Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  The horses and carriages were deposited at a livery that was tucked just inside the walls. No animals were allowed into the city streets, another rule that none challenged. The only good law they fell under was the hood drawn close to Adrina’s face, and the cloak attached, which dropped to her ankles. A woman’s flesh could beguile the eyes of the beholder, and that was an intolerable insult. Concealment at this point was what they had planned for Adrina all along, and the cloak made it all the easier.

  Noman carefully reminded them of the rules, begging them to insure that no one broke any of them. They quickly made for the closest inn. Noman also made sure that everyone knew why they were here, telling them that although the disadvantages seemed to outweigh the advantages, a great deal could be gained, chief among which was information.

  The first inn they came upon was unremarkable in all respects from the outside, a fact that Xith highly approved. The inside was plain and clear, with a short staircase at either end of a long, almost oval-shaped hall. The atmosphere was dim but well aired, the kind of place they could feel right at home in, Xith especially.

  As it was still very early in the day, the inn was mostly empty save for the inn-keeper and a single man servant, who was quick to show them to their respective rooms following the payment of a small retainer. The rooms were small and quite cramped with furniture, each having two beds, a washstand, standing closets, which were unusual. Most surprising was the table with four chairs, rarely seen in an inn in the kingdom.

  The rooms had a stagnant odor of heavy smoke or possibly perfume that had been around for a long time. Since the innkeeper had only afforded them four rooms, several cots were brought in and crowded the tiny spaces, eliminating any hope of movement. This might have been deliberate. If they had no area to relax in they would probably use the inn’s bar all the more. Strangers did not fare well in the eyes of the populace, but their money was never refused.

  Xith wondered if they would have received better accommodations if he told the innkeeper that they planned to spend a goodly amount of time partaking of his ale. This was part of their plan, for there was no better place to gather information. Xith, Noman, and Nijal requested that Amir and Adrina wait upstairs and that Shchander and his men proceed to the tavern below while they went to have a look about the city.

  Noman would have preferred Amir at his side, but he understood Xith’s choice and accepted it as a fair one. The best place for Amir was beside Adrina. They need not fear for her safety while they were gone. Nijal was very quick to his feet and out the door, for he expected Amir to object.

  The structures they passed along the city streets were in heavy contrast to the high stone walls surrounding them. Largely constructed of wood with little stone, they seemed an oddity. The levels spiraling up around them were also unusual and a masterful feat of architecture.

  As the three strode deep into the city’s center, the area over their heads began to look cramped. The upper levels of the buildings were connected by a series of interconnecting suspended bridges with some structures having as many as ten or more such bridges leading from their upper floors. Xith explained to Nijal that this was because the walls of the city had been constructed very long ago, and any room for expansion along the city’s avenues had been used up centuries ago. The only direction that remained to build was up, an art the residents had perfected through the ages.

  Noman looked for a shop that had long been on the second floor of the district they now wandered through. To get to the second level, they had to take a short cut through several stores connected at street level. This brought them to a staircase that opened to another shop on the second level, which finally carried them out to a bridge crossing.

  Nijal took Noman’s sudden halt midway across the bridge as a sign that it was okay to look about. He watched the people wander the streets below; most were tall and stout, even the women, or at least those he thought were women because of the cloaks wrapped tightly around them. He noticed that most of the people greeted each other with a bleak grimace on their faces, which changed to an expressionless mask afterwards.

  Xith quickly pulled Nijal across the bridge and into an adjacent shop, which turned out to be a residence. They left hurriedly. “I thought you knew where you were going!” hissed Xith.

  “It has been some time; give me a moment,” said Noman.

  They crisscrossed back and forth along the avenue, moving in and out of many different places, ending up several blocks from where they started, but Noman assured Xith that this was the corner he had been seeking. The new levels of the ever changing city had just thrown him off, that’s all. Their confused actions brought much attention to their movements, and many shopkeepers and residents stared at them from their doorways.

  The place they stood in front of looked more like someone’s home than a shop of any sort. It was completely dark from the outside, and no sign hung above its door. It appeared rather deserted. Noman tried the door, which gingerly opened at his touch, and he urged Xith and Nijal to step inside speedily.

  There was no light in the room save that which poured in from around the frame of the door. It took some time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. As their eyes adjusted, they noticed that the room was completely empty, void of all furniture or sign of inhabitation.

  “Nothing!” said Nijal, “Let’s leave.”

  “Not just yet,” said Noman, “this is the place we were looking for.”

  “But it’s empty.”

  “Only by appearances.”

  Noman entered a corridor that Nijal had not seen until the other stepped into it. He then opened a door and deep amber light issued forth, for which Nijal was very thankful. Nijal turned to talk to Xith, but Xith was not there. “Come on, hurry!” whispered Noman to Nijal. Hesitantly, Nijal followed.

  The room they walked into was extremely large but was as cluttered as their rooms at the inn. Nijal thought to himself that the owner would do well to move some of these things into the empty space he had been standing in moments before. At the end of a long, narrow table sat an old man bent with the weight of many years. The light came from a single lantern on a table beside him.

