by Dave Gross
“Just a second, sister.” I figured were past “sweetheart” at this point.
Giving me a sly smile, she climbed straight up the tenement wall, fingers and toes sticking to the bricks like a spider’s legs.
“So you do have a little magic,” I muttered. “All right, then.” With the right riffle scroll, I could do that trick too. Only I didn’t have the right one. I tugged a different scroll out of my sleeve and thumbed the edge. As I felt the magic coiling like steel springs in my thighs, a clank of armor came up from behind.
I jumped. My first leap took me to the top of a ground-floor window. Kicking off, I bounced across the alley to a second-floor window. My foot left a muddy print on the sill.
“Get away, moth!” A woman swung an iron skillet, missing my toes but sending a shower of sausage and peppers down on Janneke.
The bounty hunter cursed, shook the food off her cape, and aimed her crossbow at me. Before she could pull the trigger, I was over the top, landing right beside a chimney.
Zora was already halfway across the roof, popping back up after ducking a clothesline. Either she also had great night vision or else she just knew the territory that well.
She turned at the sound of my landing. Her eyes went wide.
“That’s right, lightfingers,” I yelled. “You don’t get away that easy. Give me back my cards.”
Behind me, I heard a heavy thunk of metal stabbing stone. A steel spike sank into the chimney. A whining sound grew higher and higher until Janneke’s plumed helm popped up over the edge. She unclipped a device on her belt to free herself from the line.
I ran after Zora, ducking the clothesline.
“Hey!” Janneke followed me. “Don’t make me take you both dow— Gughn!”
The line caught her in throat. She went down hard. For a second she lay so still that I worried she’d broke her neck. Then I heard a moan inside that lion-faced helm. It’d saved her from cracking her skull, but those little eye slits were why she didn’t see the line.
“Take a minute, get your wind back,” I said. “I don’t care about your bounty. I just want my cards.”
I didn’t wait for an answer. Zora had already vaulted to the next roof and was running for the third. The shacks and lean-tos grew thick over there, forming their own fourth floor. Zora ran up a twisting ramp between a water tower and a shack overflowing with the sounds of talk and laughter.
I jumped the gap, dashed across the roof, and jumped again. At Zora’s call, a crowd spilled out of the makeshift tavern. A potbellied man in a stained undershirt nodded at Zora and got in my way.
“Go back, hellspawn,” he said, hefting a tankard big enough to crack my skull. “No passage for strangers on the Shingles.”
I kept moving. He moved to block me. I slipped to the other side, folded him with a kick behind the leg, and grabbed his shoulder to keep him from spilling his beer as he went down to one knee.
“Drink your drink, pal.” I pushed off his shoulder and rejoined the chase.
Just past the water tower, the ramp ended in a short platform with a couple chairs and an ash can that smelled of pipe tobacco. Ahead was a street too wide to jump, even with a pole like Zora’s to vault it. I didn’t see the thief, but a cable ran from an alley across the street to a spot over my head.
Something fluttered over the edge of the water tower. I jumped halfway up the ladder and grabbed a rung. It came off in my hand. I fell, hollering and flailing. My hand caught another rung, and that one held. Hot pain shot through my shoulder as I hit the side of the tower hard enough to hear the water slosh.
“Tricky little…” Despite the pain, I was starting to admire this Zora, purely on a professional level. I was also getting an idea how dangerous it was to run through her territory. Either she laid traps herself or she knew where others put ’em. The beer bully was right about one thing. I was a stranger to the Shingles. I needed to watch my step.
I climbed up, avoiding another tricky rung before rolling onto the roof. As my weight settled, I heard the fluttering again. The thief stood on the other side of the tower, her flag unfurled to expose the steel pole underneath. She held the staff across the cable and looked back at me.
“Better luck next time, sweetheart.” She blew me a kiss and slid across the street. The cable sang against the steel pole. The flag fluttered behind her, making the blue swallowtail butterflies look like they were flying beside her.
“Desna likes you, girl,” I muttered as I followed her. “But I’m gonna get my cards back.”
