He drew his sword and aimed it directly at the shadow where Twig was hiding. Cold leached from the stones and into her back.
“Krawl’s not as dumb as you think. Nor as blind, no he’s not. Come on out.” Krawl’s voice whipped through Twig like the winter wind. “Don’t make Krawl stab you. Come out to where I can see you.”
Twig stumbled out of the shadow, her legs barely able to hold her upright. Terror scavenged at her insides like a ravenous rat.
Krawl’s lips twisted. On another man, it could’ve been called a smile, but Krawl’s face held no mirth. “It’s you, the skinny girl. Krawl has seen you before, you know. Always hiding and watching. Krawl has wanted to get his hands on you. Not many young girls on the streets. None of the brothels have picked you up yet? What age are you?”
Twig had avoided getting too close to any of the whores or their pimps. They promised food and shelter, but she knew what would happen next. She would be beaten and forced to stand on a corner in bright red lipstick, wearing no pants. She’d seen it happen to others. She preferred an empty belly to dead eyes.
“Not very talkative, are you? But Krawl’s happy to find you. Almost makes it worth it to be out on a night like this. The whores don’t like Krawl. And their pimps don’t like him either. They don’t like their property bruised and broken.” Krawl leered, his open mouth showing several missing teeth.
With that look, the clawing of the rat inside her stomach became more frantic. The streets were more dangerous for girls, but having been born a girl had been one of Twig’s lesser misfortunes so far in her life. The rain people mostly didn’t notice or care, and that was fine with Twig. She was lucky enough to be thin and ugly—men didn’t notice her the way they did pretty girls. Or they hadn’t before.
“What have we here?” Krawl’s gaze traveled down Twig’s arm to the sword. “Krawl didn’t think you’d have something of value to offer me besides yourself.”
Twig had completely forgotten that she still held the sword. “It’s mine.” Her voice was the squeak of a mouse, but she had surprised herself by speaking at all. Krawl raised his sword, and she stumbled back.
“Krawl hopes you aren’t dumb enough to try and use that. Krawl prefers his girls alive, wiggling and squealing.”
Twig took another step backward, and her heel hit the wall behind her. She remembered the speed of the sword as it cut through the darkness, and she wondered how fast Krawl could move. She swallowed. That isn’t the thought of a mouse.
“It won’t do you any good, you know, skinny girl.” He advanced. “Krawl knows. Swords are only useful to the strong.”
Twig’s heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage.
“People think Krawl is stupid, but he’s not. Krawl understands the streets. Krawl knows that there are two types of people. There are Givers, and there are Takers.”
Twig’s shoulders touched the wet stone.
“Those of you who live on the streets like rats are not the Takers. That’s how Krawl realized he could be a king here and take all he wanted.” He tapped the side of his head. “See. Krawl’s smart. That sword’s a pretty little thing. Hand it over, and Krawl will be gentle with you.” His laugh was like the coughing of a diseased dog. “Or as gentle as he knows how.”
Twig’s sword blurred forward. Krawl looked down in shock to see the sword skewered through his chest. Twig was almost as surprised as he.
Krawl’s sword clattered to the ground. He fell to his knees and swayed, but Twig’s grip on her sword kept him from falling completely. Black blood gushed down his jerkin. The shocked look was plastered to his face. “Krawl’s not stupid, you know,” he spluttered.
They were his last words. Twig pulled the sword from his chest and plunged it back in. It went in smooth and fast.
“You’re a Taker.” Twig wiped splattered blood from her face. “Take that.”
The Silver Portal – Chapter 2
Lukin groaned like a wounded boar. He massaged his forehead, thinking it unfair that adventurers should suffer from hangovers like everyone else. A soldier or merchant was doing something wrong when he got absolutely sloshed. For an adventurer, drinking was practically part of the job description.
He cautiously opened his eyes. The room’s shutters were closed—at least he’d thought to close them before collapsing on the bed the night before. Something queer was going on, though.
