The Beggar's Past

by J B Drake

  “What’s in it for you?” Marshalla asked at last.

  The old man shook his head. “Nothing. I do this because of a promise I made to an old friend.”

  “How very noble.”

  “It’s not.”

  A heavy silence fell on the three as the Marshalla locked gazes with the old man.

  “What did you mean, dangerous path?” Marshalla said at last.

  The old man shook his head. “Some things are better shown than told.”

  “I go with you, I never leave.”

  “You have my word, child, you help me, you and your pirate friend will be free to go.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  The old man smiled once more. “Once you see the truth, you will.”

  “And if I don’t…?”

  “Child, I will not stand here all night arguing dos and the don’ts. You’ve heard my offer, make your choice.”

  “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am,” Marshalla thought. “Can’t have him thinking I’m eager to though, can I?”

  “Ah, of course.”

  Taking a deep breath, Marshalla let it out slowly, then nodded at last. “Very well. I’ll see what you wish to show me. Though I warn you, if I’m not convinced, I am leaving.”

  A slow smile parted the old man’s lips, and with a slight bow, he spun about and headed for the entrance, Lucius scrambling to keep pace. As they went, Marshalla fell in step behind them.

  “Amala?” she thought.

  “Right behind us.”

  “Good. Gods, Ani, he knows about Tip!”

  “Yes, and good thing too! I’d just about forgotten about why we came to this blasted town in the first place.”

  “I know what you mean. Been so focused on getting Anise out, completely forgot myself.”

  “We have to tread lightly, though. Getting out is still our priority.”

  “I know.”

  “I know you do.”

  As she walked, Marshalla fought to contain her smile, but then a thought wormed its way into her mind, one that broke her smile free.

  “Could he be an ally, Ani?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, perhaps he knew Tip when he was Terril, and now he’s—”

  “Don’t be so sure, Marsha.”

  The abruptness of the chronodragon’s words called forth a cold hand in the pit of the young girl’s stomach.

  “Meaning what?” she thought.

  Her words were met with silence.

  “Ani?”

  Still, the chronodragon remained silent.

  “Ani, what is it?”

  “It’s…his kind aren’t known to be trustworthy.”

  “And what kind is that?”

  “That doesn’t matter, just—”

  “Bloody hells, Ani, what is it?”

  “He’s a lich, Marsha.”

  “What?” Marshalla thought as she came to a dead halt, her eyes going wide as she did so.

  “Marsha! You’ll raise suspicions!”

  Marshalla stared at the pair before her. Neither had noticed. Gritting her teeth, she resumed her march.

  “Are you sure?” she thought.

  “That aura is unmistakable.”

  “Oh, gods.”

  “We’re not beaten yet, girl.”

  “But he’s a bloody lich!”

  “He’s not the first one I’ve faced.”

  “Only he’s got a bloody army!”

  “Marsha, listen to me. We have a plan in place, a good one. Him being a lich changes nothing. We stick to the plan, learn as much about Tip as we can along the way, and get out of there.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. We stick to the plan, all of us, and we make it out safe. All of us. Alright?”

  Gritting her teeth, Marshalla nodded.

  “Alright,” she thought. “We stick to the plan, nothing changes.”

  “Good. We’ll see this through, Marsha, you’ll see.”

  In truth, Marshall felt nowhere near as confident as Anieszirel sounded. But the chronodragon was right about one thing. They were getting out, all of them. And so, taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, then hurried after the two men as they left the graveyard.

  Righteous Fury

  Smacking his lips, Lucius sighed as he stared at the empty goblet in his hand.

  “Bloody fine wine, that,” he grinned, then turned to the sellsword in whose hand the decanter lay.

  With his grin widening, he offered his goblet, a gesture that soured the sellsword’s face greatly, but led to the filling of the pirate’s cup nonetheless.

  “I always figured you Jackdaws for scum,” the sellsword by the door growled, his hand upon the hilt of the blade by his side, “but I always thought you different, Lucius.”

  Grinning still, Lucius took a sip from his goblet.

  “Indeed,” the sellsword with the decanter sneered.

  “Ah,” Lucius sighed before smacking his lips once more. Then, he turned to the sellswords. “Unless you be figuring to line me pockets, you can both go bugger yourselves.”

  The sellswords shared a glance, then sneered at the pirate once more.

  “I have better things to do than hang around scum like him,” the sellsword with the decanter said, placing the decanter down before making her way towards the door.

  “Our orders were—” the other sellsword began.

  “Sod our orders!” the first sellsword snarled. “I’ll not breathe the same air as a man who thinks nothing of selling a child!”

  “Rena…”

  “I stay here any longer, Tharl, and I’m going to run that bastard through. See if I won’t.”

  “Wait, what?” Lucius cried.

  As one, the sellswords glared at him.

  “Besides,” the sellsword named Rena continued, “where’s he going to go? He goes wandering, he’s liable to get…hurt.”

  Lucius slowly straightened as the Rena’s glare intensified.

