Tibs watched the Omegas work on locks and triggers as he walked among them; feeling like he was failing with them.
They were bad. Nearly without a fault, each of them would end up in a cell, or dead, if they were to attempt them outside of training. Worse than that, few of them seemed to enjoy handling the lockpicks and small tools. More girls than boys, and with a few exceptions, they were the smaller of the urchins. The broader and taller of them seemed to be the ones enjoying the training.
Tibs stopped a small girl from throwing the lock in anger. He didn’t comfort her, ask her name, or about how she’d become a war urchin. She wouldn’t survive her first run, even if the others on her team tried to keep her alive; she didn’t want to be here.
He crouched and did his best to explain how to notice when she placed too much tension on the pry tool; when the pin clicked in place. What locking the pin in place meant. He didn’t ask what she wanted. He didn’t engage in conversation. He instructed her.
He continued as he felt eyes on him. An instructor, by the concentration of essence. He didn’t care if they objected to him helping. They were forcing boys and girls who had done nothing to deserve it to walk into a dungeon with barely the skills needed to survive.
Short of them forcefully throwing him out, Tibs would use the little free time he had to increase the odds they would survive.
Even if he was doomed to fail.
When the lock clicked open, she sighed dejectedly. No joy at the accomplishment. No looking at Tibs for his opinion on her performance. She closed it up and started picking it again.
Tibs hadn’t been present when the instructions were given, but each potential rogue only had one lock instead of a box with a variety of them. Of course, his training had consisted of the old trainer pointing them to such boxes and telling them to get to it. Here, the instructors did occasionally assist someone.
Tibs stood to let her continue the practice, and an instructor nodded to him before continuing on her way. She reached a small boy struggling with a trap’s trigger and crouched, explaining something in whispers.
Had the only qualification to be determined as a rogue been that they were small? Was the guild hoping Sto would weed out those without the temperament to be rogues? Would they let any train for another class if they demanded it?
This… did not make sense to him, unless all the urchins were here for was to feed the dungeon.
Another instructor noticed him and said nothing.
Tibs stopped by a boy of his height, looking determined, as he used the thin tension bar to feel inside the trigger. It clicked, and a pin snapped out of the side. If this had been part of a trap, it would have activated. The boy looked around, sighing, and handed him the trap on seeing him there.
Tibs reset it and handed it back. The boy got back to work.
Maybe this one had a chance.
* * * * *
Tibs glanced over his shoulder at the time shield, then what was left of the dragon crest for him to complete.
“I won’t be done in time,” he announced, rotating a series of two-by-two grids to move the last piece of the dragon’s left horn into place. A secondary aspect to the lock that had only become apparent once he started solving it; was identifying what pieces went where within the crest. Was that the end of a claw? The tip of a wing, or, as it had turned out to be, the end of the horn.
This was like picture puzzles, but he couldn’t simply put the pieces where he thought they went and see. He had to use the spins to move them where he wanted.
“Oh, really?” Don said. “Just why are we—”
“Don,” Jackal warned, and the one word was enough to silence the sorcerer.
Tibs didn’t look away from the crest, maneuvering a piece he thought was the base of the horn, but the step back Don took would also have him looking as if he’d been struck, the sneer shattered into the more common meekness and uncomfortableness. He didn’t often show hints of who he’d been, but stress, pain, and annoyance brought that side of him to the surface.
And this run had brought plenty of each for all of them.
Sto had increased how strong the creatures roaming the halls were. Ganny had switched the triggers around so that Tibs had to relearn them, and on top of not all caches containing loot, the loot they found was suspiciously low in potions, so that other than Tibs surreptitiously healing his friends, they had to carry many of the injuries throughout the run.
Jackal had been particularly affected by the lack of loot. At the fourth empty cache, he’d screamed at Sto, and Don had stared at the fighter, then had looked baffled that he was the only one reacting to the insane behavior.
Sto hadn’t commented.
Tibs didn’t know if the dungeon was too busy working on the fourth floor, or if it was Tibs’s inability to speak with him because of Don, but other than to greet them, Sto had been silent. Tibs didn’t even know if the dungeon was watching them.
“So, are we staying past the limit?” Mez asked. He sat on the floor, his injured leg stretched and his eyes closed. Beyond the poor healing Tibs performed, since he couldn’t just make the wound disappear, exhaustion was the main consequence of the reduced potions. Tibs couldn’t take away his friend’s fatigue without letting Purity work into them, and that would heal everything it could.
