The Beggar's Wrath

by J B Drake

  Drake smiled.

  “It’s not funny, Drake!”

  “I didn’t say a word!”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  “Well…”

  “Damn it, Drake!”

  “Alright, alright! But are you sure they’re not right on this?”

  “Drake…”

  “I’m being serious, Mardaley.”

  “Well, are you sure it is not I who am in the right on this?”

  Drake moved to speak, but no words came.

  “What does it even matter?” he asked at last. “Tip’s got our wonderful friend looking after him.”

  Mardaley shook his head. “Looking to her for aid is akin to dousing an open fire with pig’s fat. We have to handle this with subtlety and guile, Drake. The Tower thinks she’s locked away in a void sphere, remember. If those boys try anything and awaken her wrath, we will have a bigger problem on our hands.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Drake asked. “We have no proof of anything.”

  Mardaley sighed as he lowered his eyes to the table once more. “No, we don’t.” Then, as he raised his head, there was an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes. “But there is someone who can get it for us.”

  Drake cast a sideways glance at Mardaley. “I take it you don’t mean me?”

  Grinning, Mardaley shook his head. “No, much as I’d love to send you and Kasha straight to them, I think, for this task, Marshalla would be better suited.”

  Drake’s eyes went wide. “You mean to send her into the midst of all this?”

  “She’s already in the midst of this, Drake. The Fairshrouds were against both Tip and her being of the Tower in any form, and those boys have already been trying to win her over. We need to get ahead of this before it’s too late.”

  Drake merely glared.

  “She’s good with people, Drake, I’ve seen it first-hand. She can turn their advances to our advantage.”

  Drake glared at Mardaley still, gritting his teeth as he beheld his friend. But he knew Mardaley spoke true.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked at last.

  “Go see her, give her this message.” And with that, Mardaley leant forward and relayed his words to Drake, words meant to stir Marshalla to action.

  *****

  With a satisfied smile, Netari Fairshroud marched through the grand doors of her Merethia home. It was a smile that grew as she handed her blade to her dear housekeeper.

  “I see today’s sparring was to your liking?” Larine asked, smiling back at her mistress.

  “Oh yes,” Netari chuckled. “They’ve come a long way, Larine. You should’ve seen them today. Almost as deadly as when I commanded them. Almost, but not quite.”

  Larine grinned. “And the new commander?”

  “Ah,” Netari replied as she removed her gloves. “She is the prize. Much sharper than the last one, far more formidable.”

  “So she has your blessing to lead them?” Larine asked as she took the offered gloves before darting behind her mistress to remove her coat.

  “Oh, my blessing and more,” Netari replied as she undid her coat just as Larine began pulling it from her shoulders. “She’s clearly the reason for such a marked improvement.”

  “Your Grace is pleased,” Larine said as she pulled the coat off Netari.

  “Oh, more than pleased,” Netari replied as she turned to face her housekeeper. “You should’ve seen the hunger in her eyes, Larine, the desire to best me. None of that mewling nonsense of the last one, this one is driven to surpass me!”

  Sighing as a delicious smile parted her lips, Netari stared into the ether as a grinning Larine took her coat and gloves away.

  “Is the boy here?” Netari asked upon Larine’s return.

  Frowning, Larine shook her head as she offered Netari’s blade back to her.

  “You have no guests yet,” was all she said.

  Taking the offered weapon, Netari sighed. “I suppose it was too much to ask for him to be on time.”

  Sighing, Larine nodded. “His kind have forgotten such finer traits.”

  Pursing her lips, Netari pondered for a spell before nodding at Larine.

  “Run me a bath, would you? Should the boy appear while I am indisposed, have him wait in the study.”

  Larine nodded. “It shall be done.”

  “Splendid,” Netari replied as she headed for the stairs.

  “Oh!” Larine called out to her mistress. “A missive came earlier, Your Grace. I believe it’s from our new friend.”

  Stopping, Netari turned to her housekeeper. “You’ve read it?”

  Larine nodded, then smiled. “Very enlightening, and very…detailed.”

  A delicious smile parted Netari’s lips. “And Tirelin was worried about her loyalty.”

  “Oh, he needn’t worry about that anymore,” Larine replied, shaking her head.

  “Excellent!” Netari exclaimed then began climbing once more. “Bring it to me!”

  Larine grinned. “At once, Your Grace.”

  With his heart in his throat, Thalas knocked on the grand doors before him. Dear gods, he was late.

  “Damn you, Thane,” he muttered under his breath as he knocked once more. “Damn you to the hells! If this bitch tears a hole through me I’ll—”

  Just then, one of the doors swung open.

  “Good morning, Larine.”

  “Good afternoon, Thalas,” Larine replied with regal disapproval.

  Thalas winced, but quickly regained his composure. “I’m here to see Lady Fairshroud.”

  Nodding, Larine stepped aside as a deep smirk parted her lips.

  “In the study,” was all she said.

  Nodding, Thalas walked in and headed for the study.

  “I shall pray for you,” Larine muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. Stopping, he turned to glare at her before turning his attention to the study doors, but as he took a step forward, Larine stopped him.

  “Coat!” she barked.