My third step went straight through the water tower roof. A swarm of wings exploded out of the hole I’d made.
That fluttering I’d heard before wasn’t her flag after all. My first thought was birds, but the little freaks each had four wings and stiletto-shaped beaks.
I hate bloodbugs. The damned things make vampire bats look cuddly.
One stabbed right through my jacket and between my ribs. I smacked it, but it stuck fast. I could feel it sucking my blood through its nozzle.
“Guh!” The dance you learn the first time you walk into a spider web took control of me. I crushed one of the hateful things under my arm and felt a warm gush of blood—mine and the bug’s together. As they squealed and flapped around me, I swatted and kicked. My foot caught one hard enough to send it over the roof’s edge. The rest flapped away. I wasted another couple seconds pulling the bug’s nasty sipper out of my side. It hurt like hell.
Zora had already made it across the street. At the mouth of the alley, she waved her flag. There was a different pattern on either side. Each time it turned, the butterflies shrank into four yellow spots: the sun and the moon with a couple of big stars above them. After a few shakes of the flag, she laughed and thrust her thumb between two fingers.
“Shoot me the fig, will you?” I tore off my bloody jacket and slung it over the cable. “Desna’s smiling on you, but before the night is through, I aim to make her laugh.”
I pushed off of the tower and zipped across the street, hanging onto my jacket sleeves. Only then did I realize all Zora had to do was cut the line to dump me. Instead, she fled into the alley. I slid all the way across and tumbled onto the spot where she’d been taunting me. Rolling up to my feet, I saw why she hadn’t cut the line.
Four tough-looking Sczarni stood shoulder to shoulder to bar my way. There were more behind them, and behind them Zora was already climbing a rope ladder to the roof.
The tallest of the toughs stood a foot higher than me. He had a snarling cougar tattooed on one side of his bald head, a giant gecko on the other. He spat at my feet and said, “Dead end for you, Chel.”
That word doesn’t bother me the way it does most Chelaxians who travel outside the homeland. To catch my breath, I shrugged on my jacket, making sure to show off the way my spurs fit through the slits at the elbows. The weight of the big knife at the base of my spine was reassuring. It might look like an imp’s tail, but it leaves a lot worse than a sting. “Patter me Sczarni.”
Tough guy sneered at me. “I don’t care if know our words, hellspawn. You’re no Sczarni.”
Technically that was true, but at least one Sczarni clan thought I was pretty great. Too bad for me they were a thousand miles away. “I just want my cards. Zora can keep my coins.”
“What’ll we keep, then?” he said. “That jacket’s seen better days, but I like the demon head.”
Whether or not it was time to replace the jacket, nobody was getting my Worldwound badge who hadn’t paid blood for it. “I got a better idea,” I said, offering a suggestion for another way the Sczarni could amuse themselves.
They showed me their knives. I tensed to pull my tail. With any luck, I could scare these thugs off. If I had to kill one, the boss was going to be pretty hot.
Footsteps came up behind me. I glanced over my shoulder: five more Sczarni cut off my escape, grinning like I was easy prey. At nine to one, they had cause to think so.
I grinned right back because I saw something th
ey didn’t.
“You guys are real cute,” I said. “You think nine to one’s good odds.”
They heard the hiss of steel on rope a second too late. Holding her crossbow over the line, Janneke flew into the alley, knocking thugs down like candlepins. She released one side of her crossbow at just the right moment, tumbled forward, and came up in a kneeling stance with a bead on the Sczarni leader.
She should have seen herself. She looked pretty great.
She pulled the trigger. A long cylinder shot out, thin planks scattering to release the surprise inside. Instead of a net, a bunch of wooden balls spread out, cracking Sczarni ribs and skulls. The tough guys fell back, but they didn’t run. The ones Janneke flattened were getting back up.
She dropped her crossbow and pulled a pair of straight clubs out of the top of her backpack. She stepped past me. “I’ll take this side.”
That’s all she had to say. I faced the ones behind us. Since she’d pulled sticks instead of blades, I left my tail alone. Fists and kickers would do the job.
