> “There’s a secret dungeon under Abrakas’ great temple in Urma Port. Deep under the ground. My old lair of sorts. Well… my tutor’s really. Not Tinyssos, don’t be silly. He couldn’t find his way around a laboratory and reading oft lulled him to stupor in a second. He-he. No, the other guy.”
>
>
>
>
>
> Dudrina O’ Tinyssos (aka Curu Nulena, the Black Witch)
>
> Speaking to the famed ‘Toloth Ama Erea’ about a hundred years into Queen Baltoris’ reign. The second decade of the latter’s ‘reforming years’ or violent pogroms that started with the ‘death’ of High Priestess Edlenn O’ Sintoriela (aka the Night Moon, Fair Mother) ten years earlier.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Nulanos
‘Neil Toloth’
‘Eight Fingers’
‘8’
Eight’s ‘Rules of the Trade’
Part I
-A Queen’s Promise-
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----------------------------------------
-
2nd Era
Witchwood Gulf
Cyran, Six Peaks Isles
Gods Grounds Catacombs
> The burly Ranger leader Telos drew his arm back, large fist clenched and then hammered it on Nulanos’ face cutting the skin and splitting the cheek’s flesh open to the molars. You usually roll with it. Most professionals at least preach something similar. Those of them that is who mastered ‘the getting punched in the face skill’, he thought and waited patiently for Telos to pick him up from the tiled floor along with the chair.
>
> Get him seated all nice and upright again.
>
> Difficult not to play the invalid if you’re tied up as a spit over the fire.
>
> Nulanos spat a blotch of blood down and checked on the cut with his tongue from the inside.
>
> The watching Baltoris got up from the chair and removed her gloves. The Queen had her black and red plate armour on, a sword strapped on her back. Ever the fighter but some wars need generals to be fought properly, he thought with a pained grimace.
>
> Although most times a good enough beating would do just fine.
>
> Not this time though.
>
> “Give him something,” Baltoris ordered, her square face and fierce azure eyes not complemented by her mostly short-cut hair. Some liked the look. Nulanos wanted his women looking womanly some of the times.
>
> “You should let your hair grow,” he suggested gulping down blood. “I love the braid though. It has character.”
>
> The Queen set her jaw and then walked near his chair. She smelled of brimstone and bath oils. The mixture needed some work done to get something out of him. But he was almost there. Baltoris saw his scrutinizing eyes and furrowed her brows.
>
> “Apologies, your grace. I found myself slowly succumbing to your royal charms,” Nulanos teased her and grimaced when the brute shoved a soaked in ointment cloth in the hole at his cheek. With the same commitment one plugs a leak in a latrine. “You, I don’t like very much. I think you are a fake ranger. A soldier pretending to be one. Or an ox driver? Heh? Am I close? Touch your nose with your toes if I am. You play at an ape. Own it.”
>
> Dimples formed on the Queen’s cheeks and there was something there that reminded him of her younger days. She then stepped forward and touched his uninjured cheek.
>
> “If I had magic I could have made you talk,” Baltoris told him and she had a nice breath. Lovely teeth. She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “But they can do it also with brute force.” No they couldn’t. “Or I could use the wyvern.”
>
> “We won’t understand each other,” Nulanos reminded her. “And I’m pretty certain I’ll get the teeth first then the tongue.”
>
> Baltoris lips formed a slight smile. “How does a Mori-Zilan gain respect through stealing?” She asked.
>
> “It’s a trade your grace. I always leave something back,” Nulanos explained.
>
> “Bah, nonsense. Of equal value? I got a bird from you as I recall.”
>
> “No bird shall approach an Aniculo Rokae on its own volition,” Nulanos remarked. “It was a precious gift.”
>
> “I tossed it out of a window. It left shit in my room.”
>
> “Noble… letting it go,” Nulanos expounded. “Not the shitting part.”
>
> The Queen gave him a light warning slap on his good cheek. “Are you any good with the long blade?”
>
> “I’m great with it in bed. Does it count?” Nulanos deadpanned and was awarded with a redder version of her. Telos grabbed his shoulder to better burst his head open with a punch but the flushed Queen stopped him.
>
> “I’ll take a lover when the time is right,” Baltoris finally said and pursed her lips. “Discreetly. Life is more than carnal passion and petty crimes Nulanos.”
>
> That’s a boring life.
>
> “I won’t argue that but I also get pretty emotional at times and rumors do exist that I delved in some pretty serious shenanigans your grace.”
>
> The Queen nodded once. “Where is Dudrina? The palace wants to hear her version of some events.”
>
> “Dudrina barely bothers with domestic affairs to get herself involved with the realm,” Nulanos replied.
>
> “Where’s her house?”
>
> “Witches love nature. Most witches. The poor ones more. Better that we maintain an open mind here. Nevertheless… let me answer best as I can starting with a guess. Where’s her current residence your grace wonders? Hmm, in a forest? Some, remote island? Islet? The Great Desert? Some… other distant land? The possibilities are endless,” Nulanos grimaced and shifted his jaw about feeling every painful inch of movement. “I’ll be willing to shoulder the responsibility of an expedition in order to locate her as soon as the morrow, but only if your grace covers the expenses. The Guild,” he continued with a small theatrical pause. They were letting him talk. Way better than getting punched in the face. “Is all but broke your grace.”
