by Alex Lang
“That wasn’t what—”
“I know, Tasi. Don’t mind me.”
Kyris got up with a heavy sigh. “Give me a few moments to get ready?” he asked Tasi.
She nodded, a somber expression on her face as she looked to Jahna.
“She loathes being here in the city. And she loathes me for forcing us to be here,” Kyris said.
They walked the cobblestone streets towards the market square.
“Stop being dramatic. She does not loathe you. The city, perhaps, but not you,” Tasi said.
“She’s not happy.”
“Well, yes, that I will concede.”
“I don’t understand. She knows it’s temporary. All the hardships that we went through, before you and Baaz.” He chuckled. “All the hardships training with your grandfather. It was all for this, and we’re close. I can feel it in here.” Kyris tapped his chest. “And now that we’re close, it’s as if she’s changed her mind. She’d rather we leave and forget about the whole thing.”
“She fears for you, Kyris,” Tasi said quietly.
“Nothing has changed. I have to put myself at risk in order to find him, and to provide for you and Jahna. This is how it’s always been. Once—” Kyris’s eyes darted around. “Once our business is done, we will leave Vigil and head back to Yond or maybe even farther.”
“I—” Tasi started.
Music and the smell of roasting meat drifted from the square ahead, and Kyris interrupted her. “Oh, by the gods. Come on, I’m starving.”
Kyris had followed the instructions provided by Wilen and now stood in the alley behind a nondescript building in a district unknown to him, but not far from Marshlanding. The green lantern hung at the mouth of the narrow passage was the only indicator that he was in the right place. He knocked on the back door, and it swung open almost immediately. A young man—who looked somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t place him—beckoned him in.
“Come on, we’ve been waiting on ya,” the man said in an affable manner, then gestured down a short hallway. “Caldir’s at the end.”
Kyris was wary but gave the man a nod before proceeding.
He found Caldir in a small room, sitting at a table in conversation with a woman. Her back was to him, but he recognized her from the short cut of her bronze hair.
He paused just outside the doorway, feeling a twinge of apprehension.
Caldir noted his presence. “Ah, Kyris.”
He stepped into the room, and his greeting died on his lips as the woman turned to him. He had caught a glimpse of her from afar that day outside the Chalice, and he’d studied much of her amber eyes when they’d fought, but now, seeing her face unobstructed by fabric or diminished by distance, he was struck dumb by her countenance. While recuperating, Kyris had had plenty of time to wonder as to her appearance, but his imagination paled next to the reality. She was young, around his age or a bit older. Her features matched what he’d seen of her lean and toned body. A sprinkling of freckles ran across her cheeks and nose, and there was a glint to her eyes as though she was always on the edge of a smile.
She gave him a nod in greeting, then proved him right by smiling. “I hope you’ll bear me no grudge.”
Recomposing himself, Kyris asked, “Whatever for?”
Her smile widened. “Glad to hear it. Ellse,” she said, giving a slight bow.
“Kyris,” he said, and returned the gesture.
“Excellent. Now that we are all acquainted… please sit, Kyris.” Caldir motioned to the other empty seat. “We have a job.”
Kyris had thought there’d be talk of the fight, or comments on his performance. But apparently that was already in the past and settled. He beamed on the inside, reassured that his skills alone had been enough, and that not using his ability had been the right choice.
“A client of ours had something stolen, and we are to retrieve it. We know where the object is, a warehouse in Dockside. The warehouse is also headquarters to the perpetrators of the theft, a band of street-toughs and rogues, so it's never left unattended. Tonight, Ellse will lead a small group, including yourself, to infiltrate and reclaim the object. Straightforward, yes?”
Kyris frowned, partially because this seemed like the same sort of work that Marlek would have given him and he’d thought Caldir above such activities, and partially because of the stipulation he had made. “As I stated before, I prefer to work alone.” Then to Ellse, “It’s nothing personal.”
