Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  “Keep it, keep it! It will bring you good luck. Like you said, I cannot be the only one with fortune. Plus, I saw you eating those fish backward. You have to balance the bad luck out somehow.”

  Jikun shook his head in exasperation, but he pocketed the idiotic trinket. Just in case the male was not entirely insane.

  Darcarus passed him the faintest smirk. “Keep it, you unlucky bastard. Nordeep is a few weeks north and our confrontation with Relstavum will follow in quick succession.” The Sel’ven glanced sidelong at Navon—the first time Jikun noticed the prince fully regard the Helven since the male’s possession. There was an undeniable flicker of distrust in those piercing, blue eyes.

  Jikun imagined that, like himself, the True Blood was considering whether the necromancer amongst them would be of assistance or a danger in the battle ahead.

  Neither he nor Jikun would allow Navon to jeopardize their cause again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The journey to Ryekarayn was long. Jerah had few expectations, but nevertheless, the journey was exceptionally long. Neither was this helped by the ceaseless rocking of the ship, the darkness of the cargo hold, nor the cramped box in which he was forced to remain for the vast majority of each night and every day.

  The crates around him had provided him with food and the barrels with water; the humans seemed to store more than fabric within. He used one such fabric crate for his waste, hiding it between the folds. All throughout the day, he could hear the sound of feet above him and, several times a day, around him. The humans would venture down into the cargo hold not only for their food and water, but at times to talk and shout for long hours about the numbers of “dice” and the fine state of women, all of which Jerah found most fascinating. They talked about cities down the eastern coast of Ryekarayn ripe with “fuckable” women. Jerah made a mental note to see such sights. And then, occasionally late at night, two particular men would venture down to wrestle in an unusual, naked state when Jerah would otherwise enjoy freedom of the cargo hold.

  But he remained patient until the last stretch of the journey came: until he knew they were close to shore. He could hear a change in the sailors’ voices. He could smell it on the wind. Far less vulgar than the elven lands with their plague of brightly colored, stinking plants, this smell was of dust and wood and stone. Jerah lifted the lid of his crate to inhale deeply, hardly able to contain his excitement.

  “Ryekarayn!” he dared breathe aloud.

  The ship took its time drifting into the dock. Jerah could hear the distant sounds of the human tongue growing louder, and of other ships creaking in the waters around them.

  “Drop anchor!” he heard a human above him bellow.

  Jerah let the lid snap shut. He waited, anticipation growing. Ryekarayn! This was the land where he was safe! The land where he did not have to hide… where he was not hunted! He felt an overwhelming sense of elation, so powerful that his body trembled.

  “Gods I cannot even budge it,” grunted a man suddenly from beside him. “Get over here and help me. Damn this one is heavy. We should have brought that half-giant with us!”

  There were soon four men around his crate, lifting it up and carrying it out of the ship. Jerah could hear the slosh of water against wood as they moved across the pathway to the shore. There was a gentle thud onto stone and the sound of footsteps walking away.

  After waiting for several heartbeats, Jerah popped the lid and peered out.

  At first, he was blinded by light—fierce, fiery light from the orange torch in the void. He winced, closing his eyes tightly.

  “Look,” he urged himself.

  Jerah opened his eyes more slowly. At first he saw only cobbled stone and shadowy figures. Then they clarified, becoming tall and burly humans, large crates, piles of lumber, and even a large, wheeled creation pulled by two powerful creatures. The dock flowed right into a city—one with no wall and no guards. There was a large, long archway that led deeper within, in which buildings towered above and around the tunnel. Low overhangs of buildings to the left and right sheltered two of the four-legged beasts and some cargo, probably protecting them from the water that sometimes fell from the void. But this was all trivial beside what Jerah noted most of all:

  There was not an elf in sight!

  Jerah slowly raised the lid and stepped out of the crate, a mixture of feelings causing his movement to be slowed with awe. He let his bloody cloaks fall to the stone behind him and dropped the wooden lid beside the tattered heap in a breath of excitement.

