The sneak-thief shifted the half-filled sack to the other shoulder and stepped through the door. As a child, the palace kitchens were one of Ayrion’s favorite places to hide. The smell of the exotic foods being prepared was beyond anything he could have ever imagined living on the streets. Ayrion had been sure that when he died, the afterlife couldn’t have fared much better.
Slipping into the room, he worked his way along the back wall behind large crates of fresh sea crab and watched as the thief went about filling their sack with whatever food they could get their hands on. Ayrion was reminded of how many times he had done the same. Whoever the cloaked individual was, it was clear they were not a child. In fact, even with the heavy material, it was hard to conceal the figure of the woman inside.
Ayrion moved a little closer, hoping to find a better vantage point to see who was behind the hood when he realized he had lost sight of the woman altogether. His eyes darted around the room, but the piles of boxes and barrels and stacks of fresh crates from the ocean markets kept her from view. With great care to keep to the shadows, he worked his way through the maze of food stores, poking his head up every now and then to see if he could spot the food bandit, but he had somehow managed to lose her.
To his left, he heard one of the loading doors creak. They led out to the lower courtyards right across from the stables. Ayrion smiled. This was a route he had taken on several occasions himself. Quickly, he worked his way around to the back entrance and slid the door open just enough to peek through. He could see the woman crossing the yard toward the back of the stables. She must have a horse already waiting for her.
He was enjoying this cat and mouse game a little too much.
Opening the door the rest of the way, he stepped out and stood with his back against the stone wall. He wanted to keep out of the light from the standing torch poles that lined the inner courtyard. Within moments, the cloaked thief rode out from behind the stables. She looked to be heading for the main gate.
The direction she was taking would lead her right past where he stood. He flattened himself against the wall. He could feel his swords pressing against his back. He hoped his dark clothing was enough to keep him hidden.
As the woman passed, she turned her head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the face beneath. His mouth dropped. He couldn’t have been more surprised had it been the queen herself, but there was no mistaking those bright green eyes and tuft of golden hair. It was Amarysia. The woman who had stolen his heart was now stealing the king’s biscuits. What in the world did she need with a bag of food? She lived at the palace, ate at the palace, waited on the queen hand and foot, and yet here she was sneaking around in the middle of the night pilfering wares like a common bag-snatcher.
This was far too interesting to leave unresolved. Ayrion raced across the courtyard and grabbed the closest mount. Being the Guardian Protector had its perks. Not being questioned by the palace stable hands was one of them. Without saddling, he seized a handful of mane and leaped on its back. He dug in his boots to spur the horse forward as Loren, the royal hostler on duty, watched in silence.
Ayrion took the central route past the upper gardens and across the front courtyard. He wanted to make sure he didn’t lose her before she crossed the palace bridge. If she made it into the city before he did, there would be no following.
Thankfully, he reached the outer bailey in time to see her horse passing under the main gates. Urging his own mount on, he followed her across the enormous structure connecting the island of rock to the mainland, and from there into the city.
He could feel his blood pumping. His earlier fatigue had vanished. His mind raced at the prospects of where Amarysia was going. Seeing this unexpected side of her was a little troubling, but also a little rousing.
He spent the next hour making sure to stay far enough back not to be seen, or heard, as their horses’ shoes echoed off the empty streets. She didn’t seem to be in a great hurry. After passing through the upper north quarters into Bayside, with its wealthy mansions overlooking the harbor, she skirted the west side of the merchant districts and headed south into Cheapside.
Cheapside, for those living in the lower regions of Aramoor, was known as The Maze. It was a city within a city. The compact housing of the lower class was fraught with interconnecting ways, streets, side passages, and narrow alleys hardly large enough for a grown man to fit through. For those unfamiliar with its design, a person could get lost for days, never finding their destination.
Ayrion knew The Maze like the back of his hand. Memories of his former life flooded back with each new direction they took. He could remember his time with the street tribes: the battles fought, the friends made, the lessons learned, many of which had help him rise to where he was today.
He could remember The Temple, home of his former street tribe, Hurricane, and their weasel-faced leader Spats. Hurricane had been the first tribe Ayrion had joined after entering the city. It was hard to think about his brief time with the tribe without also remembering The Pit, where he had first faced Flesh Eater in battle and lived to tell about it.
Ayrion took a deep breath. The salty air coming off the water was strong, and familiar in a way that drew him back to his childhood, and the time he’d spent at The Granary with Reevie. It had been Reevie who had first befriended him, saved him actually. The little crippled healer had found Ayrion bleeding his life away in a puddle after having been attacked by a street tribe known as Wildfire. Its leader was a strong-willed girl known to all as Red because of the blood red vest she always wore, but Ayrion eventually came to know her as Kira.
So many memories. It seemed a lifetime ago, or maybe it had been someone else’s life altogether. It had been too long since his last visit with Reevie. Ayrion’s duties as protector had forced him to neglect his best friend. It was something he felt a heavy sorrow for.