  Noman pulled a long-handled dagger from his cloak, the likes of which Nijal had never seen. The blade was twisted from the tip to the hilt and inlaid with fine workmanship; an animal of sorts appeared on one side and a man on the other. Nijal saw this only because he now held the dagger in his own hand, as Noman handed it to him.

  “Be true on your mark,” whispered Noman, “you only have one chance.”

  “You mean, throw it?”

  “Yes, but do not miss.”

  “Kill him?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Nijal was confused at best, but proceeded as Noman instructed. The tip of the blade felt cold in his hands as he touched it. He drew his arm back straight and precise, taking in a deep breath, and holding it as he released. The blade fell end over end, directly on target, just as Nijal intended.

  Nijal saw the dagger touch the man’s head just between the eyes where he aimed it, but it went no further. The man raised his eyes from the tome he read as if impatient for having been disturbed. “Very peculiar way of greeting,” rolled the words from the old man’s tongue in a slow, drawn-out drawl.

  “Yes, very peculiar indeed,” replied Noman, adding after a short silence, “just returning the favor.”

  “Still holding on to that after such a long time, eh?”

  “The past is often all we have.”

  “Yes, yes it is,” said the man, indicating they should sit.

  “Where is Xith?” asked Nijal quietly.

  “He will return shortly.”

  “Has it come so quickly?”

  “Nay, it has not been quick,” said Noman, “I believe you still owe me one favor.”

  “Yes, the last,” spoke the old man lightly.

  “You know I would not ask if the need were not great.”

  “Old friend
, you least of all need explain yourself. Talk, and I will listen.”

  Many words long and wise passed across Noman’s lips in the hours that followed. Nijal mostly sat and listened, eyes wide with wonder at the re-telling. He also learned many things, and a great many things suddenly became clear to him.

  Xith came back shortly after Noman came to the end and returned to the present. The old one’s face lit up as Xith entered the room and crossed it to sit beside Noman. During his absence, Xith had acquired and filled a satchel. Something within had a heavy sweet aroma, which now rose and lingered just above the table, seemingly within reach of their watering tongues.

  “Is it clear now?” asked the old one of Xith.

  “I did not see it until it was beneath my nose, but as we came inside, I knew it could only be your house. You said one day I would meet him, and until a short while ago I did not believe you. And here you sit as if waiting.”

  “I was. Now, for me it is complete,” said the man, adding after a lengthy break, “with the last, of course.” He spread his lips to form a toothless smile. “You were always the obstinate one, weren’t you?”

  “That I was, but I remembered my promise,” said Xith, drawing a small package from his satchel. Nijal passed it on, and the old man snatched it up, setting it on the corner of the table beside him as if it were gold, where it lay unopened.

  He cleared his voice, deep and harsh, vibrating the air in the room. And then there was silence while he stopped, apparently engrossed in thought. “The time approaches although you see it not. Its shadows are far reaching and some already think it has arrived, but alas it has not. You will mark the time beyond it, when your eyes are once again filled with sight.” The last sentence had been directed entirely at Noman, which was very clear to those who watched. His eyes grew distant and unfocused, and his face grew pale.

  Nijal could no longer comprehend the words. As he strained to hear them, only bits and pieces carried through to his consciousness. Puzzled and frustrated, he mulled over each sound he perceived, but soon all understanding was beyond him. Only a single fragment of all that followed remained in his mind as the sound of words came to a halt. “The dragons are with her.”

  “Until the next, Y’sat,” called out Xith as he, Nijal, and Noman departed.

  “Are we returning to the inn?” asked Nijal.

  “No, we have one more stop. Stay close,” chided Xith.

  After returning through the maze of shops, bridges, and buildings, they found themselves back on the ground level and a short time later they left the center of the city behind. The wall now loomed overhead, and it blocked out the last of the late-day sun, so now they wandered through the shadows, which for Nijal was not a comforting fact.

  The dwellings they passed along and sometimes through, up and around, were newer; and construction, almost entirely upward, was ongoing. It was apparent to Nijal that both Xith and Noman were looking for a place he suspected they had never been to before. As far as he could tell, they probably only knew it by name, or even face, if it were a person they sought.

  They walked until only a single street stood between them and the northernmost part of the wall. The narrow byroad ran east to west and was obviously losing the fight to maintain a distance between the buildings and the wall, both of which appeared to be closing in on it. At the far easterly corner, a thin tapering stair circled its way up the wall, the only stair they had seen in the whole of the wall.

  Xith smiled as he saw the stair and turned almost mid-step, taking a bearing on it and the wall. Directly in front of him was a small alleyway. Two shops down, out of the darkness, shone a lantern. Below it, hung a little wooden sign with a picture of a clenched fist.

  Unlike the cramped alleyways that led to the alehouse, the Clenched-Fist was quite spacious and resounded with laughter and song, which took Nijal completely by surprise. Xith pushed Nijal to the fore, and so he entered first, followed by Xith and then Noman.

  The bar was crowded with people drinking and singing, but Xith steered Nijal to a dark, dingy back room, where amidst the gloom sat a group of men who did not appear to notice them. Their eyes were fixed on the wall at the far end of the room and a man who stood with a set of knives in his hand. On the wall was a target of sorts, where after much deliberation and calculation, the man directed his blades.

