Malek decided it wise to not mention the Warder he had seen. The two of them were silent for a time. A minstrel began playing a popular ballad from his seat on the hearth, and a group of carousers began stomping their feet along with the tune. Malek found himself tapping his hand on the table to the catchy song. He idly wondered what Nera was up to.
“Ain’t that the green bastard that got Ames killed?” The loud voice cut through Malek’s reverie and the minstrel’s song. He turned to find the speaker, a grizzled man with the shoulders of a blacksmith and a nasty scar down his cheek, standing a few feet away and glaring at him. “Where’s that little devil whore? We don’t care if she’s protected by a guild or not. We’re gonna avenge the boss.”
Malek groaned to himself. Here we go again.
“Aye, that’s the mage, Rowen.” A burly, bald man stood behind the first thug, and Malek recognized him as one of the cutthroats that had attacked him in the alley. A group of four moved to surround their table, the half-orc from the alley fight looming behind the other men.
“Who are you callin’ a devil whore?” Arron asked, a dangerous growl in his voice. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the group of thugs. “These the arseholes that you and Nera had a scrap with?”
“Yes, and they’ve brought some friends, it would appear,” Malek muttered. He wondered if he’d be able to draw enough energy to defend them without drawing attention. Not after the prison… They’ll be onto me now.
“Aye, I’m callin’ that little slut this one was with a devil whore. She killed Ames. Now where’s she at?” the bald man asked, his eyes scanning the crowd. The minstrel had stopped playing, and chairs screeched on the floor as the Zombie’s patrons moved to get away from the impending scuffle.
“Is it always this tough for greens in Nexus?” Malek asked.
Arron shoved his chair back and stood. “Depends how well you make friends, I suppose. Lucky for you I’m on your side.” Arron shot him a grin and puffed out his chest to face the thugs, who were all nearly a head or more taller and much heavier than the half-elf. “I’m not going to listen to any more slurs about my sister come outta your ugly mug anymore.” With that, Arron punched the bald man in the face, sending him reeling back into the half-orc behind him. Smith-shoulders grabbed Arron’s arm and wrestled him backward, and a third man grabbed his other arm and helped slam him across their table.
Malek jumped clear of the flailing men, only to get hit from behind. He fell forward and crumpled, just avoiding cracking his head on the table. Boots slammed into his ribs, and he rolled under the table, trying to get away from his attackers and regain his feet.
The half-orc grabbed one of his feet and hauled him out from beneath the table. Malek struggled to free himself, but the bald thug’s boot stomped him in the forehead. His head bounced off the wooden floor, and motes of light exploded across his vision. A rough hand grabbed a fistful of his robes and lifted him off the floor.
Malek’s vision refocused just in time to see a flash of silver. The half-orc yelped at a knife jutting through his wrist. Blood poured down his forearm. The thug let Malek drop and roared in anger, spinning around to face his attacker. Two more blades appeared in his chest, and the big half-orc toppled over, burying the smaller of Arron’s attackers beneath nearly three hundred pounds of muscle.
Malek scrambled away on hands and knees, trying to clear his senses and avoid the skirmish.
Arron took advantage of his freed arm and punched his remaining attacker in the throat. The man reeled back, choking. The bald thug drew a short sword. Another knife streaked across the room, and the man’s sleeve was pinned to the wall. He grunted in surprise as his sword arm was immobilized. Arron elbowed him in the nose and knocked the short sword from his relaxing grip. A tankard smashed into the man’s face dropped him, his arm still pinned to the wall overhead.
“Haven’t you two oafs gotten into enough trouble for one day?” Nera stood in front of Malek, feet planted at shoulder width. “Thought you were gonna wait for me at the Wet Warrior?” Her rust-colored eyes burned like stoked embers, and her lips curled into a dangerous half-smile. She had her cloak thrown back, revealing two braces of throwing knives around her thighs. Her hands rested on the hilts of two daggers hanging from her belt. She looked dangerous and beautiful, in an exotic way.
“Trouble? Why, Sis, we had these louts right where we wanted them. Couldn’t stand the barely disguised piss they were serving for ale at the Warrior. The company there wasn’t much better.” Arron frowned at his broken tankard of ale on the floor. “Pity I didn’t get to finish my drink, though.”