Behind me, Janneke’s club rapped a skull. My guys hesitated, so I feinted a punch at one and grabbed the next one by the arm. He got a knee in the gut before I broke his wrist. He went down to one knee, wailing.
When his buddy tried to perforate me, I swept his legs. He went down as well, twisting to avoid falling on his own blade. I moved to kick the knife away.
“Stay close,” yelled Janneke.
I backed up to cover her.
“You know how to switch?” she said.
“Sure.”
She reached back, and we hooked elbows. For a second we couldn’t decide who’d lead, but then she swung me around. I raised my feet. One heel smashed baldy’s nose flat. The other foot caught the guy beside him in the throat.
Dropping flat on my back surprised the Sczarni the way it’s meant to do. The other two guys hesitated while I kicked back up to my feet. It was a good move, and I could see it in their faces. Janneke’s entrance was a lot better, though. Maybe I could top it. The fight was young.
“What’s this riot?” yelled a man back on the street. A clatter of hooves announced the city guard. They came from both sides of the alley, lanterns scattering the shadows.
The Sczarni leader whistled. His boys ran for it, some limping, some dragging their pals. A couple spooked the guard’s horses by running under their bellies. Others climbed the rope ladder Zora had used and pulled it up behind them. Faster than you could say “Desna weeps,” me and Janneke were the only ones left in the alley.
Janneke unfurled a parchment and held it up to the lantern light. “I was pursuing a legal bounty. These Sczarni got in the way.”
The guard captain ignored the wanted poster and squinted at her. “You know I don’t like you wearing that helmet.”
Janneke pulled off her helm. Red-gold braids spilled out. Freckles crossed her cheeks and nose. She jutted a defiant chin. “Your commander says it’s all right, as long as I keep it painted.”
“I know what the commander said. People don’t like to be reminded of the Gray Maidens.”
They had a little staring match. After a few seconds, Janneke lowered her gaze just enough to give the captain face in front of his men. I’d seen that look before. I’d given that look before. It’s one of the things you learn when you cross the guard as a regular thing.
“Is that all?” she said.
He squinted at me. “Who’s the ’spawn?”
Before I could speak, Janneke said, “My apprentice.”
I wanted to object, but she was giving me cover. I kept my yap shut.
The captain shook his head. He heard the lie in her voice. He just didn’t care enough to push back. “Take it easy, Jan. Keep the property damage to a minimum. And watch where you point that crossbow while you’re wearing that damned helmet. You’ll spend all of your next bounty replacing broken windows.”
He turned his horse to leave. Janneke shot him a fig. I laughed. One of the guards gave me a dirty look. I put my devil fingers around my throat and showed him the tines. He snarled, but he walked away.
“Apprentice?” I said to Janneke. “You’re no older than me.”
“You’re not tall enough to be my partner.”
She was taller than the boss, so I didn’t argue. I just grumbled, “I’m bigger than I look.”
“You’d have to be, wouldn’t you?” She fetched the spent cylinder from her crossbow, and I tried to figure out exactly what she meant by that. It didn’t matter.
“We were a pretty good pair there, you and me.” I picked up some of the wooden balls.
“Leave them,” she said. “They’re cheap. Too much bother to collect.”
“I was just thinking, if you’re done for the night, we could maybe get a drink, exchange a few professional tips, see what—”
She grabbed the front of my jacket and pulled me in. I tensed for a head-butt, but instead of breaking my nose she took a long look at my face. My chin’s a little pointy, and there are some ridges there and along the eyebrows that regular guys don’t have. Maybe my ears are a little pointy—but just a little. I kept my smile small so as not to scare her. She ended up looking into my pretty yellow eyes. I looked back into hers, blue as deep river ice and just as cold. I didn’t know what she was thinking then.
Before I could ask, she shrugged and pulled me up into a warm, wet kiss. Usually I’m the one that does the pulling, but I didn’t mind. Before I could really make an effort, she set me back down and sucked in her lip, like she was considering.
“I got a room over in the Heights,” I said.