“Ah, yes. I did not forget, and it is grand when we get what we prefer, but alas, it cannot always be the case. We’ve already formulated a plan, and this task requires a group eff—”
“I can do it myself. Just tell me where the warehouse is and what this… object is, and I will have it for you before first bell.”
Caldir and Ellse shared a look.
“There are likely a dozen men in that warehouse,” Caldir said.
“It matters not.”
“There is another problem of the object itself. It is a vase, plain-looking and hard to discern from any other like vase, but Adar, one set to go tonight, can identify it.”
This gave Kyris pause. “Can’t you describe the details for me?”
Caldir gave him a pointed look, then said, “Kyris, do this tonight as a personal favor for me, yes? The group tasked with the job is small, and one of the members is indisposed due to an injury, of which you were the cause. Ah, worry not. No one is blaming you, but your presence would go far to aid the endeavor. Ellse will be leading the effort.”
Ellse looked off to the side and wore a small frown.
Refusing his first assignment wouldn’t reflect well, but it was irksome that Caldir had so disregarded his request. He didn’t want to leave Ellse short-handed, and it did sound like he would only be there for support.
“Very well, but future jobs—”
“I will keep your future assignments within the scope of one man. Although, keep in mind that this limits your usefulness, which in turn limits your income, and it will take that much longer to pay off your debt.”
Kyris nodded in understanding, but said no more.
“Good, good. Now that that is settled, I will leave this in your capable hands, Ellse.”
Ellse stood and said to Kyris, “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the group, and we can go over the plan.”
She led him back to the hallway, then to another room where three men gathered around a table, eating a meal, conversing and laughing.
The laughter stopped when Ellse and Kyris entered.
“Fellows, this is Kyris,” Ellse said, then made introduction of the rest. “That’s Tallence.” The tall man frowned and looked at him from behind hooded eyes. Though much healed, his nose showed signs of recent injury. “Rollim.” The stocky man in the middle grimaced at him through a mouthful of food. “And Adar,” the one who had ushered him in to the building earlier.
After looking over the three, Kyris decided that he had already met them, in a manner of speaking.
Kyris gave them a tight smile and a small nod, feeling a bit awkward, and wondering if he had injured the fourth man too badly. Was there not enough of that wondrous healing draught to go around?
Adar gave him a welcoming smile and motioned for him to sit. “Well met, Kyris. You’re quite the scrapper. Where did you learn to fight like that?”
He took the seat and said, “My father,” but offered no more. He was always careful of not revealing too many details of his past.
His short answer earned an arched eyebrow from Adar, and it seemed like the man was going to inquire further when Tallence spoke up. “Well, he ain’t so good that he could stand up to our Ellse. Eh? And when he got cracked in the head, he went down like a sack of grain. Never seen anyone drop so quick.”
Tallence and Rollim laughed the same laugh. It wasn’t their only similarity, and Kyris suspected they were brothers.
“Yes, she’s something,” Kyris agreed, giving Ellse a sideways glance. He no
ticed a few fine scars on her face, telltale signs of a fighter, but they didn’t detract from her striking appearance. If anything, he found they added to her allure. Kyris smiled, remembering Jahna’s comment earlier.
“All right, enough of that. Tally, you want to see someone go down faster, you spar with me next training session.” The man visibly cringed, but Kyris thought it was all said in good humor. “Right, then, down to business.” At that, the men grew serious and leaned in, their attention on Ellse. “These muck-eaters are operating out of Dockside. We think there’s around ten of them.”
“Two against one?” Adar questioned, his voice pitched high in concern.
Ellse fixed the young man with an annoyed expression, then turning to the rest, she said, “The day that any one of you can't take two Dockside gutter rats by yourself is the day I'll send you packing.”
Tallence and Rollim grinned.
“Besides,” she continued “it’ll be more like three to one, but you won’t have to worry about it, Adar.” Ellse detailed the plan which involved her, Tallence, and Rollim creating a distraction downstairs while Kyris and Adar entered through a window on the second floor. Apparently, all the stolen goods were held in storage up there, waiting to be loaded on boats.
