A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1)

by Knight, Edward M.

  He turned and went to his post.

  All in all, that was probably the nicest I’ve ever been treated by a guard.

  I scurried down the alley in the opposite direction and looked for a wall I could scale. I found one quickly. In seconds, I was back on the rooftops, searching for an alternate way in.

  The brothel was a large, low building that occupied an entire block. The street in front of it was busy and crowded. Two alleys ran along the sides, each coming to a dead end. The area behind it housed a walled garden.

  That garden was my way in.

  I didn’t know how much longer I had before the man I was told to follow left. And while I knew that the place he entered was called a brothel, I had no idea of what actually went on inside. I assumed it was an upscale kind of tavern that catered to both ladies and gentlemen.

  In the end, I decided that if I missed him while trying to go round back, it would not be the end of the world.

  I dropped down before the garden wall and walked across to it. It was tall and made of bricks. I brushed my fingers over it. I could get a bit of a handhold, but not enough to climb all the way up.

  I looked around, and discovered an old tree.

  It grew close to one corner. The unpruned branches reached the other side.

  I ran up to it and jumped. My hands caught the lowest branch, and I pulled myself up. The branches bent but did not snap under my weight. For the first time in my life, I was actually glad I was not bigger.

  The garden was full of bushes double the height of a man. They outlined a path that looked a bit of a maze.

  I heard laughter from around a corner in front of me, and quickly darted under one of the shrubs.

  I watched, careful to temper my breathing, as a beautiful young woman appeared along the path. She was pulling a man after her while giggling and trying to hold in her delighted laughter.

  When I saw who he was, my eyes nearly fell out of my head. I could not believe my luck. He was the one I was told to follow.

  The bearded man stopped almost directly in front of me and pulled the woman back into his arms. She melted into his embrace and latched her mouth onto his.

  As I watched, the tiniest spark of jealousy lit within me. The woman was beautiful. The man was decidedly not.

  I chose to interrupt them before they got too carried away.

  I emerged from my spot by the ground, shaking the bush. The sound alerted the woman. She broke away and screamed when her eyes fell on me.

  I would have reacted the same way if I were in her shoes. The sight of me—dirty, raggedy, small—must have been traumatic to someone used to the privacy of the garden and the company of high-class men.

  The man looked my way. He did not seem surprised.

  “You are the boy who’s been following me,” he observed. His voice was rich and deep.

  I misplaced my step and stumbled forward. I could not hide the shock on my face. He knew? How?

  “Miranda, run back inside, will you?” the man said. His eyes remained fixed on me. “Wait for me in your room. If I do not return within the hour, continue with your day. It means I am done with you.” He pressed a coin into her hand. I caught the glitter of gold.

  She picked up her skirts and made as if to run, but the man caught her arm. He put one more coin in her hand.

  “A token,” he said, “of your assured silence.” He gestured to me.

  She swallowed, bobbed her head up and down, and ran off.

  I was left alone with him. His gaze paralyzed me. His eyes were dark, but nothing at all like Karl’s had been. These eyes did not miss a thing.

  He squatted down and looked at me.

  “So, boy, I take it you have something for me?” He held out one hand, palm-up. “I’ll be taking it now, thank you.”

  I took a tiny step back. Something about the man screamed, Danger!

  It was not the sort of danger that Three-Grin evoked. That type of danger was like a rabid dog. You knew what the threat was as soon as you saw it.

  This danger was more subtle. It was the danger you feel when you stare into the eyes of a resting lion. It is the unspoken threat of harm from one who knows he is more powerful than you. It is the danger that comes with the wind on an icy night.

  The man cocked his head to one side. “No? Have you changed your mind?” He stood up and stretched his arms overhead. “That’s a shame. Curiosity is a powerful thing.”

  I looked at the towering wall to one side. I glanced up, and saw the branch I used to drop in.

  The man noticed the movement of my eyes. “Ahh,” he said. “Thinking of an escape, are you?”

  He gestured to the wall. “You are boxed in. The only way out is through the front door, though the appearance of someone like you inside the building would cause a magnificent stir. Let’s see…” he tapped his lips, “…trespassing on private property. Disruption of the peace. Hmm.” He crossed his arms. “If you were slightly older, perhaps I would say you would get away with a whipping. Maybe the guards would chalk your appearance up to idle curiosity. But you must be what? Six? Seven?”

  “Eight,” I said defiantly.

  “Eight.” The man’s face shadowed. “A dangerous age. Not yet old enough to be a man, but too old to be a child. Have you heard of the galleys, boy?”

  I nodded.

  “The proprietor here isn’t a fan of younglings. But he is friends with the city guard. Now, a life chained to an oar, for your simple crime, seems a little harsh to me. But, that is exactly what I think you’ll face if you take your chances and run.

  “You see, from the perspective of the owner, you are a pest. He likes to keep a clean establishment. Any vermin he finds,“ the man flicked off a ladybug that had landed on his shoulder, “needs to be eliminated immediately, lest the infestation spread. Do you understand?”