Malek tried to regain his feet, fighting off his dizziness. Nera grasped his arm, her lean body coiled like a whip as she heaved him to his feet. He staggered back, and Arron caught him. The half-elf grinned, blood running from his mouth and his shortened nose, now bent at an awkward angle.
“First barroom brawl, mate?” he asked with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“Uh, yeah. Shouldn’t we…”
“Be gone from here?” Nera finished. “Aye, off we go. I found a safe house for us.”
The brawl had spread throughout the common room. The two storytelling warriors yelled taunts and battle cries at their opponents. The pair stood back to back, dishing out punishment to any foolish enough to take them on. Malek could only shake his head at the gleam in their eyes and the smiles on their faces.
Reliving their glory years, indeed.
Arron shouldered a couple of wrestling men out of their way as he made a path. The Zombie’s bouncer grabbed two drunken louts and cracked their heads together. Throughout the tavern, cries and grunts and the sounds of breaking glass rang out. Nera swiftly recovered her throwing daggers, wiping them clean with practiced swipes on her victims’ clothes.
“Weren’t those your friends from the alley the other night?” Nera frowned down at the dead half-orc and the unconscious bald thug.
“Yeah, and they brought company with them this time,” Malek said. “They were disappointed you weren’t here earlier.”
Nera chuckled. “Oh, they’re lucky I wasn’t. It would have gone even worse for them had I been here earlier and not looking for you two fools over at the Wet Warrior.” She gave Malek a gentle push in the back. “After you, mageling. I’ll cover your arse. We’re even again since you brought me to the temple and fixed me up. Damn fools. I save your arses and can’t even quench my thirst with an ale after all this.”
They made for the door. Malek spotted a half-full tankard of ale on the bar, miraculously still intact. He snatched the tankard and passed it to Nera.
“Your reward, milady.” He smiled at the rogue.
Nera raised an eyebrow appraisingly. She peered into the tankard and, apparently satisfied with its contents, quickly drained it.
“Hmph. Not such a fool, after all. Keep the clink and the ale coming, and we might get to be good friends.” Nera winked at him and hooked his arm with hers, propelling him out into the street.
“Exhilarating, right mate?” Arron was grinning at the two of them, oblivious to the blood and bruises on his face. “Nothing like a good bar brawl to clear the head and put a little spring in your step.”
These two enjoy this kind of ruckus. What in the Abyss have I gotten myself into?
Chapter 19
The safe house Nera took them to turned out to be a nondescript but well-appointed flat in the Market District, located above a spice merchant’s store. Malek and Arron waited at the base of the stairs while Nera crept up to the door and placed her ear against it. After a moment, she waved them up. She unlocked the door, and Arron darted inside as if expecting trouble. Fortunately, none came.
Arron struck a spark with his flint and steel to light a candle. Nera quickly pulled the curtains shut over the front window, which looked onto the street. She peered through the gap for a time as if expecting them to have been followed. Malek flopped down onto a low sofa, weary from the long day.
Arron crouched d
own in front of Malek. “Malek, could you do the honors?” He gestured at the collar still encircling his neck. “I’d be a lot more helpful if I could wield a sword and bow again.”
“Sure, it’s the least I can do for helping me out of those scrapes tonight. Just a moment…” Malek closed his eyes and concentrated. With his inner sight, he noted Arron’s vitality, a powerful golden glow. A harsh, red illumination wound around his neck like a scar, and Malek focused on that, gently tugging on the magical energy until it stubbornly parted from the cold iron band. Warmth flooded into Malek as the power passed into him. Hearing the clank of the collar releasing, he opened his eyes.
Arron held the band in his hands, looking speechless. “I thought I’d never be rid of that damned thing. Thank you, mate.” He grinned fiercely and clapped Malek on the back so hard he thought his teeth would come loose.
“Makes you an outlaw too, Arron,” Nera spoke up. She leaned against the wall with arms crossed, observing the exchange with interest. “They won’t stop looking for us now. We’ll have to find somewhere to go off plane.”
