144: Wrath

by Dallas E. Caldwell

  "Watch it, Winger!"

  "Apologies," Lacien said, but the Cairtol was already stumbling away down the street.

  The tavern was full, but not crowded. It had booths along the wall and a few tables strewn about the room. A section of the floor opened up near the bar to the gently lapping waters below. The floating chairs and stools were prized seats and were always full of sailors who swore that the bobbing motion made them better at holding their ale. A small sign hung above the open water with the word "Overlook" scrawled across it in jagged letters. Waitresses were forced to make short jumps from the wood planks that made up the tavern’s floor over to the alcohol-laden raft that held the bartender. A bright kitchen hid behind a closed door near the back of the building, and a spiral staircase led to the tenant rooms above.

  Lacien made his way over to an unoccupied table and sat, leaning forward on his elbows. The seating in the bar was not designed with Melaci in mind, and while he could recoil his wings against his back, it was still quite painful to lean back against them.

  A small lantern illuminated the middle of the table, and he found himself lost in its flickering flame, thinking of what might await him in the homeland he had been forced to leave. His title, his lands, and his rank in the army had all been stripped from him for refusing a single order, and his life had been in a tumultuous tailspin ever since.

  "What can I do for you, honey?" The waitress was a thirty-something Peltin girl barely on the right side of plain. She wore a short skirt and a tight-fitting corset. A dirty towel and a coin box hung from a sash around her waist.

  "Boren cuts and water, please," Lacien said with a tired grin. "And a room if you have it." He pulled out a few coins from the pouch around his neck and laid them on the table. "I’ll be checking out early, so I’d like to pay up front, if that’s alright."

  "Fine by me, dear," she said. "Boren cuts and water, coming up, and I’ll check on that room for you."

  Lacien watched her leave, his mind drifting once again into the past five years of his life.

  "Your eyes are wandering where they don’t belong, stranger." A tall Peltin man with athletic arms and legs and a chiseled midsection, dropped the handle of his warhammer on Lacien’s table and leaned against it, causing his biceps to coil into hard knots.

  Lacien did not lift his head, but gave the man a cursory glance before returning to his thoughts.

  "Hey," the man continued, "I’m talking at you, winger. You see my friends over there?" He pointed to a dark corner of the bar where a massive Cratin with deep black fur and matching horns sat beside a comparatively runty Dairbun with a gap-toothed grin and shells weaved into his beard. "They don’t like you sitting this close to ‘em."

  Lacien looked up to see if the waitress was returning with his drink yet. "Then maybe they should move."

  The man’s lips curled, and he waved his friends over to his side. "Boy, I don’t like your attitude."

  The waitress returned and nervously slid Lacien his glass of water. "Your cuts will be out shortly, sir, and we’re getting a room ready."

  The Cratin pushed her out of the way as he approached the table to stand next to his friend.

  The Peltin man spat in Lacien’s cup. "You wingers are all so high and mighty, thinking you’re so much better than everybody."

  Lacien poured the water out over the floor and watched it trickle along the planks and into the opening beside the bar. "Sometimes we are." He slowly lifted his head and ran his fingers through his raven hair. His eyes glowed with an iridescent emerald light.

  The Cratin and the Dairbun stepped back, and the Peltin tripped over himself as he bolted upright and had to be caught by his friends to keep from falling into the Overlook.

  "We didn’t know you was a Gifted!"

  Lacien closed his eyes and took a calming breath. When he opened them again, they were his normal sky blue. "It shouldn’t matter."

  "Y-yes, sir," the Peltin man said. "S-sorry, sir."

  The trio gathered up their things and hurried out the front door.

  Lacien spent the rest of the evening under a mix of anxious and admiring stares until he was finally shown to his room for the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Reyce had put together some makeshift cots for the group in the old mess hall. A few mage-lights and a single window kept the room comfortably dim for both conversation and rest.