>
> “How about I just summon her? Ah, but I have and she didn’t appear.”
>
> Nulanos pursed his lips but opted to keep silent. Baltoris walked a couple of strides away in deep thought. Not long after she paused and turned to stare at the tied up Thieves Guild Leader.
>
> “Why steal the circlet?” Queen Baltoris asked slipping into strict court Imperial unwittingly. “To use it, thou need to cut something off of thee. A hand? A Finger? You are a thief. A glorified burglar. Don’t you need all your digits?”
>
> Is that a veiled threat?
>
> “It wasn’t me your grace.”
>
> “Someone left a dead dog inside Elas’ office.” Baltoris noted not falling for it. “It screams of you.”
>
> “Maybe these screams and the offering is naught but a divine warning? Maybe the gods fear Elas might work himself to death,” Nulanos quipped with a silly grin going another way. It almost worked. The Queen chuckled briefly and then Telos’ iron-knuckled punch returned twice as heavy as afore.
>
> Nulanos lowered his head this time and got a blow that knocked him unconscious but he slipped into blissful stupor with the satisfaction of hearing the brute’s painful yelps of agony birthed from all those broken fingers.
>
> Yeah.
-
image [https://i.postimg.cc/nVJJKwpn/taras2.png]
A ‘very long’ time later
3rd Era
The month Neter of 3400 IC
Taras central Market
The pretty Zilan cabbage-stand salesgirl winked in warning per their agreement and Nulanos started moving the moment a fancy-dressed Cofol merchant left the nearby lime and peaches table, his slave carrying two large sacks full of fruit. Nulanos walked staying glued on them, lightly stooped and peeking over the Cofol’s shoulder for the person he was following.
Every step the merchant took, Eight copied in a crazy and very silly pantomime.
A mule-drawn cart stopped blocking the merchant’s way and Nulanos twirled around, left arm tossing a coin to the Zilan girl, the other lifting the Cofol’s purse with two fingers. The girl raised both arms to catch the coin behind him but it bounced on a thumb and hit her sternum instead. The coin slipped down the female’s décolleté, a cheap chiton offered opportunities and many openings, despite her squealing efforts to stop it and probably ended up inside her underwear.
Or not.
Clink.
The coin went, since the naughty provincial Zilan didn’t wear one.
Ah, the air-loving groins.
Nulanos snickered still moving, freed hand stroking the mule’s snout just before slotting a stolen peach in its mouth, the other dropping the purse inside the hat-craftsman’s cart and lifting a feathered, large-brim straw hat in the lopsided trade. Need dictates each thing’s true value. The master thief rolled under the cart to escape the blocked part of the market road and stood up straight now wearing the hat low to hide his face, one of the feathers plucked and slotted in his smirking mouth.
A Cofol bard-storyteller started recounting a battle that had happened in Greenwhale Peninsula standing on a stand with a lute-playing Zilan accompanying the human’s pompous words. The crowd blocking the edge of the market watching impressed, but then Nulanos realized the reason and shook his head in disbelief. The lute player was one of the King’s officials apparently.
Also a man of culture which was sometimes jargon for all the ‘lewder venues’ enthusiasts.
Be it owners or clients.
A bold choice by the Monarch for sure.
Down a busy street away from the market and southeast to avoid the large main square. The nimble figure he was after slipped inside a side alley between two tall buildings. Two thug-looking Lorians barring his path the moment he rounded the corner after the hooded male.
“Hey, what’s wit the fancy hat?” The first one asked mockingly, the other raising an ironwood club to park it on a broad shoulder.
“Yeah, it’s not you mate,” the club-wielding brute expounded with a crooked rot-infested grin. Nulanos kept walking briskly towards them, raising an arm in a greeting or to tip his hat to them. “Oras shadow, you’re a dark son of a mule,” the burly brute added.
“I prefer Neil,” Nulanos replied and hurled the hat on the brute’s face. The fleeing figure he had been following, now eight meters further down the alley, twisted around on his axis with a loud curse upon hearing Nulanos’ voice.
Good ears.
A lot of stuff happening at the same time. Which is the same with things happening one after the other but for half a twist. The latter needing decent reflexes and the first excellent positioning. Both needed a hefty dose of leeway and the ability to think on your feet.
The club-wielding brute swung with the club to batter the flying hat away. He could have used the other hand for half the effort and make Nulanos’ job that much trickier but Luthos only gets involved for the belly laughs unless you’re a dick.
Praised be the god of noble crooks.
The short heavy club smashed the hat down given the starting point –it was resting on the man’s shoulder- and Nulanos planted a boot on it on the way up. The first man went for a long dagger slotted on a tattered leather belt he had on his waist. He grabbed the handle and yanked it out and Nulanos’ left hand extended even lower to grab the front on the thug’s breeches –cock and balls- and did the same.