  I swallowed and nodded.

  The man shrugged. “He’ll pull some strings, fill a few purses. Before you know it, you’ll be on the deck of some bloody ship, oaring away for the remainder of your sad, miserable life. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I glanced past the man, but we were still alone. “Yes.”

  “Now, your other option—” he knelt down again, “—is to befriend me. Nobody will protest if I walk in there with you. Nobody will dare raise a hand. The question is—” he exhaled meaningfully, “—which path of two evils will you take?”

  I thought about it for a long time. Then, instead of answering, I asked a question.

  “How did you know I followed you?”

  The man laughed. “You cut right to the point, don’t you? I have eyes and ears, boy. I learned to use them before I was your age.”

  A more unsatisfying answer I could not imagine. I was sure I had followed him unseen. He did not glance up at the rooftops once!

  “Can you teach me?” I asked.

  That surprised the man. His brows knotted up. “And what would I get in return?”

  “This,” I said. I took out the letter. “As a warning.”

  He took the envelope from my hand. He did not question the open seal. He unfolded the letter, looked at it for a second, then closed his eyes in thought.

  Eventually, he exhaled. “This is why you were trailing me?”

  I nodded.

  “When were you given this?”

  “This morning.”

  “And when were you supposed to hand it to me?”

  “At nightfall.”

  “Then you are either the greatest fool in the world or the paragon of bravery.” He barked an incredulous laugh. “Do you know what ‘paragon’ means, boy?”

  I shook my head.

  He waved it away. “It doesn’t matter. Nightfall, you say?” He stood up and started walking down the path. “Come on,” he called out over his shoulder.

  I ran to catch up. “Where are you going?”

  “To show that I’m not afraid.”

  I had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. “What?” />
  “The Black Brotherhood thinks they can frighten me. I will show them otherwise.”

  “You mean, they’re actually real?”

  The man scoffed. “Yes. But much less fearsome than the stories.” We reached the building. He opened the door and I ducked inside after him. I saw lush pillows and richly-decorated chaises. There were women, some of whom were only half-clothed. I gaped until the man grabbed my shoulder and pulled me away.

  “First rule,” he said, “never stare. It concedes your power. Also makes you look like a boy still wet around the ears.” He retrieved his coat from a hook, threw it over his shoulders, and walked outside.

  The guard who was standing post did a double take when he saw me. He started to rise, but one placating hand gesture from the man I was following made him sit back down.

  The bearded man strode to the middle of the street. He shielded his eyes as he looked up at the sky and scanned the rooftops. “If you had not strayed from your instructions,” he asked me, “where would you be right now?”

  “You mean, if I was still trying to follow you?”

  “Yes.”

  I pointed to the roof of one building. “Right there.”

  The man looked at the spot and frowned. “Reckless,” he murmured. He shook his head and looked down at me. “You have a lot to learn, boy.”

  He fished the envelope out of his pocket and took out a match. He bent down and struck it against the cobblestone. It flared to life.

  He held the flame to one corner of the letter until it caught. He straightened, and held the burning paper high above his head.

  Several people cast him strange looks as they passed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Rejecting their offer. If the Black Brotherhood thinks they can extort money from me…” he laughed. “Then they don’t know me very well.”

  The man did one slow turn, holding the burning envelope overhead, then released it and let it fall to the ground. As soon as it hit the street, the whole thing burst into a ball of flame. It didn’t take long for it to be incinerated.

  “How’d you do that?” I asked.

  “Not me,” he shook his head. “Them. They infused the blood with a combustible chemical.” He pointed up to the trail of smoke rising from the ground. “It gives off a white plume like that when it burns.”

  “So they can see that you burned it? What if they’re not watching?”

  “You think you are the only one following me?” The man did not wait for me to answer before striding down the street. Once more, I had to run to catch up.

  “The Black Brotherhood is not a band of assassins, but thieves,” the man explained as I dodged walkers to stay by his side. “They know how to frighten people. They also know how the stalk the shadows unseen. At least,” he offered, “to those who don’t know what to watch for.”

  He turned at an intersection and hailed a coach. One with a team of four horses stopped beside us. He climbed on and held out his hand to me. “Are you coming?”

  I looked both ways, suddenly wary of having a tail, and nodded. The man clasped my arm and pulled me up.

  “To Lamore Tavern,” he told the driver.

  The man swung the reins, clicked his tongue, and we were off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The ride took us over an hour, though time passed in a flash. From the back of a coach like this one, Hallengard seemed foreign to me.

  For once, I wasn’t running out of the way to avoid being trampled. I looked with wide eyes at every building we passed.

  We took the main road that ran north. I tensed without realizing it when we passed the street where Duke and his friends beat me. The man noticed and touched my shoulder.

  I jumped in surprise. Our eyes met. He didn’t say a word, but his irises carried such a steady calm that they comforted me.

  I kept a watch out for Duke, but of course, didn’t see him. The rattling wheels of a coach always send the urchins running. The drivers are known for not slowing down for those who get in the way.

