Ifiret's Journey, Chapter 2/3

Chapter Two
Not taught, shown

The following weeks were none too exciting. My father had stopped training me personally and started to send me on random missions to eliminate the vermin in the sewers. Each day I wondered when our training would pick up again, but when I returned to my father with countless trophies to prove my success he would take them and send me on another seemingly pointless chore. One day after returning from the sewers, and carrying a bag of trophies with me, I approached my father’s residence. But I heard voices inside so I stopped to wait patiently outside.
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but my skill was so honed by this time that I could hardly help it. I heard my father, and a female’s voice. I later found out that it was my mother.
“She’s not like the others,” my father had said.
“Then make her one,” said my mother in a rather imperative tone.
“Don’t you think I have tried? She just doesn’t get it. I don’t think she ever will.”
There was a sigh of frustration.
“This was your fault you know, you’re the one who said she was Assassin material,” Mother said.
“Well she definitely wouldn’t be a Brigand! Maybe she’d be a better Defiler...”
There was a pause.
“How did you know?”
“How could I not? In all my family lines there has never been one Shaman. Not one. And we seem to have two in our family now. From two different clutches. Making Ifiret an assassin was the only way to save myself from the embarrassment.”
“And now look where she is now. By saving yourself the shame you’ve probably wasted Ifiret’s life.”
“Don’t you pin this on me. I’m not even her father, but I brought her up anyway. I could have killed this clutch as punishment for your disloyalty, but I did not!”
My father’s voice was crude. I saw his shadow on the ground. It crept under the door and poured into the street. It could have been a figure of anger, but all I saw was one of remorse. I heard my mother hiss.
“Then you are weak.”
The door opened and I saw her walk off down the alley with a rather powerful gait. My father stepped out and watched her disappear. He stood there for a moment before he turned around and saw me. He sighed in disappointment, on two things. One was the fact that I couldn’t act like I hadn’t been listening in, and another was because I had heard the entirety of the conversation.
He put his hand around my shoulder and led me inside his inn room. I was still carrying the bag of miscellaneous bits of fang or claw. I dumped them out on the table and sat down. There was a moment of awkward silence before I picked out a particularly large fang. I started to tell him that it was my favorite trophy so far as it was naturally hollow and had a blackened tip. I told him it came from a huge snake I named Stench because it didn’t smell too pleasant when I killed it. But he sighed loudly as he joined me at the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice had an edge to it.
I told him not to be, as I was grateful he didn’t kill me at birth. But he just sighed again at my ignorant reply. I tried to draw his attention back toward the fang I was still holding up. I didn’t want to talk about what I had just heard but I could tell by the regretful stare he directed toward me that he wasn’t listening. I put down the fang and gestured to him that I was paying attention.
“I am going to send you to the Freeport Militia House tomorrow. They have a job that requires an Assassin of your skill. I thought it might be a good start for you. They will feed you, provide shelter, and give you work until you are ready to live on your own,” He said, his voice was firm as it had always been.
It was almost like it was just another training session, or like this was how it was supposed to be. I didn’t respond to his words but picked up the fang instead and twirled it around examining it. It managed to deflect a tear. There was a long moment of silence, as my father watched the fang twirl in my hand, and I watched as the liquid slid off the smooth surface.
“You are still my daughter, Ifiret; whether you are of my seed or not. But you must understand why it has to end this way. No one is going to tell you to be an assassin anymore. You will find training in other arts if that is what you wish. I cannot teach you anything more, I’m afraid.” He said as he got up from his chair to escort me out of the inn. I was reluctant to get up. The fang was still in my hand and just before I left I gave it to him. My father frowned but held it tight. I walked down toward the alleyway and didn’t look back, as it would have brought me much sadness.


