Year 3043 AGD
Month: New Year
Second Day
Continent of Terroval
City of Safeharbor
Cliff’s End
Nim’s mansion
Dawn brought a new sense of life to the place, the crisp sea air seemingly full of the winds of change. Victor awoke feeling as if the world were a shining, new place to explore, and he wanted to see every inch of it. Lia sensed that something was different and couldn’t help but giggle as Victor ran to the window, looking at the world outside from every angle he could manage. He dressed quickly, not the slightest bit bothered by Lia’s presence today.
Running downstairs, jumping and playing the whole way, he stopped to marvel at the statue in the entrance hall. He looked at the large cat, which Nim had identified as a lion, and then his gaze fell to the deer at the lion’s mercy. The meaning of the statue jumped out at him.
“You are either the hunter or the prey,” he whispered to himself and was startled to hear a now familiar voice behind him.
“Excellent, Victor. And which would you be? The deer? Or the lion.”
Victor looked at Nim as if the man had lost his mind. “I am the lion.”
Nim nodded, as if the answer had been clear. “Ah, yes, but if you are the lion… then who is the deer?” His smile barely touched his eyes.
Victor lost a bit of steam. He had not expected such a question. “What do you mean?”
Nim gestured towards the statue, and they both turned to look at it as he started talking again. “Well, the lion is considered an unyielding and ferocious predator, but he also defends his lands and protects his pride—his pride being the lionesses and any other male lions he allows to live in his zone of influence. In order to survive, they must eat. Unfortunately, it is the deer and others like it that end up as lunch. The lion feels no remorse for killing the animal, for it was simply doing what it needed to do to survive. The deer has done nothing to the lion; it was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“The deer represents those people who go through life carefree, not realizing that there is a predator just out of eyeshot. On the other hand, maybe they do realize it but simply choose to ignore it because it is easier to pretend that the danger isn’t there.”
He looked down at Victor. After a moment of silence, the boy turned to look up at him, a thoughtful expression lining his features.
“Are you following what I am saying, Victor? If you have any questions, ask them.”
“I think I understand. The lion is one who is doing right by himself and his pride, but he has to sacrifice the life of his prey to do so. I don’t understand what you mean by who the deer represents, though.” He examined the statue for another, silent minute, his face serious in thought. “Wait… the deer isn’t an enemy. It is just a means of survival, a needed loss in order to continue to exist. If the lion didn’t kill and eat, he would waste away and die or weaken and become prey to another predator.” Victor’s attitude that he had woken up with now began to take on a new light.
Nim stood there for a moment before giving his head a small shake of amazement. How many people would have seen through to the heart of it like that? Every time he talked to Victor, the child surprised him just a little bit more. “That’s right. The deer is just a means of survival, allowing the lion to be strong enough to face its foes."
“Of course, the lions on the other continents are nothing like the ones on Terroval. I saw one once on Telleros and tried to talk to it, but all it did was growl and then charge at me! Dispatching it was an easy matter, but I was so surprised by its aggression that I took a wound from the beast. I still have the scar.” He rolled up his right sleeve so that he could show it to Victor. Three long lines ran across his forearm where the lion had struck.
“I’ve found that most of the creatures in the rest of the world are nothing like those we have here. Somehow, the blood of the dragons—both the good and the bad—has run rampant on this continent, and nothing seems unaffected by it. Many of the creatures out there hate the Dracair as much as the rest of us, but some hate us as much as we hate the Dracair.
“We have a few allies, though. South of the great desert are the Lions of the Night, and east of those, the Lions of the Sky inhabit the rocky cliffs of the Sea of Turmoil. In the forests to the north there are the great packs of the Silver Wolves and the Twilight Wolves. West of the great desert, in the dense forests known to the Dracair as Death’s Edge, I have come across the Death’s Edge Wolverines. Their entire existence is built around rooting out evil and exterminating it from their territory by any means necessary. The wolverines are the only race of those I have mentioned who have not developed the ability of speech, but they are smart and won’t attack unless they smell the taint of darkness on you. Luckily for me, they seem to be able to somehow sense intent, as well, or I might not have made it out of there alive, being half dracairei, myself.”
Each creature spoken of had brought to mind another half dozen questions, but Nim raised a hand, forestalling Victor’s natural curiosity. “Later… you can ask me later, Victor. For now, it’s time for a light breakfast.”
