17 - Unsteady

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April 18, 1501

Rome, Italy

"You're learning quickly, and your combat has improved greatly, but there's more to being an Assassin than throwing some punches—or stabbing with a blade. You need to be light on your feet as well, and quick with your mind. You're no good to the Order or to the people if you die, even if you take down your target. Assassins are not invulnerable. We may seem like we can take on an army, but we have our limits, and when we reach them we must escape to fight another day. This is where your next stage of training comes in—running away."

The faces of her trainees—Alessandra, the woman; Giotto, the youngest and told apart by a scar on his forehead; Piero the shortest by a few inches and with a reddish tint to his hair; and Jacopo, the "haughty" one, although he'd been more reserved since his beating—were confused, and rightly so. Until now, Catherine had pushed them through combat drill after drill after drill. She pushed them to their limits every day, ensuring they were drenched in sweat, and sometimes speckled with blood if it came about. They sparred with each other, learning new moves every day and improving old ones at the same time. They struck at dummies with both fake and real weapons, learning the feel and weight and motion of it. She worked their stances and footing and adjusted anywhere she felt fit.

Catherine was pleased with the progress, though. The haughty man, since sobering up, had showed the most physical strength, but he was slower, and his endurance lacking. As such, she had him focusing on powerful moves to subdue the foe quickly, avoiding a lengthy battle. Giotto was second in strength but had good instincts. She dared say he had the sense, but regardless he could avoid attacks far better than the others. His endurance was decent, so she focused on tweaking his abilities and form. Piero was quicker than expected, and his smaller physique let him get in shots others wouldn't. He lacked strength, though, compared to the other men, and so his focus was technique—deadly skills to take the opponent out quick. And Alessandra was, as she had expected, the weakest, but her flexibility and speed were better. Like Piero, she was to focus on technique, and psychological warfare; the enemy would underestimate her, and so she needed to learn to outthink and outmaneuver her opponents. In time, Catherine considered having the courtesans teach her a few things—if she was willing.

For now, though, it was time to test their running abilities.

"What would you have us do?" Giotta asked, arms clasped behind his back. They were all dressed in gray robes with hoods to match—befitting their status of novices. It was Machiavelli's idea, and the redhead thought it worked well. They had red sashes around their waist to show their allegiance in a small, subtle way.

"Follow me—back to the hideout," she replied, turning to motion to the tower on the island in the distance. They were off in the heart of Roma, north of the hideout, and not too far from the Rosa. She had chosen a decently high spot, which the recruits had managed to climb easily enough. A bit sloppy, but they would learn and refine. She regarded them closely, gauging their reactions as she went on, "Of course, it will not be so simple. The goal is to not touch the ground—and to not get caught. You will do your best to follow me across the rooftop back to the island. You will deal with the perils of your environment, be it the uneven rooftops, slippery tiles, or even archers. Whatever you face, you must be able to escape it. However, I do not expect you to match me on your first run. As such, should you not reach the tower with me, you will have five minutes to reach my position before you have failed. In which case, you should consider yourself dead. If I see you come by the roads, you fail as well. If you fall in the water, you fail. Luckily for you, failure only means you will have to run the course again—until you succeed. Those who already had prevailed will be allowed to rest and spend their free time as they like. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mentor!" they called in unison, and a small smile appeared on the redhead's visage. Good. They were ready. A sense of pride filled her, and she was starting to understand why Mario enjoyed what he did. Leading was invigorating even if it was difficult. These were his students, though, and she would forge them into unstoppable weapons that would bleed the Borgia dry.

"Good. Let us begin. Remember: don't touch the ground. Don't fall in the water. Don't get caught. Don't die."