The next day I had packed my things and headed for the Militia House. To be honest I was quite excited. I had never ventured into the city proper before. But my excitement was soon demolished as I realized what kind of people inhabited this place. There were drunkards, thugs, and whores littering the streets. I had always thought that the city’s proper might have been a little easier on the eye then my home town of Scale Yard, but it was just as filthy. I managed to ignore most of the threatening and insulting stares and comments cast out at me openly. But some got to me. One man suggested that my hide would make a fine jacket. Others called my race an abomination, or simple comments like “who let that vermin into our city.” By the time I got to West Freeport where the Militia House was, I was in a full run trying to avoid further prosecution.
I entered the Militia House and I felt no more welcome. I shifted through the crowd of guards exiting the headquarters. The Militia House was massive. Flags of the Overlord were draped over railings and nailed on walls. I heard the shouts of orders and cadences echoing throughout the hall. I could see out a window in the back, where outside many were sparing against each other with sword and fist. I did not see any Iksar here, which did nothing to ease my anxiety. I made my way to a rather official looking man at the base of the stairs. He was bald and heavy set. I told him that my name was Ifiret, and that my father said that he had a job for me. The rest of the house went silent from my sudden outburst. I looked around nervously as the man leaned forward.
“You don’t look like an assassin to me,” He said narrowing his eyes. I didn’t argue. The general called out a name and another guard handed him an envelope, in which he handed it to me.
“Here’s your contract, read it and don’t come back until you’ve done your job. You know where the Commonlands is?” He asked.
I said yes but I’ve never exactly been there before. He cut me off with a “good, so get to work.” And he gestured me away. I was more then happy to get out of the city. I ran through the city and although that drew more attention to my self, at least I couldn’t hear the townspeople’s mocking calls. And for the first time I stepped outside of Freeport.
It was beautiful. The sun had just risen, painting the sky with bright pinks and yellows. You could see all across the plains and the mountains in the distance. I remember I even took off my boots to feel the dry grass in-between my toes. If I could have it my way, I’d live out in the wilderness, I had thought.
After I smelt the free air and felt the sun’s warmth on my scales I paused to open the envelope. The overwhelming scent of wax and ink reminded me of the city, and therefore, made me wince. But what was actually written on the parchment would make me cringe. In not-so-neat hand writing the order detailed that there were sightings of a Qeynosian couple. They were believed to be scouts working for their Queen, Antonia Bayle. I was to find out what they were doing here, and then eliminate them in “any means necessary”.
I remember what my father had told me about the words “any means necessary”. He told me that it basically meant to “have fun with it”. I couldn’t imagine how it could be fun, but if that was what I had to do, I had to try. I still believed that maybe if I proved my self to Freeport as an assassin, my father and family would take me back. Maybe this was all just a ruse meant to see if my heart was in my profession. So I decided that I would do my best. I could always lie of course, but that didn’t seem plausible at the time. At least my skills with the blade were far more advanced then that of my trickery.
So, I began my search. My senses were exceptionally sharpened, and I could pick up the slightest traces of anything that had a scent. The trouble was I didn’t even know what a Qeynosian smelt like. From what my father told me, I imagined something like noxious perfume, made from flowers or candies. He told me that the Qeynosians had an idealistic view on this world. Their cities were clean, they even had stone roads. Everyone is merry and goes about their business with a smile on their faces.
But he told me that they faced tragedy just like we did. The biggest difference between us and them was that they would stop and mourn with their tails tucked between their legs, while we stand to do something about it. Whether it would be to seek revenge or fight against the assailer. I wasn’t exactly sure what he had been talking about, but hopefully meeting these Qeynosians would paint a better picture. Maybe they would turn in fright and run, and I wouldn’t have to destroy them. But even I knew that was wishful thinking, and that would do nothing to impress my father or Freeport.