Yank them out that is.
The thug bellowed high enough to empty the alley of sneaky rats and stray cats, eyes gawking all but popping out of their sockets and Nulanos raised the knee on the leg that had kicked the club down. Caught its owner’s reaching left hand with it. The wrist bones snapped, the hand turning the wrong way and Nulanos released the first moaning man’s groin and used both hands now to grab their heads as he’d arrived between them.
Neil heaved hard whilst stooping his own head low -always moving, fingers lodged on each man’s nape in the savage pull that brought them banging together behind him. The crunching sound reverberating down the narrow alley as Nulanos kept moving towards the snarling Mori-Zilan he had been following from the market. Sorn brought a clenched fist in front of him and burned incense to walk into a shadow. The shades extending to the end of the alley, about six meters away, since this was a nice and sunny Goras’ early Fall day.
Nulanos sprinted abruptly towards the exit in an explosion of adrenalin, taking a guess that Sorn wouldn’t double back, always angling right and fast nimble feet tip-tapping on the ground first and then vertically on the side wall up to the middle or until he reached the three meters mid-point. Then he lunged across the other wall, clearing three meters in the sideways leap, clasped a tiled edge with his left hand and heaved himself over using the gathered momentum.
The master thief landed on the tiled roof in a lithe roll that morphed into a mad dash that helped him reach the end of it, the next street a boulevard marking the start of the ‘better neighborhoods’. He planted a foot down just before the edge, tiles breaking and jumped down just as Sorn popped out of the shadows underneath him wielding a sword.
A woman screamed seeing the naked blade swinging and it clipped the top of Nulanos’ short-cut hair. Sorn kicked Nulanos out of the dodge he’d attempted upon landing, not really expecting Sorn would use a sword in public, the boot catching his right shoulder bad and pitching him straight for the ground. Nulanos rolled on the hurt shoulder to get another meter out of Sorn’s brutal kick and stopped on a knee hearing a couple of Taras’ citizens calling for the guards.
“Tough luck,” Sorn spat breathing heavy and made a couple of backward steps to return inside the alley. “You should have stayed dead… what?” He croaked seeing the blood spurting out of his right wrist.
“It’s a feather,” Nulanos explained walking towards him. “You can use it as a quill or a needle.”
Sorn growled irate but hesitated hearing the angry yells from a patrol that had appeared at the far end of the boulevard. When he came to a decision –to run away- Nulanos had reached him and the Mori-Zilan old member of the ‘Imperial branch of the Thieves Guild’ let’s say, to give him some needless gravitas, decided to use that sword instead. Neil showed him the bloody feather in his left hand with a shrug and punched Sorn right in the throat with the right.
Sorn staggered back with a strangled croak of pain and Nulanos dropped the feather to hurl a left hook at his groin. Then a right knee to the face when Sorn doubled over snapping his bloody head back up. Nulanos used his left hand to grab the right arm of the half-unconscious from the repeated blows old colleague and calmly tossed it over his own shoulders to prevent Sorn from going down. He glanced back at the approaching Taras’ city guards and then used the tip of his right boot to deftly kick the dropped sword up. Neil snatched it with his free right hand and moved swiftly towards the narrow alley.
A puffing out Nulanos walked fast whilst supporting the faltering and bleeding down his face Sorn until he reached the spot where the other two thugs still lay unconscious. Nulanos rapidly undressed the bigger one and placed the roomy coat open on the ground. Working fast he landed a couple of more punches on Sorn’s face mainly to knock him out completely but also a tad because Nulanos did owe that prick a very old debt. It belonged to a museum this grunge but it had found sort of new legs lately. While wanting to believe that he had moved on from the past, seeing Sorn again some months back had gotten him all wound up inside.
Need to keep a clear head here, Nulanos advised himself while he carried the wobbly body of Sorn some meters to drop it on the opened cloak. He then proceeded to wrap Sorn with the latter until the Mori-Zilan looked like a draped human-like bundle of old garbs.
With a pair of boots on.
Hmm.
One of the thugs came about with a pained groan while he worked the problem in his head, so Nulanos walked there casually and landed a brutal kick right at the man’s temple knocking him out again.
Then he removed Sorn’s boots and tossed the body over his left shoulder. It folded at the midriff, arse staring to the front and head hanging below Neil’s back. Nulanos exhaled and he followed it with a deep breath afore marching down the dark alley.
Back towards the way he had originally come from.
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The Guild’s tiny empty tavern had two tables inside it with four chairs in total and behind the small counter an unassuming door. It led into another small room with two crude beds as its only furniture. It also had a small hatch under one of the beds if you got it out of the way. Eventually the hatch led down with the help of a small ladder -about four or five meters worth of descend- and after some more walking in the pitch-dark into a much bigger cellar. This underground space was well-illuminated with nice –pilfered- lightstone torches and had more rooms across the large reception area. It had been a wine cellar before. Part of a collapsed villa’s foundations. A new two-story building had been built over it that birthed four apartments and some change in total and the Guild had bought the tiny leftover space to open a tavern.