The essence refilling potions hadn’t gone down as fast since only Don and Mez made constant use of them. Tibs had too much of a reserve for them to matter, Jackal barely expended any, since he used it internally, and Khumdar was skilled at not wasting his.
“You think you’ll have it finished close to the end of our run?” Jackal asked. “It’d be good to at least see what’s inside so we can prepare.”
Tibs looked at the slightly more than half of the crest he’d assembled and shook his head. “I don’t know if the method I’m using to move the pieces around will work once I’m down to the lasts. The less space I have, the more complex it’s going to get.”
“Get as much done as you can, so you can figure that out. Then we’ll head back.” Jackal looked at the ceiling. “You know, putting doorways near these crests would make it things easier for us.”
“Why do you do that?” Don asked, sounding annoyed and worried.
“Makes me feel better?” Jackal replied, and Tibs heard the smirk.
“There’s nothing there!” the sorcerer snapped. “All it’s doing it making you look daft to the rest of us.”
“That means stupid, right?” again, smirk was audible in the fighter’s voice.
“Yes!”
“Then it’s fine.” Now it was a shrug.
“How is that fine?” Khumdar asked. “Have you not told Kroseph that you were going to be smarter now that you have promised to be there for him?”
“I promised to try to be smarter about stuff, but he knows that only goes so far.”
“How are you okay with following a leader who acts like that?” Don demanded.
“Why?” Jackal asked sickeningly sweet. “You think they should be following you?”
“Well, at least I wouldn’t—” the sorcerer’s voice broke. “I mean I wouldn’t—” nervousness gave way to meek fear. “I shouldn’t…”
“Don,” Mez said, his tone understanding. “We’re used to Jackal’s ‘I’m the biggest idiot on this side of the abyss’ act.”
“Hey, I’m the biggest idiot on both sides of the abyss,” Jackal replied severely. “And it’s not an act.”
Tibs chuckled.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Mez said.
* * * * *
The ice cracked and cracked again as Tibs leaned against the house’s wall, fighting the anger as he caught his breath.
That had been too close. He looked at the long cut starting over his heart and going to his side, growing deeper as it progressed. Abyss, far too close.
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And the would-be assassin hadn’t come out of nowhere to cause this. Tibs had sensed the faint essence in the alley as he turned into it, but he’d dismissed it as one of the townsfolk relieving himself after too many drinks.
He hadn’t considered there might be another attempt on his life after that previous one. The guards were stopping any trouble makers that stepped off the platform; his rogues hadn’t mentioned having to stop anyone for days now. The guards were only stopping the sloppy ones, and those left were skilled enough to give his rogue the slip.
And to nearly kill Tibs.
Abyss that fight had been too close. Too hard. He had elements. He should have brought her down the instant he’d realized she wasn’t what he’d thought. But she’d pressed him so hard he hadn’t had time to think, only react. Even avoiding the killing strike had been more reflex than actual defense. He’d been slow in blocking it, hadn’t realized what her target had been in the chaos of defending himself, and his knife had only pushed the sword to the side because the motion had already been started.
He’d been stupid! More than Jackal stupid!
More cracks spread and he focused on that, ignoring the blood flowing out of the deep cut.
How could he have grown so confident that he’s let someone like her, someone without an element, nearly kill him? How could he have let Sebastian escape when he’d torched so much, only to let him then kill Carina? Why hadn’t he gone into the camp to end him when he’d arrived?
He knew why; he was able to admit, once most of the cracks were filled and the anger was back to an ember. How many Runners had died on that first night of the assault? When Sebastian shouldn’t have been ready for a sneak attack. Only, as usual, the man had been ready. How he’d been ready, Tibs hadn’t worked out until after he’d killed him and all his sorcerers. They’d been strong enough to keep him from using essence to save Carina. Keeping the other runners from using their elements would have been simple.
Once he could think, the pain registered, and he made a weave of Purity to heal the wound. He kicked the body before pulling it deeper into the shadows. He searched it and came away with three silver and seven coppers, the sword and a knife. He pocketed the coins, and the weapons he’d add to the training supplies.
What he didn’t find was an indication of who had paid her. Sebastian was the one responsible, but he was dead, so someone else was hiring all these killers and trouble makers.
Jackal didn’t know who. His father had lieutenants and gang bosses who might handle that. But the fighter hadn’t wanted to be involved in his father’s business, so he’d paid as little attention to who and why and how his father hired help.