I continued my search not expecting to find them that day. As the sun began to set, so did my enthusiasm. But I heard something on the wind. I craned my neck to get a better view on the land, but I just couldn’t see much. I spotted a small termite mound so I headed for that and climbed up it. In the distance I could see two figures. They were in an oasis and something was harassing them. There was a larger man and a smaller figure. I quickly slid down the mound and ran toward the pair. I heard their struggles and the roars and growls of a beast. I cloaked my self with the invisibility spell before I got too close. I saw that there was a huge lion. I heard such tales of a lion of this size. Rama'nai was what they had called him. He had supposedly been the head of the main pride for decades; far longer then any male lion should live. He was covered in scars and wounds, but his muscles shown perfectly as he poised, tense, ready to take down his prey.
I could see now that there was a Barbarian. I was familiar with the race as they shared Scale Yard with the Iksar. They tend to think with their heart before their brain though. There was a female; an elf. She wasn’t too tall, not what I’d imagine a Koada’dal, or high elf, looking like. She had strange tattoos and markings across her face and arms. Small as she was she seemed to have great tenacity. The Barbarian tried to fend off the beast with a sword while the elf was constantly muttering spells in a tongue I didn’t recognize. Each time Rama’nai would dig his claws into the man, the elf would mutter a few words, and the wounds would close up. But I could still see that they were fighting a losing battle.
Without thinking I sprang from my hiding spot and drove my dagger as hard as I could into Rama’nai’s flank. I cloaked again, and reappeared a few feet away, distracting the lion from the couple. I then hit the beast square in the head with the hilt of my blade. Rama’nai staggered backward and moaned. I took this opportunity to swing back around him and strike him in the flank once more. I cut deep into his leg muscle and the beast whimpered in pain. Rama’nai quickly retreated, limping as fast as he could back toward whatever refuge he had secured. I laughed and called after the fleeing lion, directing an insult something along the lines of “coward”. Then I turned to the Barbarian and the elf.
They stared at me with astonishment, but not with prosecution as I had expected. I bowed low as that was the proper etiquette. The elf bowed back reflexively it seemed but the Barbarian stood firm.
“Why did you do that?” The Barbarian asked his voice was deep and demanding.
I shook my head, honestly not knowing why myself.
“You were in trouble…” I finally answered.
“Well, thank you, but we must be on our way,” the elf said with a surprisingly outstanding tone. They started to turn away, but I told them to wait. I asked them who they were and why they were here. The elf answered that her name was Bromacide, and she and her Barbarian friend had traveled here by mistake. The Barbarian was none too pleased with the elf’s sudden outburst. He insisted that they must get going. But I stopped them again. I boldly asked if they were from Qeynos. Before the elf could answer the Barbarian silenced her and told me that it was none of my concern.
“Then you are from Qeynos aren’t you?! You’re here to spy on us!” I had shouted. This was probably not the most couth thing to say at the time. The elf looked to the Barbarian before she replied.
“We are not spies; we got turned around somewhere. We are lost. We have to find our way back to Antonica immediately.”
“So you can report back to your spy headquarters? I don’t think so!” I drew my blade. The Barbarian drew his as well, but the elf held up her hand.
“Please, we do not have time for this. If you know the way, then tell us. If you do not care then leave us be.” The Barbarian turned to Bromacide and gave her a look of ambiguity. But she seemed adamant. Her confidence was beginning to show, and mine was beginning to waver. I slowly dropped my hand and dagger. I told them that I would have to ask my father about where to go, and that he might help them return to their Antonica. I was not sure why I had agreed, and I was even more confused about why I had implemented my father in this. Did I really think at the time that he would help two Qeynosians find their way home? I suppose it was only a hope. Again the Barbarian seemed uneasy.
“How can we trust you?” he asked.
“You are from Qeynos, I would like to ask you the same thing,” I replied. The Barbarian exhaled deeply. Bromacide took a step forward.
“We do thank you for your effort. What is your name?” she asked politely.
I replied that my name was Ifiret. I then told them to wait where they were, and to stay low while I went to get my father. I said I would return at sunrise tomorrow. They nodded. I set off toward Freeport as fast as I could. But as I got closer something had gone terribly wrong. There was a great deal of smoke billowing from a section of the city, and I had a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.