“Any questions?”
It seemed to Kyris that he should be part of the group downstairs as he was the stronger fighter, but he didn’t want to voice any dissent. He’d resolved to agree to whatever was asked of him, just to get the job done.
No one had any questions or objections.
Ellse gave Kyris a peculiar look that he couldn’t place the meaning of, then she turned away, addressing the group. “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Twelve
He did not have a fear of heights, Kyris often told himself. He’d experienced real fear in combat. And he’d experienced Gloom-induced, wraith-touched terror. Height didn’t chase and try to consume his soul. What was height but distance measured vertically? However, he had a healthy respect for the damage falling could inflict. It took very little vertical distance to break or shatter bone, he knew. It was only sensible to be concerned, but it wasn’t fear that made his knees weak as he gazed down at the street below.
Ellse had stated that their window entrance was on the second floor, but she hadn’t mentioned that the warehouse would be so tall. Kyris judged his current perch nearly four stories up. He and Adar had climbed atop a neighboring building and run across the rooftops, which had been concerning enough, but now they clung on either side of the window, holding on to the dormer, the structural protrusion, crouched on the pitched roof. The angle wasn’t so sharp as to send them tumbling off, but such thoughts still flashed in his mind every time he looked down. Adar seemed to take the height in stride, so Kyris kept such thoughts to himself. Someone had been kind enough to leave the window ajar, so he thanked Shar for small favors.
Kyris peered through the gap, as the actual glass panes were covered completely by a fine, black soot. Dockside butted up against the forger district of Hammerfell and the pyre-houses of Brightgate, where the dead got their proper send off, so it was a toss up what the soot was from. Perhaps a mix of the two.
Inside, he saw only a small portion of the room, as a heavy curtain stretched from one wall to the other, partitioning the space. Muffled voices came from the other side.
A loud crash sounded from the street below, followed by shouts. Ellse and the rest had made their presence known. Kyris started the count, during which he heard the shuffling of chairs on the wooden floor as whomever was on the other side of the curtain reacted to the commotion below. At the conclusion of the agonizingly long ten count, he nodded to Adar, eased the window fully open, then dove through, tucking into a shoulder roll and coming up with his shortsword drawn. He sighed in relief to be on level ground. Adar climbed through slowly and whispered, “Were you raised by carnival tumblers?”
“No need to be envious. I can teach you,” Kyris said, as he moved to the curtain. Pushing it aside, he saw that the room was long, lit well by wall lanterns, and cluttered. Boxes and crates were stacked everywhere, filling the space. Chairs and a table crowded one corner. Scattered playing cards and a small pile of coins marked the occupants’ hasty exit. An opened sliding door led out of the room to the left. Kyris could see no one. If this was the storage room they sought, then business had been very good for the thieves, and he and Adar would need much more time to search.
Adar pushed past him towards the door. “Come on, the vase should be this way.”
Kyris was relieved and moved to follow, but a scraping sound caused him to whirl. Before he could call out, Adar was out of the room. There was a startled cry, then the door slid shut with a loud thunk.
Kyris rushed to the door and pulled at it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked or latched from the other side. He turned back to the room, searching the shadows, convinced that the sound earlier had not been imagined. A large man emerged from behind a tall stack of boxes, confirming his suspicion but baffling him, nevertheless, for the stranger was armed and armored for war, it seemed. No, not war, he realized. For the arena.
“What have we here? A wee man come to wet my ax?” the man taunted in a deep, booming voice as if addressing a crowd. He was much taller than Kyris and armed with a battle ax and a rectangular wooden shield, the size of a small door. His arms were bare, showing muscles of such definition as to be carved from stone and belonging on statues of the champions of the Imperium. A cuirass of banded mail covered his torso, and a pair of greaves protected his shins. The most striking piece of the ensemble was the man's helm, which depicted the head of an enraged bull, in imitation of a beastman, all snarling snout and jagged teeth.