Tibs stood and pulled in his sense to a dozen people deep. Having to focus on a smaller area meant he could pay attention to the details. And he paid attention to all of them as he headed to his hidden supplies.
He would not be taken unawares again.
* * * * *
“Darran, my good friend!” Jackal exclaimed as he and Tibs stepped into the shop.
The merchant was on alert. “Greetings.” He glanced at Tibs, who shrugged. Jackal had asked him along, and lied when he’d explained he needed him to keep the merchant honest. Tibs hadn’t pressed and followed.
“I have a question for you.”
Cautiously, the merchant answered, “I shall endeavor to provide you with an answer.”
“Perfect!” Jackal rested his elbows on the wooden counter. “Let’s say that I’d gotten my hands on some dungeon made enchanted pieces of armor. What would you say to that?”
“I would say that you have handed it to the guild, as you are required to. Unless you paid what they asked; then I’ll say you were swindled.”
“I’d never pay what they want,” Jackal stated. “But what if… oh, what if I’d come up with a way to sneak something out of the dungeon without getting caught by the guild?”
Tibs stared at Jackal. He couldn’t seriously plan to tell Darran about his pouch. The merchant wouldn’t be able to stop himself from asking questions.
Darran’s gaze flicked to Tibs. “I would say that you are playing a dangerous game, if you have indeed attempted it.”
“Succeeded at it.” Jackal grinned. “Can you find me a buyer willing to pay good coins? You’d get your cut, obviously.”
Darran considered them. “A buyer, I can find without trouble. The quality of the coins will depend on what you are offering.”
“Like I said, dungeon made enchanted armor. A leather chest piece. Plain looking and enchanted to be tougher and slowly repair itself.”
“That won’t attract the highest quality, but there is alway someone interested in acquiring dungeon made items, since the guild limits their availability. So long as you can prove it came from the dungeon.”
“My word’s not enough?” Jackal asked, offended.
“I only need your word. Unfortunately, the collectors of such items demand more than the word, twice removed, of a Runner.”
“I don’t know how to prove it came from there.” Jackal looked at Tibs. “Other than asking the guild.”
Tibs shrugged. How did Jackal expect him to help?
“An expert can be brought in,” Darran said.
“For coins,” Jackal added, and the merchant nodded.
“How can a sorcerer tell if it’s from the dungeon?” Tibs asked.
“It won’t be a sorcerer,” Darran replied. “Jackal can’t afford one of them for what he’s describing. But they are tools that let scholars see the weave of an enchantment, and with enough knowledge of the dungeon, they can match the item to it. Which raises another issue. With the dungeon being so young, I don’t know of anyone outside of the guild who has studied it, and they are as tight-lipped about their findings on dungeons as they are closed fisted about the items they hoard.”
“You’re saying there’s no way I can get good coins,” Jackal said, tone suspicious.
“I’m saying there is no way, now, for you to get better than good coins for it. How long can you hold on to it? In a few years, scholars will go in weekly with teams for protection. They’ll study what makes this dungeon itself, rather than some other dungeon. With the knowledge they will accumulate, it will be possible to show this is where your item came from.”
“In a few years,” Jackal said, “I’ll be taking stuff out from deeper floors. If I’m even doing runs anymore. I’ll be an adventurer by then.”
“That is certainly the conundrum you are facing. But it will still be worth more than is it now.”
Tibs watched Jackal think, wrestle with his greed. More coins were always better to him, but coins now were also a good thing. “How much would you give me?”
“I’ll have to see it to say,” Darran answered. None of the joy Tibs expected the merchant felt was visible. “I do promise to give you a fair price for what you show me.”
“A merchant’s promise,” Jackal said dubiously.
“A friend’s promise,” Darran countered.
“A merchant’s promise,” Jackal repeated in the same dubious tone.
“My friend,” Tibs said. He might not trust the merchant with everything, but he considered him among the friends he had in Kragle Rock.
“Tibs’s friend’s promise.” Jackal considered it. “I can take that. When do you want me to bring it?”
At least he wasn’t taking it out of the pouch right now.
“It might be simpler for me to stop by the inn. I expect your man is aware of what you are doing, and can keep it somewhere discreet, where I will be able to look it over.”
Tibs wondered how pleased Kroseph would be. He knew about the pouch and that Jackal was sneaking items out of the dungeon, and he had to know he planned on selling them, but Jackal’s man was nowhere near as greedy as the fighter.