Victor sniffed the air, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of bacon, and promptly forgot every question he had been about to ask. “Yes, breakfast sounds good.”
Nim had called it a light breakfast, but the meal laid out for them as they entered the dining hall was a grand display. Dishes of all kinds were piled high with a variety of delicious foods that Victor was sure would please a king. After everyone had their fill, the small group relocated to the back veranda, taking in the sea air as they overlooked the ocean. The veranda was just far enough back that the harbor walls were barely visible over the cliff’s edge. Everyone seemed content in their own thoughts as they watched the gentle rise and fall of the ocean waves.
The sun was halfway to its zenith when Bartholomew coughed lightly and informed the group that the tailor had sent more of the young masters’ clothing up. The packages had been left in the visitors’ room, which was located directly behind the lion statue. Having exited to the outside from a door in the kitchen earlier, the boys had yet to see the visitor’s room. Ashur looked at Nim and rolled his eyes, a knowing smile on his lips, when Nim opened the barely visible doors from the back veranda. It came as no surprise to either of the men when the boys both stopped dead in their tracks upon entering the room.
The boys were starting to realize just how much Nim enjoyed showing the world that he was fabulously wealthy and an exceptional artist. Over forty feet above their heads, a battle raged between angels and demons amidst storm clouds. As the door closed behind them, they looked upon a white, sandy beach on a clear summer’s day. The ocean disappeared into the distant blue-green sky of the horizon to the west. Facing the north wall, they saw what they would eventually learn was the elven capital, Eske’Taure, as it might be seen from a hilltop overlooking the great forest that surrounds it. On the opposite wall to the south stood a tropical rainforest, creatures of all types hidden within its untamed borders.
What really caught and held their attention immediately upon entering the room, however, was on the eastern wall: Draco’laire, as it might have looked thousands of years before the Blood Mages had stripped it of its beauty and turned it into the city now known as Siniquity. Giant structures reached for the clouds, gleaming golden as the sunlight tore through to look upon the majestic mountain city where dragons of all shapes, sizes, and colors roamed. Small forms along the sides of the streets ran errands for their draconic masters. It wasn’t until they realized that these tiny figures were made up of all the various races of Terrazil that the sheer magnitude of the once grand city truly came into focus.
Victor’s initial amazement kept his head swirling, trying to see the whole room at once before his thief’s instincts began to come to the fore. He was fairly certain that there were six points of egress from the room, all of which fit into place so nicely that they barely disrupted the effect of the giant murals. The east and west ends each held one—the west’s being the doors they had just entered through—and Victor assumed that the east door was behind the lion statue in the entrance hall. Eske’Taure, the elven city on the north wall, held two doors: one which led to the kitchens and another that led to the waiting room they had all been in the night before. Two large sets of double doors on the southern wall led to another room, or possibly two, that Victor had yet to see.
As they approached the center of the room, Victor noticed that not even the floor had escaped the obvious display of wealth. The floor tiles were polished granite that, while difficult to move, were probably the least ostentatious part of the room. No, what drew Victor’s eye was the symbol that appeared to be floating just off the floor in the center of the visitors’ room. When sitting on one of the oversized black velvet couches, the symbol would be clearly visible, displaying the allegiance of the house’s owner to any who entered.
“What’s this symbol?” Shawnrik asked, which had the other three people in the room looking at him funny. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! ‘Taint my fault I ain’t never seen it before!”
Before the two men could recover from what they obviously thought was a grievous oversight in the boy’s education, Victor jumped in to help his friend. “It’s alright, Shawn. It was just one of the first things I learned in school, but it’s not your fault that Walkins obviously didn’t have enough pride in his home city to teach his boys this.” Victor nearly fell into a dark state of mind thinking about his former mentor before he realized that he had not answered his friend’s question. “Okay, so… first of all, this is a knight’s shield, and you’ve more than likely seen this three-masted warship that’s on it out in the harbor before.
“Each of the sails holds a symbol for each of the branches of the Protectorate. On the first sail is a castle wall, the symbol for the knights—which you probably know, but what you might not know is that it symbolizes that each knight is a wall holding back the tide of darkness. The second sail, the one on the tallest mast, has a crown upon it symbolizing the Royal House of Terrazil. Obviously, the reason it’s on the tallest mast is because they are so much better than everyone else.” Victor rolled his eyes, displaying what he thought of that idea before he continued. “Upon the third sail are two open palms. The right palm holds a skeleton, and the left palm has a flower growing out of it. That is the symbol of the mages. If I remember correctly, this reminds them and everyone else that they have both the power to destroy and the power to create in the palms of their hands.
