by CW Thomas
He thumped his fist against the wall and cursed under his breath.
His brother called to him, bringing him back to the present.
Together they moved up the street alongside Nash, quiet and swift.
Brayden spotted Preston and Ty hurrying along a street to the north. When the five of them had rejoined they moved down an alleyway where they hid under the shadows of a shingled awning amidst a cache of crates and barrels.
“What do we do now?” Preston asked. “How do we get out of here?”
“We heads east,” Ty said. “There’s being another gate there.”
“The eastern gate leads to the desert,” Preston said. “It’s a dangerous wasteland.”
“We have no choice,” Brayden said. “The order to seal the city is going to roll like the wind over all of Thalmia. The northern gate we came through is probably blocked already. By dawn it will be impossible to get out.”
“We better move quick then,” Broderick said.
“And must be finding some supplies,” Ty added. “Cloaks, blankets, weapons, anything to help get gone.”
“Fan out,” Brayden said, “but keep heading east as fast as—”
“Get off of me, you fat ducks!” came the drunken cry of Clint. “Quack, quack, quack, says the stupid duck.”
Brayden hurried back down the alleyway and peered out into the darkened street. He saw a team of Efferousian guards with torches and swords surrounding his cousin. Clint’s beefy fist clung to a broken bottle, which he jabbed at one of the guards. The men kept their distance from the staggering drunk, laughing as the young man turned circles among them.
“Come and get some, little ducks. You stupid, smelly ducks.”
“We need to help him,” Broderick said.
“With what, our charm?” Nash argued.
“There’s five of us,” Brayden said. “I count five of them. If we—”
One of the guards fell silent when his throat ripped open. His lifeblood showered out like rain before he dropped to his knees, gurgling his final breath.
“What the—” shouted one of his comrades, who clutched his chest as a sword punched through his ribs. Before he fell, Brayden thought he saw the glimmer of a blade swiping through the darkness, taking the life of the guard next to him.
The remaining two men reacted in fear, spinning in circles and cursing.
“Over here!” shouted one.
“No, he’s over—” The man’s head tumbled free from his shoulders.
“Gods be merciful. I beg of you!”
Brayden wasn’t sure if what he saw next was man or shadow. It appeared behind the guard and sliced off the man’s hand, causing him to drop his torch in a plume of orange ash. The shadow, somehow, changed locations in the darkness, and the next thing Brayden heard was the sound of armor and metal hitting the cobblestone as the final guard was killed.
The alleyway went silent.
Once Brayden’s eyes adjusted to the shadows, he saw a single hooded man picking through the pockets of the dead soldiers.
Clint staggered in place next to the man, rubbing his eyes and stammering. “Who… who are you, friend. W–w–what to do you do are you thinking?”
“More are coming,” the man said. “Best come out from the shadows. Gather what weapons you can carry and follow me. Quickly now!” He hopped from one body to another, picking the dead vipers clean of gold, jewelry and any other valuable loot.
“Is he talking to us?” Nash whispered behind Brayden.
“Yes,” the man answered. “And if you want to live you best prove to me you can move faster than that.”
Brayden stepped out of the alleyway and approached the man. “How did you—”
“The lord of this region isn’t about to let any of you leave,” said the man. “He will pursue you, and, if I had to make a wager, I’d say he will catch you and kill you judging by the way you lot bumble through the dark.”
The man was covered in close-fitting dark fabric, his face shadowed by a tight hood, his back by a ratty cloak. As he reached his right arm across one of the dead bodies, Brayden saw a plethora of inky black tattoos curling up his sleeveless arm.
“Follow me,” the man said. “And hurry.”
Without hesitating, Brayden fell in behind him.
Broderick grabbed his arm, and whispered, “What are you doing? We don’t know this man.”
“Didn’t you notice?” Brayden said. “He’s a Kriegellian.”
LIA
Lia cartwheeled out of the crowd in white slacks and a matching tunic, clutching a bright apple in her teeth. She finished with a back flip that landed her right next to Khile, drawing a spattering of “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” from the circle of spectators.
“Now, get back everyone. Give Ulyssa some space,” Khile said, pacing the inside of the crowd. “My assistant is fearless, but she must not be disturbed for if anything goes wrong with this next trick her very life will be in danger.”
Lia bit off a chunk of the apple and chewed as she balanced the rest of it atop her head. She had been nervous the first dozen times she and Khile had performed this trick, but his aim never faltered, not even a little, and now she pulled it off without so much as a blink of her eyes.
“No distractions,” Khile continued. “I need space to—” he spun around and released the knife. It sailed through the air and split the apple, plowing it off of Lia’s head, “—get my aim.”
The people applauded.
“What are you crazy?” Lia blurted. “That’s not how we do it!”
“Uh-oh, ladies and gentlemen. It seems I have upset Ulyssa.”
“I wasn’t ready!”
At first, the people looked shocked at her outburst, but then snickers of amusement began to eke from the crowd.
“We do this all the time,” he said. “What’s your problem?”
She withdrew her own knife from a sleeve at her back. “How would you like it?”
