Chased By War

by Michael Wolff

  Friendly folk around here. Yet Raptor kept his tongue silent. Names were never discussed. Names could be twisted, could follow back to those who made their living hiding amidst the shadows. Names were death. “I need to talk with Dario.” The name brought an arched eyebrow, but nothing more. “Immediately.”

  “Are you a half-wit, boy? You know Dario is not a puppy to play with. He decides who he sups with, not you. And he would kill us both if he were to hear it.” The man’s eyes darted to and fro as if the smuggler really was within earshot. Or the spies Dario used to acquire the information needed to keep his rule over the city.

  “Here.” Before the word was out three coins clinked softly upon the wood table. Three gold dragons, with not a scratch or flake to them. Raptor suppressed a scowl. He’d worked long and hard for that gold. Long, and hard. All for the cause. Funny that it didn’t make him feel better.

  The big man caught the coins in his teeth before dropping them into a hidden pocket. “I will inform him of your desire,” he said finally.

  “Good. Now if you will excuse me, I have to dress myself.” Raptor allowed himself a sigh. He had half-feared the monster-man would request more money; there was only so much gold earned in the ranger business. I really need a promotion.

  Another dragon greased the barkeep’s hand, and soon Raptor found himself in one of the cleanest rooms he’d ever seen. A minute spent redressing himself, washed with spun linen given by handmaids, and he was back with the monster-man, who was downing wine from an earthen mug. Raptor sat and waited for the man to finish his drink.

  With a hearty laugh the man slammed the mug upon the table. “Dario will see you in two turns of the glass. Wait at the edge of the Street of Honey, and a man should meet you. Come up short, and both of us will lose a head.” Rising, the man plucked his three dragons, set the mug upside-down and walked away. Despite his size Raptor could not find him in the breath he’d left the table. I hope Dario’s as pleasing as that one. Else I’m out of luck. A plump serving girl came with a jug of wine balanced carefully atop her head. Raptor smiled, pinched a buttock, and smiled again at the fire that came alive in her eyes. A juicy bit, this one. I’ll have to remember this place.

  Two hours later found Raptor exactly where he was supposed to be: The Street of Honey. It was named so for the bordellos lining both sides of the road, and the lushness of those whores dancing for their wares. A ranger would have been out of place here, so instead, a filthy cloak, made brown from all the shit and trash dumped unto the fabric, hid his wiry frame. A dirty blindfold made him an eyeless beggar, and a whining reed to his voice completed the farce. “Pity the blind, gentle people. Pity the blind.” Luck was with the ranger; ten minutes and the wooden soup-bowl he carried held three silvers and ten coppers. Not a bad take for a first day. I ought to go begging more often, he thought, and cackled low in his throat.

  A shadow fell over him. Raptor glanced up to see a wiry man, with the dusty garb of a street tough, sneer down on him as if the ranger were offal. Raptor tensed his fingers for the hidden knives when the tough said, “The shadows die at the sun’s zenith.”

  “But rotten ice will kill you too.” Raptor suppressed a grin. This town needed new blood in it. How else could one walk about with ten-year pass-codes? And the theme of them all, weather and doom and gloom. Don’t any of these locals have wits? It was a wonder thieves could even survive here; everyone was stealing everything off everybody else.

  The wiry thug took him down a dark alley where two toughs were beating an old man for the fruits he was hawking until he finally keeled over. Raptor stepped over the body without a second glance. Such things were plain here in the alleys, where life and death were bought like cheap wine.

  The thug brought him to a cellar door, hewn from iron and well-disguised with some sort of jet-black material. Raptor eyed it as he went down cold stone steps. It had to be obsidian, yet it had the weight of silk. Such a thing would make a fortune with the right vendors. That is, if a dozen daggers weren’t waiting for my back.

  Down mossy roads the two walked, its path many forked. The tough did not hesitate in turning, and Raptor followed willingly. Experience told him that knives would be cast after the meeting, not before. It would not do to kill the man before interrogating him. Finally, the two came to a door gilded with gold and silver wire, framing a ghoul’s snarling face. Raptor cocked his head to the side. If the craftsman who made this thought this was supposed to terrorize, Raptor could suggest some places that would really fire his imagination.

  Inside told a different story. Lush velvet framed the room, from walls of silken red to the soft-felt touch of purple. Chairs corded with ropes of emerald and ruby littered the room, while mirrors dotted the chamber to the point of extreme vanity. There was even a harp, gilded with silver, giving life to the room with its thrumming. The one who played it was a youth common enough to come from anywhere, clad in a white robe with no decorations save for the bands of gold-bits glittering on wrist and neck. There were several more slaves in the chamber; some sleeping, some awake; some waiting for their chance to entertain their master. Two servants, one boy and one girl, flanked a throne, swaying giant ostrich plumes back and forth. Upon that throne was the man Raptor needed to see. “Dario. You’re looking well.”

  The dagger-thin man smiled, showing both rows of blackened gums and chipped wooden teeth. “I could say the same, Raptor. You still with Stromgald and his fools?”