The hostel owner had used it as a small warehouse initially.
They hadn’t seen a single customer in months since no one could figure out where the black side door led to and most patrons went straight for the much bigger and well-illuminated main entrance of the hostel. Nulanos thought that digging out a new path towards the cellar –the hatch and ladder- had been the most difficult part and Nigel Grim agreed since he had done most of the digging.
“What… in Luthos’ cheap earrings!” Nigel cursed jumping out of the chair he had dossed off upon seeing Nulanos coming out of the dark corridor carrying the groaning but immobilized Sorn.
“You have a rope at the near?” The heavy-breathing and tired Nulanos queried.
“Ahm… yeah. I found some the other day.”
“Any good?”
“Eh, it’s just a line to hang clothes from,” Nigel explained sounding a little embarrassed whilst looking about the cellar for the rope.
“Want to start washing your own clothes?” Nulanos teased. “Just give them to Ruvin. He has staff for that.”
Nigel shook his head returning with the loop of thin rope. “I just needed something quick at the time. By the way,” he said giving Neil the rope. Nulanos was sitting on the wrapped up Sorn, who he’d placed on the ground in the meantime. “I don’t trust Ruvin. Don’t let me start. He’s a sneaky Zilan.”
“I’m a sneaky Zilan,” a chuckling Nulanos reminded him.
“Well,” Nigel shrugged his shoulders not wanting to expound further.
“Is it the color of my skin?”
“I’m darker than you Neil,” Nigel Grim grunted and pointed a finger on the ‘groaning’ and thrashing bundle under Nulanos. “Do I even want to ask what’s in there?”
“A thief.”
“Right.”
“He broke the rules.”
Nigel’s face remained blank.
“Never betray the Guild,” Nulanos elucidated.
“Aha. Because the other rules are a bit vague and don’t warrant such a strong reaction.”
“He betrayed me,” Nulanos rustled.
“No I didn’t!” A muffled voice was heard coming out of the bundle. “It was all her idea! She did it!”
“Right,” Nigel repeated the whole situation a bit weird for him. “Where is he from?”
“Mori-Osto,” Nulanos replied. “The twin cities of Long River.”
“Never heard of them.”
“It’s been a while now.” Nulanos said with a grimace. “They were more like small towns is the truth. Not that famous overall.”
Nigel nodded doing his best impression of a blank canvass. “Still doesn’t ring any bells Eight. Like… nothing.”
“Sorn hails from Coal Isle. He’s a Mori-Zilan like me. A member of the Guild but he enlisted untold years before you were born Nigel.” Nulanos explained. “You’ve seen him once more.”
“The old place,” Nigel murmured looking at the now silent ‘package’. He looked at the thoughtful face of Nulanos. “It’s long gone right?”
“Everybody believes it. That’s what I want to find out,” a preoccupied Nulanos replied hearing a long-forgotten voice in his head. It was a half-truth this. The forgotten part. Eh. The female sounding tensed but it was a very old memory this, tainted by sentiment and nostalgia. Nulanos had moved on.
There are not here for you, Milva had told him on that bridge.
All a lie.
----------------------------------------
“What were you reading?” Nulanos asked twenty minutes later examining the scrolls on the table where Nigel Grim was sitting earlier. Nigel was busy trying to bandage the tied like a turkey Sorn as Neil had shattered his nose badly. He was forced to insert one of his thin burglar pins to get the bones relatively straight again.
“A couple of reports Denis brought. He went out to stock the tavern. We might have our first customers tonight but Denis will handle that.” Nigel replied. “Ah, and a message from Ryker.”
Took your time to go there Nigel.
“Where is he now?” Nulanos asked as he had noticed it immediately.
Humans feared giving out bad news.
“He boarded a pirate Sloop at Far Cove. The ‘Beast of the Bay’ under Captain Ramsay ‘Rigger’ Vance. An Issir. Ryker writes he now sleeps with one eye open.”
Nulanos nodded rolling the small scroll with his fingers. “Why them?” He asked although he’d read the missive already.
“They had done the trip once already. As far as Coal Isle and then Rain Minas navigating the reefs around Witch’s Dagger.”
“He thinks they are telling the truth?” Nulanos asked raspingly.
“Nothing but the mountain was visible from the north, Nureria’s Toes are missing. The whole peninsula. The Islands are gutted. Ryker had seen your old map Eight. Nothing appeared even remotely familiar.”
“But for the mountain.” Nulanos rustled without looking at his right hand man and pupil. He used to trust others to do the teaching and some like Nigel he still trusted but now Eight was more involved in the process. Trust was one part. The other was more personal. You want to pass your knowledge down the line, preserve the purity of the trade and keep it unsoiled and meaningful. As best you can. A thief is not a rogue or a killer. He can be both but this can’t be your goal ever. A thief shouldn’t be a thug or a raider like the pirates.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He is a connoisseur for not all gold is treasure and not all treasure gleams in the dark.
