The Beggar's Wrath

by J B Drake

  “The broken arm lady!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, Tip,” Anieszirel said as Anise lowered her gaze. “Her.”

  “Yes,” Anise replied.

  “Wait,” Marshalla said as she turned to Tip, “you broke her arm?”

  “No, Kin-Slayer did,” Anise replied, coming to Tip’s defence. “I was one of the first to arrive when your friends came to free you. And when Kin-Slayer made to end my life, Tip made her spare me.”

  The heat in Marshalla’s glare lessened at this, but only by a smidgeon.

  “Didn’t see you there,” Marshalla said at last.

  “Ani pushed her into the room beside you,” Tip replied.

  Marshalla’s gaze went from Anise to her arms. “Your arms don’t look broken.”

  Grinning, she raised her hands. “We have excellent healers here.”

  “Ah, I see you’ve met Archmage Fairweather!” Baern exclaimed as he headed over to them.

  All three watched him approach in silence.

  “I was hoping to do the introductions myself,” he continued as he reached them, “just to make sure there’s no ill-will between you all.”

  “I’m afraid the fault is mine,” Anise said, bowing slightly as she spoke. “I saw them sitting here and thought I’d best come introduce myself.”

  “Ah,” Baern said as he stared at Marshalla with some concern.

  “Yes,” Anise said, before staring at Marshalla too, “though it may be too soon to place her in my care.”

  “You what?” Marshalla exclaimed.

  “Marsha, calm,” Baern said. “Archmage Fairweather is one of our most gifted and seasoned caretakers. You will find nobody more respected among all the mages tending to the stables or the Pens.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that…” Archmage Fairweather began, a sheepish smile upon her lips.

  “So, we supposed to pretend she didn’t do what she did?” Marshalla snarled.

  “And what did she do precisely?” Baern asked, frowning at a sulking Marshalla. “Save feed you and keep Thuridan at bay, I mean.”

  Marshalla moved to speak, but no words came.

  “Marsha, what happened in the past needs to stay in the past. Those days weren’t the Tower’s finest, I’ll be the first to admit to that, but it’s all over and done with now. If you and Tip are going to make a new life for yourselves here, you need to let go of it all.”

  Baern’s words had rung louder than Marshalla dared admit, and so, rather than accepting them, she turned to Tip, pouting.

  “She seems nice,” Tip offered as their eyes met.

  Marshalla shook her head and sighed at him.

  “Everyone seems nice to you,” she said, words that elicited a snigger from Tip and a chuckle from the others.

  “So, what we call you, then?” Marshalla demanded as she turned to face the Archmage.

  “Anise will do,” Anise said. “We caretakers have little use or need for formalities.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good!” Baern exclaimed before facing Anise square. “I’ll need to show them about, but afterwards I’ll come find you so you can show Marsha the stables and the Pens.”

  Anise nodded at him. “I’ll be at the Pens.”

  “Very good.” he said, nodding, before turning to face the pair. “Come on, then, time for a guided tour of your new home.”

  “So, it’s officious?” Tip asked as he rose.

  “Official, Tip.”

  “Official, Tip,” Marshalla echoed.

  “Yeah, that.”

  Both Baern and Anise stared at the pair, one with a wry smile, the other with…something else.

  “Excuse me.” Anise said at last, reaching out to caress Tip’s cheek before turning and leaving.

  “Say something wrong?” Tip asked, his worry plain. Baern stared from the worried little elf to the receding caretaker.

  “Say something wrong?” Tip repeated.

  Smiling, Baern turned to the little boy.

  “She’s just happy to have met you, that’s all,” Baern said.

  “Hardly. She thinks you made Marsha like her.”

  “Oh,” Tip said, then his eyes lit up anew. “So it’s offi…official?”

  “Yes,” Baern said nodding as he headed deeper into the Tower, the others falling in step on either side of him.

  “Yes,” he continued, “it’s official. As a matter of fact, it’s been official for the past six days, the Matriarch just wanted to meet you to make sure she’d done the right thing.”