  “Are you still afraid to go out in public?” Raptor retorted acidly. Though known for his quality of information, it was also known the man had many knives seeking him. Too much gambling and wenching to live a somewhat normal life. Normal for a smuggler, anyway.

  The slightest frown touched the smuggler’s lips. “Were I you, I would take heed whom you speak of.”

  “Were I you, I would not want to dismiss one who pays handsomely for your information.” He waited a tick to let the meaning sink in. “Shall I go to another vendor?”

  The frown deepened the lines of his cheeks. “No one else will have the quality of my information.”

  “Maybe. But they’ll be the ones earning my coin.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I’m not daring anything. You are about to lose a customer. A generous customer, might I add.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Fine then.” Raptor turned to walk from the chamber. Three...two...one...

  “There is a...piece of information you might find useful.”

  Raptor turned, pretending to think about it. “How much?”

  “Five dragons.”

  “Three queensheads.”

  “Four dragons.”

  “Three queensheads.”

  “Two dragons.”

  “Three. Queensheads.”

  Dario’s eyes were slitted knives, but he relented. “Fine. Three silver queensheads.”

  Raptor suppressed a smile. At first glance, it might seem that Dario was weak in negotiation to allow such easy jockeying. Easy negotiations devalued the quality of information offered. The smuggler simply could afford to be easy occasionally; all the servants lacked a tongue to spread the news. Not a one who knew such damning operations could make it into gossamer rumor. Still, it must be a bad time for information for Dario to give in so easily. “So, what about this information?”

  “Mykel LeKym is on his way towards Irismil.” The fact that Dario knew before Raptor complimented the abilities of the former’s spies.

  Time for the bluff. “Bullshit. I can pick up all of that on the streets. Give me something that won’t be heard for a week.”

  The smuggler sighed. “He is separated from his mentor, who seems to follow a path to nowhere.”

/>   “Nowhere?”

  “Where he is walking, there is of no importance. Just wild country.” Again, his teeth clicked shut. “The boy is traveling the towns across the coast. That’s all I know.”

  “Try harder.”

  Dario sighed. At his side shadows thickened to the briefest outline of men, bending crookedly to resemble hunchbacks as they filled their master’s ears with secrets. A gesture spirited them away to the shadows that bound them. As though they were never there. “The boy and the peasant girl are in a mining town. They are hunted. Upon the horde of civilization will your paths cross, and on a futile quest that lies on the brink of failure.”

  “Thank you, Dario. That was completely vague and circumstantial.” And yet Dario would reveal no more. Such was the rules of the smuggler’s game. Shifting his cloak on his shoulders, Raptor took his leave. Twin guards fell in step aside him. A low chuckle sounded in the ranger’s throat. All this for little old me? It must be my lucky day. When he finally came out of the tunnels, he knew the little maze would be abandoned. Dario survived his trade by constantly moving from safehouse to safehouse. Within three turns of the glass Dario would be spirited away to another hidden location. Maybe two turns. And he never allowed the same person to see him twice in one day. Circumstantial or no, the exchange was all Raptor was going to get.

  Raptor walked amidst the city as if he were a simple tourist, taking everything in. The port town was small despite the many trafficking boats that came and went like the jagged paths of scalded ants. Raptor made his way through the crowd while eyeing choice wenches that hurried from his hot-eyed glare. Still got it.

  He never saw them coming. One moment the ranger was admiring himself in a piece of curved silver, the next blackness descended on his head. Before he could utter a word, fists began clobbering him from every direction. There was no telling where the fists were coming; no way could he defend himself in such a confined space. After a while the cumulative attacks were too much. Raptor crashed to his knees and tipped over the side. That was when they started kicking him. Eventually Raptor passed out.

  He woke up in the wrong place. It was dark and dank, and the air was heavily scented with shit and piss. Combined with the almost nervous tittering of the rats that darted to and fro through cracks in the walls, it was obvious the ranger was in a cell. A prison cell. Damn. Abruptly he rose to his feet, and the movement acted as a beacon to the heavyset man Raptor did not see at first. The jangle of metal backing his every step, the burly man fit a key to the door, swung it free, and stepped aside; his fingers bent in invitation.

  Raptor, as every good thief would, judged this new opportunity with caution. No one got out of prison easily. Even he needed a few minutes to pick the locks and other defenses that would hamper even the most prepared plans. This could be a trap, but why bother with all this? They already held him captive. Why would there be danger in the jailer beating him to unconscious when they already had him? The answers were hollow and light, and would not be found with inaction. Raptor walked out of the cell and, keeping an eye on the jailer, cleared the room. One more glance behind saw the jailor still as stone. Then Raptor was moving.

  He did not run. The last thing he wanted were guards hearing the click of boot on marble. But he did move swiftly, darting from shadow to shadow. There were other guards, but they, too, were ramrod straight, ignoring the young ranger as though he were not there at all.

  “Dario is right. You don’t look like a ranger. You look like a thief.”

  It wasn’t hard for Raptor to school the surprise from his face. Talking shadows were as much a part of a thief as a farmer and his oxen. “I’ve done many things. Talking to shadows is not one of them.”

  “A firebrand. I like that. Very well.” The creak of wheel-axes twisted a jagged rhythm into the ears, stretching taut at sometimes to the keening wail of a tortured infant. Inch by inch the shadows peeled away to reveal...