  “Sod it all,” Tharl muttered, “I’m done looking at him, too. If he goes wandering it’s his neck Weighton’ll break.”

  A deep smirk parted the pirate’s lips as he lifted his goblet to his lips once more. “So bugger off, then.”

  Shaking their heads, the two sellswords left, slamming the door behind them as they went. As the door’s crash echoed in the room, however, Lucius’s smirk dissipated as he began counting in his mind. Then, as he reached the thirty mark, he shook his head.

  “Well, that was easy,” he muttered, placing his goblet on the table nearby. Making his way towards the door, he opened it slightly, stared down the corridor, then slipped out.

  Closing the door as quietly as he could, the pirate made his way through the mansion, his path driven by memory and conjecture, and while he felt sure of each step, progress was slow nonetheless, for, more than once, the sound of footsteps forced him into the shadows, and each time his heart stopped. It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him, and if they found him gone, their whole plan would fall apart.

  But at last, he saw in the distance a familiar set of doors, and he smiled. For a mercy, they stood unguarded, but even so, as he reached them, the cautious pirate placed an ear to the doors and listened.

  Nothing.

  “Thank the gods for that.” He sighed and opened the door as quietly as he could before closing it behind him in much the same manner.

  Once inside, however, all caution was abandoned, and the pirate raced to the window across from him, opening it wide and stepping aside. His actions were met with silence.

  With his heart racing once more, the pirate stared out of the window with as much care as he could muster. Nothing stirred save the guards patrolling below.

  “Where are you, woman?” he muttered. “If those guards look up, we’re buggered.”

  Then, just as a sigh escaped his lips, he saw her. A blur of silver, darting from cover to cover. At first, he doubted that which his e
yes beheld, but after the fourth sighting, he smiled.

  “About bloody time,” he said, then stepped aside once more.

  Then, the silvery blur flew through the window. For a brief moment, Lucius stood stock still as he stared at the young girl in the room with him, blood draining from his face. But he soon found his courage and hurried to close the window before backing away from it.

  “Took you bloody long enough,” Amala growled.

  “Yes, well,” Lucius said, forcing a smile as he turned to her, “they took me to another room, didn’t they.”

  Amala raised an eyebrow, a smile upon her lips, but the smile soon vanished as she stared hard at the pirate.

  “You’re not going to wet your pants again, are you?” she said.

  “What? No!”

  “Good. Bring that fear of yours to heel, we have much to do.”

  “I…” Lucius began, then swallowed hard and headed for the door.

  Marshalla stared in silence at the wrought-iron door as the guard before her checked the keys upon the ring in his hand. It was taking all she had to keep her face serene and her mind empty, but she knew she had to. She had a role to play, and she was determined to play it to her very best. And so, in silence she stood, her eyes upon the guard as the slight, barely noticeable weight on her thoughts shifted and squirmed, darting and probing, till at last, when she could no longer keep her mind clear, she sighed.

  “How can it possibly take you this long to read my thoughts?” she said.

  “My dear?” the old man standing behind her said.

  Sighing once more, Marshalla turned to him. “Either your man here is an absolute idiot, or he’s under orders to keep me in suspense. And what better time to rummage through someone’s head than when they’re distracted?”

  “My dear, I didn’t…” the old man began, then a slow smile parted his lips.

  “Forgive me,” he bowed, “but I had to be sure you weren’t planning something.”

  “And am I?”

  Smiling, the old man nodded at the sellsword, who picked a key from his ring and slipped it into the door’s lock.

  “For a moment, I thought he was set to get the better of you.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Marshalla thought as she walked through the open doorway, the chronodragon’s laughter ringing in her ears.

  As she walked through, her eyes fell upon the guards within the prison. None wore the same armour as those who’d escorted them. In fact, none wore any armour at all, nor was there anything special about their blades.

  “Seems you’re right, Ani,” she thought. “The guards aren’t as heavily armed.”

  “Well, I did tell you, didn’t I?”

  It took all Marshalla had to not scowl at the smugness in the chronodragon’s voice.

  “What are you doing here?” said a voice, drawing Marshalla from her thoughts.

  Turning, her gaze fell upon a worried Anise Fairweather, and she smiled.

  “Good to see you again, Grace,” she said as she moved to head over to her friend.

  “Hold a moment,” Weighton called from behind her.

  “What?” Marshalla demanded as she turned.

  “You asked to see her. You’ve seen her. Time we left.”

  Marshalla shook her head as she frowned. “I asked to see that she is well.”

  “And you’ve seen it.”

  “No, Weighton. I will know she is well before we leave.”

  “Look, child—”

  “For all I know, she’s barely able to stand. I must talk to her, see her clearly.”

  “I am getting rather—”

  “You gave me your word,” Marshalla interjected, crossing her hands beneath her bosom. “Will you honour it or not?”

  A heavy silence fell upon the room as Marshalla glared at the old man for all she was worth.

  “Please tell me you’re finished,” she thought, her heart threatening to explode in her chest.

  “I’m trying, my dear, but that room has an obscene amount of wards about it.”

