Fort George, 1781
Naomi
The body lands at the bottom of the well with a thud.
A thud, not a splash, because this well has long since dried up after years of disuse. Connected to the underground tunnels, it serves nicely as our entrance into the citadel. The sentinels would have their eyes trained on the gates and walls, not an old well without a single drop of water to spare.
Our destination looms over us, impossible to miss. The signal tower. It cuts a pitch-black outline against the dark of night. There are currently no flames to be seen at the top, but there will be once we reach it. With quick, quiet steps, Connor rushes in its direction, and I follow suit. Lafayette and Stephane do not. They hurry down another path, clinging to shadows to avoid any guards. They will be in position when the attack begins.
The first sentry we encounter dies before he even sees us. His blood stains my blade arm, while my other hand covers his mouth to muffle his cry. Connor is a blur of white and blue, silencing two other guards with lethal grace. We move on immediately. The fort's layout emerges in my mind, along with every guardpost and station to avoid. Though we are capable of dealing with a few more soldiers, I'd much rather we remain unnoticed. They'll realize they're under attack when cannonfire strikes.
"Here," Connor says, rounding a corner. The passage is lined with torches, too brightly lit for my liking, but it is the fastest route to the signal tower. We jog forward, eager to return to the cover of night—when suddenly a group of guards emerge at the end of the corridor.
Within a heartbeat, we flatten our bodies against the wall, hoping to stay out of sight. But the guards begin marching in our direction, and there is nowhere to hide. They will see us sooner or later. And I'd rather the former.
I cast a glance at Connor. Now. My throwing knife flits through the air, burying itself in a soldier, but unfortunately, it isn't enough to put him down. We leave our cover together, blades slashing in wide arcs. The group of six is taken by surprise, though not for long. They move with surprising speed, their motions more forceful than I expected. Realization dawns on me when I glimpse the badges on their uniforms. These are no regular soldiers. These are trained officers, and they fight well.
But not well enough to make me fearful. I feel the usual coldness of battle spread through my body, right to my fingertips, making every move deliberate, controlled. A sentinel dodges my shortsword, but he makes the mistake of thinking my left is unarmed. His pupils blow wide when my hidden blade pierces his throat. Nearby, Connor's tomahawk slices another soldier's neck with cold fury. The rest advance on us, blades glinting in the firelight.
"Go!" Connor growls at me over the ringing of swords. "There's no time!" He cements his point by hooking my opponent with his rope dart, giving me the chance to run. I don't like the thought of leaving him, but he's right. It's only a matter of time before a watchman spots the Admiral's fleet, then this will be all for naught.
A pair of footsteps join mine as I flee towards the tower. An officer gives chase, but not for long before my throwing knives cut him down. Quickly, I begin to climb a nearby building, pushing myself up by ledges and footholds like I've done so many times. There. I race for the watch tower, feet pounding against rooftops then carrying me up the sun-bleached walls of the building—
Thunk! A bullet zips past my shoulder, missing my flesh by a hair's breadth before burying itself into the brick wall. It shatters the ledge beneath my grasp, and for one terrifying moment, a single-handed, shaky grip is the only thing between me and a forty foot drop. But I regain my balance quickly and thrust my weight sideways, hoping to break the shooter's line of aim. Sparing a glance at my pursuer, I see that his musket is aimed at me again—but he doesn't get to pull the trigger before a robed figure pounces on him. Connor.
A large pile of wood awaits me at the top, dry and eager to be consumed by flame. There's even a lantern hanging nearby. Perfect. I smash the lamp against the firewood, then leap off the tower and into a hay bale I spotted earlier. The fire's heat licks at my back, but the flames never reach me.
The impact of my descent nearly pushes all the air from my lungs. But as always, I emerge without a broken bone or limb. A few bruises, maybe, but that's nothing to bat an eye at.
Connor appears mere seconds later, unharmed save for a busted lip. "Let's go!" he says, beckoning. "Any minute—"
A section of the wall explodes, the blast knocking me off my feet. Chunks of bricks shower down upon us, and I have to throw my arms up to shield myself. Dazed, I struggle to get to my feet, but Connor is already there, lifting me with frantic motions. My body shakes off the shock quickly, and soon I am matching his pace as we tear through the chaos to Lee's quarters.
"You were right," Connor puffs between running. My head whips towards him in surprise—he doesn't tell me that often enough.
"About what?"
"This is a bad idea."
Despite the circumstances, a short laugh escapes my mouth. "I told you so!" I yell above the commotion. Another volley of cannonfire shakes the earth, and Connor tugs my arm instinctively, sheltering me.
"Listen." I clutch at Connor, and he does when he sees the desperation in my eyes. "In case we die today, you should know that I love y—"
But my words are cut off as the ground beneath us erupts, plunging us into darkness.
YOU ARE READING
Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)
Fanfiction[WATTYS WINNER 2021] America knows the young Native Assassin as Connor, but Naomi O'Brien knew him first as Ratonhnhaké:ton. Having lost her parents at a young age, Naomi is sparse with trust, and even less generous with love. But all that changes w...