“Overlooking the warship—and, therefore, the three branches that are represented upon it—are the ever-vigilant eyes of the Protectorate. The right eye reflects a hand holding a lightning bolt, and the left reflects the scales of justice. These remind the branches of the Protectorate that they must be ever vigilant, ready to use force when needed but always with a level head. Together, all of it is the symbol for the city of Safeharbor.”
Nim nodded along with Victor’s comments before saying, “A bit of a simplified explanation, but accurate, nonetheless. I had this beautiful piece of work commissioned several years ago by none other than the arch magus himself. I’m told that the work behind it is extremely complex. In fact, I believe that I’m told that, usually repeatedly, every time I have a Shaper of any ability whatsoever in this room. You can walk through it if you wish. It won’t disrupt the thing.”
Victor didn’t have to be told twice; he moved into the field, amazement plain to see on his face. As he touched the energy of the shield that he could see but which was not technically there, a pulse of energy ran from his hand up into his neck. He could feel the magnitude of the will behind the creation of the symbol and the pride of the man who made it. The arch magus was a man that obviously loved his city and was more than honored to make such a thing, especially if the job put enough gold in the academy’s coffers to run it for a hundred years. How it was made was far beyond Victor’s understanding, however. All he could discern was that it had something to do with the refraction of light. He knew that as long as nothing disturbed the stones, the energies that were anchored to this Shaping would last a long time, possibly forever, if there was such a thing.
On the oversized couches were two brown, paper-wrapped packages. The clothing inside was a lot like that of the day before except, of course, it all would fit perfectly. There was a good variation in both shape and the quality of the material within. Some of the shirts had long sleeves and were of an exquisite quality, while the few with sleeves that stopped at the elbows were of a slightly rougher cloth. All of them were of a much finer quality than anything the boys had ever had before—even finer than the clothing Victor had worn when he’d lived with Shaylyn. There were a half dozen pairs of pants in all different shades of black and blue. Nim knew that the tailor must have had a dozen people working most of the night on the clothes, but he also knew that the money they had made for them would feed them all for months. There was a set of shirts in each of the boy’s bundles that had frills at the neck and wrists.
“Hey, Nim, I think they gave me a couple of girls’ shirts by accident.” Victor said, tongue-in-cheek, as he held up one of the shirts.
“Yeah, me too.” Shawnrik added, completely seriously. This caused a round of laughter that made Victor feel bad for his joke when, a moment later, Shawnrik realized he was the butt of one that he didn’t understand.
“That is actually the fashion at parties these days,” Nim explained to Shawnrik, poking Victor in his side as he said it.
“Yeah. Sorry, Shawn, I was making a joke. I have seen some people walking around in this junk when I was wandering the streets late at night.” He made an apologetic face to his friend.
“Oh, okay… yeah, I can see that now.” Shawnrik still looked like he was having a hard time believing that any man would wear a shirt like the one he was holding. “I guess.”
“I know how you feel, little man,” Ashur said, putting a hand on his shoulder, which actually wasn’t all that far down from his own. “I don’t like the frilly things, either, but you stand out in polite society if you don’t wear them.”
Having gone through the clothing and found it acceptable, Nim called for Lia and Megan to take the outfits up to the boys’ rooms and put them away. The boys went red-faced, protesting that they were fully capable of doing it themselves, but the girls gently took the packages, explaining that it was their job. After the twins left, Nim said that they had some planning to do, and that the best place to do planning was in the library.
Heading towards the southern doors, Nim reached into the trunk of one of the trees in the rainforest and swung the door open. The room they entered was a large, open space with a beautiful, wooden floor.
“This is the showroom. It’s where I like to show off my artwork to the rich and famous of the city. It’s also the place we hold ballroom dances and receptions if the weather is too cold.” Walking across the floor, the soles of their shoes making a sound that echoed throughout the room, they approached another door straight across from where they had entered.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The library was the largest room in the house, taking up half of the entire left side of it. A walkway about ten feet up ran around the room, serving as a second floor. Nim led them to the back of the room, where the same chessboard they had seen the night before was set up. Without another word, he and Ashur sat down at the table to begin a game. Victor and Shawnrik sat on a bench a few feet away, watching the two for a couple of minutes until they started to get bored.