  “What, she thought Tip turned into a monster or something?” Marshalla demanded.

  “Not quite, but Kin-Slayer did kill a fair number of our battle-mages.”

  “They struck first!”

  “Ani said—” Before Tip could finish his words, Baern placed a heavy hand upon his shoulder and stared pointedly at the little elf.

  “Sorry…” Tip muttered.

  “It’s truly quite important, Tip, you never know who’s listening. Never say her name within these walls, never. Alright?”

  With head bowed low, Tip nodded.

  “Good. And it doesn’t matter who struck first, the fact remains the blood of our brothers and sisters are on her hands. Nevertheless, the Matriarch’s blessed your coming here, and now it’s as good as set in stone.”

  Grinning, Tip looked at Marshalla, who smiled back. Then her smile faded.

  “What about Gray?” she asked as she turned to the Magister.

  “Ah,” Baern replied. “I’m afraid the Tower’s stance will not change on that.”

  “But you seen how she gets when she not with me!” Marshalla protested. “She needs me!”

  “The answer is still no, Marsha, I’m sorry. Allowing a creature with fangs and claws to live in a place where lots of young and inexperienced mages live is inviting disaster.”

  “But—!”

  “The stables will be the best place for her, truly. Drake has fashioned a scent bracelet for her, and I know first-hand how effective those are. With that thing on, she will think you’re nearby.”

  “But—!”

  “I’m sorry, Marsha, but she can’t stay with you.”

  “Ugh!” Marshalla exclaimed as she folded her arms under her bosom.

  “Let’s just try it for a while,” Baern continued. “If the scent bracelet does nothing, we will reconsider.”

  Marshalla glared at the smiling Magister for a spell.

  “Fine,” she muttered at last as she unfolded her arms.

  “Good!”

  “So what we do now, then?” Tip asked.

  “Well, there’ll be a ceremony this evening, one where, amongst other things, you will be formally recognised as wards of the Tower, and I will be named your guardian.”

  “Then the training starts?” Tip asked, his eyes sparkling with delight. Baern stared at him before chuckling.

  “Well, the training for your Birthing will begin as soon as I’ve completed all arrangements. Training rooms, provisions, and suchlike.”

  Tip’s grin dimmed at Baern’s words. “How long?”

  “A few days, a week at the most.”

  “A week!”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Aww.”

  “Having said that,” Baern continued as Tip stared at his feet, pouting, “your training with Mardaley begins tonight.”

  All at once, Tip’s eyes shone once more as he looked up at Baern. “Oh yeah!”

  “But why’s he needing two classes though?” Marshalla asked, casting a worried glance at little Tip.

  “Can manage!” Tip exclaimed.

  “You sure?” Marshalla demanded.

  “It can’t be helped I’m afraid,” Baern said as they walked on. “Tip is simply too far behind. Magic takes quite a toll on the mind as well as the body. The training I will give him will strengthen his body, but we need his mind to strengthen and grow too, and that training Mardaley will handle.”

  Marshalla stared from him to Tip bef
ore staring back at Baern.

  “He will be safe, Marsha,” Baern added, “trust me. Mardaley won’t push him past his limit.”

  “It’s not that,” Tip said, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Marsha hates magic. Thinks it’s horrible.”

  Smiling, Baern looked at Tip. “Yes, well, you are going to prove her wrong, right?”

  “Right!”

  “Whatever,” Marshalla growled.

  Chuckling, Baern turned his gaze upon Marshalla, but as he stared at her, a realisation dawned on him. There was more to her rebellion.

  “What is it, Marsha?” he asked.

  Frowning, Marshalla looked from him to little Tip.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  But Baern’s ill-feeling remained.

  “What is it? What ails you? You’ve been more than a little negative about this whole affair.”

  Biting her lip, Marshalla stared at Tip with a look of worry and guilt, before finally turning to Baern.

  “Big mistake keeping us here. Tip not very good at keeping secrets.”

  “Not true!” Tip exclaimed.