  Flint spent his time examining the statues of the generals while taking detailed notes in his journal. Kiff sat on the edge of the Nalunis skull while Xandra studied the artifact. Polas, Reyce, and Vor stood near the door discussing all that had transpired within the city walls in the last week.

  "I’ve never seen the Thieves’ Guild this overtly active before," Reyce said. "It’s like they are being pushed by an external force. All three houses are working in tandem, and that almost never happens."

  "So there actually is a Thieves’ Guild? I assumed the boy was exaggerating. Why haven’t the city officials stamped out such an organization?" Polas asked.

  "Because most of them are members," Kiff said. "Not to mention it would mean a lot less coin in their pockets."

  Vor huffed. "And what do you know of it, boy?"

  "Yes, tell us more about the organization, Kiff," Reyce said. "Tell us how you know all about the Thieves’ Guild’s inner-workings."

  Kiff stood and shrugged. "You go ahead. While you’re at it, why don’t you explain to them why you keep covering up that tattoo on your wrist?"

  Reyce glared and pulled back his sleeve. "I make no attempts to hide it, assassin. It is the mark of the House of Suns, the most respected branch of the Thieves’ Guild."

  Vor glowered and unsheathed his axe.

  "Early in the Guild’s formation I could sense its potential for power," Reyce said. "I knew that it would be important for me to be informed of their dealings. The surest path to that information was to join them. I have long since severed my ties with anyone within the Guild who knew about me, but the knowledge I have gained has been invaluable to my own survival and to ensure that this hall still stands.

  "I watched as this city became enslaved to its corruption. I have seen kings deposed and government officials bought and sold. And I have seen a brilliant young assassin rise through the ranks of the House of Stars."

  Reyce turned an accusing eye on Kiff.

  "Brilliant?" Kiff said. "I like to think I try harder than most, but you flatter me."

  Xandra’s jaw dropped open.

  Flint closed his journal and set it down so that he could be prepared in case things became heated. He let his mind slow down and take in every nuance of those around him on the chance he would be forced to intercede.

  He watched Vor’s lips curl back in a twisted grin while his eyes widened with the first drops of bloodlust.

  He saw Kiff’s left foot slide out a fraction of an inch and saw the Undlander’s calf muscles coil.

  Flint’s eyes followed as Reyce slowly slid his lifeless hand into his robes and palmed a gold-hilted kukri between his cold, white fingers.

  It was then he realized he did not know whom he wanted to stop.

  "I knew the pup was traitorous," Vor said. "Come, feel my axe’s bite, and let’s be done with this charade."

  "Stand down, Vor," Polas said, placing a hand on the Dorokti leader’s shoulder.

  Vor shrugged Polas’s hand away and stomped toward Kiff, his teeth grinding and eyes darkening.

  "Polas, I am not your dog to leash," he said. He spun the end of his axe and took another few steps, halving the distance between himself and the Undlander. He snorted and lifted his axe overhead in preparation for a charge.

  "I said stand down."

  Vor hesitated, and Flint took the moment to ready a spell: a small blast of flame that, if placed correctly, should knock everyone on their backsides.

  The Dorokti growled. "I will not see this mission destroyed by your lack of foresight as it was the last time."

  Polas
kicked the back of Vor’s leg, forcing him to his knees. The Dorokti turned blood-swelled eyes toward Polas who punched him square in the face. Vor fell forward and caught himself on all fours. He spat out a mouthful of his black blood and wiped a trickle from his snout.

  "This is neither the time nor the place for blood to be shed. I tell you again, stay your anger," Polas said.

  Flint stood frozen, unsure if he should even breathe lest he further burden the tension hanging in the air.

  He noticed that Kiff remained on the balls of his feet, ready to protect himself, but interestingly, the Undlander’s weapons were still sheathed.

  Vor lowered his head and his shoulders shook. Flint held his breath, waiting and watching as the dark clouds drained from the Dorokti’s eyes. The warrior’s breath was still ragged, but his rage was contained.