“What are we doing?” Victor asked.
“We’re having a strategy session. This is where we plan out what we’re going to do,” Nim said, studying the board.
“Looks to me like you’re playin’ a game.” Shawnrik barely managed to not whine his complaint.
“Yes, it would seem like that to the untrained eye, but chess is a game of strategy, one in which you must anticipate your enemy by as many moves as you can.” Nim was speaking in a lecturing tone.
“What exactly are we planning? Can’t we just go in and talk with him?” Victor asked, also not understanding how this was going to help.
“They’re killing my concentration.” Ashur looked at Nim pleadingly, causing him to shrug in defeat.
“Fine, no chess today. First of all, Victor, what if you get there and the blood mages are waiting for you? What are you going to do? I know you’re good, but your skills are nowhere near those of a fully trained and practiced blood mage, are they?”
The last two words had sounded more like a direct question than a rhetorical one, so Victor shook his head no.
That headshake caused Nim to let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Siniquitans are a vicious lot as it is—conniving and deceitful. They are a big part of the continent’s slave trade, for Cypheria’s sake! Then we have to deal with Michael C. Walkins, known by you as Ol’ Man Walkins. He’s a whole heap of trouble even without the blood mages being added into the mix. You can’t just run into these things headfirst.”
Ashur laughed. “Yeah, no one’s ever done that before.”
Nim silenced him with a quick glare that both of the boys caught.
“Why not? You and Ashur do it all the time.” Victor knew what Ashur had meant and was now using it against Nim. Ashur let out a big guffaw, and Nim put his hand over his face.
“See what you did?” he said beneath his hand. “I try to teach the boys careful planning, and you have to go and mess it up.”
“It’s not like we know what careful planning is, anyway,” Ashur said truthfully. “I don’t think we’ve planned for any engagement in our lives. Just made sure we had enough food and water for a long trip and that our weapons were sharp. Hell, we go down hunting in those sewers and caverns Every other Eighthday, and I don’t remember ever strategizing over what we were gonna do first.”
“That’s because we’ve worked together for so long that we know what the other person is going to do, so we don’t need to talk about it. Now, we are bringing new people into the equation. We need to plan.” Nim knew that he was losing the argument, but he wanted to voice his opinion.
“We’ll figure it out as we go along,” Victor stated with finality, standing up from the table.
Nim threw his hands up in a concession of defeat. His first strategy session with the boys was a complete failure.
As the group made their way towards the Docks District, Victor looked at Nim. “So, where are you two going to be when Shawnrik and I go in?”
“See, these are the kinds of details that get covered in a strategy session,” he quickly retorted.
Shawnrik raised an eyebrow before looking at Ashur. “Is he pouting?”
“I am not pouting,” Nim said, crossing his arms in front.
“Well, if it isn’t called pouting, what’s it called? ‘Cause it doesn’t suit ya at all,” Ashur said as they rounded a corner.
“I am not pouting. I am simply saying that we could have had all of these details covered, and I want someone to admit that I’m right!”
“Fine. You’re right, Nim. Next time, we will have a better strategy session. As to what we are about to do, though… what are you guys going to do?” Victor couldn’t help the small grin that formed as Nim let out a small sigh.
“I still can’t believe you were pouting.” Ashur hung his head, acting like he was ashamed of his friend.
“I wasn’t pouting,” Nim huffed. “Ashur and I will be on the roof next door. If we hear or see anything funny going on, we’ll come in and assist. What’s your plan of engagement, Victor?”
“Oh, I don’t plan on getting married for a long time. Why, you have someone in mind?” Victor asked, clearly confused.
Nim shook his head. “Engagement… as in your attack plan. What do you plan on doing?”
“Well, you should have said ‘attack plan’. You made it sound like you wanted my plan for marriage.” Victor winked, letting him know that he knew what he had meant all along.
“Sharper… much sharper,” Ashur said, laughing as Nim gave him a dark look.
“Well, I figure that I will just walk in the front door. Maybe lead up with some talk about how there was another robber there and how he got to the manacles first. Then, I can say that Shawnrik and I were being chased, and we hid out until we thought it was safe. And then I’ll work in the harder questions.” Victor’s mind was working overtime, and he almost stepped in a steaming pile that a horse had thoughtlessly dropped a short while earlier.
