Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  As she squatted, she pocketed the empty pouch.

  “No sweeps,” Sully blurted. “If a bone you didn’t pick up moves, your turn’s over.”

  She glanced at the man and responded with another shrug. Just as well, she thought.

  Lyra put one hand firmly on the dirt floor while holding the hand full of bones before her. With a small upward toss, she launched the five bones into the air and flipped her hand over, positioning the back of her hand beneath them as the bones fell. Three bones landed on the back of her hand, while a fourth bounced off to join the last on the dirt floor. She looked up at Sully, who nodded as she picked a bone off the back of her hand.

  “This is my taw,” Lyra proclaimed, keeping her tone low.

  Lyra set the other two bones aside, planted her left hand on the floor, and analyzed the bones resting in the dirt to memorize their position. She tossed the taw up and scooped one of the bones before catching the taw with the same hand. After setting the bone aside, she repeated the process to capture the final bone. The surrounding crowd cheered, and the men began exchanging bets.

  Gripping the taw in her left hand, Lyra tossed the other four bones. They tumbled to the floor, one bouncing sideways to settle three feet from the other three.

  Sully shook his head. “Tough toss, laddie.”

  Lyra sighed, not hiding her disappointment. “Twos.”

  Tossing her taw upward, she quickly scooped two bones from the dirt before catching the taw. After setting those two bones aside, she tossed her taw again, higher this time. Her hand darted out to scoop one bone and then the other, three feet away. However, when she tried to catch her taw, she was too late and it hit the floor.

  “Aww,” the crowd groaned in disappointment.

  Sully grinned, “Nice try. Now, it’s my turn.”

  Lyra collected her knucklebones and stood back as Sully jockeyed, catching three bones on the back of his hand.

  “My taw,” he held up one of the bones.

  After the sailor completed the first round, collecting a single bone at a time, the other sailors around him cheered in encouragement.

  “Twos,” Sully announced before he tossed four bones and received a tight grouping of two pairs resting near each other.

  Sully tossed his taw up and scooped a pair of bones before catching the taw. With the last set of bones within inches of each other, Lyra knew she was about to lose. As she expected, Sully easily gathered the bones and caught the taw for a successful turn. The crowd cheered.

  Grinning, Sully scooped up the two silvers, pocketed them and stood. “Keep practicing, laddie,” he said. “You’re quick, so there’s hope for you, yet.”

  The three sailors surrounding the man patted him on the back, congratulating him as he finished his ale. Lyra did her best to appear dejected as she stared toward the circle in the dirt. While coins were exchanging hands, Lyra reached into her pocket and withdrew her coin purse. After emptying the contents into her palm, she gripped the last coin she possessed, holding it up to catch notice.

  “I have one more coin to play.” She tossed the coin to the ground. “I want a rematch.”

  Everyone grew quiet. All eyes stared at the gold coin reflecting the torchlight. Someone whistled as Sully rubbed the scruff covering his square chin.

  “How did a young lad like yourself happen upon a gold piece?”

  Lyra defiantly stared into the man’s eyes before shrugging. “You don’t have to play me if you’re afraid.”

  Sully’s expression darkened, his lips flattening into a line. He grabbed the coin purse tied to his belt and began digging through it. After a moment, he removed a gold coin and tossed it into the circle.

  “Fine,” he said. “Let’s play. I won, so I go first.”

  The man knelt and held his knucklebones before him.

  “No sweeping, remember.” Lyra said, his frown returning before he nodded in response.

  Sully tossed the bones up, his hand shifting beneath them as they tumbled. Only one of five landed on the ground, the remainder lay captured on the back of his hand. A murmur ran through the crowd, and another round of bets exchanged hands.

  Sully picked one as he declared, “Here’s my taw.”

  He tossed the taw in the air, scooped the last bone off the floor, and caught the taw.

  “Twos.”

  Sully held the taw in one hand and tossed the other four. They fell into a close grouping again, making for another easy turn of collecting two bones with each throw.