You give something in order to take something back.
It may not always work.
That’s the trade.
And every trade must have rules.
“Aye,” Nigel replied taking his time as he could understand Eight never stayed on a topic that didn’t hold his interest. And because Nigel Grim knew Nulanos thirty seven of his almost forty years. The Grim brothers. One stayed with his adopted father to become the man running the Guild and the other left to be a murdering pirate just like the rest of his kin.
Meeting a gruesome fate somewhere in the South Seas.
When you take, you must give something back.
Else the scales might swing violently to right themselves.
“Coal Mountain was at the center of the island. Hundreds of kilometers inland,” Nulanos finally said simply and dropped the crumpled piece of paper on the table. “Heading for Cyran was the correct decision.”
“I thought so. But Ryker wanted you to know just the same,” Nigel replied a little relieved he didn’t disagree. “What do you want to know from this one?”
It’s much too late to look back.
Time washed most of it away. Dragged good and bad into Abrakas gullet.
But not everything.
Nulanos rubbed his face with both hands, the strong light bothering his sensitive eyes as he didn’t need it. No Zilan did. It was all a show for the visitors and because light made colors stand out more.
If one was into that sort of things.
Neil fancied black and white with a touch of crimson.
And gold.
Then he remembered that was what she liked.
Eyes black alike an onyx gem, shades of green but mostly striped with tiny white lines, for she had a touch of Kobold blood in her. The Mori-Zilan of the Coal Mines were the lowest of the low.
But she had been a star hidden under a mountain of black ash.
“I haven’t seen Toloth Ama Erea in eleven hundred years, give or take a decade or two,” Sorn’s muffled voice rustled in Imperial. “I had to get out to save my head. I’m glad I did. The whole place went to shit. I never looked back.”
“You could’ve said that immediately,” Nulanos said and turned to look at Sorn’s swollen bandaged face, his back resting on the table. “But you didn’t.”
“I was shocked god darn it!” Sorn growled. “I thought you were dead. There is no coming back Toloth! All those centuries. They said Turlas blew the fucking ship to smithereens, boiled the cursed waters.”
“Who said that?”
“Valydra. She heard it from the Queen herself.”
Of course.
He realized Sorn was watching him intently looking for a hint on where to lead him. But is he lying about everything? What had the crazy Gnome mumbled? She led the wolves to the witch. Brought them to her door.
Nulanos felt anger rising in him.
“Baltoris allowed the Circle to run amok. Nobody was safe but everyone looked the other way. Valydra opted to stay. She worked under Lord Calamer and Feyras’ zealots. The Law of the Phalanx and the Wyverns pushed magic aside. Baltoris ruled like a general and slept inside the Hoplite barracks for safety. The warrior caste loved her. I heard she jested that if Eodrass gave her another wyvern as a sign then she would take the Plague Isles back and kick the Aken out.”
“But the winged god didn’t.” Nulanos murmured.
The fact Zilan continued to underestimate them after such a humiliating loss was shocking to Nulanos. He wasn’t privileged with higher learning but Eight had been around during the war. When folks start believing their own falsehoods then they are gone.
Unless there’s divine intervention.
“She got a daughter instead. Then the Issirs came, the volcanoes erupted and the world ended.”
Not really. The world was still alive.
“You knew about the guild.” Nulanos noted changing the subject.
“I heard the stories. Met a couple of enthusiasts but nothing impressive. Run by humans. Mostly a Jelin thing. Then I stopped paying attention. There are Thieves Guilds all over the place,” Sorn rustled hoarsely.
Again, not really. It was always the one with many pretenders seeing the error of their ways.
“Where did you run to?”
“Neil Dan, with Edlenn’s people. Lord Sulynor, Faelar and the Moon’s Daughter.”
“They still breathe?” Nulanos asked.
“Faelar is with Oras and I heard the witch got cooked proper in Rida. Like her mother and sister. You could say it runs in the family. Ha-ha!”
Nulanos licked his lips and glanced at the listening Nigel. The Thief grimaced seeing his stare. Nigel never believed he needed to study Imperial and the tongue still gave him fits. He was also unlucky as Nulanos wasn’t exactly a ‘grammar’ person to point him the right away. Nigel cracked a smirk and Eight turned his attention on Sorn again.
“What was she doing in Rida?”
“The witch? I wasn’t really invited to their meetings, but the story is she was sucking a Horselord’s cock. The Prince Heir. They went out together I suppose.” Sorn replied and groaned in pain. “You still hit like a horse Toloth. Good punch.”
“It was a knee.” Nulanos retorted stiffly. “The Khanate has dealings with the exiles?”
“She did. Dan is like a relic from the past.” Sorn informed. “I had to get out. They don’t exactly like us.”
“It must be you,” Nulanos said. “You’re unlikable Sorn. Why did you abandon Valydra?”
“Listen… damn it I’m a thief. She turned political and other stuff,” Sorn grunted.