Catherine did not spare another moment for them and took off at a sprint. To her delight, there were no shouts of surprised. Rather, she heard boots echoing her own steps, the leather scuffing off the tiled rooftops. She vaulted from the upper building to the lower, rolling to break the fall, and surge back up into a sprint. Air filled her lungs with each deep, fast breath. Adrenaline shot through her blood, giving her the spike of energy she needed. Eyes saw everything; every obstacle, every path, every option. It was like the old days, flying across rooftops of Firenze or Venezia. The cold sting of the air against her cheeks; the bright sunlight keeping her warm; the fire burning in her lungs and limbs; the beating drum of her heart. It was wild. Untamed. Unbridled. It summoned forth the primal call—the rush. It was an addiction, almost, and the voices howled. They lulled her into the tunnel and the urge.

Briefly, she regarded an archer not far away. His back was to her, crossbow sheathed on his back. He was still, not even paying attention to her. She was only a few seconds of sprinting away, and he didn't even know she was there. It would be so easy to go over there, slit his throat. He would have deserved it, too. He was Borgia scum. He worked for those bastards, perhaps even swore loyalty. He had earned a Blade to the throat. She would relish in the fading light in his eyes.

A curse from behind stole her attention. Her gaze flickered over her shoulder, where one of the men—Jacopo had slipped and banged his knee. Already she could see a slight stain in the cloth. He had remained upright, though moved with a slight limp. Stubborn one, but it could keep him alive to be able to push through that pain. She made note to remember that. For all his faults, he had promise. The others had paused, ready to help, and she made note of that, too. Already they worked together. They were brothers and sisters, perhaps without realizing it. More good things.

Catherine looked to the archer, whom remained facing away. The urge had faded, and now she was more keenly aware of the sweat forming on her brow. The cool air made a shiver go down her spine, which she shrugged it off as she went on.

The howls did not return, and the redhead vaulted up walls, leapt across rooftops, and raced through the upper stories of Roma back towards their hideout. It was a simple task, and soon enough she had descended to the pillars set in the river between the main city and the island. It was the final test of skill, and all her years had made her nearly an expert at it. She stepped from one to the other with ease and then leapt up to the nearby wall. Her muscles strained from the effort, having run non-stop for nearly ten—maybe even twenty—minutes with all kinds of changes in elevation—but she was used to this. She'd gone for longer and suffered worse, and so climbed the walls. Indents were simple enough to find, and soon she hoisted herself up the final ledge. She turned to look back out at the city, scouring the way she had come.

It took a minute, but she finally spotted the first of the Novices—Alessandra. Catherine couldn't help her smirk as she watched the young woman pause at the final ledge, gauging the distance. She made the attempt, and almost made it, but faltered just enough to be forced to the street. The redhead would let it slide—especially after the woman managed the pillars across the river wall. She had excellent balance, that was for sure. With Alessandra's victory assured, Catherine looked for the others. Of the men, she only didn't see Piero running the roofs. That came as a surprise, and even more so when she saw him clamber up from on the side of a section of buildings, obviously having come from the street. She checked the time in her head and noted they would at least two minutes behind her. She continued her vigil, arms folded across her chest as she let the winter air cool her down.

In the end, they all managed to get within the time limit—just barely. Jacopo had been the last, but it was in, in part, due to his injury. He'd struggled on the climb up, his bulk weighing him down, and the injury making it hard to put pressure with his leg. The others had struggled, too, and she let them lie down around her in a circle, all panting heavily. Their clothes were soaked, and they looked ready to collapse down fully. They had done good, but they still had ways to go.

"Congratulations, none of you died. I'm pleased with your work, but you need to improve. You shouldn't be about to collapse after that. You need to be able to go longer than this—harder, too. You can never assume anywhere, even here, is safe when being chased. Of course, you should do your best to lose your pursuer before trying to return here to begin with. The Order's safety and secrecy is your priority, for it means protecting your fellow Assassin. Your brothers and sisters. But," she spoke, looking between them all, "you did well. You'll only get stronger from here, so take pride in your work today. You've all earned the rest of the this day and tomorrow off to rest up. But be prepared to run again afterwards—farther this time."

"Y-yes, Mentor," two of them responded, the other two attempting, but panting too heavily.