“That sounds like a good plan,” Nim replied. “We should separate now. Ashur and I know the way to The Serpent’s Dagger. We’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, see you there.” The look he gave told Nim, don’t worry, I’ve got this.
Victor and Shawnrik continued down the street, heading towards their former home and the confrontation to come. A few blocks before The Serpent’s Dagger, Victor pulled Shawnrik into a small alcove, away from prying eyes. Pulling in the potential particles around them, he set about hardening their skin and clothes just enough to potentially limit the damage should they be hit by any sort of weapon. Next, he created two temporary traps that would only trigger under the right circumstances. The first was a simple Shaping that would create a quick but strong gust of wind to deflect any small projectiles away from the boys. The second was another simple yet effective trap. Its purpose was to absorb the kinetic energy from any impacts upon the boys’ skin or clothes. It would then re-purpose that energy into maintaining or renewing the other two Shapings. Shawnrik didn’t ask what Victor was doing. He never did. And Victor wasn’t in the mood to talk, anyway.
They arrived at The Serpent’s Dagger as the sun was nearing the horizon. They walked around the back and went up the stairs. Each of them took a deep breath as they reached the landing, and Victor reached out his hand to open the door.
Ol’ Man Walkins was sitting at the table, a deck of cards spread out before him. He looked up sharply when the door opened but smiled upon seeing Victor and Shawnrik entering. Victor saw it for what it was, though: a crooked grin that never seemed to reach his eyes. The fake smile dropped from his face when he saw the clothes that the boys were wearing and was replaced with a frown when he saw the scowl on Victor’s face.
“Boys! It’s good to see you. Where are the manacles?” His tone was jovial, but Victor watched his hand as it went under the table to slide the dagger that he kept there out of its sheath. Ol’ Man Walkins wouldn’t take any chances when dealing with Shawnrik or Victor. He had trained them too well for that.
“We don’t have the manacles,” Victor said bluntly. “You’ll have to tell the Siniquitans that we couldn’t get it.”
Shawnrik’s mouth fell open as his mind registered what his friend had just said. He had expected Victor to stick to what he’d told Nim he would do, but the plan had obviously changed somewhere between there and here. “Vic, what happened to playin’ it cool?” he hissed.
“Why, Victor, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Ignoring Shawnrik’s question, Walkins shook his head. “Who has filled your head with these lies? Tell me, and I’ll make sure they can’t do it again.”
“The only one telling me lies was you, old man.” Victor felt himself begin to seethe; then he remembered what Nim had said about doing this while in a rage. All of the anger bled out of him, and a strange calm suffused his body. His entire stance and demeanor changed, and he watched as Ol’ Man Walkins shifted uncomfortably. “What I want to know is if you had anything to do with the attack on my home. Did you have anything to do with driving Shaylyn away?”
Walkins had seen Victor ferret out lies when the kid knew what he was looking for, and he knew he dare not lie now. He had been warned about this boy. “Victor, I was just told that you would be on a certain street on that evening. I swear I didn’t know what they were going to do, and I have no idea where Shaylyn Arasmé is.”
“I believe you, and that may keep you alive,” Victor said without feeling. “Who was the mage who burned down my home?”
“I can’t tell you that, Victor. I’m not sure which one it was, and if I told you their names, they would kill me.”
“Alright. How many of the other kids here were orphaned by the mages… or because of you?” Victor stood still, a part of his mind at work gathering energy in case he needed it.
“All of them.”
Shawnrik tensed beside Victor. He was nearer to fourteen than thirteen, but most people would assume he was nearer to eighteen from his size. Walkins had taught both of them how to damage or kill someone with their bare hands alone. Neither of the boys was particularly skilled at it yet, but Shawnrik was only twenty pounds lighter than Ol’ Man Walkins, even if he himself didn’t realize it.
“Who killed my family?” Shawnrik asked through tight lips and clenched teeth.
Walkins looked back and forth between the boys, afraid of someone other than a blood mage for the first time in ten years. “It’s not that simple. Your p-parents owed money… and—”
“Who?” Victor asked quietly.
“I did.”
Shawnrik lunged at him, and Walkins threw his dagger. Both of them stopped in surprise when it seemed to take on a mind of its own, changing course at the last instant and ending its flight in a rafter beam above the boy’s head instead of in his eye. Ol’ Man Walkins recovered from the shock first and had another dagger out before Shawnrik made it across the room. Victor wasted no time, being the only one who wasn’t surprised when the dagger had gone astray. He bent his will into forming four small balls of force.
