Yes, 'think'. Chapter two at least stops earlier in my notes than intended. If it feels right, I go with it, and this felt right. Hopefully other people feel that way too.
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CHAPTER TWO
“She got the wrong one.”
Disbelief rang through Kett's tone as she surveyed their mark with a furtive frown. Her slight, deft hands lingered over the smooth oak panelling of the chest before her; one of many sat upon the laden cart. Flung open, it seemed to contain nothing bar the heady scent of recently-carved wood. She toyed in vain, as though searching for a switch, for the trick that would dispel this certain illusion. There was nothing.
“Empty, is it? I'd say you've been had, girl.”
The ruffian's gruff voice did not raise the smaller girl's ire as it had Alicia's, drawing but a distracted nod of concerned assent. Before she could speak further, a brief commotion sounded from nearby.
“Ali...”
Kett's soft warning ceased the actions of her companion, his hand stopping halfway to his shoulder – where the thick haft of a hammer emerged. Ugly, calloused knuckles clenched instead against the nape of his neck, idly massaging at some nagging knot.
“Keep your voice down, ox,” muttered the redhead as she slipped from the darkness at the street's edge, the lash of her cloak sounding louder than catlike steps over the drumming of the rain.
She paused beneath the flicker of lamplight, taking in the tableau; sly, diminutive Kett beside the busy line of carts parked along the cobbles, the tall wall of a minor noble's manor looming behind. Disregarding their bodyguard, her gaze settled on the bared oak chest. In the darkness of her hood, a narrow eyebrow raised.
“Problem?”
“Big,” came the response, so reactive and candid that it drew a sharp smirk from the taller girl. Striding forward, she surveyed the empty container, any pleasantry immediately dying upon her lips.
“It's the wrong one, Ali.”
That drew only a single shake of the head, the denial absolute. Shifting abruptly, Alicia sprang for the head of the cart, stepping alongside the driver's stool and bending to reach beneath it. She fumbled for just a moment before producing, in the wake of a telltale click, a tightly-rolled and sealed scroll. That they'd planned on striking rich tonight was as much common knowledge as anything could be within Eastport's underworld; but only a handful knew of this – their foremost goal.
“We still have the deeds,” breathed Kett as her friend rejoined her upon the cobbles. Momentarily she reached toward the scroll, until it disappeared inside a fold of Alicia's cloak, her hand diverting instead to her hood – busying itself tucking away a wayward strand of damp blonde hair.
“We do. It could be worse.”
“Oh, it's worse.”
The gruff interjection stole both girls' attention, eyes of piercing green and soft brown whipping as one not to the speaking thug – but to where his own stare was held riveted, perhaps fifty yards down the cobbles where the street twisted into its neighbour.
Any who deal in the still of night learn too well the sight of encroaching torchlight; so, too, the stamping of maille-clad feet that accompanies it. Estan's guard were nothing if not predictable.
Kett was first to react, flinging back each side of her oiled cloak to reveal the hilts of twin shortswords; the distinctive weapons of an Utheri nomad.
“Fighting, is it? Thought that was my job...” Their supposed bodyguard trailed off with a throaty chuckle, winning another flare of Alicia's temper.
“Laugh all you like, ox! You'll be getting paid no more than the rest of us if we're run through.”
“Don't need to tell me twice, girl.” The brute's reply this time was calm, thick-fingered hand finally moving from his neck to take up the length of his workman's hammer. It came free from its harness with a pronounced rush of displaced air, the heavy head swinging free. “This is how I win my bloody bread.”
“You'll keep us covered?” Asked Kett, pausing with a hand upon each hilt, gaze darting from the approaching men – a dozen, at least, by her count.
“Now's not the time to question his damned motives, Kett. He stays. We go. Now!”
Alicia's haste was infectious, her sudden lunge toward the manor wall carrying the little nomad in her wake. Within a moment they both perched upon the slick stone, mismatched gargoyles surveying the scene as the guards closed in on the single, burly figure below. Kett darted away, tracing the high, narrow path toward the skyline – but Alicia...
