Blessings and Trials Prequel Novella

Chapter 1 - Wyddol's Story

Wyddol Tollonyn was an assassin. He would not have described himself that way. Nevertheless, that was what he was.

"An Aetherial for hire," was Wyddol's favorite line. It told people that he was one of the Blesseds right away. 

That was what Wyddol told the man who met him in the public garden. The note scribbled on a scrap of parchment had told Wyddol to look for a man with a red feather in his hat. Wyddol had spotted just such a man wandering aimlessly through the rows of meticulously manicured roses. The man had stood out because he had been looking at all the people in the garden and none of the plants. 

"I thought it might be so. You're silver hair fits the part quite well." The man with the red feather was smirking in a conspiratorial way that disgusted Wyddol. Just because he was an assassin, that did not mean he liked his job or the people that came with it.

The smirk seeped under Wyddol's skin. He growled back at the man, "What do you mean by that?"

Taking a step back, the man explained himself. "It is just... Your bronze complexion and silver hair mark you as a Son of Pendan. The same as my pale skin and red hair make me out to be a Son of Zeffo! I meant no offense by it, Master Aetherial."

Each of the five sons of the first man, Enoch, had a very distinct appearance. They were also each Blessed with mastery over different elements. The blonde and blue-eyed Borea made water dance at his command. Zeffo conjured and controlled fire. The dark complected Soru sculpted stone like it was bread dough. Ouro had olive skin and black hair, and he called forth the whirlwind at will.

Wyddol was a descendant of the eldest son of Enoch, Pendan. Pendan had silver hair, bronze skin, and was a master of forces. He could shove, push, pull, fling, blast, throw, launch, anything he was strong enough to move. Even from a distance without touching it, Pendan could put a force on things.

"Good, no offense taken... This time." Wyddol glowered at the man. "Do you have something for me?"

"Uh, if you think you're up to it..."

Something else made Blesseds like Wyddol valuable. There were less and less Blesseds each generation. Sure, every son of the first man Enoch had been Blessed. But today, it was only one in a thousand. And, even then some were so weak they could only preform party tricks, not the great miracles of old.

Assassin was a pretty reasonable sort of occupation for a person Blessed like Wyddol. At least if they could justify such behavior to themselves. Flamewrights were too obvious when they struck. The same was true of Windreavers. Stonewrights and Waterwrights had very few lethal attacks that did not involve close contact. But Aetherials like Wyddol were silent, deadly, and almost completely undetectable.

"I have a business rival, a fellow merchant."

Wyddol shook his head at the man in annoyance. "I neither need, nor want the personal details. Romantic rival, business rival, political rival. They are all the same to me. Who are they and where can I find them?"

The man with the red feather explained what he needed done to Wyddol. The Aetherial assassin listened in stoic silence.

Wyddol looked at the man for a moment after he had finished. He broke his silence, "Two hundred and fifty drachma. Gold. No letters of credit or anything of that foolishness." 

One drachma was a day's wages for a skilled laborer like a carpenter or stonemason. Two hundred and fifty was a small fortune for most of the men in this city.

The man with the red feather did not bat an eye or even pause.

"Agreed."