“We don’t have targets, Azo. Targets are for assassins, assassins are sloppy and worthless. The nobility keep them around, like trained pets, to murder each other with. No, we are not assassins, boy, we are Shadows.” Yzo sat in his chair, his feet upon his desk and spoke to his apprentice. “Assassins have targets, Azo, we have Deaders. Assassins have targets because they sometimes miss. We have Deaders because we never miss. From the moment we take the contract, the Deader is dead, he may not know it, but he is. Calling the Deader a target is assuming it’s possible to miss him. Remember that, boy, for in the castle there will be a different kind of violence, one that will make you very useful to the nobles. Now, tell me again, what is your name, boy?”
Azo gulped hard on the bile rising in his throat, it was so bitter it almost brought tears to his eyes. He felt betrayed, as though this past decade he had merely been a nuisance to his master and now he was throwing his apprentice away, like the human waste the lined the streets of The Lowers. Azo, no he was no longer Azo, he was Athos now, wasn’t afraid of the violence, no he had grown up in it, fought in it, starved in it and had believed he would die in it, he was simply afraid of abandonment. No matter how harsh Yzo had been to his apprentice, Athos considered him to be his father, a harsh, hard drinking and violent father, but a protector none the less. Athos swallowed his gorge and began to speak. “I am Athos Remidigous, son of Richard, heir to the lands of Forestry to the west.”
“Those morons in the palace won’t know the difference, that old ***** taught you well.” Yzo replied, as he dropped his feet to the ground and stood. “Azo,” he said “You will need weapons. That is why I have taken the liberty to give you a exact duplicate of my armory and the safe house to put it in. After tonight, we will be separated for many months, perhaps years, so remember all I have taught you and do not screw it up. If you mess up, the Dugku will hold me responsible and I will hold you responsible. Am I perfectly clear?”
“Yes, master.” Athos Remidigous replied, as he turned and walked to his filthy bed made of rags and laid down. His eyes were so heavy, filled with sleep and tears. Then, he silently began to weep, as night came and Yzo retired to his drinking. Tomorrow, Azo died, tomorrow, Athos Remidigous came into being, but tonight, Azo wept the tears of his pitiful existence.
