Devone. Ask for "Amadeus." And you will find me, boy. Farewell." And with that, Alder and I left him, and emerged from the bank as new men, baptized in the blood of our father, and ready for vengeance. 


Over the course of the next few days, we discovered more about our new gifts. I realized that in my boots, there are blades hidden inside the toes that I can activate by pressing a button with my other boot, and other things of the sort.

Alder and I, every day, got more accurate, quicker, and more alert. We would spar each other, hand-to-hand, and no matter how hard either of us tried, we could never prevail against the other. My knowledge of swordplay grew immensely in that couple of days. I felt like a child once more, when Padere would guide my sword strokes to help me learn. And sooner than we thought, the day of the festival came. 

We arrived right as the festival was hitting full swing. People were very happy, very drunk, and very entertained by the time we got there. Alder and I planned to scour the area to find Fareno Taredicci. We knew this man was clever and cautious, so we had to be very discreet.

"Alder, I'm going to blend with the crowd. See if I can get any information about Fareno's location," I whispered to him. He nodded, and I stepped onto the dance floor, looking for someone very drunk and very wealthy looking. They would probably be Fareno's "closest friends," because of their wealth.

But, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone I recognized. It was the young woman from the alley. She sat alone at a dinner table. I grinned. Interrigation shall begin now. I strolled up to her, a polite smile plastered to my face. As I approached, she noticed me, grinned, and shook her head. Her beautiful hair bounced as she did so, and I found it almost... Entrancing, watching it. 

I put on my smooth-talking, and asked her, "May I have this dance, Madame?" holding out my hand. She took it, and stood up, her elegant red dress trailing behind her. As we danced, she said to me, "Here you are again. And I still do not know who you are, sir." I smiled at that.

"Nor do I, Madame. Amadeus Tirene, at your service." Her face saddened. 

"Tirene?" she asked, slightly distraught. I nodded. "Oh, I am so sorry for your loss. My condolences to your family."

I smiled meekly. "Its just my brother and I, now," I told her. "And how should I address you?" I asked, lightening the mood. 

She smiled coyly. "Isabella Daricemo," she said proudly. My grin wavered for a split second. I was dancing with the daughter of the man who killed my father. And I must kill hers. Very, very quickly, I returned to my usual nonchalant attitude, all the while my mind racing about the newly discovered information.

"Now, Amadeus, you puzzle me. Your demeanor, your troublemaking, what is it all for?" she asked me, very suspicious about my doings. 

I looked at her with fake confusion, saying, "What could you possibly mean?"

She shook her head, grinning again. "I see through that charade. You know exactly what I mean." I smirked.

"You're good. How much else can you guess about me?"

"Well, I know you cause much mischief, because whenever I see you, you're being chased by someone. I also know that you have a dagger concealed under your left armpit," she explained correctly. She smirked at my shock.

"Well, Isabella, your knife is not too well hidden either. Your waistband? How cliche," I said mischievously. Her smirk faded, knowing that we were in a game of wits. 

"Hmph. Let's see here. You're clever, but a little hot-headed. You rush into things easily, on impulse." I nodded my head at her.

"Not bad," I said. "You may be able to participate in my line of work, with a bit of practice."

She smiled, innocently. "And what exactly is your line of work, Amadeus?" Just as she asked that the music stopped. I lifted her hand and kissed it in farewell. 

"That, my fair Isabella, is for another time." Checkmate.

I heard a man speaking loudly from the music stage at the front of the great dining hall. My eyes darted over to the stage, and I saw him. Fareno Taredicci. The man I planned to kill.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...