  The room sat in weighty silence. Flint took a few steps over to his student, who fidgeted with her quarterstaff.

  "Perhaps we should see this as a boon," Flint said, shattering the stillness. "We have two gentle-beings with us who have knowledge of the inner-workings of our detractors. I think we should be able to use this advantage to unravel any webs they may have spun for us. I, for one, would welcome any information they can offer us to use as mark-pieces in our stratagem."

  Polas nodded. "You’re right. But we also need to rest. We’re all on edge, but I think we have avoided trouble for now thanks to both our allies’ interventions. We should be cleared to rest for at least this night, and we can get an early start tomorrow."

  Polas set his sword against a cot and scratched at his scarred face. The others milled about for a moment, but everyone was too wound up to get ready for bed. Kiff paced back and forth a few times before slipping out of the room, and Xandra followed shortly after with a book in hand.

  Vor clung to his axe as he stared out the lone window. He was the king of a proud people, and Flint could tell that backing down did not sit well with him. He scratched his snout and rubbed his axe blade against one of his horns, his thumb twitching against its handle.

  Polas sat on the end of his cot and began unlacing his boots, while Reyce brought a stack of horse blankets for the groups' warmth.

  The caretaker dropped one by each of the cots and left the rest in a pile near the statues. "Will you require anything else this night?"

  Flint decided it was time to have a talk with the man regarding the ramifications of undeath and its effects on the soul.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Xandra sat on the floor with a mystic’s candle beside her as she read from a small leather book. She liked to pull out her copy of Lady Andrenelle’s Journal whenever she needed to be distracted. The diary was laced with Kennik threading along the spine and embossed with a dark-winged owl, the crest of Thalry. The words on each page looped and dipped in perfect script, copied from the original by a mage of the Hollow Mountain libraries. She often found peace in the strength of conviction the protector of Thalry had shown in defending the city against her own uncle’s tyranny. Unfortunately, Kiff was making it very hard to concentrate on the inspirational book.

  The Undlander stood in the foyer of the Sigil house, one room away from Xandra. She could see him through the open door as he parried and slashed at imagined foes with his sickle. He used his left arm as a shield, blocked phantom attacks, and returned thrusts with his curved blade. He spun, rolled, and kicked off walls, all part of a fight against the emptiness around him.

  Her arcane candle flickered and made shadows dance around the masked boy, but it did nothing to keep her warm, so she pulled her traveler’s cloak closer around her shoulders.

  Things were much easier back at the Hollow Mountains. People said what they meant and kept all of their plans out in the open. Xandra was not used to relying on someone whose face she had never even seen. Faldred were trustworthy, big-hearted people, but it seemed everyone she had met since leaving home had hidden motives.

  Kiff was a complete enigma to her, and she hated it. What could he possibly gain by being part of an organization like the Thieves' Guild? Maybe it was like Flint said, and he was using them for information. But how would he have known to join them so far in advance? It did not make any sense to her. Perhaps it was some sort of arcane coercion. Kiff had been a slave before, it was possible the mage he killed had placed a compulsion on him.

  Or maybe he was lying to them.

  She kept her eyes down toward her book and did her best to pretend she was not watching the Undlander’s display. His speed was impressive, and part of her wanted to join him for a quick sparring session. Instead, she only allowed herself an occasional glance while making little headway on the page before her.

  After a short time, he stopped and sheathed his blade.

  "You should have seen me before."

  Xandra acted as though she did not hear him as he approached. He stood beside her for a moment waiting for a reply.

  "Hey."

  Xandra snapped her book closed and stared at him. He was skinny and kind of short. Well, shorter than Master Kas Dorian and Vor, at least. And that hair looked so ridiculous as it reflected silver and blue lances from the candle's light.

  "Sorry," he said.

  "Sorry for what?" she asked, trying to pretend she had not been waiting for his words.