As shocking as the sight was, Kyris couldn’t help but smile. He was familiar with the attire and costumes of the gladiatorial warriors of the arena. He knew full well that such embellishments were for the crowds, or to intimidate inexperienced, usually conscripted, combatants. Such theatrics would not work on him. No, he knew that beneath the armor there was just a man, no different than all of the others he had faced in combat. Well, perhaps a bit larger and more brawny than most, but a man, nevertheless.
Kyris drew his dagger to accompany Baaz’s shortsword. “Did you get lost on your way to the arena?” He spared the room a glance, wondering if more gladiators were hiding behind other crates.
The warrior charged, letting out a roar.
Kyris was tempted to enter the Gloom right then, but he had to be certain the room was clear before he did. If Adar came back at the wrong time, he might witness Kyris’ reappearance.
The gladiator charged at him with the shield up and ax swinging. Kyris darted aside, using the crates and boxes as obstacles, and the man pulverized them into splinters with apparent glee. Either the man was truly embracing his outer visage, or Kyris needed to revise his assessment of what was beneath the beastly helm.
Kyris tried to maneuver for an opening to attack but found it hard to get around the man’s shield. Once again, he found himself ill-equipped for the job at hand. He didn’t try to block the ax swings; there was simply too much force and ferocity behind them that he feared his shortsword would be torn from his hand if he made such an attempt. Strangely, the gladiator seemed equally aimed at cleaving the furnishings as well as Kyris, as every other swing smashed some box, crate or chair, sending wood flying. The odd behavior didn’t end there, as the beast-helmed warrior howled and shouted before every attack as if announcing his intention, and he chose wide swings and long over-head chops. Kyris couldn’t decide whether the man was a great warrior or a great fool.
As Kyris found himself backed against the wall, he heard the shouts from outside the room. Adar. It wouldn’t look good if his partner died on his first job out.
He dodged a chop, which resulted with the ax head sinking deep into the wall. Seeing his opening, he slashed at the warrior’s exposed arm, scoring a deep cut, but it didn’t have the desired effect. The large man g
lanced down at the wound, roared, then renewed his attack.
He didn’t have time for this; Adar was in trouble. He leaped back, then flung his dagger at the man’s unarmored thigh. The gladiator shifted slightly, dropping low, and the blade embedded itself in the corner of the wooden shield.
Kyris pulled and flung a throwing knife, aimed at the man's armored head. This time, the moment the weapon was out of his hand, he turned and ran for a stack of boxes behind him. As soon as he had ducked behind the crates, he shifted into the Gloom. The familiar sensations enveloped him. The room darkened, silence descended like a blanket, and a spike of fear shot up his back, overshadowing what he was already feeling. Despite all this, there was a part of him that found it a relief. There was time before the wraiths would appear, time that was a respite from the onslaught of the smashing madman.
Kyris readied himself as the boxes he had disappeared behind were smashed and flung aside. A blurred wooden crate flew through him and bounced off the wall behind where he stood.
The gladiator swung his head back and forth, then pushed up the snout face-plate on the helmet and repeated the motion, his confusion clear.
Kyris pulled out another knife and waited for the opening that he knew would come. A familiar thought resurfaced; what would Baaz think of his ability and how he utilized it? He had never told his mentor about his dark power. The nature and source of the ability aside, the old man would probably say it was a crutch. An easy out when things got tough. The option of vanishing had never been available when he’d fought in the pits. With an audience, he could only rely on his sword arm and skill. For all his training and praise as a gifted fighter, of late it always came down to this, reappearing behind and stabbing the unsuspecting opponent in the back.
The gladiator finally turned away, no doubt thinking that Kyris had somehow gotten behind him. And he had… now.
Kyris left the Gloom and attacked with a low sword swing to the back of the right leg, followed immediately by a powerful horizontal stab of his knife. He pivoted, putting his weight into the thrust, and the blade sunk deep just under the left armpit of the large man where there was no armor; a fatal strike into the heart.