Khile grabbed a small wooden plate and held it up in front of his neck. “Now, hold on. Just calm—”
Lia hurled the knife into the dead center of the plate.
The crowed howled with laughter.
“Whoa!” Khile said. Lia was always impressed at how genuinely alarmed he could look.
“‘Whoa?’” she repeated. “What do you think I am a horse?” She pulled out another dagger and threw it at him, striking the plate again, splitting it in two.
Khile grabbed another one and blocked a third knife that came sailing toward him. Then he blocked a fourth. Then a fifth. Each impact met with intensifying waves of “Oh!” from the crowd.
Khile tossed the plate at Lia. She kicked it out of the air, shattering it with the toe of her boot. He threw another, which she spin kicked, and a third, which she jump-kicked. Then, for the grand finale, he tossed two plates that Lia picked out of the air with a double jump kick. She landed on the ground amidst a hail of laughter, applause, and shattered plates.
Khile and Lia bowed.
A few people tossed coins of silver and gold on the ground. A few moments later the crowd had dispersed.
“How disappointing,” Lia said, as she and Khile collected their earnings.
“What is?”
“Usually I get at least one poor fellow wanting to buy me a drink.”
Khile laughed.
“Remember that guy who wanted to marry me?”
“Must be losing your touch.”
They picked up the rest of the coins from the street, a meager amount, which was odd, Lia thought, considering Thalmia was rumored to be a place of great wealth.
“I wonder what went on over there last night?” Khile said.
Lia looked up at him and followed his gaze to a massive stone Law House. Workers mulled about the cobbled streets in front of the banquet hall scrubbing a wide swath of blood off the stone.
Lia dumped her handful of coins into a leather pouch, which she held open for Khile to do the same.
They finis
hed packing up their props—a mixed bag of assorted weapons including razor sharp knives, broadhead arrows, swords, and spears, all of which Lia had obsessively polished to glimmering perfection. They secured their saddlebags, then loaded up their two horses and pack mule, an old stubborn beast that Khile had named Dumbass.
“I still think we should’ve gone to Konia,” Lia said as she mounted her horse. “Konia is where the gamblers are, and the coliseum. People play freely with money there. We could make a fortune.”
“You don’t make a fortune doing what we do,” Khile said.
They left the plaza and started down one of Thalmia’s numerous winding streets, tightly enclosed by tall beige stone buildings. People mucked about on the sides of the road carrying baskets of goods and jugs of water, weaving around vendors selling fabrics and soaps. Lines of laundry crossed the street high above, blocking out the bright midday sun in broken shadows.
“It’s not entirely unheard of,” Lia said.
“What is?”
“Making a fortune entertaining. The mimes and musicians of Konia’s coliseum get good money to perform onstage.”
“Right. That’s onstage. Not on a street.”
“I say we give Konia a try.”
Khile shook his head just as he had done at least six other times before. “I’ve already told you, Konia is too dangerous.”
“Which is just another reason to go there.”
“You’re determined to get yourself killed aren’t you?”
“Ulyssa needs some real practice.”
Khile pulled his horse to a stop, and held out his hand for Lia to do the same. “Whoa.”
She looked ahead down the narrow road crowded with pedestrians to a tall watchtower and the brood of black vipers swarming around its base.
“Checkpoint,” said Khile.
“Looks like something has stirred them up,” Lia remarked.
“Maybe we should find a way around.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Lia said, and, deep down, she wasn’t. Her years on Efferous had trained her how to blend in. The sun had tanned her pale skin and her Efferousian accent was flawless. Though her brown eyes still gave away her true heritage, her tongue had become so adept at lying that she’d fooled many folk, from farmers to high-ranking officials, into believing that she was native to the country.
The vipers at the checkpoint seemed agitated, Lia noted, even angry about something. She remembered the bloody street in front of the Law House back in the plaza and wondered if it was the cause of all the hubbub.
At the checkpoint, Lia didn’t have to say a word. Khile, a good performer in his own right, put on his best showman’s voice and had the guards laughing before they’d even noticed Lia. One of them even recognized Khile from a show they had done in Velia eleven months prior. Knowing they were performers, he waved them on ahead without bothering to question or search them.
They found a shoddy inn on the outskirts of the city that had large stables for cheap nightly rent. They put away their two horses for the night, along with Dumbass, stored their belongings, and changed out of their performance attire.
Khile always let Lia use the room first. She donned a black, high-collared tunic with caramel edging on the fitted cuffs, black leather pants, and a pair of scuffed brown boots. Then she trotted downstairs and waited for Khile.
He always looked good, she thought, when he dressed down. Tonight he wore a knee length gray tunic over black pants and high leather boots of dingy brown. Locks of his dirty blond hair were held back by a leather strap, exposing the rough-shaven sides of his strong jaw.
Lia followed Khile into a wood and stone tavern across the street from the inn. The place was almost full. The crowd of ratty commoners chattered in groups of twos and threes, some playing games at tables teeming with spectators, others drinking themselves into a stupor.
As Lia wove her way to the bar she picked up on bits and pieces of some of the conversations, most of which centered around the execution of an Edhenite soldier in the central plaza the night before.