He thought back on the previous night. Lukin and his buddies had had a few calm drinks to start off with, then they went to a tavern with a two-man band. The band played well. Possibly. They had a few rowdy ones and moved on to the next tavern. There, the barmaids were pretty. Probably. Then they’d had a few for the road. Lukin couldn’t remember much else about the night.
Thus, nothing was explaining the yellow glow in the room. He rubbed his eyes then turned onto his side. Nestled in the corner of the room was a small gold ring, and the glow was coming from that. Lukin reached for it, but his fingers fell just short. He wasn’t ready to get out of bed just yet, but he had to know what was going on with the ring. He stretched his arm out farther, and his fingertips grazed past the ring. He stretched again. And fell out of the bed with a thump.
He tucked his head into his arms and groaned. That was the last thing his head needed. At least he was beside the ring. He picked it up. It was about the right size, so he popped it onto his second finger. It slid past the knuckle and fit snugly. That’s nice and all, but my hand shouldn’t start glowing, should it? Before he had a chance to worry too much about it, the glow disappeared from his hand, from the entire room, in fact.
Lukin lay his head back on the floorboards, glad to have been returned to darkness. It was too late to get back to sleep though, and Lukin was curious what the ring looked like on his hand so he could check whether it was proper apparel for an adventurer. So, grumbling to himself, he stood and opened the shutters.
Shards of sunlight spiked through his eyeballs and into his brain. He slammed the shutters closed and leaned his back against them, taking several long breaths. Once the spiking pain had disappeared, he slowly opened the shutters a crack. He frowned, confused. How is the sun so high in the sky? It couldn’t be past midday already, could it?
Midday. That thought was like another spike in his brain. The meeting. The meeting was going to start him on his journey to becoming a master thief. And if the sun wasn’t lying—it normally didn’t in Lukin’s experience—he was late.
Boiled shitcakes. He spun, bounded to the door, and flung it open. He ran out, crashing straight into someone, and they both went down in a jumble of limbs.
He flushed when he saw who it was. He had ended up on top of Macy, the prettiest barmaid in the Oakseed. “Sorry.”
“Do you plan on lying on top of me all day?”
“Course not.” He started up then paused, trying on a cheeky grin he’d been practicing. “Unless you’d like me to.”
“Get off me, you rogue.”
“Your loss.” Lukin rolled off her. As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice how nice the squishy parts of her body felt. Once on his feet, he helped Macy up.
She swished dust from her dress. “What got into you? You flew out of your room like a ferang demon escaping an ice cave.”
“I’m late.”
“Yet now, you seem to have all the time in the world.”
“What can I say? I work hard, and I play hard.” Lukin had spent time and energy trying to impress Macy, so far to no avail.
“You’re sixteen and a layabout. What do you know about working hard?”
“I told you I was twenty.”
“Good job I never believe a word you say.”
“If you want to come into my room, I’ll demonstrate that I know how to play hard.” Lukin winked. “I may only be sixteen, but I’m all man.” An adventurer knew women. That was also part of the job description—a part Lukin had so far failed to qualify for.
“What kind of thing is that to say to a lady?”
&
nbsp; “There’s a lady around?” Lukin glanced around, a mock-confused look on his face.
“You’re incorrigible.” Macy slapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here. I’ve work to do.” A little smile had crept onto her face. Under other circumstances, I’d drag your cute little behind into your room and give you a right seeing to.
“Under what circumstances?” Lukin asked.
“What are you talking about?”
She hadn’t actually said the last remark. Which made sense—she wouldn’t say something like that. But Lukin had heard it... or seemed to. Is it my imagination? “Nothing. It’s been a queer morning, all round.” He rubbed the side of his head. “I have no idea what the barkeep put in last night’s booze. And if you can’t trust a barkeep, well, life isn’t worth living, is it? I’d better be off. We’ll resume at a later date.”
Lukin raced along the landing to the top of the stairs, grabbed the banister, and vaulted down the first five steps then took the rest three at a time. On the main floor of the tavern, Lukin almost collided with another barmaid, dodging around her at the last moment. Without slowing, he apologized over his shoulder.
