by Matthew Wolf
Still, the rogue remained silent, sipping his drink coolly.
“Seems he ain’t afraid of you like we are, Adorry,” said Bones snidely.
“He should be,” said the third, a tall man.
Adorry’s one eye squinted cruelly, and quicker than light, he bashed Darius’ drink from his hand, knocking it against the nearby wall. “I’m not afraid to kill a man who doesn’t talk. Takes some of the joy out of it, but it’s all the same in the end.”
Gray was about to open his mouth when Darius made a move. Slowly, the rogue drew out his dagger and gestured to the one-eyed man’s belt filled with knives. “That’s a lot of fancy metal. Can you use those or are they just for show?”
As he spoke, the other men burst into laughter. The fat man, with the incongruous name of Bones, dribbled spit, and the shorter, squat one cackled, slapping his leg. The tall lanky man’s mouth fanned wide in a wicked grin, showing jagged teeth and one long, curved tooth. Adorry, however, was expressionless. It was somehow even more terrifying. “More or less,” the one-eyed man rasped, breathing his rank breath upon them.
Darius spun the dagger in his hand casually, as if pondering. “And are you a betting man?”
“For the right price? Always,” Adorry answered, as if amused.
Kirin was still shouting danger, just as he had done since the moment they entered this place, or, for that matter, the moment they entered Shadow’s Corner—but now Kirin was truly afraid. He felt as if the one-eyed man was hiding something.
Darius raised his arm, pointing. All turned. Twenty paces away, a post held up the roof. On it was a round slab of a tree trunk hung by a thick nail. It had painted rings—green, blue, yellow, and then finally red for the dead center. The wood looked scarred by a thousand knives. “I challenge you to a game of daggers.”
“What’s the wager?” asked the fat man, licking his lips.
“Let’s say a man wanted to get into the Citadel, unscathed, would you know such a thing?”
Daggers and swords loosened in their sheaths all around them.
“The Citadel?” Adorry scoffed. “You truly are a fool.”
“Do you or not?” Darius pressed.
“I know a way,” the man said indifferently.
“Then that’s my wager. Information. If I win, you tell me how to enter the Citadel and leave… alive.”
Adorry smirked again. “Valuable information in the right hands, but why would you three weaklings want to enter the Citadel?”
“That’s not part of the deal.”
The one-eyed man laughed coldly. “And what’s in it for me?”
“This,” Darius said, dropping a pouch onto the table. It clanked. It was all their money—the silver Karil had given them back at Death’s Gate, and what little Darius has scrounged from gambling. Beneath the table, Gray elbowed the rogue. If Darius gambled and lost all their money… Then he realized—their life was on the line. It really didn’t matter what Darius was gambling.
“Ah, that’s a fat purse!” squawked the stout thief, reaching forward.
Darius pulled it back quickly.
Adorry fingered a blade at his waist as if thinking, then sneered. “No deal.”
“Why not?” Ayva asked.
“Because I’m just going to take that from your cold corpses anyway. You have nothing to offer me I can’t already take—and will,” the man said, then his hollow eye panned to Ayva suggestively. Tension mounted, and Gray’s palms began to sweat, gripping Morrowil until it hurt. He reached for the nexus but again it flickered, sputtering and dying like a flame with too little wick. “Kill them,” Adorry commanded abruptly, and metal rung as his men unsheathed their swords, stalking forward with the lust for blood in their eyes.
Gray pleaded, searching for his power, watching the men approach. Listen to me! He bellowed in his mind. But there was no answer.
“Wait!” Darius shouted, rising. The men didn’t slow. Gray gripped the bottom of the table, preparing himself. “If you kill us now, you’ll never get the true bounty!” the rogue yelled. The men hesitated. Behind them, Gray saw a good portion of the nearby patrons were watching curiously.
“What true bounty?” Bones asked with greed in his eyes.
“Cormacs,” Darius answered quickly.
“Elvin steeds?” the short one whispered. “Adorry, those be worth a fortune! Two hundred, no three hundred Farbian gold coins at least!”
“He’s lying,” the tall man said, moving forward and raising his blade.