She remained behind just long enough to catch their bodyguard's resolute gaze and raise a hand to her shrouded forelock, offering in parting the respect she'd neglected to extend during their bitter alliance.
“Somebody betrayed us,” Kett breathlessly uttered as her friend caught up with her upon the wall, “That's the only way this makes sense.”
"Can't be many who even knew. You, me, Pate, and Nenwe. Jerros, maybe."
"Or Darik, Ali. He's the only one who--”
"Who's been like a father to me?” It came quick, and harsh, accompanied by an out-thrust hand that took the smaller girl by the shoulder, spinning her about. “Who took us both in when we had nothing else?"
They stood silhouetted in the hazy moonlight, eyes locked and bodies perilously still but for the windbound flapping of their cloaks; Alicia the portrait of barely-harnessed rage, Kett merely disquieted, and also first to move, shoulders shifting in a gentle shrug.
"I'm just trying to work this out. We're all loyal to each other, and always have been. If one of us turned, that changes everything; gods, we can barely trust ourselves..."
A tremor in her tone betrayed the emotion beneath relative serenity. That they'd be forced to mistrust one another would mean the world to either girl. They'd spent their lives together, as inseparable as the Guild and the shadows, at once complement and foil to the other's foibles. Both had been orphans, both outlanders abandoned to hostile streets, and both had risen to prominence – together – amidst the myriad trials of the underworld. Alicia held complete trust in only two people, and the usually-cheerful girl was one of them.
A fearful resignation sunk the fiery vagabond's posture as she lowered her piercing glare.
"Let's just... see this night through, and go from there. For now, we go to ground."
"I can't--”
"No more words. We get through this.”
The last fell in a rush from grimacing lips as the vagabond tumbled from the wall, catching the outermost edge with an extended palm. Propelled like a dart, she disappeared into the tangled murk of the manor gardens with a faint rustle of disturbed undergrowth.
Kett waited only for a sigh to depart before she followed, an easy-echoed ghost of her fellow, through the same daring dive then headlong across the ground, plunging through shadowy brush with swift and weaving steps. It was a dance they'd executed countless times, always within a few paces of each other, and tonight was scant different; though enough that the little nomad stumbled just once, her cheek snaring upon a bramble, hood pulling free as she twisted away. She felt her long, blonde braid tumble into her wake, but sternly suppressed the distraction to stagger on...
When she burst with a gasp from the outer treeline, it was to the greeting of rough digits upon her cheek. Her heart-shaped face leaking sanguine in the gloom, she glanced upward, meeting a familiar scowl.
“No more blood, either.”
The scowl became a smirk as Alicia wiped the ichor away and replaced the smaller girl's shroud with a quick flip and tug, setting it in place with the air of a long-suffering sibling. Kett couldn't help but flash a grin.
“Something tells me you'll regret those words.”
No comment spilled forth in reply, only a sly narrowing of green eyes and a sharp cant of the head; indicating the street sat in apparent slumber behind the redhead's shoulders. Flame still smouldered on the eastern skyline, the echo of shouted chaos reaching their ears from the dockside. Plentiful hubbub to distract from further activity, it would be a reassurance had they not been forced to flee once already.
As both turned away, there was agreement in their stare and their step. Speed was of the essence.
Haste could be the last thing on Edrin Veilor's mind as he paced the flagstones of his chamber within the duke's palace. The king's ambassador was confined by a delusional maniac's whim, though could give some small thanks he was at least a prisoner of comfort. Lacquered shutters kept the wind and rain at bay, and a fire smouldering against one wall lent the cushioned furnishings an enticing warmth. Conceding to this, he'd bundled his cloak and armour in a chest, stretching out his tall, powerful frame as he stepped to and fro.
A din clamoured intermittently from beyond the bolted door, the guest chambers well-appointed but distractingly close to a central thoroughfare. The stamp of maille-clad feet resounded with jeers and the high whining of men begging for freedom – a side-effect of the thieves already apprehended by Estan's scheme.
Edrin cursed inwardly; this was, in some sense, precisely what the king had asked for. The neighbouring cities of Eastport and Farron had both fallen victim to their seedy underbellies in recent years, tribute all but halting as efforts were expended instead upon taming the wild harmony of criminals in concordance. That the ambassadorial visit would bring even one of these groups to heel was a triumph...