Walkins was getting ready to slash at Shawnrik when he suddenly found himself flipping over the chair he had been sitting in moments before. He reached down, using the top of the chair to control his descent, twisting in the air and coming down on his feet. He pulled another dagger out and threw it at Victor. Victor was ready for it, already on the move as the dagger left his old mentor’s hand, the point ending up stuck in the door where Victor’s back had been a moment before.
Shawnrik charged into Walkins, taking a strong left hook in his shoulder as he did so. It wasn’t enough to stop the young man, though, and the old man once again found himself weightless before slamming into one of the support beams, not quite sure if the crack he heard was from the beam or one of his own bones. Shawnrik stumbled backwards as Walkins painfully tried to regain the air that had been knocked out of him. Victor sent another volley of force at the man as he reached down for the daggers in his boots.
“Shawnrik, get back!” Victor yelled as the man succeeded in pulling two of them.
Shawnrik moved back quickly but knew he would never dodge the throw from this range. Both of the daggers were on mark, the first thudding into his chest, right where his heart was, before falling to the ground. The only evidence it had hit was the small drop of blood on the tip of the dagger. Had Ol Man’ Walkins been prepared, that drop of blood drawn might have been enough to turn the tide, but he had not expected to need to coat his daggers this day.
The other dagger flew straight for Victor before being thrown to the side by his projectile trap. Walkins blinked disbelievingly as he wondered who the boys had gotten to cast the wards on them, before he realized that Victor wasn’t using a scroll to cast his balls of force. He knew then that they had severely underestimated how much the boy had learned from Shaylyn. Recovering from that shock, he grabbed another set of daggers. He was running out quickly.
Victor formed four more missiles, a twinge of pain starting in the back of his head telling him that he was stretching his limits. Walkins tried to get out of the way, but the projectiles’ direction changed as if being led to him by a string. His clothes were in tatters, and his body was not faring much better.
Shawnrik picked up the two daggers lying by his feet—the one that had been thrown at his heart and the one that Walkins had dropped as he’d gone head over heels over the chair—and hurled them towards the man as he was pulling out his last set of daggers. Ol’ Man Walkins didn’t even try to dodge, seeing that they wouldn’t hit him, and prepared to throw instead. What he didn’t realize until too late was that Shawnrik had not been aiming at him but at the jar behind him.
The glass shattered, sending a cloud of flour outwards, causing Walkins to cough as he released the daggers. The dagger thrown by his off hand, affected by the cough more than the other, went wide, striking well to the left of the Shawnrik. His other dagger was not nearly so off-target, striking Victor solidly in his left shoulder. Victor’s thickened clothes and skin absorbed much of the damage, but the force of it was enough to push him backwards into the door.
Walkins rolled out of the cloud of flour, picking up the dagger that had hit the jar. He let fly and, knowing that Shawnrik would throw his other dagger at him, dove for the back room. Shawnrik was bracing for the dagger’s impact when it flew off to the side, Victor’s projectile trap having been refueled by the previous impacts to his body.
Victor let loose what he knew would be the last set of projectiles he would make this day. The pain in his head made him wince, causing him to miss seeing them impact with Ol’ Man Walkins’s back. Shawnrik threw the dagger in his left hand, his shoulder protesting the action; Walkins had gotten in a good hit earlier when he’d punched him. They both heard the man hit the floor and swear loudly. They were getting ready to move in on him when the door behind Victor was flung open, sending him into the wall with a thud.
“Oops,” Ashur said, walking over to where Victor was sprawled out, extending a hand to help the boy to his feet. “We heard a struggle and came as quick as we could.” The fight had only lasted a couple of minutes, so quick as they could had been pretty quick, indeed.
Walkins rolled over, looking up as he heard the new voices. He groaned. “I should have figured it was you!” His voice held nothing but venom. “Only you could ruin somethin’ planned so well, so perfectly.”
“Are you still sore about that fight we had? That was, what, ten years ago? It would never have happened if you hadn’t sold Ashur, Erin and me out to the Dracair,” Nim growled, slowly sliding the dagger at his side from its sheath.
Victor put his hand on Nim’s, easing the dagger back in. “I think he’s had enough for now,” he said, his voice sad. “Besides, he’s going to have to tell the blood mages that he failed, and I wouldn’t want to be in that position.”