  Ryekarayn!

  He did not immediately notice the hushed voices, the gasps, or the stillness that followed him as he slunk toward the archway. There were other fascinating wonders that caught his attention. What was the object the man beside the archway held that could play such a strange and fluent sound? What was that sour scent? What were the fabric objects hanging across the archway in identical designs?

  He passed into the archway, too excited by the mystery that lay beyond to stop and ask his questions. There was no crowd jostling him here—everyone moved aside swiftly, pressing their bodies against the stone wall. Much better than the stifling crowd of elves.

  Jerah emerged from the tunnel and gasped as he cast his gaze into the brilliant light beyond. Such a sight! He turned his head slowly, trying to take in everything around him.

  There was a vast section of land unburdened by buildings and instead filled with countless canopies of fabric and wooden tables covered with arrays of unknown objects. Here, the city became a bustle of noise and humans, but Jerah found it fairly easy to move between them. He ducked his head below an orange canopy and stopped beside a crowd marveling at an assortment of glowing, round, clear stones.

  “Do not touch!” the fat man behind the counter warned the humans before him. “You break it, you buy it, my friend!”

  Jerah looked around hesitantly. He just wanted to poke it. Just with his claw. That wasn’t completely touching it… Just to see what it did. He reached out a hand.

  “Ah ah, don’t—” began the man, and then stopped. The humans around him hushed as well. Jerah felt space grow around him.

  “Oh my gods, what is it?” someone whispered.

  But Jerah hardly noticed. He poked the glowing orb, watching the lights inside quiver. He picked it up, turning it slowly in his great hands.

  “Take it and go!” the human stammered. “Go!”

  Jerah raised his brows and turned, remembering that there were others around him. Well, the human was certainly in a hurry to send him off! He paused, pulling the silver coin from his pocket. He set it down before the jiggling belly. ‘Break it, you buy it,’ he reminded himself. He supposed he had touched it, after all. Jerah moved away from the table, turning the orb slowly in his hands as he tried to watch the streets and his new possession at the same time.

  What a city! Buildings bounced torchlight off stark white sides and caught the red glow of the wooden beams stretched across their grand surfaces. Little panels of wood were lined in neat little rows across the rooftops with the utmost care and precision.

  Humans were breathtaking!

  He stopped. He had hardly moved away from the table when a nearby figure caught his eyes. He lowered the orb.

  “Hello,” the little figure stated. “I like your costume.”

  Jerah looked down at it, smiling slightly. “I like…” he paused. What did he like about the little creature? “Your eyes,” he finally determined. He crouched down slowly before it. What was it? It was like the two he had seen on Sevrigel after he had killed his last elf. Much too short for an elf and much too short for a human. This little creature, however, looked remarkably like them. His brow furrowed. A dwarf, perhaps? Not nearly as fat as his master had made them out to be… in fact, this one wasn’t fat at all… Boney and sickly, even by elven standards. But it was certainly much, much shorter than the elves or humans.

  He supposed he could talk to this one. Master had never said anything about dwarves
. “You are a skinny dwarf,” he commented to it slowly in its human tongue, the language coming readily to his lips.

  The dwarf cocked his head slightly. “I’m not a dwarf,” he replied with a series of fast little grunts. Humor, Jerah remembered. They ended abruptly as its beady little eyes fell to the orb. “Can I see that?” It pointed at the ball in Jerah’s hands.

  Jerah drew the orb back toward himself slightly. “Well, it’s mine,” he warned the not-dwarf. He had left his stones on Sevrigel, after all. This was all he had.

  The not-dwarf stuck out its bottom lip, an expression Jerah had never seen before and was unsure of how to react to.

  Jerah slowly held out the orb. “You break it, you buy it,” he warned.

  The not-dwarf took it, turning it over in its hands. “Why are you dressed like that?” it asked, even as its eyes remained fixed on the quivering light.

