The Magi

Inside a wooded cottage, miles from his home, a young assassin named Roland approached his master. This was not the first time Roland had been summoned here, but it was the only time he was told to come alone.

“You wished to speak with me, sir?” he asked, not daring to make eye contact.

“Sit, Roland. Have a drink.” Casual, but firm.

Roland sat. He cautiously reached for a tall crystal chalice poured for him. His master never offered a drink unless there was important business to attend to. The drink was an appetizer. A symbolic gesture. It meant blood would be spilled tonight.

“Thank you,” Roland said, wiping his mouth on his silver and black sleeve.

“We found them,” his master said. His voice was so low and rich, it echoed throughout the room like a prison chamber.

“Sir?”

“Ten years we’ve searched, and we’ve finally found them.”

“Are you sure?” Roland instantly knew this was no menial task. He was about to be given the honor of his life!

“Certain,” his master answered with rising intensity. “And it’s important you leave tonight. Before they suspect anything.”

“What are my orders?”

“Why else would I summon you?”

“You want me to kill them.”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

Roland took another drink. “Even the child?” he whispered.

His master leaned in so close the smell of his foul breath burned inside Roland’s nose.