Ayrion urged his horse a little faster to close the distance. He was growing concerned. This was a rough section of Aramoor. A person could get mugged, stabbed, and tossed into the bay without anyone being the wiser. Up ahead, he knew they were approaching one of the old shipping districts that had long since gone under. There were a number of abandoned warehouses that had been repurposed by the local street tribes as housing for their members.
Amarysia pulled back on her reins in front of one of the smaller stone buildings and climbed down. Part of its walls had begun to collapse from neglect. The building had been an office at one time, running the operations of a few of the nearby depositories. What was she up to?
Ayrion led his horse off to the side of a building a few streets down. Quietly, he worked his way around to the building opposite of where she stood. He kept his eyes open, scanning every window, every door, every dark corner and hole for signs of movement. A person who let their guard down this close to the Warrens was a person not long for this world. With practiced feet, he moved along the fronts of the derelict structures, his black leathers melding him within the cover of a clouded night.
He felt as though he was coming home.
His first full year in Aramoor was spent in a small room under an abandoned warehouse not three blocks from there. The time he had spent there with Reevie as a twelve-year-old boy was some of the best and worst times of his life.
The front door of the building Amarysia was facing opened and three cloaked figures stepped out. One was a little taller than she was, the other two were shorter. Ayrion crouched in front of the next building over and waited. The three figures didn’t appear menacing. Their hands were empty at their sides, and their posture, though alert, was non-threatening.
The taller individual exchanged a quick greeting. Ayrion was too far away to hear what they were saying, but soon after the exchange, she turned and unhooked the large sack from her saddle and dropped into step behind them as they entered the three-story building.
“That’s just great,” he mumbled. “How am I going to get in there without being seen?” Frantically, he scanned the b
uilding, looking for the path of least resistance, when he noticed that the second floor balcony door on the side was ajar. Taking a moment to study the surrounding buildings to make sure he was alone, Ayrion raced across the alley. He hopped up on a pile of loose crates and, using them as leverage, he leaped into the air and performed a move like one of the circus performers for the royal court by grabbing hold of one of the crossbeams sticking out from under the floor of the balcony and swinging himself up to the railing. From there it was a quick leap up and over.
He smiled. He hadn’t done something like that in a long time.
As quietly as he could, he opened the door and moved inside. He could hear voices in the distance. Careful to keep to the outside edge of the narrow hall and away from the creaking floorboards at the center, he followed the corridor till he came to an opening that overlooked the main floor below.
The room was lit with a smattering of thick tallow candles and a couple of brass lamps with polished reflectors. Amarysia stood at the center, still holding her large grain sack. She didn’t appear to be apprehensive, but from where Ayrion stood it was hard to tell. All around the room he could feel the presence of eyes watching her. Even though he couldn’t see them, he knew she was surrounded. What had she gotten herself mixed up in?
The location alone was enough to tell him this was one of the Cheapside street tribes. Which one, he didn’t know. They seemed to rise and fall every year, something he knew plenty about having been the head of his own tribe years ago.
There was something going on underneath the balcony on which he was currently standing. He couldn’t see what it was but he could hear raised voices. He needed a better vantage point.
Very few entered a street tribe’s lair without first being invited, and even then it was typically for some kind of parlay with a representative from another tribe. Amarysia kept her back straight. She showed no outward sign of fear. Fear on the streets was like blood to a school of sharks. They could smell it a mile away.
Directly below, a group walked out from under the balcony. At their head was a large brute of a boy. Unlike most of the others, he had lighter hair which made him stick out from the rest. He was clearly this tribe’s chieftain. Ayrion couldn’t tell much from where he was, but what he could see was the large mallet the boy was holding behind his back. Amarysia stood there completely oblivious to the danger she was in.
Ayrion couldn’t wait any longer. He moved to the far side of the walkway to get a running start. Taking a deep breath, he counted to three and charged.
Chapter 39 | Ayrion
THE FLAPS OF Ayrion’s black coat opened behind him as he dropped from the second floor balcony and hit the ground directly between the approaching convoy and Amarysia.
Amarysia cried out in surprise and dropped her sack. Street kids everywhere dove for their cubby holes. Their leader, clearly startled by Ayrion’s sudden entrance, whipped out his large hammer as the rest of his underlings fought to brandish whatever crude weapons they had stowed beneath their threadbare garb.
“Ayrion? What are you—” Before Amarysia could finish her sentence, the tribal chief howled sharply and charged. Ayrion sidestepped the heavy implement and watched as the large head of the hammer swung to his left.
The boy was stronger than he looked. Using the momentum of his first swing, the kid spun back around for another try, this time aiming for Ayrion’s head. Ayrion ducked and spun, letting the heavy maul hit nothing but air. The boy didn’t stop. He continued to attack, howling as he went. Amarysia was hollering from the side for them to stop, but neither one had any intention of doing so.
Ayrion never once pulled his blades. Instead, he continued to dance around the room, weaving in and around each swing of the hammer, while at the same time allowing his assailant to wear himself out. The boy wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer, and Ayrion knew he wasn’t about to stop of his own volition. The boy couldn’t. His entire tribe was watching. His reputation as their leader was on the line. Ayrion hated embarrassing the kid like this, but he didn’t see that they were leaving him much of a choice. Besides, he didn’t take kindly to the threatening way he had approached Amarysia.