  I was so entranced by the surrounding buildings that I did not notice when the road curved and opened to a wide, magnificent street.

  I looked up and sucked in an awed breath. Far in the distance, a great cathedral stood. The road split around it the way a river does around an enormous boulder.

  The cathedral had a single tower. I had seen the peak from south Hallengard before, but had never connected it to this structure. It was obviously the building the man who gave me the mark had spoken of.

  “The great library of Rel’ghar,” the man beside me said when he noticed me staring. “Built in tribute to the fallen city. The architects tried to mimic the splendor of that hallowed place, but no hands of men could build anything to compare.”

  “Who owns it?” I asked.

  The man laughed. “Nobody owns it. The first monarch of Hallengard decreed that a space be reserved in the heart of a city as a monument to Rel’ghar. It is the only land he gave away. It is a public place of learning, open to all. Great stacks of books line what are called the crypts underground. They are tended by the Rel’aille. Any member of the public can go inside and request a book on any subject they desire. The Rel’aille go down to the crypts and retrieve it. It is said that the entirety of human knowledge is contained in the pages of those tomes.”

  “Is it true?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  The man chuckled. “To an extent, I suppose. None know for sure—save the Rel’aille. They are the only ones to have seen the stacks.”

  He lowered his voice. “I have heard it said that a man can spend his entire life reading and not make it through a hundredth of the books contained in there.”

  “That’s impossible,” I huffed. The most books I had ever seen were in Magda’s hut, and I could count all of them with the fingers of one hand.

  “Maybe so,” the man offered. “But if no one believes in the impossible, what would any of us dream of?”

  That thought made me sit back, stumped.

  We rode the rest of the way in silence. I wondered how someone became a Rel’aille. I wondered if that was what my mark would have granted me.

  Most of all, I was fascinated by the idea of all those books. I had a naturally inquisitive mind. I knew of the way Magda treasured her books. A single book could contain knowledge gathered over a lifetime. If I could properly read, I could obtain that knowledge myself. I could learn what others know. I could learn from the mistakes they had made and experiences they had had.

  Above all, I could earn myself an advantage very few took the time to exploit.

  What did I want most in my life? The answer came easily: Revenge. I wanted revenge against Three-Grin for the way he killed Alicia. I wanted revenge against all those who had ever wronged me. Perhaps it was not the healthiest state of mind for a boy my age. But, that desire molded me into the man I am today.

  Not that my life is something to aspire toward. Quite the opposite. But in certain times, it does make for an entertaining tale.

  The coach jolted to a stop in front of a side street. “Lamore’s that way.” Our driver jerked a thumb across his shoulders. “But this is the farthest my horses will bring you.”

  “Fine,” the man beside me said. He paid the driver and stepped off. I went with him.

  “Do you have a name?” he asked me as we started down the street.

  “Dagan,” I replied, looking around. “Where are we going?”

  “Where all men go when they know the hour of their death is nigh.” The man grinned at me. “We are going to drink!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lamore’s Tavern was a shabby, dark place. When we entered, a wiry man behind the counter shot me an appraising look. He did not object, however, as I sat down.

  The man whose name I still didn’t know pressed four silver dimes on the table. I stared at the coins. The bartender took them without a word, bent down, and produced two large pitchers of drink, foaming at the top.r />
  “One’s for you,” the man said, pushing it toward me.

  My hand gripped the handle. My mind grappled with the fact that I held, in one hand, a drink that was worth two silver dimes.

  The man brought his up to his lips and took a swallow. He exhaled in pleasure.

  “Go on,” he told me. “It’s quite good.”

  I nodded and sat higher on the stool. I pulled the mug closer. The bubbling liquid seemed to hiss at me. I bent over it and sucked in a small sip.

  I blanched and spat it back out. The taste was revolting.

  The man, who was watching for my reaction with a close eye, clapped my back and laughed. “Too strong for you?”

  I nodded while gagging.

  He dragged my drink back to him. “At least now you know you’re not missing out.”

  I watched, fascinated, as he brought the ale to his face and chugged it whole. When he was done, he set it back onto the counter with a thud. He wiped away the foam that covered his bare upper lip.

  “Gods, that’s good,” he said.

  “Gods?” I asked. “I thought there was only one. Xune?”

  “Xune is the most widely known, and the most revered,” the man said, “but he is far from the only god.”

  I blinked. “There are others?”

  The man moved his hand in a vague, circular motion. “Have you ever glanced up at the stars at night, Dagan? Do you know what all those tiny lights are?”

  I shook my head. “I never thought about it.”

  “The legend goes,” the man said, “that once, the earth was the very home of the gods. They lived in peace and harmony, except for one:

  “Xune.”

  Xune was not the strongest, nor the fastest. He could not move mountains like his brother, Oridon, nor split the seas like his sister, Fellaira. He could not fly with the birds like Aerogan, nor speak to the trees like Possmar.

  But he had one trait the others lacked: a sharp cunning. Xune was the trickster. He delighted in playing pranks on his brothers and sisters.