“Aw, don’t spoil it for me, Sister.” Arron charged across the room and picked Nera up by the waist. He swung her around, yelling in glee, Nera protesting all the while. After a couple twirls, he set her back down. “This calls for a celebration! Did you get my weapons, Nera?”
“Aye, they’re right here.” She walked to a sturdy oaken table and unfolded a bundle wrapped in a cloak. Inside was a short sword in a scabbard and a yew bow with a quiver of arrows. A suit of leather armor was stacked on the chair. “Malek, I brought your pack from my house as well.”
“All right, this really calls for a celebration!” Arron shouted. “I’m off to get a cask of ale if you all are up for that?”
“Didn’t you do enough celebrating at the Zombie tonight?” Nera sighed when Arron shook his head. “Well, I suppose my throat is a bit dry after that excitement. Why don’t you bring some food back with it, you oaf? I didn’t get a chance to eat like the two of you.”
“Right. I’m off then.” Arron buckled his sword to his waist and headed for the door.
“Put that collar back on in case someone recognizes you. And don’t go celebratin’ with any of those whores you’re so fond of,” Nera said. “We have to lay low—”
“Aye, I know. Don’t worry your pretty little horned head.” Arron tousled her hair and slipped out the door before she could slap his hand away.
Nera looked embarrassed when she saw Malek had been watching the two of them in amusement. “What’re you looking at, mageling?”
Malek grinned. “Just watching the two of you. Didn’t realize he actually was your brother.”
“Adopted brother. Two half-breeds growing up on the streets of Nexus—he started looking out for me when we were wee ones. We ended up joining the guild and have been watching each other’s backs ever since.”
“He seems like a good man to have looking out for you.”
“Aye, the best. If anything were to happen to him, I don’t know what I’d do. I was so worried when he got burned in the foundry…” Nera was silent for a moment and then wiped away a tear. “Don’t you go saying anything to him about it, you hear?”
“My lips are sealed,” Malek assured her with a grin.
Nera squinted at him as if unsure of his sincerity. She snorted and shook her head. The rogue unstrapped her braces of throwing knives and laid them on the table before removing the pair of long daggers buckled around her slim waist. From the sheaths she drew the paired daggers, both of which were imbued with magic. The first held a strong enchantment—it was a slender, slightly curved blade, finely crafted with an inscription along the base of the blade. The second was of plainer craftsmanship, thicker bladed with a minor enchantment.
Malek walked over and studied the daggers as Nera worried at the blade of the curved one with a rag. The inscription looked to be in Elvish but was a dialect he didn’t quite recognize.
“What does that inscription read?” he asked.
Nera looked at him sideways. “Thought you were the enlightened mage. It says ‘Kazelzal,’ which translates to something akin to ‘Lightslicer.’”
“And that one?” Malek nodded at the plain one.
“Temporary… until I find a worthy companion for Lightslicer.”
“Impressive. Where did you learn to read?”
Nera looked at him askance. “What, you think just because I grew up penniless on the streets that I’m ignorant as well?”
Malek stammered a quick apology, but she grinned, and he realized she was jesting.
“I was a curious little shite growing up and was hungry for knowledge. When Arron and I joined the Night Wraiths, there was an old man there, well educated, the type who would be at home working as a scribe or some such job. His name was Kulder, and his nose was always in some book. Curious as I was, I pestered him, asking what he was doing around the guild. He seemed amused at being challenged by an urchin, but he was truthful, and I respected him for it. Come to find out, he was a former banker, a numbers man who had made the bank’s numbers a lot lower while his own purse ballooned. Well, the bank found out and obviously wasn’t too happy, so they put out a contract on him—”
“An assassin?”
“Aye. Kulder found himself in the position of needing to disappear in a hurry. Rollo, our guild boss, made him an offer that was hard to turn down. He took over managing the money, with Rollo’s constant double-checking of course, and the guild’s finances improved after that. He taught me letters in his spare time. Arron sat in on some of the lessons, but he quickly grew bored and found other things to occupy himself with. To me, it was a means to better myself—a way to climb above the very low expectations anybody had of me as a plane-cursed orphan. After a couple years, the old man’s heart gave out, and he passed on, but I’d picked up the basics and taught myself the rest. Of course, I’ve got nothing on you high-and-mighty educated mages.” Her voice took on a pompous air. “But I know enough to be dangerous, I suppose.”