“You’re not much of a thief. You were helping a gang of rogues Sorn,” Nulanos snapped and then grimaced. “Political?”
Sorn shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn’t important.
He had probably slipped up there and it probably was.
Then again it was eons ago.
“You heard anything about her since you returned here?” Nulanos asked casually.
“Nothing. There are no… Unor ‘Moriva’ is still with the Young Othrim. Other than him I haven’t really seen a Mori-Zilan afore you popped back from the fucking dead Toloth!”
“What do you want to do?” Nigel asked him after an awkward moment of silence.
“Keep him here.” Nulanos replied and pushed away from the table. “Sorn, if you try to get away I’ll break your legs.”
Sorn blinked.
“If you hurt anyone doing it, I’ll hurt you twofold.” Eight continued without changing his tone. “Now, anyone knows what’s gotten into the city guards today? They have gone berserk in their response times. Was there a change in command? More drilling?” He asked them both.
“The Monarch lost something,” the still sullen Sorn grumbled from his chair.
He’ll be out of there in twenty minutes tops.
“What?”
“Something valuable?” Sorn chanced.
Nulanos stared at the frowned Nigel Grim.
“I just took enough to cover the expenses and the lease,” the Issir replied. “The Monarch shook my hand Eight. We are part of the administration basically.” Eh, I don’t believe we are. “There’s a gang getting loaded carts out every night. They are renting a walled warehouse at Hardir’s Port to house the loot.”
“They guard it?” Nulanos asked vaguely intrigued.
“Eh. So and so. I went by last night. Got two sacks of coin over the wall.” Nigel explained.
“How did you climb the wall so loaded?”
“Used the line to tie the sacks. Lifted them up one by one when I reached the top of the wall. Easy.”
Nulanos nodded and glanced at the listening in Sorn. “You owe the woman a line of rope,” he said to Nigel Grim and Sorn rolled his eyes exasperated Eight was still preaching the same stuff.
“Aye,” Nigel agreed. “A couple of strays… Zilan ship builders. I was going to visit them later today.”
“You head there now. Give them one of the sacks,” Nulanos told him and started towards the dark corridor to reach the ladder and then the hatch. “Their rope did half of the work.”
----------------------------------------
Nulanos spent some time watching the hostel and the Guild’s tavern. He saw Nigel departing soon after him carrying a round leather bag over his shoulder. Thirty minutes later Sorn cracked the door open, looked right and then left down the street and then hobbled as quickly as he could away.
Greedy fool probably has his pockets full with as much gold as he can carry, Nulanos thought with a deep sigh. He thought about following after Sorn but didn’t see the point.
Maybe he is holding something back.
But he had done this dance with Sorn once already and Nulanos was bored to repeat it so soon. Maybe tomorrow, he told himself.
----------------------------------------
The sun dipped to the west behind the familiar mass of the Black Peak, the massive volcano now missing a great part at the top and half of its south side but still dominating what had been the old city’s center, the palace grounds and the main district. The waters of Goras Gulf circling the volcano and not just its diminished north side now. The central district of Goras had disappeared under the sea. Half a million Zilan turned to dust in thirty minutes. Other survivors had said it was just under six hours. Elauthin had suffered a similar fate a day prior. The tremors waking up the demon inside the Black Peak.
Nulanos visited the lake’s shores and listened to nature singing the day away and welcoming the darkness. Taras’ center lit up and despite many of its neighborhoods still empty or lacking illumination, the sight must have been something to the visitors but also to the younger Zilan that hadn’t seen it.
It was bad for business… too much light.
The night though eventful.
Nulanos chuckled seeing the two loudly protesting Lorians getting roughed up by the patrol just after midnight and thought of visiting the pleasure house sometime later whilst casing a rich villa across the street from it, but caught sight of a backlit by the moons single smoking chimney briefly casting dual shadows on the illuminated street. It could have been the smoke, if the smoke had limbs. Nulanos backpedaled into the darkest part of the corner he had been watching the fancy villa from and glanced at the rooftop of the pleasure house which apparently had a lit fireplace just because it could.
There was no one there.
Hmm.
He lowered his eyes and saw a cloaked figure walking out of an adjoining alley. Too soon to climb down the wall or use the stairs. Too high to just jump from up there inside the pitch black alley.
Crazy risky.
Unless you walked the shades.
Boss move.
But… nah, nope.
The shadowy figure paused to let a very late returning couple walk past him and in front of the pleasure house that had still had all its lights on. Then the cloaked person crossed the large street and came towards Eight’s corner.
Went past Nulanos and straight down the paved side of the junction leading north to the main square and into a nearby park. Eight went after him.
Him, because he caught sight of a male’s jaw. Nulanos had excellent night vision naturally as all the Mori-Zilan.
After him, because Nulanos had spotted the concealed under the cloak and sheathed over his back, sword handle. It wasn’t strange for someone to carry a blade with him when visiting a brothel late at night but it was weird to forget to retrieve his horse from the brothel’s stable.
Or call a carriage.