  “Threes,” the sailor said before tossing the four bones into the air.

  Three bones landed in a clump while the fourth bounced two feet away. Sully tossed his taw upward, scooped up the cluster of three bones, and caught the taw. He followed by effortlessly collecting the last bone with his next toss.

  “Fours,” Sully said with a grin.

  Lyra glanced about, appearing nervous as the sailor gauged her reaction.

  The man tossed the four bones and they landed to settle in a circle about a foot in diameter. Sully took a deep breath and tossed his taw up, higher than prior turns. He scooped one, two, three, but missed the fourth bone before snatching the taw just inches from the floor.

  “Ooo,” the crowd responded.

  Judging by their reactions, Lyra knew they believed Sully had the game won.

  Sully stood, not attempting to restrain his grin. “I made it to fours, with three collected cleanly. You’ll have to step up your game if you plan to win, laddie.”

  Lyra pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the man. He’s cocksure of himself, she thought. Getting knocked down a peg might do him a favor.

  She squatted and tossed five bones in the air, her eyes tracking each as her hand shifted rapidly beneath them as they fell. The crowd released another “Ooo” when none hit the ground.

  “I go straight to twos.” She picked one of the bones from her hand and held it up. “Here’s my taw.”

  Sully frowned, and he gave a brief nod. With four bones still on the back of her hand, Lyra tossed them into the air. When they settled in the dirt, the bones rested in two nestled pairs. She grabbed her taw with her right hand, tossed it into the air, and scooped up two bones before catching the taw. With the tight grouping, she handily repeated the process for the last two bones.

  “Threes,” Lyra tossed four bones to the floor.

  The grouping was not as tight as the last, which was fine since she needed to avoid bumping the bone she wasn’t trying to capture. Lyra tossed her taw a bit higher, scooped up three bones, and caught the taw in the same hand. Gathering the final bone was as simple as breathing.

  “Fours,” her gaze flicked toward Sully to find his expression had darkened.

  Lyra tossed the four bones to the floor, but two of them collided, launching both away from the others in opposite directions.

  Sully laughed. “You’d better say a prayer to Yanetta. You’ll be needing a fair bit of her luck for that toss.”

  Lyra ignored the sailor as she stared at the bones, noting the location of each. Leaning forward, she placed her left palm on the ground and pressed her lips together in determination. The surrounding crowd fell still, each man’s gaze focused on the bones.

  Her taw flew toward the ceiling, far higher than earlier throws. Lyra scooped the two tightly nestled bones before she stretched toward the third. After quickly grabbing the bone, she pivoted her body around her left hand, spinning and stretching to grab the fourth bone. Her eyes flicked up to locate the falling taw, and her hand flashed out to snatch it from the air, just inches from the floor. With her fist squeezed tight, she closed her eyes in a moment of relief.

  Lyra stood and opened her palm, holding it out to reveal the five bones resting within. The stunned crowd erupted with cheers and exclamations of disbelief. Surrounding men patted Lyra on the shoulders as she slipped the bones into her pocket. She bent to claim her winnings, the metal coins feeling cool in her grip. As she stood, a hand flashed out and
grabbed her wrist, causing her to wince at the man’s tight grip.

  “There’s no way I’m letting you leave with my gold, you little runt.” Sully threatened.

  Lyra’s lips pressed together as she stared up at the man, his bloodshot eyes growing wide. Sully released his grip on her wrist and eased himself backward, his eyes flicking down toward the dagger pressed against his groin.

  “Careful, now,” Lyra said. “You don’t want to lose anything important, Sully.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he replied.

  “Just let him go, Sully.” Roland said, stepping between Lyra and the sailor. “The boy won fairly. It was quite the show and required more than a bit of luck, but it was still a fair win.”

  “Let’s keep our heads straight here, Sully,” another sailor said, placing his hand on Sully’s shoulder.

  Sully frowned and glanced about at a crowd consisting mainly of Vingarri locals. With only three fellow sailors behind him, it wouldn’t be a fair fight even if she weren’t threatening him with a knife.