* * * * *
The knock pulled Tibs out of his thoughts.
He’d been lying on his bed, the only one occupied in his team’s room at the moment, waiting for sleep to pull him under. He’d prefer using Purity to do away with the need for sleep, but that required suffusing himself with the element, and for that, he needed to let go of Water, and that meant feeling everything.
Don stood on the other side of the door once he opened it.
“I need a bed,” the sorcerer said in the stretching silence.
“Why?”
“This is our team’s room, isn’t it?” the sorcerer snapped. “I have a right to a bed here.”
Tibs stepped out of the way, and Don didn’t seem to know what to do. He studied Tibs suspiciously, then attempted a smug expression, only for his shoulders to sag, look to the stairs, sigh, then step into the room.
He mumbled something as Tibs closed the door.
“I said I’m sorry for snapping,” Don snapped, turning to face Tibs, and then seem to realize Tibs hadn’t said anything and looked confused.
Tibs shrugged. He knew Don’s behavior was offensive, but he didn’t care. “Take any of them except the ones at either ends, and that one.” He pointed to the bed next to his as he headed to his.
Jackal and Mez spent their night with their special someones now, or at least at her house, in Mez’s case. Tibs didn’t know if the archer did anything with his girl. He no longer talked about her or his time there, and she hadn’t stepped outside the noble’s neighborhood since Sebastian’s assault.
“What happened to your room?”
Don checked the firmness of both mattresses before sitting on what had been Mez’s. “I was kicked out.”
“Didn’t you have the coins?”
“Yes, I have coins,” he replied angrily. “I’m not like Jackal and always spending my money. The owner of the house wouldn’t let me pay for the floor. Said he’s got better prospects coming. He forced me to take all our possessions out and now I’m… here.” He pulled his knees to himself and rested his head on them.
“You paid for a floor?”
“You think I was going to stay in a place like this any longer than I had to?” The look Don gave him was defiant, but didn’t last.
“I didn’t know we could do that.”
“You can do anything your money lets you do,” Don snapped angrily.
“Where’s your stuff?”
“I leased space in a warehouse until I…” he rubbed at his eyes. “Until I contact the other’s families and find out what they want to happen to their things.”
Tibs nodded. “There’s space in the chest. I’m the only one who uses it now, and I don’t have much more than my armor in it.” He stretched out.
“Why didn’t you tell me to go fuck myself?”
“You’re on the team. This is our room.”
“How are you so fucking calm about this? You wanted nothing to do with me when I—when Tirania put me on your team.”
Tibs closed his eyes. “I’m calm about this because I don’t think the town will survive if I stop being calm about anything.”
* * * * *
It happened surrounded by people.
Tibs had watched a group appear on the platform. They were too old to be runners, dressed too well. Some were dressed the way nobles did, but they, too, were under guard. The guards also looked better than the ones Tibs was used too. Their armors polished even where they were dented, and the overcoats colorful with drawing on them.
Instead of heading along Dungeon Way, the group was led into the town, and Tibs lost interest in them, turning and heading back to the inn. He had papers to deal with. Kroseph’s father joked Tibs should rent a room and make it his office, for all the time he spent working at the table.
Tibs had sensed at the crowd surrounding him, all normal people, but he knew better, so remained alert for any who didn’t move through it as they should.
The problem with a room was the implication he could leave his papers there when he didn’t work. No room in the inn would be as secure as Tibs keeping the satchel on him or in his room in the rooming house. He also didn’t want to work on them alone. Kroseph wouldn’t be able to force him to stop and eat.
The crowd had become thicker by the time the rowdiness started. Tibs sensed in the direction of the shouts as his fingers slipped into a pocket. He pulled out coppers, then was shoved as everyone stepped away from more shouts—a fight had broken out. He regained his footing and moved with it. He sensed an unoccupied alley, and the crowd was moving in that direction. He’d slip into it once—
The crowd stopped and Tibs bumped into the person ahead of him. His fingers came out of the pocket holding coins, then they slipped out of them as pain erupted in his back. An arm was around his chest, pulling him out of the crowd toward that alley he’d intended to go to. Another shove at his back, more pain and now, under the arm dragging him, a forearm’s worth of the end of a blood covered sword was visible.
“Sebastian sends his regard,” a man whispered in Tibs’s ear.
And a beat later, Tibs fell.