A drunken man might opt to walk some of it off afore returning home but a tired man wouldn’t walk after putting in the work to satisfy Folen’s girls. There are skilled enough Human and Gish prostitutes to show you a great time afore sending you home, Nulanos thought heading after the fast walking under the park’s trees cloaked male. And then there are Zilan harlots. The latter will drain you to the bone and leave you comatose to sleep it off.
Unless you didn’t visit the brothel in the traditional sense.
Unless you did bring a horse not to walk back like a homeless vagrant but opted not to leave it in the stable. Hid it between the park’s trees instead.
Who does that?
The cloaked figure raised his head just as Nulanos ducked behind a tree trunk, a hand on the horse’s reins and the other now unseen. He heard him snort and then the horse mimicked its owner. Then he jumped on the saddle and led the animal back out of the park, this time heading for the main west entrance which was directly across from them.
Nulanos followed after him and burned incense to leap ahead of the rider using the elongated dark park’s many shadows. He sprinted across the street beyond the columned west entrance, the lights of the barracks and the massive camp of the Phalanx about half a kilometer away. The nicely paved boulevard following a northern coastal route with Taras Lake on the east and the Phalanx’s many camp buildings to the west. Towards the heights of the plateau and Morn Taras.
The stranger’s horse’s hooves were heard clopping behind him and Nulanos ducked by the side of the road to watch the cloaked figure trotting past him again. It was obvious the stranger was heading back to Morn Taras.
Who are you? Nulanos wondered and eyed the distant city’s public stables –now closed- located next to the westernmost lake’s shores. Well, it is a good twenty minute walk to reach there but after that we can use the free transportation, a thoughtful Eight decided.
It turned out Lord Fikumin charged four silver per day for the use of a public horse plus a silver to rent a saddle and this only during the day. Three for a mule –five if you wanted to overload it. You paid upfront the whole sum. According to what the sign said at least.
Seeing as Nulanos wanted a horse immediately and it was still nighttime, he decided to take one for a test drive and return it in the morning. Since there was no mention of a fee for those choosing this particular tourist activity, Eight opted not to pay this greedy Lord Fikumin anything.
He did leave him one of the two remaining hat feathers as a tip though.
----------------------------------------
Never climb a wall in the night without checking it first during the day.
Never climb a wall made by some dude named Voron that chisels his name every tenth boulder. In all caps. You blink your eyes and you see something else from afar. By the time you get to the fourth carved signature, each boulder a meter in height, half your remaining years would be lost due to extreme stress.
All of them if you slip proper and plunge straight for the granite bottom.
Talking of granite, half a mountain of stone had been poured into the monstrosity. The final result gigantic in girth, titanic in height and sturdy as a mountain. Come to think of it, it would probably have been way easier to just chop half a mountain off and move it here instead.
Just plant it over the plateau and then carve out whatever shape you want out of it.
It’s not as if this Voron chap managed to get anything done properly.
He went for a star-shaped outer walls design but used only three triangles. He started building a pyramid at this strange shape’s center but changed his mind and left it to act as a colossal platform for the square citadel. Up to the mid-point that is. The top was a flat roof with parapets and under it many windows sprouted on the final two floors. Three. Three floors.
Plus a big one acting as the first. Double floor.
Nulanos wasn’t going to climb that after the ordeal he’d gone through already. The moment the two Lorians from earlier in the night arrived, he used the commotion to slip inside ‘walking the shades’ in the blind. Made a mess of it misjudging the length of the citadel and ended up inside a side corridor’s armoire. A halberd’s blade on his throat.
Bloody Luthos rolling on the floors somewhere chortling his larynx out hysterically.
Nulanos cracked the double doors open after working at the padlock from inside. He looped the wire twice to get it in the hole, after slipping it through a crack. Just by feel and ear alone. Darn right impressive burglar-man-ship. Almost three millennia of skill put to the test.
Under an hour to get out.
Almost died from lack of oxygen.
He saw no one walking the dark corridor and breathed out. Then got a foot out. Half an arsecheek. Wiggling his waist and shoulder to free an arm without dislodging every weapon crammed inside.
Solid ground at last.
Ground. It’s a floor.
Nulanos stretched both arms out, cracked his back and performed a couple of energetic squats to jump start circulation. Satisfied he started down the dark corridor and tried the first door he came upon. Eight peeked through the keyhole but saw nothing but black. He peeked again perturbed and realized he stared at a black wall.
Voron went for an all-black look.
Probably was so over budget by the time he started decorating the interior that when this chap went fishing for coins in his threadbare pocket, he actually grabbed his socks.
The next door was a dud.
The one after it got him inside the servant quarters. Nulanos walked through the nice but bare rooms, found some that were fully furnished. Two of them occupied. He reached a stair and thought of going up but spotted a side door on his left hand. Unsure on where he was, Nulanos opened the door and entered a massive room. About fifty meters away and to his front the darkness ended. Behind the massive columns he could just barely see another very-wide platform with stairs at the front. Another Voron specialty obviously. A metal throne on it but one could park half a dozen more there, garishly decorated but with some finer touches and golden details. Everything beyond the small columns starting behind the raised throne, the hall continued for a while, illuminated to the umpteenth.