He paused outside as a thought struck him, then he stuck his head back into the tavern. No sign of Flechir. That was good, at least. The last thing he needed was the old man interfering.
Lukin slowed to a walk, not wanting to draw attention, seeing as though he was on his way to a secret meeting. So what if I’m late, anyway? Having the meeting before the afternoon had even begun hadn’t been Lukin’s idea. Everyone knew adventurers didn’t leave their beds early, and master thieves were likely the same.
The streets of Soirbuz were as crowded as always, and while Lukin didn’t deny anyone’s right to go about his or her business, he wondered whether everyone had to be so loud about it.
Luckily, he didn’t have to go far. He turned left onto Burgundy Avenue and took the first right, and the entrance of the Fox in the Henhouse was at the next corner. Inside, the place was as empty as the Oakseed, with only a single barmaid—looks-wise, not worth a second glance—lazily sweeping the floor.
Empty. Guerin must have left already. Festering dragon breath. He cursed himself as a Tockian idiot. He had pestered Sonny to set something up, and when his friend finally came through, Lukin had messed up. Perhaps he could have drunk a little less the night before. Considering the strange things that had happened since he’d woken, perhaps he should have drunk a lot less.
A shadow moved in the far corner, and Lukin explored farther into the tavern, only then seeing a black-cloaked figure sitting at the corner table.
Lukin slid into the chair opposite. “You must be Guerin.”
The man didn’t move, his hood pulled low over his face. The beer in front of him was untouched.
Lukin licked his lips. “If you are going to sit there silent and mysterious, I might as well have a drink while I’m waiting.” He reached for the beer.
Guerin’s hand snaked forward, and a knife flashed, stabbing downward. Lukin jerked his hand back, and the blade vibrated in the table. The knife would have hit his hand if he had reacted more slowly.
“That wasn’t friendly.” Lukin was glad to realize he wasn’t falling to pieces with fear. He could check “coolness in dangerous situations” as one of his adventuring qualities. He’d been in dangerous situations before, but Flechir had always been there to take care of things. For future reference, Lukin made a mental note not to interfere with the beverages of hooded strangers in case they got frisky with sharp weapons.
The beer did smell good, though. And Lukin’s head badly needed some medicine of the freshly brewed variety. He twisted around, but unfortunately, no one was serving. The man still wasn’t drinking. Does he have a second knife under that cloak?
“I’m taking a fifth off your fee for being late.” Guerin’s voice was a hissing whisper.
At least that confirmed the stranger actually was Guerin. Lukin would have been embarrassed if the man had been someone else. “First, you need to convince me. Master thieves don’t take on any old job.”
“You’ll do it.” Guerin pressed his hands against the table. “You aren’t going to tell me I’ve been waiting here for no reason, are you?”
Lukin shook his head, once again wondering if he needed to worry about a second knife.
“I need something stolen.”
“I commend you for choosing the best thief in Soirbuz.” Lukin hadn’t, as such, actually stolen anything yet. However, he was ready and willing, with an adventurer’s confidence in his own ability. And coolness in dangerous situations. Mustn’t forget that.
He does seem as dumb as promised.
“I’m not dumb,” Lukin said, automatically defending himself. Then, he realized Guerin hadn’t actually said anything, as with Macy earlier. “I said I’m not dumb because sometimes people think I am when they first meet me.” Trying to cover up the statement about being dumb, he knew he was just making it worse, but he couldn’t stop himself. “But I’m not. Dumb, I mean. Even if you might have thought I was.” Just stop talking, you idiot. Of course, he hadn’t finished digging. “Just wanted to make it clear that I’m not dumb, so you know you can trust me with, you know, this... whatever you have planned for me to do.”
I didn’t want an absolute imbecile, but he’ll have to do. Whether he succeeds or fails doesn’t matter.
Lukin kept his mouth firmly shut. He was definitely picking up Guerin’s thoughts. Am I a thought mage without realizing? What the other man had just thought was nearly weirder than Lukin being able to hear it. Not the part about Lukin being an imbecile—that part made sense—the part about Guerin not caring about the success of the theft.