  Turning to glare at her once more, Thalas removed his coat and handed it over. Smirking still, Larine took it before waving him on. Thalas watched in silence as Larine left with his coat. Then, taking a deep breath, he spun round, marched to the study doors, and marched through without a break in stride. Once in, however, he stopped.

  It was just as wondrous as he remembered it. The lush furnishings dotted about the grand room, the shelves of books lining the far wall, the huge windows on either side, hidden behind their thick curtains.

  “What time do you call this?”

  Startled, Thalas turned to Netari as she sat serenely by the fireplace, her piercing gaze upon him.

  “Lady Fairshroud,” he replied, surprised that he hadn’t noticed her when he entered. “My apologies, I was—”

  Waving his words away in clear irritation, Netari pointed at a nearby seat before returning her attention to the tome upon her lap. Thalas stared at the elven noble for a brief spell before doing as he was bid. It was not until he was sat that Netari placed the tome upon the table beside her.

  She stared at Thalas with a coldness that unnerved the young mage in no small measure.

  “It’s been a week,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “and I have heard nothing from you. How goes it?”

  Thalas cleared his throat. “Well, the boy is as good as ours. He and Eldred have formed a close bond now, closer, I suspect, than he has with the woman caretaker.”

  Netari shook her head in disgust. “Spare me the bluster, Thalas, I’m in no mood for it.”

  Smarting at her words, Thalas lowered his gaze, gritting his teeth as he did so.

  “And the girl?”

  Thalas cleared his throat as he stared at Netari once more. “Yes well, erm—”

  “Well…what?”

  Swallowing hard, Thalas cleared his throat again. “Thane hasn’t quite won her over just yet. But he will, shortly, you have my word.”

  Netari stared at the young Grovemender with a coldnes
s few could match. “Your word? Is that meant to comfort me?”

  Thalas moved to speak, but no words came.

  “The agreement is for them both, Thalas, both. Should you fail on the girl, our agreement comes to an end. Do you understand?”

  Thalas nodded.

  “And does Thane understand?”

  Again, Thalas nodded.

  “And do you both understand will what happen should you fail me in this?”

  Thalas moved to nod, but caught himself as a freezing hand clasped his heart

  “We still have much of the gold,” he stammered. “Should we fail you shall have it all back, every coin.”

  A slow smile parted Netari’s lips, and as it grew, the hand upon Thalas’s heart tightened its grip. “Never did I think I’d live to see the day Thalas Grovemender would act like such a naive little child.”

  Thalas swallowed hard, but said nary a word.

  Raising a hand to her lips, Netari sat back in her chair, her brow furrowed.

  “You will update me daily,” she said at last. “Every night. Larine will provide you with a seeking stone. Do not lose it.”

  Thalas nodded.

  “I will expect its return once Thane is successful.”

  Again, Thalas nodded.

  “Good. Now, go.”

  At her words, Thalas rose, but as he did so, he found himself asking, “What of this Fargus?”

  Netari stared at him for a spell before speaking.

  “The caretaker’s beloved, as far as I can tell. Nobody has seen or heard from him since his tangle with your friends.”

  “You mean you can’t find him?” Thalas asked, smirking. But it was a smirk that was short-lived, Netari’s glare burning a hole right through it.

  “I mean nobody can find him,” she replied at last. “But I have all his haunts and hideouts watched. If he is still in Merethia, I will know the moment he shows his face again.”

  Thalas nodded, but kept his peace.

  “What did they do to him anyway?” Netari continued. “The man is a coward, yes, but your friends seem to have terrified him beyond measure.”

  Thalas grinned. “Thane used his Obsidian Fists.”

  “His what?” Netari exclaimed.

  “His—“

  “Isn’t that that old thing you and he learnt from one of the books here? The one he nearly burnt both his hands off trying to master?”

  Thalas nodded, his grin widening. “He still can’t sustain it for long, but he used it long enough, it seems. Left a lasting impression on the boy. He keeps begging Thane to teach him, but Thane keeps saying he’s not ready for such dangerous knowledge.”

  Netari shook her head. “Dear gods above. Is Thane’s head still attached to his shoulders?”

  Thalas laughed, and Netari smiled in turn. But the young mage’s laughter was brief, chased away by the noblewoman’s cold gaze.

  “You have a week, young Grovemender,” Netari said. “Do not waste it.” And with that, she picked up her tome and began reading once more.

  Nodding, Thalas headed for the door.

  “By the bye,” Netari called out to him as he reached the door, “how much did you give them? Five hundred each?”

  Turning, Thalas stared at Netari with a calmness he did not feel. His first instinct was to lie, to preserve his honour. But then, he’d be lying to Netari Fairshroud…

  “Yes,” he replied at last.

  A cold smile parted Netari’s lips. “And how much did you promise them once it was all over? Five thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I take it you’ve been working up the courage to ask me carry through this ruse with you?”

  This time, Thalas did not respond.

  Netari shook her head. “Predictable as ever.”

  Gritting his teeth, Thalas turned and reached for the door.

  “And Neremi?” the noblewoman asked.

  Thalas turned to face Netari once more.

  “You saw nothing wrong in robbing her thus?”