"Jacopo," Catherine called, and the man looked up. His hand clutched at his leg, the red stain worse. "Go see the Doctor, get your knee better. Be wary of slippery tiles. And Piero... next time touching the ground will mean failure, and I will watch better then. The same goes for you all. Now, go on. You're all dismissed."

The relief that overcome the Novices was palpable, and the redhead couldn't help chuckling a little. Oh, yes—they would become good Assassins. Eventually. For now, they would be very tired, need rest, food, and perhaps a drink. Thankfully, the hideout and island provided most everything they would need. She could honestly use some of it herself, but she had other matters to attend to.

For one, she had a visitor.

"You seem to enjoy spying on me lately. Any comments on my teaching abilities?" she mused wryly, turning back as her dear husband emerged from around one of the top structures of their hideout.

He chuckled, "No, I think you're doing well, although perhaps a bit harsh. Yes, yes, I know—and agree. They need to be strong. I guess... I was so used to how Mario worked slower with us; worked to make me understand."

"Also, you were family. He worried for you. We also didn't have an entire army to fight against," she quipped back. He rolled his eyes, but with a grin as he came to her, stealing a quick kiss. He hated knowing he sensed a difference and hated it more that he forced the feeling away. He didn't dare touch on it, though. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"They'll be ready for the fight once it comes. You make a good teacher."

"You're buttering me up. What's going on?" she mused, brow raised.

"Actually, I have good news; our illusive target has emerged. I thought you might like to come—they may hold good information on getting into the Castel."

Catherine's eyes shot to his, "You're certain?"

"Maybe. It's not confirmed, but it's worth a shot. Volpe confirmed the original way I took won't be viable—not without a key to certain doors."

"Then we should find the target. Quickly. They've had our boy too long," she hissed, fingers clenching tightly. He grasped her chin gently, tilting it up to face him.

"We'll get him back. Nothing will stop us," he replied, and he made sure she knew he meant it. She nodded and he released her, though only to motion to the countryside—towards the south.

"The target has been appearing near the Baths of Caracalla, though I'm not sure where. It's a woman, though I don't have a name. She smuggles items for the Borgia, so she may have ways to meet with them in the Castel that we don't know about."

"Perhaps a way to get in and out with our son unnoticed."

He nodded, "Yes—and Caterina. We need to help her escape as well, but first we need to capture the target. We'll need to find some of the people the woman has crossed. They'll tell us what we need to know."

"Give me thirty minutes, and I'll be ready," Catherine spoke softly, eyes focused on the distance, as if searching for the target already.

"I'll be down by the stable with our horses. I'll see you soon, my love, and with luck... our boy, too."

"Yes... with luck," she murmured back, looking to him intensely, and then brushed by. Ezio watched her go, a frown upon his face, and then he, too, headed down.

-O-

Night had descended upon Roma, and with it came a slight chill as the warmth of the day faded. Air appeared as barely-visible puffs of silver air, lit by the full moon's light. Stars twinkled, the wind blew at her cheeks, and in the distance, a wolf howled. The horse to her left whickered, and the other on her right followed suit, shivering slightly so that the saddle and reigns jingled in the quiet night. They had ridden hard and long throughout the remaining hours of the day from the moment Catherine and Ezio had left the Isola Tiberina, and it was only now that they'd found a possible lead. That is, her husband was talking to the man on the hill, whom had been digging a grave. There was nothing in particularly odd about that, and an Occho member had seemed a far more likely source—he had not been, in the end, and they killed him quickly—but Ezio had seen something; a sign. She knew it came with his Vision—this sense of a target or a lead to them, and so she did not question him as he handed her his reigns and headed over.

Catherine watched her husband touch the man's shoulder gently, possible in comfort by the way the man's shoulders sagged to the earth. He looked beaten and broken. How like a victim of the Borgia. Had she been like that, she wondered? Had she been sunken in that cell? That darkness below? Had she crumbled before the dams cracked and splintered? Had she fallen into such despair?

She couldn't recall. Her memory refused such things. It started from this moment and extended only to the fall into the darkness. To the pain and rage. To the taste of blood. To the faces. The screams. The howls.