“Ayrion, don’t hurt him!”
Having chased Ayrion from one side of the open floor to the other with nothing to show for it, the tribal chief was beginning to look a bit winded. He left himself unprotected on each of his backswings. Waiting for the right moment, Ayrion sidestepped the hammer once again and then kicked the boy square in the chest, hard enough to send him flying across the room with a different sort of howl. His hammer flew through the air in the opposite direction and into a pile of chairs in the corner.
The other boys ran to help their chief to his feet, but no one attempted another approach.
Ayrion headed across the room to where Amarysia was standing, wide-eyed and a bit more upset than he would have expected from someone whose life he had just saved. Instead of throwing her arms around his neck and thanking him for her rescue, she flew by him and threw her arms around the street thug instead.
“Are you alright?” she asked as she reached down to help him up. He pushed her hand away and growled.
Ayrion rolled his eyes. Didn’t she know any better than to treat the boy like a sick puppy in front of his tribe? She turned and planted both fists firmly on her hips, fixing Ayrion with a harsh glare. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Ayrion didn’t move, quite astounded at her unappreciative statement and angry demeanor. “Saving your life, what does it look like? What do you think you’re doing coming down here alone in the middle of the night? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Ayrion kept his eyes on the growing crowd of kids on the far side of the room as they started coming out of the woodwork, literally. They crawled out from under the tables, from behind the support posts, through back doorways, even small holes in the walls.
They were all staring at him in wonder. Some were pointing, others whispering.
“And what exactly did you think you were saving me from?” she asked, her fists still maintaining their spot on her hips.
“From that bruiser behind you with the nasty looking sledgehammer.”
“You mean Howler? The boy whose ribcage you very nearly squashed.”
The chief leaned his head back and howled. “I am no boy!” Ayrion could see where he got his name.
“Oh shut up, Sedgewick! You are a boy. Now do you want this food or not?” Amarysia left the young chieftain standing there with an angry pout on his face to collect her sack of pilfered goods.
Even with the large sack of food in her hand, it wasn’t Amarysia everyone was staring at.
“You’re him, aren’t you, mister?” one of the little boys at the front suddenly asked. “You’re . . . Death’s Shadow.”
Ayrion smiled. He hadn’t heard that name in a very long time. Not since he wasn’t much older than most of them. It was the street name given to him by The Guild, and justly earned.
“I am.”
Howler gulped.
Ayrion walked across the room. Dust shot up from beneath his black boots as the loose floorboards bent under his weight. “Now will someone kindly tell me what is going on here?”
Amarysia crossed her arms up under her breasts. “Well, I would have if you hadn’t decided to interfere.” Some of the boys gasped at the way she addressed him.
Ayrion almost laughed, but thought better of it after gauging the expression on her face. “Interfere? And what was I supposed to do, pray tell, when I catch the queen’s lady-in-waiting sneaking around the palace in the middle of the night plundering the food stores, and riding off like a common burglar?”
“You were to trust she had a reason for what she was doing.”
Now it was Ayrion’s turn to cross his arms. “And that reason is?”
“None of your business.”
Ayrion sighed in exasperation. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. She obviously wasn’t budging. If there is one t
hing he knew from experience, when a woman made up her mind, there was precious little he was going to be able to do to change it. Taking a step back, he gestured for her to continue.
“Thank you.” Without waiting for a response from him, she turned around and started handing out the food and blankets. The boys and girls started clawing at the bag to get their hands on the supplies until Howler stepped in and, after cuffing a couple on the back of the head, he called a halt long enough to divvy out the goods himself.
Ayrion remembered what that was like, having to be responsible for a group of unwanted street kids. It brought back painful memories of the friends he had given up to be where he was today. Those friends had been his family.
Amarysia moved back beside Ayrion as she watched the tribal chief pass out the blankets and food. “Sedgewick, I mean Howler, is my little brother. Although, I guess he’s not all that little anymore.”
“Your brother?” Ayrion glanced at Howler then back at Amarysia. There was a resemblance. Sedgewick’s hair was lighter. Not quite as golden as Amarysia’s but clearly a family trait. He also shared her blue eyes. His features, though, weren’t soft like hers. He had a strong chin and higher cheekbones. Now that Ayrion had a chance to actually compare the two, he could see the relation.
The question now was how did a lady-in-waiting to the queen have a brother living on the streets as a common guttersnipe. Ladies-in-waiting were chosen from noble families. Had he been mistaken as to Amarysia’s heritage? Not that it would have mattered to him. He wouldn’t have cared had she been born to a pig farmer.
“When Sedge and I were younger, we used to go with Mother to hand out food and blankets to the needy. She had a very large heart, you know.” Amarysia stared straight ahead at nothing.
“Had?”
Ayrion’s question pulled her back from her musing. “There was an outbreak of cholera on board one of the ships coming back from Delga. My father was on board. He didn’t realize he had caught the disease until after he had already passed it to my mother. Sedge and I were lucky enough not to have caught it.” She didn’t need to say more. The haunted look in her eyes was enough.
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 31