But the circumstance would have raised suspicion even without the duke's aggressive gloating. The attacked fleet belonged to a nation of which they knew little, but whose promises of trade – made in return for a small apportionment of farmland to the west – could form politically vital. This endangered plans that were beyond even the ken of the king. A fact to which the decadent, overweight Gustav should be ignorant.
Gripping his temples, Edrin sank into a chair beside the fireplace. His eyes, bloodshot as they almost invariably were, had begun to sting; the first sign of an incessant ache that always bothered him in times of stress. No, he inwardly assured himself, breathing deep and forcing calm. This was not a time to rush.
This was a time to dream.
Alicia's heel struck stone hard enough to send a tremulous burst of agony through her calf. Spread-eagling, she skidded upon loose cobbles, turning on both feet and one extended hand to make the next corner with full expediency. Her reward was the last thing she'd have wanted; four men, armed and in armour.
Hissing in frustration, she hastily rounded, barely missing Kett as the little nomad caught her.
“Guards!”
They'd been evading them since they left the manor-strewn hillside above the docks, moving through the initial calm to find the city streets transformed in their tension to a veritable maze of chainmail. Whatever assistance Estan's men had received was thorough, indeed. They seemed to know precisely where the girls were going, even when they changed direction.
“Behind us, too.”
Shaking her head fiercely, Alicia seized her companion by the arm and bolted across the open street. A merchant town that spread languidly into a city, Easport was laid out in piecemeal fashion, all tangled warrens and looping throughways. Though they'd been headed away from the docks, a small road here – commonly known as Fisherwive's Stroll – twisted around toward the opposite side of the docks, where the fire should not have reached. It was their path to another, known by more vainglorious souls as the Thieves' Way.
Edrin's dreams had been disturbed of late. When he slept, he found himself within a cool, dank cave, knowing without being told that he dwelt some number of miles beneath the worm-rich soil. A place undisturbed for years, isolated from the petty grievances of humanity. Untarnished by war, and not even aware of the commonly-dwindling belief in the so-called 'gods', Edrin's first thought was – as ever – that this place was a santuary to be respected and preserved.
His second was always a rankling, afeared disgust that a single candle burned in the solitude.
That dancing flame sat in the smallest of alcoves, a natural inlet just wide and deep enough to accept a child's hand. The profane nub of wax had nowhere to leak, melting again and again into its own mass, the wick an ever-burning loop spun through it.
And the heat! At times he recalled reaching out, to try and remove this symbol of man's terror against nature, to stub out the light and once more chill the air. Tonight, as he had only once or twice before, he was able to bring his trembling fingertips into contact with the deformed candle. There was a precious moment where it seemed not to burn, allowing him the illusion of victory before it spat and hissed a bitter defiance.
With a cry, so alien and unwanted in the seclusion of the cave, he pulled his fumbling fingers away. Edrin brought them to his face, blackened but for the tips, which were somehow seared instead to glossy, reddish lumps. At their very ends, he saw inscribed a seal; familiar yet profoundly distant.
On awakening, pale and shaken, he wracked his brain for the elusive identity of that fleeting image. Tonight, for the first time, he found it.
“Ali!”
The dual breath of unsheathing steel punctuated Kett's cry as she danced frantically toward the ocean's edge. Alicia flung herself away from the out-thrust spear and spun to join her, the closing crescent of guards spreading wider as two more joined them to make a round half-dozen. Passing Fisherwive's Stroll had been easy enough; but this was the welcome they'd found.
Each man was armoured head to toe, bearing both shield and polearm with at least moderate expertise. Laden as they were, either girl could outrun them regardless, but they'd been hounded to a standstill. Mouth setting grimly, Kett tightened her grip upon her blades as Alicia scanned her peripherals with a snarl. Behind them, waves smashed against the fringe of the harbourside, rendering the rough stone slick and perilous. This realization had barely occurred when the crescent of guards became a loose circle, penning off even an escape into the raging ocean.
“If you've got any bright ideas...”