“Some soldier or captain or something,” one of the patrons said. “Man had been on the run for a long time.”
“Serves him right,” said another. “Edhen folks bring nothing but trouble here.”
“Honeyed mead please,” Khile said, rapping his knuckles across the bar. “Two. And none of that filthy, sandy piss water.”
“All we got in here is filthy, sandy piss water,” the barman snapped. “It’s what makes our mead the best in the known world.”
“Then at least pile on the sugar.”
The barman chuckled as he handed over two mugs of foaming, yellow colored liquid. Khile passed one to Lia.
“To piss water,” she said.
They clunked cups.
Khile started counting. “Four… three… two…”
“Already?” Lia asked, slamming her mug down and rolling her eyes.
A rotund man squeezed himself up to the time worn wood of the countertop, pushing aside the patron to Lia’s right. He leaned toward her, his drunk eyes lingering around her bosom. “You a girl or a boy?” he asked, slobbering spit down his wiry beard.
Lia wasn’t surprised by his question. Her hair was cropped short enough that from many angles she did indeed look like a boy. With the amount of dirt that usually smeared her face combined with her lack of any noticeable feminine assets, the only thing she found surprising was how often men seemed intrigued by her.
Lia cocked an eyebrow at the fat drunkard. She looked him up and down and curled her lip. “Am I girl or a boy? You don’t look like the type who’d care, sweetness.”
The man’s eyes widened, almost as though he were offended. A moment later a broad smile split his ugly face. His head fell back, and he burst with laughter.
“Where did that come from?” Khile asked, nudging Lia.
“I just wanted to see what he’d do.”
Khile sighed and took her by the arm, pulling her away from the bar to a dim corner.
“Listen, I get that you’re serious about wanting some real fights, but lets pick and choose our tests carefully, all right? This is a dangerous place.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Still, you’ve got to learn to use this.” He tapped a finger on her forehead.
Khile kept talking, but Lia was no longer listening, her eyes had refocused on the three black vipers that had just entered the tavern. The sight of them set her teeth on edge. They wore no helmets or plate armor, but still bore black tunics bearing the gold insignia of High King Orkrash Mahl. These soldiers were off duty.
Khile snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”
“Uh-huh.”
Lia strolled through the tavern, weaving past patrons, making her way toward the vipers. Climbing up on top of the bar, she opened her arms wide and said in perfect Efferousian, “Welcome, men of Edhen. Your swords are legend. Would you kindly tell us your names so that we may drink to your good health?”
The three soldiers looked at one another as the crowd quieted. All eyes fell upon Lia.
“I am Tomas Guldonroch,” said the leathery-faced man in the middle. He had deep lines around his mouth, and gray hair edging his ears. A seasoned soldier.
His comrades introduced themselves as Ian Henderson and Ewan Glamdrang. Lia bought them all a pint of beer and toasted to their health.
She saw Khile out of the corner of her eye acting antisocial in the dark corner. She ignored him, knowing she’d get an earful later, but she didn’t care. This was just the kind of test she’d been waiting for.
“My lords,” she began, slurring her words to appear just a tad inebriated. “Might you present us with a demonstration of your skill?”
To Lia’s delight a few of the other patrons goaded them on. “Yeah, do it,” one of them said. “Go on then, let’s see,” said another.
While the soldiers exchanged glances with eac
h other, Lia noticed that Ewan was blind in his right eye, and Ian’s right hand was nursing sore ribs on his left side.
“You flatter us, miss…” Tomas let his last word drag on.
“Ulyssa,” Lia said with a broad grin.
“Ulyssa. I’m sorry, but we must respectfully decline.”
The crowd offered murmurs of disappointment.
Lia sent a knife pinwheeling into the countertop right between Tomas’ hands.
In an instant, the room became as silent as a graveyard.
The vipers looked at her with death in their eyes.
“I insist,” she said cheerfully.
Lia trotted across the top of the counter, retrieved her knife, and pointed toward a wooden beam at the other end of the room. “Best two out of three,” she said. “You and me. I’d like to know if I have what it takes to best a soldier of Edhen.” She let her accent slip just a bit, and she could tell by the quick tilt of Tomas’ head that he had noticed, just like she was hoping he would.
He nodded. “Very well.”
The crowd cheered.
Lia hopped down from the bar.
Spectators cleared a straight path about ten paces in length to the wooden beam. Bets were made. Judgments were passed.
“She’s a drunken halfwit,” said one man.
“I saw her performance in the square today. She always hits her mark.”
“Against black vipers? She’ll never win.”
Tomas was a soldier of average build, but with muscled arms that looked cut from stone. His eyes were steady and alert, vaults of combative knowledge containing decades of experience.
Lia gave him the option of going first. He took a short moment to gauge the distance and get a feel for the weight and balance of the knife. With a sharp flick of his right wrist he sent the dagger spinning into the dead center of the support post.
He was right arm dominant, Lia noticed. He didn’t even need to use his left arm to compensate from the force of his throw.
People applauded him.