  Thalas kept his composure in spite of the pain Netari’s words brought him. “Had I given her more, the others would’ve grown suspicious.”

  Netari’s smile turned into a deep smirk.

  “Of course,” she replied before returning her gaze to her tome.

  Gritting his teeth once more, Thalas spun on his heels and pulled the study door open before slamming it behind him with all his might, an act that only served to deepen Netari’s smirk.

  *****

  Cursing under his breath, Thane stormed toward the Summoner Pens. Thalas’ words still rang in his ears: time was short, Netari was becoming impatient.

  “Blasted girl,” he snarled. “Submit already!”

  And it wasn’t just Netari whose patience was at an ebb. All he was after was her friendship, how could that be so difficult? Had he been trying to bed her, that he could understand, but it was just blasted friendship!

  As the Summoner Pens came within sight, Thane slowed his steps. The whole reason for walking was to allow him regain his composure after all. Breathing deep, he let it out slowly as he went over his words in his mind.

  “If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will,” he muttered before taking another deep breath and resuming his march to the Summoner Pens. As he entered, he braced himself. Even with the enchantments within the Pens, his stomach still churned at the stench of the animals within, and as he entered, the familiar feelings of nausea and disgust hit him hard.

  “Damned place…” he seethed before forcing a smile upon his lips.

  Holding on resolutely to his smile he made his way deeper inside, until at last, the now-familiar call came.

  “Marshalla, your beloved is here!”

  Hiding his disdain behind a wry smile, Thane made his way towards the glowering elf that was Marshalla, and for a brief spell, both stared at each other with neither saying nary a word.

  “What,” Thane said, breaking the silence, “not even a hello?”

  “What you want this time?”

  She was testy, irritable.

  “When is she not?” Thane thought as he widened his smile.

  “I wager you’re sick of seeing me by now—”

  “Don’t bother, you’ll lose.”

  Thane gritted his teeth, but held his smile firm. “Yes, well, I have come with an offer, a game even.”

  “What game?” Marshalla asked, frowning.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Thane walked over to the haystack near Marshalla, and sat upon it before speaking.

  “A game of Truth, Marshalla. You shall ask me as many questions as you wish, and I shall answer truthfully, every single one.”

  Marshalla’s frown deepened. “What a stupid game.”

  “Is it? You still believe I am false, so ask whatever question you feel will prove you are right, expose me as the liar that I am.”

  “You’ll lie.”

  Thane shook his head, his smile widening. “Not at all. I am honour-bound to answer you.”

  Marshalla glared at him a spell.

  “Of course,” Thane continued, “the game requires the both of us asking each other questions, and both of us being honour-bound to answer true…”

  “Not telling you anything, Thane.”

  “…but in this instance, I am willing to forgo your part in the game, and have just I being the one questioned.”

  Marshalla glared still as she weighed his words.

  “You’ll lie,” she said at last.

  “For the love of the gods, girl,” Thane snarled in his mind, “just play the damn game!”

  “Upon my honour,” he said instead, “every word shall be true.”

  Silence fell upon the pair anew, until at last Marshalla shook her head.

  “Not playing your stupid game, Thane,” she said as she turned away from him. “Just go.”

  “If you play, you will never hear from me again,” Thane blurted.

  It was difficult to say who was the
more surprised, but while Marshalla turned in clear surprise, Thane sat still with his smile frozen in place.

  “Ever?”

  Thane paused, but he knew there could only be one answer.

  “Ever.”

  Marshalla nodded in response.

  “Fine,” she replied. “But first, you help me muck out the stable.”

  “What?”

  Turning, Marshalla picked up a pail and scoop and handed them to Thane. Thane stared at them with mouth agape before staring at Marshalla.

  “Best take off your coat, don’t want to get muck on something so fancy…though might want to change your boots after.”

  Horrified, Thane looked down at this boots before looking up at Marshalla.

  “Not got all day,” she said. “Anise’ll bring them back soon.”

  It was at this point that Thane’s smile finally faded, but Marshalla was unrepentant.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Snarling, Thane undid his coat and wrenched it off, dropping it upon the haystack before snatching the offered items and marching into the stables.

  “Wait,” Marshalla called out as she reached over to a basket hanging nearby, pulling out a small vial.

  “Drink this,” she ordered as she offered it to him.

  Thane looked from it to her, frowning.

  “Anti-venom.”

  “What?” Thane exclaimed.

  “Them’s night mares’ muck. You don’t want to go in there without this.”

  With eyes wide, Thane’s gaze went from the vial to Marshalla as he stood frozen in place.

  “Go on.”

  Staring at the vial once more, he swiped it from her hand before gulping the contents in one go. Handing the empty vial back to her, he picked up his pail and turned to resume his march.

  “Wait,” Marshalla called as Thane entered the stable, picking up another pail and scoop as she spoke. And, marching in with him, both set about their task in silence. Or rather, Marshalla set about her task in silence. Thane, on the other hand, worked with a near constant stream of curses and insults under his breath, punctuated by the odd gag and cough. Every so often, he threw a glance at Marshalla. She seemed oblivious of his curses, of course, but the smile on her face was unmistakable.