“Not me,” the redhead responded brusquely, pulling the dagger from her hip, “Just hold them.”
With barely enough time for an assenting nod, Kett was forced to raise a guard. Metal screamed against its brethren, forcing the little nomad to widen her stance as the impact almost floored her. But her blades, unusually thick and broad for their length, were designed for strength over speed. Footsoldiers of Utheras often fought mounted foes, and favoured swords that could block and entrap heavier weapons. Though she was far from her homeland, this technique had served Kett well.
Gritting her teeth, she twisted into her right hip, grounding hard into her rear leg to carry the force required to shatter sodden wood betwixt her paired and crossed blades. The shocked guard stumbled, and barely evaded the return cut from the girl's left blade.
He was less lucky with the lunging thrust from below, as Alicia capitalized on the instant to drive her daggertip clear through iron links into tender flesh and muscle. Momentum forced her to leave her weapon lodged behind as she continued beneath Kett's outflung arm to rise upon her opposing flank. Through no mere trick of fortune this placed her before a second guard's assault – aimed to surprise her companion as she had his.
It was almost perfect; but her timing was off by a fraction, and she met the spear chest-first, sharpened iron finding her sternum through the dismal layering of cloak and tunic, blood spouting through the dark cloth. Acting instinctively, she seized both hands upon the shaft and spun about, flinging her armoured foe headlong into those closing from the ocean side.
And then the pain sent a jarring pulse through her brain, lights flashing in her vision. Her legs buckled, and a breathless Kett barely parried the strike that would have claimed her, each now shielding the other with their body as their five remaining foes reassembled.
“We can't keep doing this,” murmured the nomad, risking a concerned look askance to her wounded friend. “They're too many. We need a way through.”
Steeling herself after a moment's respite, Alicia appeared more confident than seemed justified, a flame dancing in green eyes as she glanced between the nearest pair of guards. Her reply came as she began to move once more, blood striking the floor along with her boots.
“You should have more faith.”
Two things happened at once; the fiery vagabond all but threw herself toward the two men blocking off the sea, and another hooded figure interposed itself between Kett and the remaining three. She had time to echo the guards' confusion with a frown before the keen, slender blade of a rapier – a nobleman's weapon – gleamed in the air, and battle was rejoined. The figure, nondescript in stature and garb, moved with an unerring grace and accuracy she'd seen in precious few. His blows came with technique and precision, and he evaded those of others with a nonchalant agility bred through years of practice. Not for the first time, she reflected that Darik Stenman could have passed for a hero were he not the scarred ringleader of a band of brigands.
Whirling away from this timely intercession, the diminutive Utheri sprang to join Alicia at the water's edge. The ambush had served her well, one guard disarmed and bending desperately to retrieve his spear while the other was skidding on the cobbles in an attempt to keep up with the darting evasions of Darik's protégé. Kett stepped forward into a kick, smashing the first man's helmet into the bridge of his nose and immediately grounding to spring at Alicia's tormentor. Her high leap disguised two rapid cuts in its spin, the first caught on his shield but the second tearing at the gorget; bruising his throat if not baring it.
It was enough. Brutal by contrast to the nomad's finesse, Alicia dove against the man's legs. Scrambling upright as they both hit the ground, she brought an elbow down across the windpipe – once, twice, and thrice.
Wasting no more time in their escape, Kett caught the redhead's wild gaze, inclined her head with a small, good-humoured smile and took a dive of her own.
Into the ocean.
Pushing herself to her feet, Alicia expelled a breath and looked quickly toward the Guildmaster. Darik's deadly dance had carried him away from the harbourside, where he still traded exploratory strikes with two of the men. For an instant she distantly supposed that she should worry for his safety and well-being, that this might be the last time they'd see one another. Perhaps a daughter of his blood would. But Alicia's feeling, as she turned toward the frothing tumult to follow Kett, was one purely of relief.
Her 'father' had not betrayed her.
I was hooked from the very beginning, I patiently waited for the second chapter which I intently read.
ReplyDeleteTo end it with such a cliff hanger though is a sure way to make sure people come back to read the next one.
So far I love it and can't wait to read more...