  Marshalla smiled at him. “No, Tip, true.”

  With a deep frown, Tip glowered at his friend for a spell before pouting and dropping his gaze.

  Her guilt biting deeper, Marshalla turned back to Baern. “They’ll find out, and they’ll put him in a void sphere. We shouldn’t be here. Tip and me, we should be putting distance between us and here, not walking about like we own the place.”

  Baern stared at her in silence. Would that he could tell her the true reasons for the plans he and Mardaley laid out to the pair all those days ago. Would that he could tell her the true reasons for his deciding to be their guardian. Instead, he smiled at her.

  “I know your concerns, Marsha, truly I do,” he said, putting a caring hand upon her shoulder. “But, you must trust me. You must trust that I have things under control. Should Tip exhibit anything, anything at all untoward, I’ve already put in place the perfect excuse.”

  “But we can manage, though! We—”

  “You will be safe here, safe and content. Out there, you’ll be…well, you’ll be up against a whole lot of rather unpleasant people. Trust in us, Marsha, trust in Mardaley and I.”

  Marshalla held her peace, choosing instead to stare at the pair.

  “There’s a lot I need to show you before the welcoming ceremony,” Baern continued, looking from one to the other, “and the sooner I do, the better.”

  And with that, Baern took them on a grand tour of the Shimmering Tower. Some parts they had seen before, like the Study Halls and the Training Halls, others they saw for the first time, like the kitchens, mages’ quarters, and the imposing Tower Vault. But it wasn’t until they stepped outside into the sprawling grounds behind the Tower that Marshalla’s curiosity truly became piqued, and her worried frown replaced by a curious smile.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the source of her curiosity as the warming sun shone upon them.

  “That,” Baern said as he followed her gaze, “is the Matriarch’s Maze.”

  It was an impressive structure, a construction of pure vegetation, its height easily greater than all three of them combined, and with a girth greater than the grandest mansions in Merethia.

  “She built a maze?” Tip exclaimed.

  “What? No! It was built for her.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Ah that…is a question I cannot answer until you are a proven member of the Tower.”

  “Hunh?”

  Marshalla smirked at this. “He means you too young, Tip.”

  “Am not!”

  “Be that as it may,” Baern said hurriedly as Tip glared at Marshalla, “the time to learn that particular secret is not now.”

  “What’s it for, then?” Tip asked as he turned his gaze back to Baern.

  “Well, it’s…it’s a place of solitude and peace for the Matriarch. Only she, and those of her blood, can enter. And one day, when her reign is at its end, it is where she will retire.”

  “Alive?” Marshalla asked, the barest traces of revulsion in her voice.

  “Mhm,” Baern nodded with a forlorn gaze fixed upon the maze.

  “That’s not very nice.” Tip said softly, the sombre air weighing upon him like a heavy cloak.

  “No, it’s not,” Baern said in much the same manner as he turned his gaze to the young elf, “but it is her future.”

  Both Tip and Marshalla looked at each other, the discomfort each felt mirrored perfectly in the other’s gaze.

  “Can we go back upstairs?” Tip asked at last.

  “Whatever for?”

  “Want to see inside.” he said, gesturing towards the maze.

  Baern grinned at him. “My dear boy, I’m afraid you won’t see much. The maze protects its own. The paths you see from above are different to the paths within, and, you will not be able to see whoever, or even whatever walks within.”

  “What you mean, whatever walks within?” Marshalla asked.

  Baern turned to Marshalla, a knowing smile upon his lips. “Like I said, the maze protects its own.”

  Turning on his heels, Baern gestured for the pair to follow as he hurried along. “Come, there’s still much to show you.”

  As one, both hurried along with him, but as Marshalla walked on, she felt a stirring within her heart, a longing she could not quite explain, and as they walked further from the maze, the longing only grew.

  With a loud burp, Eldred offered the bottle to Thane as Neremi stared at him in disgust.

  “What?” he said.

