Gordon Doherty - Assassin's Creed Odyssey - The Official Novelization

He had watched her from afar, seeing how she had taken time to judge her approach to the Cyclops’s den. Now he watched her surface gracefully, just downhill from the peninsula tip and the estate’s northern gateway, and not too far from his vantage point either. So far, she was living up to her reputation.

“And soon we will see if she is as skillful and deadly as they claim,” mused the watcher, folding his arms and letting a grin rise across his face.

Kassandra levered herself from the water and onto a flat, sun-warmed shelf of stone. She picked her way up the rocky hinterland, keeping low behind bushes as she went. Within a stretch of a hundred strides or so, she was almost dry from the sun. Nearing the estate’s northern walls, she settled down behind a boulder then peeked up to gauge the two guards flanking the gateway. They wore leather corselets and one sported a red headband. One gripped a good spear diagonally across his chest and the other carried a small ax in his belt. Through the gates she saw no movement around the villa itself, none patrolling the rooftop terrace or standing at the entrance vestibule. The Cyclops had taken most of his men with him, she realized. The outer walls were the key. If she could slip by the watch here… she was into the unguarded interior. These gate sentries had to be dealt with, but how to do so without alerting the dozen or so others strolling the parapets? A gentle shuffling sounded right beside her and her heart almost leapt from her mouth in fright. “Ikaros, by all the Gods!” she hissed. Ikaros gave her a hood-eyed look, then lurched up into flight. Kassandra ducked, one eye peeking over the boulder to see the spotted eagle glide toward the gate. The two sentries didn’t notice until he was close, and with a flap of his wings, he sped up and over the head of one guard, talons extending to snatch the red headband.

“ Malákas! ” the guard yelped, grabbing at his own scalp and howling at the bird as it sped on inside the estate. The pair lumbered inside after Ikaros. A few of the men on top of the wall laughed and heckled as they watched the spectacle.

Kassandra’s eyes stayed on the backs of the distracted two as she rose and sped low, cat-soft on her feet. Just as she slipped through the gateway, the pair gave up their chase of Ikaros and turned back toward her. As if caught by the swing of an invisible boxer, Kassandra threw herself to her right and from their line of sight, landing in a tangle of wild gorse sprouting near the base of the walls. The bush settled and she held a burning breath in her lungs, watching through the undergrowth as the two guards walked right past her… and back to their places at the gateway. The other men on the walls turned to face outwards too. She was inside, unseen.

Heart thumping, she rolled her eyes toward the villa. The main entrance beckoned like a shady maw, the twin red pillars flanking it like bloody fangs. She picked her way across the compound, ducking behind wagons, strewn barrels, piled hay and wooden outhouses until she was a short arrow shot away. Her legs shook, primed to sprint inside. It was only bitter experience that chained her there, on her haunches: Can’t see a damned thing in there, she mused. There might be a dozen of the Cyclops’s men standing in those shadows. She looked up instead—the roof terrace sported a doorway into the upper floor. Creeping forward, she seized an ivy vine and walked herself up the villa wall. A foot slipped, kicking a terra-cotta tile on the porch roof. The tile cracked and slid, spinning away toward the ground. Kassandra let go of the vine with one hand and caught the tile, exhaling in relief.

Stealth, Nikolaos hissed in her head. A Spartan must be nimble and silent, like a shade.

“I am not a Spartan. I am an outcast,” she growled to chase away the voice, then hopped up over the marble balustrade.

The arched doorway leading into the villa’s upper floor was just as shady as the main entrance. Sucking in a deep breath, she edged inside, one hand poised near her spear haft, the other extended for balance should she need to roll or leap clear of any attack. For a moment, she was blinded by the darkness, her head flicking in every direction and her braided tail lashing like a whip. In her mind’s eye she saw grim-faced sentries rushing her, silvery blades chopping down… and then her eyes adjusted and she saw just a quiet, deserted bedchamber. The pale-washed walls were licked with bright paint, depicting a scene of battle, with a one-eyed champion triumphing over many smaller foes. A grand bed lay at one end of the room, laden with plush silk blankets. Nothing in here, she mused… until she turned around and saw the plinth of Parian marble by the chamber hearth. The trophies resting upon it chilled her to her marrow.

Three desiccated heads, mounted on wooden stands like prize battle helms. Kassandra paced over toward them, guardedly, as if they might sprout bodies and attack her. But these three were long dead. One, a bad-toothed man with long hair, had clearly died in pain, going by the death rictus fixed on his face. The next, a young lad who had had his nose sawn off going by the ragged mess at the center of his now-peaceful face. The third, a middle-aged woman, was locked in a sightless scream, mouth ajar as if crying out: Behind you!

A floorboard groaned.

Kassandra spun around, partly drawing her spear, fright lashing her like a tongue of fire.

Nothing.

Her heart thundered against her ribs. Had the noise been her imagination? She returned her spear to her belt and flicked a glance back at the heads. None of them was Skamandrios, she was certain. Perhaps the weasel had stolen whatever he was after and escaped—fled to the north to live the life of a rich man? The thought instilled a bravado in her, and she crept to the bedchamber doorway with a degree of confidence. Edging her head out the door to the landing to look around, she saw nothing to the left, nothing to the right and then, straight ahead… two guards !

She went for her spear again, only to realize the “guards” were in fact ancient suits of armor. Bronze cuirasses, helms and greaves probably robbed from the ruins of the old palace on Ithaka. Webs had gathered inside the helms like sagging faces.

Scowling, she paced across the landing, eyeing the two doors ahead. One had to be the Cyclops’s strongroom. Most on the island said he slept on his gold, but this was the next closest thing. Edging to the leftmost door, she twisted the handle slowly. With a clunk, it relaxed and the door whined as it floated open. The noise sent a thousand cold-footed rats scampering through Kassandra’s guts. She held her breath for a moment… but nobody outside had heard the noise. Relieved, she peered into the room. Nothing—just stark, stone walls, unpainted or plastered, and a plain wooden floor. Not a jot of furniture except for a shabby old cupboard on the right-hand wall. Its doors were missing and it was empty.

Stepping to her right, she gently turned the handle of the second door. It opened silently to reveal a vision of gold. A finger of sunlight shone in through a narrow oculus in the ceiling. Dust motes floated lazily in the gilt light, illuminating a trove of plunder: ivory chests of coins and charms; a bench laid out with silver circlets, tokens and cups too; a shelf bedecked with lapis lazuli stones of the most mesmerizing blue. Opals, sardonyx, emeralds, necklaces of amethyst beads. An ornamental war bow chased with electrum. And there, to the rear of the chamber, just where the shaft of sunlight became dark shadow again, sat the eye. She licked her dry lips. It rested on a cedarwood plinth, fixed so as to stare at her with its golden pupil. This was the greatest treasure of them all, more valuable than a pocketful or even a sackful of coins or gems. All she had to do was step across the room, past the other riches… and take it.