Nim looked at Victor questioningly but took his hand away from the hilt of the dagger. “Stand up, you coward.”
Walkins stood shakily, using the bed for support, blood dripping from his cheek in a line where Shawnrik’s last throw had grazed him. Nim realized then what Victor had meant. Walkins’s skin was a dark red, his tattered shirt only emphasizing the amount of damage that had been inflicted upon the man in such a short span of mere minutes. He held a dagger defensively, body tensed as if it expected to get hit by another ball of force.
“I think the boy hurt your pride more than I ever could have. I may have beaten you ten years ago, but I was only four years younger than you. Victor is thirty-two years younger than you and look at you.” Nim chuckled dryly as he looked at his old rival.
Walkins shook with rage, but the man knew that if he tried anything, Nim would kill him. And he very much liked being alive. “Get out of my home!” he said.
At the same moment, a group of children ran up the stairs from the outside. Having been alerted to the fight, one of them had run off to gather the others. “Victor!” the wide-eyed seven-year-old named Roland called, and the other children all flooded through the door at his name. There were six of them living in the apartment—four other boys and two girls. They all stopped and stared at Victor and Shawnrik, who were clean and wore nice clothing.
Seeing the other kids, Victor realized that he had been being selfish, and he looked at Nim, the question clearly visible on his face.
Nim nodded when he saw the look. “I can find a place for them. They will have better homes than they had here.”
Victor smiled at him and looked at the other children. “Get some clothes on and get your coats. We’re leaving.” They all looked to Walkins, who stood on the other side of the room, eyes full of hatred.
Shawnrik ushered the kids past the man and into the back room to get their stuff ready. He was the oldest, and they quickly responded to his coaxing. It didn’t take long for all six of them to have their meager possessions gathered up. As the sun began to set, eight children and two adults left the Docks District behind, and not one of them was sad about it.
“What’s all this, then?” a familiar voice asked as they walked past one of the street lamps. Victor looked over to see Watchman Tanner looking in their direction.
Recognition lit up Nim’s face. “Lance Tanner, is that you?”
Tanner looked at Nim, the same look of recognition lighting up his features. “Nim! How long has it been? Seven, eight years? And it’s Watchman Tanner now.”
“Watchman, eh? I remember when you were a little thief the same age as Shawnrik here,” Nim said, walking over to shake hands with Tanner.
Shawnrik’s head shot up at that, and he smiled. “I knew it! I knew there was something odd about him.”
Watchman Tanner sighed. “Did you have to tell them that? I’m trying to straighten them out.” He looked over the children that were assembled there. “Aren’t these Ol’ Man Walkins’s kids? What are you doing with them?”
“The same thing I did with you, Tanner. I’m getting them away from that crazy bastard.” He laughed and slapped Watchman Tanner on the shoulder. “Victor here taught Walkins a lesson tonight that I don’t think he’ll soon be forgetting, and now I’ll be playing matchmaker for orphans again.”
Tanner looked at Nim with a measure of respect and saluted. “I don’t want to keep you from your business, then. It’s cold, and those kids need a decent night’s sleep. You have a long walk ahead of you; don’t let me hold you up. I’ve got patrols to keep, anyway.” The two men clasped arms again, and Tanner started back down the street, patrolling the Docks District. Nim took the group home, got everyone a bath and a bed, and went to work trying to figure out where to put them all.
“Walkins has failed. The boy Victor is now in the care of a performer.”
“Yes, Temendri, he is in the care of Nim Mithriannil. This could work out better than expected. You are young, and you take too much to heart. Nim is as much of a scoundrel as Walkins could ever be. He just lets his conscience guide him more than Walkins ever would. He has much more hatred than the common man, and he can teach the boy even more than Walkins was going to. There is still time to shape the boy into a weapon.”
“But Yandarian… our master said that he has waited long for this, that we should take care not to mess this up. I would not want to fail him.” Temendri looked around nervously as if their master were listening in right now, which might be truer than the man knew.
“You are right,” Yandarian said, nodding his head.
“What will we do now, then?” He was being cautious, and rightfully so. Yandarian was not one to make angry, yet he was much more lenient than their master.
“I am already in the process of making our next plan. I have sent that failure, Walkins, to oversee the slave camps northeast of the great desert. He will fester there, and then he will be broken enough to fulfill the purpose I have for him. Breathe easy, young mage. All is in order.”