  “Fine,” Sully glared at Lyra. “I best not be seeing you again, boy. If I do, you’ll not walk away so happy.”

  Sully backed away from her knife and slid into the crowd with the other sailors close behind. The moment they were gone, hands clapped her shoulders and patted her head as the bystanders offered words of thanks and congratulations.

  Lyra opened her pouch and dumped the two gold coins and bones inside before slipping it into her pocket.

  As the crowd dispersed, Roland put an arm about her. “Good show, Lyra. You got him for a full gold piece after only one game.”

  “Thanks, Roland,” Lyra gave him a weak smile.

  Roland walked her toward the bar. “Not to mention, I made two silvers betting against you the first round and another four betting for you on the second.” He stopped at the bar and slammed two coppers down. “I’ll buy you a drink. Is it apple cider again, or can I convince you to try something a bit stronger?”

  2

  With a furtive glance down the dark street, Lyra inserted her key into the lock. The deadbolt clicked open, and she pocketed the key while turning the knob. Dim starlight bled into the open doorway, rapidly giving way to shadow – dark and forbidding. Her fingers fumbled about until she found the reed, gripping it before closing and locking the door.

  Lyra shuffled toward the fireplace with her free hand held before her as she sought the fire iron that waited on the stone hearth. Her fingers found the handle, lifting it and sticking it into the black maw of the dormant fire. She poked and stirred the coals, blowing into it until an orange glow appeared. When she pressed the tip of the reed against the brightest coals, it began to smolder. Lyra blew long, slow breaths, using them to bring the coals to life until the wick caught fire, its orange light flickering within the arched opening.

  Biting her lip, Lyra stepped from the fireplace and navigated to the table, her eyes never leaving the dancing flame. She held the burning reed to a candle that sat upon the table, the flame licking the wick for a moment before it, too, flared to life. After extinguishing the reed, she placed it on the shelf beside the door.

  A tug loosened the drawstring on her coin purse and she poured the contents into her palm. The two gold coins and five silver marks shimmered in the candlelight and brought a smile to her face. While she had been able to tease the sailor into betting gold, the remainder of the night had yielded only a few silvers. Still, it was a fair amount of wealth for someone her age.

  After replacing the coins in the purse, she headed to the stairwell. Her surroundings grew darker when she turned the corner at the landing. As she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a noise.

  Lyra froze, her ears straining as she held her breath. Another noise arose from downstairs, one she recognized as the sound of the deadbolt, followed by the door opening. Her heart pounded, her eyes flicking back and forth, as she listened. Her father had arrived home earlier than normal...unless it was someone else.

  The door closed, but rather than hearing the lock again, she heard it burst open.

  “What?” her father exclaimed amid the scuffle of boots on the wood floor. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’ve come for our payment, Tascalli.” A rough voice replied.

  More scuffling sounded from below, chairs hitting the floor.

  “Please, Rainer. You need to tell Berrilon that I…I can’t do it,” her father’s voice sound strained. “I can’t betray my Queen.”

  “Tsk, Tsk.” The rough voice replied. “After everything we’ve done for you, now you go back on your word.”

  The unmistakable sound of a fist hitting a body followed.

  “Oof,” her father groaned.

  “You were basically begging for coin, playing your piece of junk lute in seedy taverns.” The sound of a slap echoed in the room. “Berrilon and The Hand gave you a real instrument.” Another slap. “They took you from those lowlife taprooms and placed you in the palace, playing for Queen Iglesia.” A third slap rang out, followed by sobbing. “You and your whelp would still be renting a hole above the fishery in Vinhagus if not for us. Rather than thanking us for your position, your house, your new life, you throw it in our face by refusing to honor our deal?”

  “No, please,” her father sobbed. “I’ll give you gold. I’ll give you anything.”

  “Listen, you weak-willed snake. You made a promise, a promise to Berrilon and to The Hand.” Two thumps of fists hitting flesh preceded a whimper. “We don’t want your gold. We want you to keep your word.”