  Kiff shrugged. "You seem upset. I guess I’m sorry you had to find out this way."

  "You’re sorry I found out this way?" Xandra dropped her book and stood to confront him. "Maybe you should start with sorry for lying to us."

  "Yeah," Kiff said. "That too."

  She poked him in the chest. "For being a thief and an assassin!"

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "How do you honestly expect anyone to trust you, Kiff? You disappear and act like it’s no big deal. You seem to know everything about the Thieves’ Guilds plans, which is more than a little suspicious. You never let anyone –"

  He raised his hands to cut her off. "I got it."

  Xandra was not sure if she was more upset with Kiff or with herself for making such a childish outburst. She did not know why the Undlander aggravated her so much. Why should she trouble herself with what he did before they met, or for that matter, what he did after they went their separate ways? She decided it did not concern her, and she would not be bothered if it came down to it. He had nothing to do with her aside from Master Kas Dorian. All Xandra had to do was fulfill her destiny, and she did not need Kiff to do that.

  "You’re right though," he said. "I guess I'm not used to anyone caring. Usually people only want to know whether or not I can get a job done. My past and things I’ve done don’t come up that often unless it’s to sell them on the deal."

  "What makes you think I care?"

  "You?" Kiff said. "I was talking about Flint. The old cave wog has a heart for me. I think it’s one of those wounded koel pup sort of things."

  Xandra laughed, but quickly bit down on her tongue.

  Kiff looked at Xandra from behind his dark goggles. She was even cuter when she was trying to be angry. Most of the girls he had met in his travels were shortsighted silver-seekers that would walk away from a life if a brighter coin or a better blade appeared. Maybe it was the Faldred upbringing. No doubt, that would mess with a girl’s head or slow it down a bit. But maybe it might have opened it up. Maybe he could do with a portion of that extra vision.

  "I want to trust you, Kiff. I really do. But there are too many reasons not to."

  "Yeah, I know." He sat on the floor, and Xandra followed suit. "Maybe it’s like you say. It’s destiny, or my part of the prophecy, or whatever."

  "How do you mean?" Xandra asked.

  "Your whole life is planned out. Start to finish. Maybe mine’s the same way."

  "You can’t blame destiny for your past, Kiff. Prophecy or not, I chose this path and the burden that comes with it."

  "Did you? Sometimes I get the feeling this life chose me."

  Xandra picked up her book and clutch
ed it against her chest. "So that impassioned speech you gave me about letting go?"

  Kiff popped his back and scratched his neck. "It’s a lot easier to preach truth to someone else than to listen to your own words. And I’ve already let go of a lot more than most people."

  Xandra smiled a sad, empathic smile. The way she looked at him, it was as though somehow she shared in his burden, and he felt it become somehow lighter.

  "Still," he said, "there’s always something I can never seem to get away from."

  "What?"

  He was not sure what he was doing. There was no reason for him to have this conversation. No reason for him to be so open with this girl he hardly knew. But at the same time, it felt good. Like he was finally doing something right.

  "Is it the name thing? Flint told me something more about it."

  Why did it always come back to his name? Why did it even matter? Had he been born a Peltin or a Coranthen or even a wrinkly, fat Faldred no one would have cared. One more year and the freedom of being nameless would be taken from him anyway. Maybe if he ran a little faster or pushed harder, they would never catch up with him, and he would never have to go back.

  "I think Kiff is a fine name. You shouldn’t have to worry about anything else, anyway."

  "Yeah, well, you’re not an Undlander. Almost ten years, and all this time I’ve been drawn to the dregs, but the gutter’s no place to find a name."

  "Is that why you wanted to join Master Kas Dorian? To be part of something greater. What name are you looking for?"

  "I wish I knew," Kiff said. "But no. I’m here for old debts. Hopefully this will be the last of them."

  Xandra touched his elbow gently.

  "Besides," Kiff said, shying away from her touch. "You guys can’t even decide whose side you want me on."