“I was told you could do a job for me.” Guerin yanked his knife from the table and tapped its tip against the beer glass. The wastefully full glass with beads of condensation lovingly hugging it. “I need you to steal a goblet from Lord Jearg’s mansion.”
Lukin straightened in his chair. “Come again?” Outside the Lord Protector himself, Lord Jearg was the most powerful man in Soirbuz. His heavily guarded mansion was not a place to send an imbecile.
“It’s in a hall on the west wing, top floor. It’s made of silver with a large reddish crystal on the front of it.”
“If I succeed in breaking into Lord Jearg’s mansion, I’ll be tripping over better valuables.” A solitary silver goblet was hardly worth going to all this trouble. Unless. Guerin had mentioned the gemstone. Was that the valuable part?
“I need you to steal that and nothing else.”
“But if—”
“That and nothing else,” Guerin repeated. “You won’t receive any fee if you steal anything else. The Order were clear on that point.”
“The Order?”
Guerin shook his head. “Forget I mentioned them. It’s not important. You’ll be dealing only with me.”
He could only have meant the Armentell Order. The crystal in the goblet had to be one of the magical color-changing ones. Sonny had told Lukin that if he was ever in possession of a color-changing crystal, he should play the Order against the Protector’s clerics and thus collect a king’s ransom for it, provided neither side killed him for it first. Both sides wanted them that badly. Lukin licked his lips. “And the fee would be?” He expected it to be juicy.
“Five, no, taking into account the deduction for being late, four ruby kopecs. Still generous, I’m sure you realize, though nonnegotiable.”
Lukin sucked a sharp breath. Each ruby kopec was worth one hundred topaz kopecs. And twenty shards for each topaz kopec. That meant eight thousand shards. A standard beer in a tavern was four shards, so the one job would be worth—Lukin’s brow crinkled—two thousand beers. Or perhaps a present for every pretty barmaid in Soirbuz.
Lukin was imagining how grateful those barmaids would be when a sudden thump on the table broke him from his reverie. He looked up to find Flechir with his fist on the table, the glass overturned, and beer spilling acr
oss the table. Of course the old man has to interfere just when I’m making something of my life.
“What are you doing here?” Lukin jumped to his feet to avoid the beer spilling onto him.
Guerin stood and brandished his knife. “You should probably leave, graybeard, before someone gets hurt.”
“You are right that someone might get hurt.” Flechir shoved Lukin in the chest, sending him sprawling against a chair. Lukin tripped and fell heavily to the ground.
“Who are you, old man, and what does any of this have to do with you?” Guerin’s words no longer had a sinister hiss at the end.
Flechir was old the way an oak was old, a tree that had stood through a hundred storms and would stand through a hundred more. “Those old enough to have gray in their hair and beards are survivors,” he said. “Some have survived by running away”—Flechir didn’t move his hand toward the sword hilt at his belt, but the way he was standing make the sword dangle prominently—“others by not running.”
“I don’t want no trouble.” Guerin’s voice had a squeaking quality. He made to move past Flechir.
The old man raised a finger. “Leave the knife.”
“If you think I’m going—”
“You can leave this tavern with the knife in the table or inserted into your person. Your choice.”
Guerin stabbed the knife back into the table. Flechir quickly trapped Guerin’s wrist with one hand and pulled off the hood with the other. Guerin’s eyes were close together, and he had a small pointed nose. His black hair was slicked back.
“Now, I know what you look like. Don’t let me find you talking to Lukin again.” Flechir pulled down on the neck of the cloak, showing the ruffled collar of the tunic below.
Under the cloak, Guerin was dressed like a rich merchant. Guerin’s performance as a hard-bitten criminal had been a sham.
Guerin jerked backward, freeing himself from Flechir’s grasp. Pormustin’s not paying me enough to risk getting killed. I’ll find some other patsy. He tramped out.
The Desert Palace Page 4