“To yourself or others?”
“Hah! Both, I reckon.” Nera laughed.
Malek chuckled, thinking the rogue had a nice laugh. “Intelligent and resourceful. I think my retainer is money well spent.”
“You better believe it, mageling.” Nera puffed up a bit at the compliment. “Although, as to your original question about the Elvish—the old monk who gave it to me translated the name. I’ve been lucky to pick up reading Common. Elvish is beyond me.”
Malek nodded but didn’t reply. Since Nera seemed in the mood for sharing about her past, he asked the question that had been on his mind for some time. “What happened to the two of you to warrant the collars and sentences in the foundry?”
Nera flopped down on the sofa and studied him. “That’s a long tale with an unfortunate ending.”
“I gathered as much,” Malek replied with a smile, sitting down beside her.
Nera snorted and punched him on the thigh. “Lucky for you, I’m over it now. You ever heard of a containment gem?”
Malek ran a hand through his hair as he thought for a moment. “Isn’t that a gem that can store spells?”
“Aye, more or less. They store mana, which spellcasters can use to refresh their reserve or some such thing… You should know more about it than me.”
“My magic doesn’t work the same way, but I think you have the right of it.”
“These items are very valuable among the wizardly types. You know, the ones who can be more ruthless and power hungry than an orcish war chief. One day, word comes down in the guild that a shipment of these gems is being smuggled into Nexus. Rollo, that sleazy bastard—he’s got some bone to pick with one of the trading companies, so he decides that we should intercept this shipment and turn around and triple or quadruple the price and sell them back to the original purchaser, or if that failed, whoever wants them. Problem is, turns out the original purchaser was the chamberlain of the Lord of Nexus himself.”
“Oh… I suppose that didn’t go over very well.” Malek tried to ignore Nera’s warm thigh inadvertently touching his.
“Nay, that it didn’t. Needless to say, Arron and I, along with that little piss stain Jarl and his crony, Yeltin, found ourselves surrounded by a group of Magehunters trying to arrest us at the supposed meeting with the buyer. That was about the worst thing that could’ve happened, so we tried to flee. That whoreson Jarl set off some kind of smoke bomb, releasing choking gas in the warehouse. Arron and I were trapped inside with a squad of Magehunters, some of whom evidently died from the gas. Arron was nearest the exit and could’ve made it out, but he came back to help me. We managed to stumble out of there, coughing and choking, lungs afire, only to find a second squad just showing up to arrest us. Jarl and Yeltin got away with the gems, and Arron and I got arrested and took the fall: theft, trafficking in illicit magic items, resisting arrest, causing the death of Special Judiciary officials… There were probably a few more charges, but I forgot. All this handed down at the behest of a very pissed-off chamberlain.”
“Who used his influence to impose the harsh sentences.”
“Aye, that he did.” Nera stared off into space, lost in her memory.
“What happened to Jarl and his crony?”
“According to Rollo, they slipped off plane. But I wouldn’t trust that arsehole any farther than I would a starving Canician to guard a loaded-down banquet table.” Nera’s eyes glowed like embers in her anger. “Rollo could be protecting them, for all I know. If our paths cross again, I’m gonna have me some words with them. That’s Sabyl’s own truth.”
“I thought you were over it?” Malek couldn’t resist the barb.
“I was until you brought it back up, you arse.” Despite her words, Nera couldn’t resist a sad smile. “I couldn’t of done it, luv. Ninety-eight more years.” Nera let out a breath and shook her head. “You know what, though? If I had to do it over again, I still would’ve tried to sell off those gems—we’re talking enough clink for a lifetime there. The only difference is I would have sunk a knife in each of those double-crossing bastards—right in the calves—to prevent them from fleeing and let them take the fall.” Nera cleared her throat and glanced at Malek, appearing self-conscious. “Listen to me runnin’ on at the mouth like a drunken bard. Enough about me… So what’s our next move?”
The Twilight City Page 15