Three Freeport Militia guards wearing scorched armor stood at attention outside the entryway to Scale Yard. I ran to them and demanded to know what had happened, but they pushed me away and I was sent to the ground. A hand came down and picked me up by the shoulder. I turned to see that it was another Iksar, dressed in a dark robe. He was smaller then most males for what appeared to be his age. I immediately asked him what had happened. He told me that the thugs of the City Proper had raided and burned down all of Scale Yard. From what a guard had told him, most, if not all of the Iksar and Barbarians in the town were destroyed. I did not hold back my tears and I clung to the stranger’s robe. I asked him if he knew anything about what happened to my father. He looked down to me and asked me my name. I replied “Ifiret” through my deep sobs.
“Ifiret…” He repeated to himself softly. I nodded without looking up and grasped the robe tighter. There were a few moments of silence as a guard approached the others posted at the entrance and there was some talk. I could not hear their conversation over the beating of my heart and the throbbing of my head. An awkward arm came down around my shoulders and it pulled me closer to the stranger’s torso.
“Your father is fine,” he said. I looked up.
“Where is he?!” I demanded to know pulling away from the robed stranger. He looked to me.
“I am here…” He admitted. He was hurt that I did not know, but it seemed that he didn’t entirely expect me to either. I took another step back and scowled. He could only frown. The guards by the entryway laughed and we both turned to look at them. They could be heard clearly now, their voices booming, the fire light from inside the city dancing menacingly over their armor. I heard them rejoice in the raid; praising the thugs of the city proper for eliminating Freeport’s lower-then-scum ranks. I looked to the Iksar who had claimed he was my real father and he did not seem to show much emotion. He looked back to me.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” I asked him, furious about the entire situation. He shook his head and shrugged. Then he finally said:
“I don’t want to get into further confrontations. Come, let us go Ifiret. There is nothing left for us here,” He said as he held out his hand. I rejected it immediately.
“There is nothing left for you. My mother is probably dead; there is nothing here you can claim,” I hissed.
“There is only you, my daughter.”
“I am not your daughter. My father would never be such a coward. There is nothing here you can claim,” I said with finality. He tried to grab me, but I quickly ran across the docks and dove into the murky water. The sun had fully set by this time but the fires of Scale Yard lit the harbor as if it were day. I took in a deep breath and swam underneath the docks. I heard the stranger’s light-footed walk across the wood of the docks. He did not seem to be in pursuit of me. There may have been nothing left for him here, but there may still be something here for me. I dove under again and swam until I found a round grate. I pulled at it and it opened with ease. I swung my tail from side to side, propelling me through the water until I came to another grate. I pushed up through it, and I found myself in the familiar sewers underneath Scale Yard.
I quickly made my way through the twisting passageways. I found the ladder that ascended into the town. When I reached the surface I quickly engaged my invisibility spell and two guards walked past carrying a corpse to a large pile in the center of the town. I did not see my father among them, so I headed for his inn. It was not long before I saw him. He was hunched in the corner next to the inn entrance. He held my mother’s badly burnt body, and a spear was thrust through his chest plate. I knelt beside the two and felt utterly helpless. But then I noticed that something was in my father’s hand. I delicately opened it only to find the fang I had given him. It had been fashioned into a charm with a copper chain. I took it and wrapped it around my own wrist.
I stood up and looked at the figures of my parents. I looked to my mother who had been hiding in my father’s grasp. I looked to my father who had been protecting her. I looked to my mother again and whispered:
“You did not deserve him…” I clenched the fang in my fist and walked toward the entryway. I pushed past the laughing guards who were surprised to see me exit the town. The robed Iksar stood at the end of the docks. He looked to me but I did not look back. As I nearly passed him I stopped.
“She deserved you…” I said to him. The stranger opened his mouth and was about to say something, but closed it. I am not sure if he had known what I meant by that statement, but then again I am not sure that I even cared. I took a boat from the docks back to the Commonlands. The treachery of Freeport had definitely shown itself that night. I did not once look back, for it would have brought me much anger.