  “Ugh,” she said in response before turning her gaze towards the Tower, but as she turned, she sprang bolt upright. One by one, the others followed her gaze.

  “Is that not old Meadowview?” she said as Baern walked past in the distance.

  “Where?” Eldred said, raising his hands to shield his eyes from the sun.

  “Over there,” Neremi pointed.

  “Wait…yes, I think it is.” Thane said as he raised the bottle to his lips.

  “Who’s he with?” Eldred asked as he stared, frowning.

  “The two gutter rats,” Thalas growled.

  As one, all three turned to stare at him.

  “I…suppose it’s true, then,” Eldred said before turning his gaze from the receding figures.

  “It would seem so,” Neremi said, her disappointment plain.

  “You would’ve thought Durlin’s parents of all people would’ve been able to change the old battleaxe’s mind,” Thane said as he wiped firewine from his lips.

  “Not for want of trying, I suspect,” Neremi said in response.

  Through it all, Thalas kept his peace, his eyes upon the three till they disappeared from sight. At last, he turned to the others.

  “What?” he asked after a spell.

  “Thalas, no,” Neremi said, a worried frown upon her lips.

  “No…what?”

  “You’ve got that look about you.”

  “What look?” he demanded.

  “They’re beyond our reach now,” Thane replied.

  “If we harm them, the Tower will know,” Eldred added.

  Thalas shook his head at his friends. “Does it sit well with you that those two may end up dining with you? At the same table?”

  “Of course not!” Neremi exclaimed as she shuffled closer to her beloved, careful not to spill the goblets between them as she reached out to place a loving hand upon his cheek. “But there is nothing we can do.”

  “Nothing right now, perhaps.”

  “Thalas…”

  “What?”

  “We cannot harm them.”

  “Not while they’re within these walls, we can’t.”

  “I…” Neremi began, but her voice failed her as the truth of his words sank in.

  With a dark smile and a knowing nod, Thalas picked up his goblet.

  “And besides, they won’t be the first, will they?”

  A Warm
Welcome

  Taking a deep breath, Tip let it out slowly as he swung his feet beneath him.

  “Nervous?”

  Turning, he stared at Marshalla as she sat beside him. With a slight smile, he nodded.

  “Me too,” she said as she slipped a hand into his.

  Gripping her hand tightly, Tip’s smile widened as he turned his attention once again to the mirror in the corner, and once again marvelled at just how unrecognisable he and Marshalla were. From his immaculate hair to the pristine attire he wore, it was as if he was staring at nobility. And then, there was the dress Marshalla wore. Granted, Tip had seen her in a dress before, but never one this elegant, never one this grand.

  “I think you both look gorgeous.”

  Tip smiled at his reflection.

  “You just saying that,” he thought in response.

  “No, Tip, I mean it. You both look absolutely divine.”

  “But it itches so much.”

  Anieszirel chuckled at him.

  “It does!”

  “Well, at least you won’t be wearing it for much longer.”

  Just then, there was a a knock at the door. As one, both Marshalla and Tip rose to their feet as one of the grand double doors swung open. As it opened, their gazes fell upon the young face that peered within, and, with a grin each, both felt their trepidation dissipate.

  “Well, well,” Marshalla said as she placed her hands upon her hips, “so didn’t forget about us, then.”

  “Fat chance of that,” Davian chirped as he closed the door behind him.

  “Hello, Davian!” Tip exclaimed as he beamed at his beloved friend.

  “Hello, Tip. My, you do look regal. Both of you.”

  “Marsha’s a lady now.”

  “Hey!” Marshalla exclaimed as she turned to glare at Tip. “Told you not to call me that!”

  Tip’s response was an impish chuckle as he stared at her.

  “Well, the dress does fit you,” Davian added.

  “Now, don’t you start,” Marshalla said as she sat. “They prettied us up, yeah, but we still what we was.”

  “You don’t like the dress?” Davian asked as he walked over to them.

  “Don’t like pretending to be someone else.”

  “Oh,” Davian said as he stared at Marshalla a spell.