Adorry lifted a finger. “Wait.” The tall man stopped reluctantly. “Let them live for a moment, Snaggle. You have one last chance, boy. Explain quickly.”
“We have cormacs,” Darius said. “Three of them. But if you kill us now, you’ll never know where we stashed them. If you win, however, we’ll tell you. You’ll get the cormacs and the coin. If we win, the information.”
“And your lives I suppose?”
“Naturally,” Darius said with a shrug.
“Congratulations,” replied the one-eyed man. “You have yourself a deal.”
What in the seven hells of remwar had gotten into the rogue? He was gambling their lives with this man like trading a bushel of wheat for a jug of milk! But somehow Gray couldn’t really be mad. Fearful, surely, but not angry. Somehow, he felt that was the best deal they were going to get from this man. Now, light just send that Darius wins.
The commotion resolved, the rest of the inn gradually went back to their previous rabblerousing. The clank of cheap coin and the grate of laughter and dark talk returned to its normal hum.
“Shall we?” Adorry stalked towards the dartboard.
Darius scratched his head, turning back to them.
“Why do I feel like we just bargained with the devil?” Ayva breathed.
“I only have one question,” Gray said, eyeing Darius. “Can you win this?”
“We’ll see,” Darius replied. “That man seems… talented.”
“It’s because he’s no mere thief,” Ayva explained, rubbing her brow in frustration. “This is my fault. I should have told you earlier, but Faye told me all thieves have thief names in Farbs, like your friends Snaggle and Bones.”
“What’s a thief name?”
“They’re names orphan boys and girls seek to earn—often crude nicknames given by their peers related to their physical appearance, meant to belittle.” Ayva’s fist tightened in anger. “It’s a barbaric practice associated with the loss of innocence… But to many, it’s a badge of honor—for within the world of thieves, you either have a thief name, or you die.”
“And Adorry?” Gray asked.
“A rare handful of men and women don’t have thief names, like Adorry.”
“Why him?”
“The men who don’t are named by a man they call Darkeye.”
“Darkeye?” Darius questioned.
“Leader of the Darkeye Clan. He and his men run most of Farbs—the darker side of it at least. Faye said he’s almost never been seen. He’s a man of myth and legends. But she said we would have to avoid his clan at all cost.”
Gray didn’t like the sound of that. He hoped this man was just a myth, but around him, myth and legends always turned out to be real too often. “Then why is this man named by him?” he asked, returning to the point.
“It’s a mark of prestige—a name that means something in the sand tongue, like warrior, or cruel one. Most importantly,” she said with a heavy gulp, “it means he’s one of Darkeye’s officers. Foul as he is, Adorry is clearly a man to be feared.”
“Darius?”
Darius was staring at Adorry as he spread his dozen varied daggers down on a nearby table, laying them meticulously, as if preparing himself for torture. Gray eyed the rogue. Darius seemed different, not far away at all now, but focused. From the top of his sword’s sheath, a faint green light pulsed, as if feeding off the rogue. At his name, Darius looked back calmly.
“We don’t have to do this,” Gray said softly
, eyeing a nearby backdoor. “If we run now, we might get away and—”
“—No, it’s too late,” Darius said and then smiled. “Besides, without this man, your grandfather is as good as dead. We have to do this.”
“But can you?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?” he said, grinning. Then he rose and strode forward.
Ayva muttered, “This was a bad idea.”
“We have to trust him,” Gray said. “Darius knows what he is doing.”
Light help us if he doesn’t, he thought, and followed.
* * *
A ring of men now surrounded them. Dark chatter still hung in the air, but the nearest chairs had been pushed back and a crowd had begun to watch.
Adorry pulled back his sleeves. “As the one who was challenged, I have the right to decide who goes first,” he decreed. “Unless you disagree?”
Darius gave a mock nod of servility. “By all means.”
Adorry smirked. “You first.”
“That’s quite generous of you.”
“Not really. I’d prefer to let you have a sliver of hope before I take it away is all,” Adorry said. It was not a boast. The man sounded as if he were simply stating a fact.