“Too fancy. Too far.” She shrugged again, like that was that. She put the crossbow on her shoulder and jogged down the alley.
I thought about the drakes I’d seen earlier. So much for good omens.
At the mouth of the alley, Janneke called back to me. “My flat is on Wave Street. Try to keep up.”
I put a kiss on my fingers and blew it to the sky. “Desna smiles.”
3
The Fencing Academy
Varian
Ringing steel and the whisper of leather shoes on a wooden floor spilled out of the open windows above. On the oaken door before me, a pair of carved knockers depicted an imp and drake locked in mortal combat. Diametrically opposed in almost every regard, the venom-laced stingers at the ends of their agile tails formed a visual rhyme to the hissing rapiers, equal but for the skill and determination of their wielders. To me, the image also symbolized the city of Korvosa, the first bastion of Chelish civilization on the Varisian frontier. In many ways the drakes resembled the free-spirited Varisian people, in other ways the dour but independent Shoanti. The cruel imps, I regretted to admit, characterized the draconian regime that had ruled Cheliax for most of my life. I framed a silent prayer to Desna that the drakes would fare better against the imps than the natives had against my homeland.
Rounding the corner of the building, a young man in homespun clothing set aside a broom and hastened toward me. To continue sweeping the porch so long after sunset, he must have been desperate to impress the fencing master. With a glance at my bearing and attire, the young man recognized my station. He bowed and opened the door for me.
Arnisant’s ears perked up as he saw the fencers inside. He looked to me for instruction. I gave him the sign to remain by my side. His ears remained up, alert to any danger that might threaten me.
Inside the grand hall, four pairs of young students fenced. Slightly older students judged each bout, all under the watchful eye of Master Dengaro. He glanced up, clearly surprised to see me after so long an absence. If he despised me still, he hid it behind a veil of courtesy. He clicked his heels and bowed with a Korvosan flourish. He raised his eyes, indicating the one I sought was on the balcony, before returning his attention to the fencers.
As we went to the stair, I appraised the students. Black mesh masks obscured their faces, and they were garbed head to toe in white canvas uniforms. Their slender bodies m
oved with both natural grace and practiced skill.
Two stood out among their peers, a boy and a girl. Almost simultaneously, both won final touches, bowed to their opponents, and doffed their masks. The girl looked up to the balcony for approval. The boy looked to the girl for the same. After a moment’s search, both sighed with disappointment.
Some things never change. With a sad smile, I ascended the stairs.
Balconies overlooked the great hall on all sides. Two rows of chairs gave the east and west wings the appearance of a playhouse. That resemblance was not far from reality, as the Orisini Fencing Academy hosted exhibitions throughout the year to ensure a steady stream of applicants. Those from wealthy houses paid outrageous fees, allowing the impoverished to win entrance with a demonstration of devotion involving menial tasks and proof of exceptional talent. The boy outside was undoubtedly one of the latter.
On the northern balcony, a lone figure sat at a table. Before him lay his supper: a loaf of bread, a bottle of cheap wine, a crock of butter, and a plate of fruit and cheese. Beside him rested a rapier in a plain leather scabbard. Behind him stood a pair of iron candelabras with only two of its candles lighted. The spring breeze tickled the flames.
At my approach, the man stood. He noted the blade at my hip. On the table, his sword remained well within what I knew to be his draw range. He clicked his heels and offered me a curt nod. “Count Jeggare.”
I returned the gesture. “Master Orisini.”
“I heard you’d been eaten by werewolves.”
“I heard you had been hanged for treason.”
“Later, a visiting Pathfinder mentioned you’d been chopped to pieces by Tian brigands.”
“But then I asked myself, ‘How could Orisini be hanged if he had already been trampled in the Blood Veil Riots?’”
“Some say a Kyonin dragon made you its slave. Its intimate slave.”
“Some say that, do they?” Orisini’s eyes twinkled as he saw he had scored a touch. I made a note to track down the source of that rumor for a later reckoning. “One might as soon credit the tales that you’d grown too old to teach swordplay.”