  The sound of a blade sliding from its sheath caused Lyra’s eyes to widen. She stepped from her room and crept down the stairwell. Peeking around the wall at the landing, she saw two men holding her father against a wall. One of the men had a knife held to her father’s throat.

  “Last chance, Tascalli,” the man with the knife said between clenched teeth.

  Frightened and concerned, Lyra felt helpless as she stared at her father. His eyes flicked about the room, seeking salvation. When her father’s gaze shifted toward the stairwell, it locked onto Lyra. Tears tracked down her face as his expression shifted from terror…to realization…to resolve.

  Her father turned toward his attacker. “You can take my life, but that will get you nothing,” he said calmly. “Perhaps I can assist The Hand in another way, but my honor still exists, and I’ll not be a party to treason.”

  The man with the knife frowned and stepped back. His frown became a grimace, and he thrust the knife into her father’s midsection. The other man released his grip on her father as the man named Rainer yanked the knife free and used it to gash her father’s neck. Dark red blood spurted from the wound, his hand going to his throat as he slid down the wall and fell to the floor.

  “No!” Lyra screamed, descending a few steps before she realized what she had done.

  Both men turned toward her, and she got her first good look at them. One stood a bit over six feet tall, his bulky frame capped by a head of curly, dark Vinacci hair. The one her father had called Rainer was a bit shorter, with brown hair and a trimmed goatee in the style of Kalimar royalty. However, it was his eyes that she would always remember – steel gray and piercing. The man’s intense gaze sent a chill down her spine.

  “Get her!”

  Lyra scrambled up the stairs, ran to the end of the hall, and pulled the door to her father’s room closed. She then slipped into her own room and hid behind her open door. The rumble of footsteps grew louder as the men ascended the stairs, ran past her room, and ripped the door to her father’s room open.

  “Look out the window,” Rainer demanded as he tore the room apart.

  Lyra slipped out her bedroom door and crept down the stairs, watching the dark doorway to her father’s room as she made her descent. When she reached the bottom, Lyra found her father on the floor, his head tilted to the side, his empty gaze staring into space. She bit her lip as tears clouded her vision. The realization of his loss caused an invo
luntary whimper.

  The thumping of rapid footsteps came from upstairs. She scrambled backward and bumped into the table. The candle tipped on its side, rolled to the table’s edge, and fell to the floor. Loud footsteps ran down the stairs, causing Lyra to panic. She bolted toward the door as the candle settled below the curtain that framed the front window.

  A shout came from behind her. “The girl saw me. Don’t let her get away.”

  Lyra leapt into the street and ran downhill before darting into a gap between neighboring houses. She crept down the narrow corridor, toward the steep hillside behind the houses, pausing in the deep shadows when she heard the two men run past. There she remained, her heart racing as she held back sobs of sorrow.

  Lyra wiped her eyes again, unable to stop the tears that continued to emerge. She lay on a second story rooftop, one turn of the zigzagging hillside road above where her house was located. The scene below appeared surreal as angry orange flames emitted thick black smoke.

  Men shouted in the night as they handed buckets of water to the next in line. As each bucket reached the big man at the end, he would launch the water toward the house next door to Lyra’s. Realizing that her house was lost, they focused on preventing the fire from spreading to neighboring homes. The logical side of Lyra understood, but she found herself hating them for not saving her home, for not saving her father.

  Flames illuminated the area, enabling her to spot the two men who had chased her as they walked past again, searching the area as they passed the bucket line. Rather than doubling back as they had before, the men continued uphill, and eventually passed below Lyra’s perch. A mixture of fear and hatred stirred within her as they walked past. She imagined leaping from the rooftop with her knife in hand, landing on one man before stabbing the other. When her reverie broke, the two men had disappeared into the darkness.

  Lyra looked down at her burning home again and felt a hollowness inside. Her father was dead. Her home was gone. Two men in town were searching for her, intending to send her to La-Mordai in the halls of death, where her father now waited.