Yet the fat thief, Bones, chortled. Adorry’s other two lackeys merely watched. Both of them still had the same bloodlust in their eyes, fingering their cruel blades. You have to win, Darius, Gray entreated, but then wondered what would happen if the rogue did win. Would those men attack anyway? At least not before we get our information, he prayed, placing a hand upon Morrowil. Let them stay their hand at least until we find out how to breach the Citadel.
Adorry moved aside for Darius, pointing to a red line. Gray tried to imagine the line was paint and not blood as Darius moved forward with a breath. He stood twenty paces from the target. The slab was no bigger than two hands side-by-side. It was a hard shot as it was.
Darius lifted his arrowhead blade, eyes focused on the target.
Yellow, blue, green, and finally, red. Four rings.
Silence hung. Gray felt as if he could cut the tension in the air with a knife. C’mon, Darius. With a breath, the rogue released the dagger. It whistled through the air, plunking into the hard wood.
Red.
Darius’ blade sat dead center. Commotion in the inn went to a standstill. All eyes fell to Darius, who, to any stranger, wore a deadpan expression. But Gray saw the smirk.
“Blood and flesh!” Foulfoot, the short thief, screeched. “First try!”
“Luck,” Bones muttered.
Whispers and grumbling spread among the other seated thieves.
“Did you know he was that good?” Ayva whispered in Gray’s ear.
“I had a feeling,” he admitted, and in truth it was just a feeling. He was hopeful but afraid, though he had hidden it. Fear was no use here, not when men like this fed off of it. “Do you remember the snake in the desert? The one he nailed from a dozen paces away in the dead of night?”
“I’d nearly forgotten,” she whispered, and then she bit her bottom lip excitedly. “I think Adorry might be the one in trouble.”
Gray flashed a smile, but, inwardly, he wasn’t certain. Something told him they shouldn’t be so confident, not yet at least. And when he looked to the thief himself, it confirmed his fears. Adorry’s face could have made stone look expressive. The only distinguishing mark was a slight twinge to his thin lips.
“Impressive,” Adorry declared. But he didn’t sound impressed at all.
“Beginner’s luck,” Darius replied humbly and moved aside.
Adorry stepped forward. “We shall see.” From the table, the man extracted a long blade with jagged edges like teeth. His one eye squinted. A deadly calm entered his face. He gave an even breath, and with a practiced flick, the dagger flew. Wood thunked.
Red.
Dead center, even closer than Darius’.
Ayva released a thin breath.
Nearby, gasps escaped from the other ruffians. Gray looked to the tall thief, Snaggle. The man’s grin spread, revealing a jutting tooth. Both knew this was far from over.
Adorry turned to Darius. “Not luck,” he said, stepping back.
Darius swallowed, retrieving his dagger from the board. Another man pulled Adorry’s out. Stepping back to the red line, Darius gave a breath and threw, the dagger hitting home. Blue. Gray’s throat tightened. Blue was the third ring. Two away from red. Not good, he thought. A round of laughter rose from those nearby. Adorry pushed him aside, stepped forward, and threw.
Thunk.
Red again.
Adorry snorted. “Perhaps it was just luck.”
Gray touched Morrowil just as something caught his eye. A man in the far corner. He was hooded, smoking from a pipe and cast in shadows. Danger. It was Kirin. Reaching out with the ki, he tried to feel for the man, but as he touched him, his second sense recoiled in pain. It wasn’t a wall of stone like Faye’s had been, but a burning bulwark that seared to the touch. He couldn’t tell, but he knew the man’s expression changed within that hood.
He retreated, racing back into his own body.
Ayva gripped his arm. “Are you all right? What just happened?”
He realized he was scowling. Shaking it off, he dipped his head to the far wall. “You see that man?” he asked. Ayva followed his gaze to the dark corner, giving a nod. “He’s been watching us the whole time.”
“Who is he?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, can you tell anything about him? Anything Faye might have said?”
Ayva shook her head. “No. But as a daughter of an innkeeper I can tell you he is dangerous. He’s not drinking, and all the nearest chairs and tables to him are empty. He might even be more dangerous than this Adorry fellow.”