  A fat man in golden robes?

  “Mystery is a far better armor than iron or steel, my young friend. Do not be quick to hide your reaction. A little shock is a minor trepidation.” He preened himself like a princess at the mirror, striking poses that resembled the wriggling of tavern whores. He wants me to stare. Somehow the thought chilled him more than the possibility of walking into a death-trap.

  Eunuch, Raptor thought immediately. The task of a ranger required the breaking bread with odd fellows, so the presence of one such was not an irritation. Rather than all the eunuchs the ranger thief met all had larger and more lavish appetites then men who had the equipment to sate them. Raptor twitched in memory. His own charm with women was to bring out the nurse within, and several men had seen him the same way. He didn’t let the disgust film his face. One moment of weakness and the fat man would be on him like a starving wolf.

  “What do you want of me, sir?”

  “I have many eyes and ears, young one. Mystery and riches go hand in hand. War can be an engine of profit. Even to tasks that seem insignificant to the naked eye.” This time Raptor must have slackened his grip on his emotions, for the fat man laughed. “I have need of your skills. There is a certain artifact I must possess. You are going to get it to me.”

  Ah. Familiar territory, soured only by the circumstances. “Sure. What are the details?” His smile grew wider at the naked surprise on the fat man’s face; obviously he had expected a round or two of bargaining. A small victory to be sure, but better than nothing. After assurances that the guards would inform him on all fronts, Raptor strode from the chamber as though he was the nobility. Raptor was looking forward to this. It had been a long time since he returned his blood trade. Then again, the harder the challenge, the sweeter the prize. This is going to be fun.

  LVII

  Twilight found Raptor on the Street of Heaven’s Blessing, drinking the details of the home of some unknown merchant. He did not do this in public, of course; and again, the guise of the eyeless beggar proved useful. He even got a few more coins while waiting. The details. Everything was about the details.

  His “employer” had been furious. He wanted the artifact now, but in it was not in him to understand the dangers of thieving. Yes, the thing had been sold to another, and now that it was, it would not have the auction guards on it, nor the hundreds of eyes that saw it within its glass box. Raptor was a thief by trade, and the first lesson was that patience often won the day.

  A crack raised his eyes. The iron gates opened to allow a one-horse carriage to gallop from the estate. Raptor fell on one knee, waving the bowl he’d used earlier. As soon as the carriage turned he disappeared into the alleyways that were his bailiwick. No one noticed him, or the small dark shapes that pulsed for the darkened walls. “We’ve done what you ask, dagger-man.” The speaker, a child, a girl, offered a small vellum. Raptor accepted it and dumped three silvers into her hand. Biting to see it was real silver; the girl nodded in satisfaction and disappeared.

  Raptor unrolled the vellum and scanned it quickly. A map of the merchant’s house, from attic to cellar, with entries and exits marked with scarlet stars. Raptor stared at it for a few moments before crumpling it up and setting it aflame. Only after the blaze had consumed the note and left behind ashes did he move. The note had not spoken of the merchant’s time-tables, but it was nothing to worry about. Raptor had been tracking the man for the better part of the morning. He knew all he needed about the merchant. Raptor hurried his step to the wall, took a moment to compose himself. Then he went to work.

  Raptor took out a padded grapple from within the cloak, blackened to fit the night. Three whips of silence and the grapple went up and up, arcing over the manor wall to dig into the stone teeth of the balcony. Raptor climbed up the wall like a monkey and surveyed his environment. It was dark, with the white moon shrouded with the clouds of twiligh
t. That would shroud him from the eyes of the guards. Now all that was left was to stay silent till he got to an open window.

  Raptor hopped into what had to be a bedchamber, adorned with the usual expenses, as the rich were wont to do. At an earlier time, it might have set Raptor drooling; now it did not raise even one shred of greed. After looking up and down the corridor the young thief stole into the depths of the manor.

  It was not easy. Oh, even in the lightest of shadows could Raptor hide. But the sheer number of the guards was staggering. Raptor could not turn a corner without hearing the telltale sound of boots on marble. Nor were they lightly armed. Sword-hilts sticking out from a shoulder, a knife sheathed at the hips, and a longbow nestled in the crook of the arms. It was almost as they welcomed foolish thieves to the riches within.

  It took every shred of skill Raptor had, but as the sun crept from the horizon the young thief finally found the central chamber. This was the room, if his information was good. He was stalling, he knew, and he didn’t know why. Perhaps the joylessness of the theft was hampering him. Perhaps it was rusty skills nagging at the back of his head. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Raptor shook off the mental lethargy and pulled the doors free.

  A half-step he took, then quickly backed away. The artifact floated above a central pillar in the back of the room. The plain, unguarded room. It did not need a thief’s wit to know there was something wrong here. It was too easy. Raptor scanned the alternating rows of red and white diamonds that made up the floor, finding nothing. Raptor almost snorted. That the room was rigged was beyond the obvious. Almost anything could happen in that room, and most likely all would kill him. The floor was not a safe route. Okay then, thought the young thief. Let’s try something else.