The horses beside her shifted nervously, but she hardly noticed as she gazed out into the dark, wondering where their target was. Her hands clenched, eager to make right the wrongs she'd endured. The call was loud in the silent night, and she only just barely heard her husband approach, calling out to her. She blinked, pushing back to the lull, and looked to him. He didn't speak at first and waited after a wolf's howl echoed through the air again. She thought she saw an odd glimmer to his eyes, but it was gone as he took his reigns back.

"The man spoke of a woman smuggler—Lia de Russo. Apparently, she killed his wife after the woman refused to leave newly bought Borgia lands. He didn't mention what she did beyond smuggling, but if she'd getting Cesare stolen goods..."

Catherine's heart raced slightly, "Our way in. Where is this Lia de Russo?"

"The Terme di Caracalla—just over there. The structure with many torches. We're in luck, too. She only appears at night, so she may show. And if not... well, we know where to look," he rumbled, and the redhead was pleased to hear the ferocity underlying it. He was ready for this—for the kill.

"Let's find her then, and make her talk," the redhead growled before swinging up into her saddle. Ezio followed suit, and they shot off at a gallop.

It didn't take long to reach the compound, made up of a mixture of tall and short brick buildings with red roof tiles, although they looked almost black in the dark. Torches were the only illumination, which would serve them well. It also served a smuggler hoping to keep goods hidden from prying eyes. That, or meetings with important individuals. There were guards, too—both on the ground and archers up top. They moved in decent sized groups, but there were regular denizens mulling about, too. It seemed the place, despite belonging to the Borgia, wasn't closed to only those they deemed worthy. It was helpful, in a way, and let them slink through a back opening to mingle with the crowds. Archers kept a close eye on things, but not close enough. The two Assassins moved with ease, venturing into close quarters and passageways that might be used for any secret correspondences.

It turned out, to their annoyance, that their target was in no such place. Rather, after what felt hours of scouring, that their prey appeared in an open corridor—just before the pillared ring at the center of the compound. Ezio had pulled short, shooting out an arm to keep Catherine from going by. She peered around him and spotted a woman near an underground entrance. She stood, a cruel smile on her face as she flicked her coat over her shoulder. In her hands, a bloodied dagger, and at her feet, the prone body of a man. He was painted in red, and the pool around him was dark. At last.

Lia de Russo.

The woman chuckled as she crouched down, slowly wiping her blade on the man's shirt. A killer taking pleasure in the moment. She even had the gall to waggle her finger at him, as if the man were but a naughty child.

"We need to corner her. I'll go first—spook her towards me when I get around," Ezio whispered, and once Catherine nodded, he made his move. He kept low and to the shadows, inching around the outskirts of the square area in the hopes of getting to the woman's back. It would block one exit, leaving only two available, and if the redheaded Assassin could move quick enough those, too, would be removed. Ezio was already half way there, and then she could go. It would be simple enough—or, at least, it should have been. The guard who suddenly appeared from her husband's exit and yelped in surprise threw a wrench into things, unfortunately.

Lia de Russo spun up, eyes wide. The guard, surprised by Ezio, was doubly surprised by the woman, and then triply surprised when the Assassin acted on instinct and took the guard out before he could draw his blade. The smuggler spun the other way, just as Catherine came sprinting. There was no stopping it, but the redhead still tried even as the lithe woman darted off like a bullet. She cursed at the same time as her husband and raced after her. To her chagrin, the damned smuggler was faster than she was, even pumping her legs as hard as she could. Her only hope to capture her would be to corner her in one of the buildings, and for that, there was, perhaps, hope.

"I'll go from above!" Ezio barked before vanishing up a wall. Catherine, meanwhile, skidded around a corner, locking her eyes onto the target's cape, which flapped behind her as she went.

"Stop chasing me! Who even sent you!?" she yelped, a trickle of fear in her voice. The redhead's heart raced a little faster, her focus tightening as the fire of adrenaline

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