“Dicing great,” Gray whispered, stealing the rogue’s curse, looking back to the board as another gasp escaped the nearby crowds.
Darius’ blade sat in center of the red ring.
Adorry’s sat in the yellow. The fourth ring, farthest from the center.
The thief’s face was a mask of confusion and anger. “That… that can’t be…”
“What happened, Adorry?”
“Something from the floorboards up and tripped me!” he shouted.
Ayva gave Gray a look, and he hid any expression, but inwardly elation lanced through him. Did Darius just…? Darius, however, looked the most confused and innocent of them all. Gray knew that was usually a mastered expression from the rogue, but this time it seemed truly genuine.
Nearby, men looked to the thief-leader as if he were mad. Adorry, seeing this, quieted. He flashed Darius a smooth grin. It contorted his gaunt face oddly, like thin dough stretched over too big a pie tin, as if he couldn’t spare the flesh to smile. “Seems you lead. But as the challenger, I go first now. Step back,” he snapped, pushing Darius aside.
“As you wish,” Darius said, hiding a sneer behind a smile. Gray could see Darius’ anger, though luckily, he kept it in check.
Adorry grabbed the cruelest looking blade he had from the table—a spiked, curved dagger that looked like a large, bent needle with thorns. The thief-leader gave three even breaths, then his eye snapped wide. Gray’s heart pounded. Such confidence. The man threw. The blade twirled end over end. It hit.
Again, red—but the very center.
“What does that mean?” Ayva asked. “Did he win?”
Gray shook his head. “No, but almost. Darius just has to hit red as well and he’ll win. Anything less and he loses.”
“Exactly,” Bones said, “But he has to hit more center than Adorry’s last hit.”
“Who says?” Ayva replied. “They’re even!”
“Besides, there is no more center than that,” Gray said, scoffing.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll find a way,” Adorry announced.
Darius’ said nothing. Instead, he strode forward, all eyes on him as he yanked his dagger free from his last throw, and strode back. Gray had never seen him like this.
The rogue’s dark eyes narrowed on the board. At his side, Darius’ finger flitted. Gray knew that gesture—it was the same one Maris used to do. The full name of the inn hit Gray like a sack of bricks. Maris’ Luck, he realized. Dice, I hope that’s true. Was it simply fate they had entered here?
He felt Ayva sidle closer as Darius raised his blade.
Adorry suddenly spoke, “We’ve been playing wrong this whole time. You’ve been cheating.”
“What do you mean?” Darius protested, shaking with restrained ire. “I haven’t stepped over the line once!”
Adorry shrugged. “Perhaps. But the odds are unfair. I have one eye, and you have two. Thus, you’ve been cheating.”
“How is that his fault?” Ayva said, bristling.
Chairs slid back and Gray’s muscles tensed. He saw it all panning out before him: bloodshed and death—falling to these vile men in this dark place without ever saving Ezrah. Just as the tension reached a peak, Darius raised a hand. Men froze. Gray saw the rogue’s jaw muscles spasm, clenched furiously, but all he did was give a mock bow. “Fair’s fair,” he declared and put a hand over his eye.
All around, men roared with laughter.
Adorry and the tall man, Snaggle, merely sneered.
Gray knew Darius had barely held his own with Adorry with both his eyes. With just one and no sense of depth? The rogue was doomed. Gray tried to hide his rising fear, but he knew that, unless a miracle occurred, Darius would lose. The others knew it too. Snaggle and Foulfoot moved forward, just slightly, preparing themselves. At the bar, Gray saw movement. A slender cloaked figure was watching, pipe smoke curling from a deep hood. A third danger? How many murderous men does this hellish pit breed? he thought with rising anger, but he registered the threat and turned back to Darius as the rogue let out a heavy breath, raising his dagger with one hand, and covering his left eye with the other.
Subtly, Gray lifted Morrowil from its ornate sheath, clearing it so it wouldn’t stick when drawn. As he did, he realized this whole thing had been a fool venture from the very start. But it was too late. Now he simply had to be ready. With that thought, he prepared himself for Darius to lose.