  Jerah looked down at his dirty, stained clothes. “These are my clothes,” he replied slowly. The not-dwarf was just as filthy as he was, skinny, sickly… eyeing the orb like a hungry, homeless animal.

  The not-dwarf looked up. “I mean, why do you have those horns and wings strapped to you?”

  Jerah scratched his chin, forgetting the wonder he had at the creature’s unusual clothes. “They’re not strapped to me…” he replied, confused. “They are my wings.” He stretched them out to their full extent, casting a great shadow across the street.

  The not-dwarf stepped back.

  “Why are you so short?” Jerah retorted with a huff.

  It hesitated in its reply, eyes still wide, body tense. “…Because I’m just a child.”

  A child is short, Jerah committed to memory. And is not a dwarf. He had been told nothing about childs before. ‘They must be like bitches,’ he determined to himself. Whatever that defined them as.

  There was a sudden shriek. “Galway save us!”

  Jerah glanced up for a moment to spot the wide-eyed, fearful face of a woman. Why…? He looked back toward the child.

  And let out a low growl. With orb in hand, it had turned and fled down the street.

  Jerah straightened and took off after it, the rest of the world forgotten.

  That was his.

  But Jerah had not gone far when he realized that the path left by him was not the same as the path left by the child. He slowed and came to a stop. Before him, humans still cowered in terror. Behind him, bodies shrank away from where he had run, eyes wide, jaws slacked.

  And then it came to Jerah: they all feared him.

  He pulled his wings back tightly against his body, trying to lessen his size. He just wanted his orb back… He glanced up in time to see the smug child vanish into an alley. Jerah looked away. Perhaps chasing a child… was forbidden? He lowered his head slightly.

  He just wanted his orb…

  Then he heard a sound. A sound he had only heard twice before, but had clung to his instincts with the sharp threat of pain. He jerked his body to the left, but the shaft of wood still pierced through the side of his arm. He turned in time to see a second weapon raised by a man of the city’s watch, the human’s body locked into a position of offense as it raised the bolt. Jerah raised his hands defensively, trying to demonstrate that he meant no harm.

  The guard did not hesitate. The shaft tore through his chest.

  Jerah stumbled, hearing the click of the first weapon readying once more. He whirled, scrambling desperately past the nearest human for cover behind a table. He heard the thud of a bolt against the wood.

  His chest grew tight with fear and confusion. Why? Why was he being hunted?! Were these men from Sevrigel?! What had he done?!

  But it did not matter; he had to get away. He had to get out of the city! Jerah’s chest seized with pain and he grabbed the table and raised it up. Its shadow swept out across the street and the surrounding humans stumbled back in surprise.

  Why?!

  Jerah shoved his questions aside and let the table loose. It hurled through the air, slamming into the guards.

  And with that, Jerah turned and fled into the crowd.

  His heart was racing, his muscles aching from the wood twisted into them. He breathed loudly and heavily, breaking for the first alleyway he could see. He searched frantically for a sewer entrance.

  There was none.

  Jerah’s head jerked back over his shoulder to see several curious humans daring to return his stare, but they quickly vanished as his eyes met with theirs. No, he couldn’t go back that way! He clenched his great fist and lurched deep into the alley.

  “That way!” he heard someone shout from behind.

  But Jerah kept running, twisting around a corner into another bustling street, searching frantically for the exit to the city. He scanned the street once, but saw nothing.

  With a cry of frustration, he attempted to retreat back into the darkness of the alley from which he had emerged, but the shouts and screams were only growing louder from within.

  And so Jerah pressed forward and ran.

  Was his master wrong? Could Master be wrong? The idea had never occurred to him! His feet pounded against the stone and when a group of men dared block his way, he knocked them aside like brittle branches. The oblivious crowd that lay beyond them was too dense for his charge!