  “But you can get through them, can’t you?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Now, you listen to me, child…” Weighton said.

  Marshalla stood tall and raised her chin at the human.

  “…if you think I shall let the Crimson Blade loose in my household…”

  “Blast! The last one will kill her if I press.”

  “…then, my dear, I have severely overestimated you…”

  “This won’t work. We need an alternate plan.”

  “…or do you truly think me stupid enough to allow her roam free?”

  “The boy! The runestones in his hands, they must be the keys! Find a way to get close to him. Arch your back when you do.”

  “What?” Marshalla cried in her mind.

  “Just do it!”

  “Well?” the old man demanded.

  “Did you hear me ask you to let her out?” Marshalla replied, her mind racing.

  “You said—”

  “I said to let me speak to her. She can hear me through the cell bars, can she not?”

  The old man stared from Marshalla to Anise and back again.

  “But, if you’re so sure I’m up to no good…” Marshalla continued as she marched towards the guard with the runestones dangling from a chain in his hand, grabbing him by the arm as she reached him.

  “What are you doing?” Weighton growled.

  “Your guard can watch me as I speak to her,” Marshalla replied, then dragged him with her to Anise’s cell.

  It didn’t take long for Marshalla to realise why the chronodragon had made such an odd request, however, for as she reached Anise’s cell, the guard’s laboured pants reached her ears.

  “Arch your back.”

  “What?” Marshalla hissed in her mind.

  “I need him distracted!”

  “Ugh!” Marshalla replied, then arched her back and struck as seductive a pose as she could.

  “Marsha, you’re going to stop his heart.”

  “Just get on with it,” she glowered in her mind, then smiled at Anise.

  “What in the world are you doing?” the Archmage said, shaking her head as she held her friend in a bemused stare.

  “Are you well?” Marshalla replied.

  At her words, the Archmage’s gaze softened as a sadness seeped into them.

  “Did he show you why he was after us?” Anise said.

  Frowning, Marshalla shook her head.

  “You didn’t show her,” Anise said, turning to the human.

  “In time,” the old man said, his voice soothing and calm. “Your friend wanted to see you first.”

  “Ah.” Anise smiled, then returned her gaze to Marshalla.

  There was a weight to her gaze, a sadness that weighed heavy on Marshalla. It was all she could do to meet the Archmage’s stare.

  “Tell me you’re finished,” Marshalla thought.

  “It’s in place.”

  “And the guard knows nothing?”

  “Doesn’t matter, his mind is mine.”

  With a slight nod, Marshalla took a deep breath, then leant closer.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here,” she whispered, “but we’re getting you out. Be ready.”

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Anise whispered in response.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Marshalla hissed.

  Anise shook her head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Just get ready, alright?”

  Then, before Anise could draw breath, the young girl spun about and marched towards the dungeon’s door.

  “I hope Amala finds her and smacks some sense into her,” she thought as she went.

  “I hope Amala finds her before there’s a change of guard.”

  “That’s not funny, Ani.”

  “Sorry.”

  Stopping at the door, she stared at her friend once more. The sadness still clung to the Archmage’s gaze.

  Sha
king her head, Marshalla turned to the human. “Let’s see this thing you’re supposed to show me.”

  “This way,” the old man replied, then led Marshalla from the dungeon.

  Slowly, the pirate that was Byron raised his head as he sat up, a pained groan escaping his lips. His head ached and his throat throbbed, though neither compared to the abject confusion that had befallen him. But, as the sounds and smells of the Broiling Seas assailed him, the cloud within his mind began to dissipate.

  “Oof,” he moaned as a venomous burp escaped his lips, and as his gaze fell upon the myriad bottles and tankards upon the table before him, he sighed.

  “Bloody hells, Byron,” he muttered as he shook his head, “you didn’t need to drown your sorrows that bad.”

  Just then, commotion at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and, frowning, he rose and stared down the from balcony he was on towards the doorway of the tavern.

  “What’s going on there?” he bellowed at the pirates scuffling at the door. “You curs should be packing up and leaving this bloody town! I swear, if I come down there and—”

  “It’s Lucius, Byron,” one of the scuffling pirates called out.

  At mention of that name, Byron felt his blood begin to boil.

  “What that mangy bastard do now?”

  “Seen him earlier, I did,” the pirate called back, “with Weighton.”

  “What you say?” Byron demanded, leaning forward.

  “Aye!” the pirate nodded, turning to give his companions a short, withering glare. “Led the old man to that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “Grace’s girl.”

  Slowly, the pirate leader stood tall, his eyes going wide as he gripped the balustrade tight.

  “You sure?”

  The pirate nodded. “They was talking about how Jackdaws had a place in Krisk still, the old man going on about how Lucius was a credit to us and all.”

  Byron tapped a fist upon the balustrade, his rage straining at its leash. Then, he turned to the few pirates left within the tavern, the ones whose loyalty to him was beyond reproach.

  “That little shite thinks he can take Jackdaws from me,” he said.

  “How you figure?” one of the pirates piped up.