  Nijal snickered and whispered to Xith, “I could do better than that,” words that he would soon regret as Xith replied, “That is what we hoped.”

  “Why me?” asked Nijal.

  “We, my friend, are in need of a little pocket money, and you need the practice.”

  “This is for money?”

  “What else would it be for?”

  Nijal knew right then that he was in for a long evening. “But I don’t even know the rules.”

  “All the better,” retorted Xith, “all the better.”

  “But, but—”

  “Listen closely. Here are the rules; they are quite simple. There are three marks, the hands, left and right, and the head. If you lead, you pick the mark; if you follow, you must make the same marks as your opponent. You have three blades. Aim for the center of each mark; beware the outstretched fingers; how hard can that be?”

  Xith left out most of the details in the rules, but Nijal soon caught on as he watched. “Are you ready?” asked Xith and before Nijal could answer, Xith raised his wager to the board. A murmur rose as he placed the gold piece down beside the one who stood thus far undefeated.

  “You little man?” boomed a loud voice.

  Xith wavered his head, and pointed to Nijal. Nijal sank in his chair under the stern gaze he quickly received. The man smiled and said, “Watch, and Pilio will show you how it’s done.”

  Pilio stood stiffly, meticulously aligning himself with the target. After much deliberation, he delivered his first knife nicely, center right hand. He followed through with a second to the head, and the last to the left hand. His blades were all directly centered in their respective places.

  Nijal still had to hold back a laugh as he watched Pilio. He looked as if he were under severe strain as he took aim, and his relief came only when all three knives had left his hand. He weighed each dagger in his hand before he started. He found it odd that all three were of different weights, another fact that Xith had obviously neglected to tell him. The differences in weight made it more difficult to follow through with aim and delivery.

  To some degree, Nijal now understood Pilio’s hesitation. He also considered that now it would be more difficult for him to be centered on target, as the blades were still in the target. He calculated his first choice. He considered a long time before he released the first, but it held true to its destination. After a quick adjustment for weight and positioning, he threw the last two. His shots, although nice and clean within the target, were not as centered as his competitor, and Pilio quickly claimed his prize.

  “Again,” said Xith, this time putting two gold coins on the table. Pilio accepted the offer without thought; he would take a fool’s money any time. His next three shots, to the surprise of the onlookers, were all to the right hand, and were nicely packed around the center point of the palm. Nijal tossed a stern look to Xith; there was no way he could match or even win. He was left with little space in which to place his blades, but he tried. Two to the center, and one to the outside, which cost Xith his gold.

  Pilio’s grin broadened as he plucked up the gold and tucked it away into his purse, a small leather satchel tucked into his belt at his side. Noman said nothing so far, but he watched intensely. Xith again placed two gold coins for a bet.

  Nijal watched Pilio with grave concern as he, with great care, placed his marks on the target, center, left, and right. “Relax,” soothed Noman as Nijal paced the floor. Nijal’s first knife, although slightly off center was placed well. He hesitated on the second, considering the blade in his hand. The second glided from his hand, landing fair, but the third fell dead center, and to his surprise he w
on, which he only knew because of the dejected look on Pilio’s face.

  With a slightly red face, Pilio gave up the gold coins, and Xith readily accepted. Nijal paused, as he had never been first and had to think about where to begin. Pilio stopped Nijal a moment and traded sets of knives with him. Although confused, Nijal accepted, giving his blades back to Pilio.

  The balance of the new daggers was completely different from those that Nijal previously used, causing him to delay as he considered each separately. Satisfied, Nijal began again. The wins and losses shifted back and forth for a long while with neither side clearly claiming victory, although Pilio’s purse was visibly shrunken. Xith tossed in a “Good, good!” now and again, but he, like Noman, was mostly quiet.

  Nijal was growing quite pleased with his performance as the night drew on. His lack of common sense and his vanity cost him the next two matches, but he won the third quite skillfully with three neatly thrown scores. He winked at Pilio as he exchanged blades with him, taking careful place from the target. He also cast a wink towards Xith and Noman as he cast his first knife.

  The wink cost him dearly, for he twitched just as the blade released from his fingers. Pilio’s eyes went wide as the tip struck one of the outstretched fingers of the left hand. Suddenly the room filled with the noise of people shifting heavily in their chairs or coughing. Nijal smiled at Xith and turned to Pilio and shrugged his shoulders. Xith was clearly worried and angry, but he walked over to where Nijal stood and calmly said to him in a low tone, “You must get two more fingers of the left hand. Do not miss.”

  “Or what?” whispered Nijal in jest.

  “Just do it!” snapped Xith, greatly displeased.

  Nijal stared at Xith as he walked away and retook his place beside Noman. The many eyes fixed upon him, quietly watching, bore heavily upon him. He didn’t understand what he had done, but he knew when to listen to Xith. For a very long time, he stood contemplating the dagger in his hand and the target before him. Xith took in a deep breath as the second dagger struck the middle finger.