  ‘Another way…!’ Jerah thought as he spun down another street, searching for the nearest alleyway and its comforting darkness. Unlike elven cities, these buildings were closely linked, with hardly more than a few feet of space between their walls and, often times, none at all. But Jerah had to find a place to hide!—even as he barreled his way through the thinning crowds, he could smell the pursuers behind him.

  Where could he hide? The city seemed to go on forever!

  He could only keep running and running. The pain in his chest began to slow him down, and the weakness in his legs from being cramped in the ship’s crate began to take its toll. He stumbled once, barely catching his balance. But the sight ahead remained locked in Jerah’s gaze. He had to… keep…

  With a sickening snap, a sharp pain shot through his back and embedded into his bone.

  Damn… it…

  He stumbled again.

  Another.

  Jerah fell to one knee, pressing his hands into the wet, white earth. His eyes began to close, his head dropping forward toward the ground…

  And then his body jolted as it had done on Sevrigel. Another instinct took over, another drive of will. His muscles tightened, his vision sharpened. His fear and distress vanished like the torches in a puff of smoke.

  And suddenly Jerah bolted, sprinting with speed and force unmatched by the human guards behind him. They shot him again, but Jerah barely felt it. He slammed his body into the first guard, the curious crowd shrieking and fleeing in horror for the nearest buildings.

  The second guard stumbled, his brown eyes peeling wide with terror. Jerah reached out, grabbing his arm and snapping it backward through the metal. He slammed his fist down through the helmet of the first guard, tossing the second to the wayside. When he straightened, he spotted a third guard retreating into the crowd.

  Jerah bared his teeth, daring him to raise his weapon, but the man remained frozen in fear.

  Jerah turned.

  The crowd that had once blocked that side was gone. And now, up ahead, Jerah could see it. He could see the exit of the city. It was so close…

  His breaths became wheezes through the pain, but he dragged his feet forward. No one stopped him. And he did not stop. Step after step, he trudged his way beneath a second archway, dragging his hand along the wall for balance. He did not notice the splendid fabrics, the carved statues, the painted vases.

  And then he emerged into the light of a wide, frozen street.

  Jerah’s head rolled up to look around, focusing on the shadows of the land to his right. There. Behind the white-dusted forest, towering up in great splendor and vanishing into the clouds, were enormous pointed stones. He did not know the name of them, but he had
seen them in the distance all around Sevrigel. They beckoned him with their familiar shadows against the void.

  Jerah moved toward them, body trembling, knees buckling.

  Maybe… maybe in those peaks he would be safe. Unhunted. Tucked away into the quiet of that darkness…

  Maybe… just once…

  But that was unlikely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sellemar grimaced as the male in his weathered, oaken chair slumped forward, his form shuddering with the pain of several broken fingers. It was truly pathetic. The vulture had sentenced so many to horrific deaths, and yet he could not taste even a little pain without whimpering like a dying pup.

  Sellemar had wounded Saebellus’ ability to recover militarily. He had aroused the fears of the people. He had failed with the Nemorium but this—the strike upon the council—would expose the vices of the people’s sanctimonious politicians.

  He would proceed with the rebellion despite the absence of the knowledge of Saebellus’ plans.

  Sellemar poked the wretch pointedly in the eye. “Up, Cahsari. I know you will eventually succumb to my demands, so why not surrender the information and save yourself the… pitiful amount of pain that I shall continue to inflict upon you?”

  Cahsari sniffed and spat purely out of spite, the wad of clear ooze splattering across the tip of Sellemar’s polished boot. He looked up, sunken eyes meeting the El’adorium’s with pure detestation. “I’m not going to tell you where it is, Sellemar. You’ll have to find a way to string up Ilrae without my assistance. I know you won’t do anything to me worse than…” he paused briefly to grimace at his broken fingers. He sucked in a painful wheeze. “…This. You’ve refrained from spilling my blood so far—I don’t think you have it in you to really torture.” He managed to tap his foot on the fur of the thakish rug at his feet. “You have me sitting on a rug of white. How much blood would you stain this with, El’adorium?”