The granite polished, covered in golden engravings and quite impressive, especially to one that had suffered the gloomy blackness for so long. The two Lorians were talking at the end of the opposite row of massive First Era imperial-style columns. Nulanos approached walking carefully in the unfamiliar place. This is the Monarch’s hall.
Why not built in the city?
Why retreat to the heights and hide inside this… lair?
Nigel had said that there were two Hardir. The one in Eikenport and this one. After his wife had died. Nulanos could understand grief. Could sympathize with a broken heart. He’d a rule for it of sorts. Not a rule. A caution. Then again all the rules were like that.
Things not to do to stay alive.
He could add a thousand more but after a while people stopped paying attention.
Paying attention…
The black columns behind the throne polished so much their surface was like a mirror. But all one could see if he stared at this black mirror was the back of the Monarch’s raised throne. A solitary figure standing with his back on the wall of the platform that housed the throne, arms crossed over his chest, cloaked body bathed in the light of the torches but unseen from the two talking Lorians that looked way worse from up closer. The soldiers really did a number on them poor chaps, he thought and then realized the guy hiding behind the throne was the same from the park.
Nulanos moved closer, darting from column to column and more details started emerging from the distorted mirrored image of the eavesdropping hooded male. Eight grimaced in visible pain and lost his footing. The solid raised walls built to help an ancient heart and mind survive and continue living cracked abruptly. They splintered in a thousand pieces and long repressed memories spurted out. Century after century of pain and regret for past mistakes, broken promises, dreams unfulfilled, pure agony and ancient horrors.
A river of lost things and the most bitter betrayal.
-
>
>
> ‘Come on royal collaborator’, Dar Nym taunted behind her faceless mask and everything came screaming right back from the darkest depths of Eight’s ancient mind.
>
> ‘You’ll get to live in exile,’ his pupil had said standing beyond that bridge between the two cities at Mori-Osto, blood trickling down her neck. ‘A Queen’s promise.’
>
> Not a pupil anymore because Eight had broken his own rules.
>
> Cracked the door open.
>
> Black eyes gleaming with stripes of white opened wide.
>
> A touch of Kobold in her.
>
> The star of the Coal Mines born in a pile of black ashes.
>
> Under the mountain.
>
> ‘I won’t talk,’ Eight had told Nym’s assassins circling him at the bridge. ‘I won’t let you cover this up.’
>
> Dar Minuet Mol, the lipless herald of the Circle, grinning whilst keeping a metal crossbow aimed at him from behind one of the stone bridge’s supports. Dar Vranga smoking his pipe in a bright orange dress, sitting down with legs crossed always near the First Servant. The youngest of them Dar Eherdir missing from the party, but Dar Draug was present, the hairy beast’s irregular but rapid heavy-breathing unnerving Eight as it stood right behind him.
>
> Dar Fenog, who was hiding behind the Monarch’s throne in the present, had knelt in front of Nulanos and let out a guttural grunt of satisfaction. It was the best he could manage probably since Fenog famously had no tongue.
>
> ‘We don’t need you to talk,’ Dar Fenog hissed in a whispery voice proving part of that assumption wrong. ‘Nor do we need the black witch. That’s for our young Queen to have her peace of mind. We only need to close the door. We had, but then a derelict bothersome thief went ahead and opened it. You made her so angry. She’ll never forgive you.’
>
> Time moved forward but not by much.
>
> The docks of south Mori-Osto in the middle of the night and a pair of gleaming indigo eyes watching him inside the chained and barred metal cage. The sound of many small feet tip-tapping on the metal above his head.
>
> ‘Nothing is amiss, toss him in the abyss,’ a squealing voice hissed and Nym nodded her faceless head. ‘He doesn’t know, but give it time and it will grow.’
>
> ‘Did you do it? I don’t need to ask Sigel O’ Nyel,’ Eight asked raspingly and the lithe assassin came to stand an inch from the steel bars. ‘What’s this? What vile fiend keeps you company?’
>
> ‘To learn a story’s end you need to start from the beginning Neil Toloth,’ Nym replied softly. ‘Because by the time that end arrives, a lot of things have been changed by the culprits working in the shadows. I have been given a task by the Queen. Me. I shall find out what happened. Cut it out, if I have to. But I’ll know the answer to the riddle. Nothing escapes the Circle. It may run, it may hide, but it won’t survive.’
>
> ‘You’re insane,’ Nulanos gasped in horror and recoiled his back hitting the metal cage. ‘The rumors are true.’
>
> Nym reached with a gloved hand and touched his face just like the Queen had done.
>
> ‘Work for us,’ Nym purred in a child’s voice and then Nulanos realized this wasn’t her voice. It was the creature above his head that talked now. ‘We need to know.’
>
> ‘Know what?’ A disturbed Eight gasped.
>
> ‘The Sigel O’ Nyel revealed that the slain King had two killers. This is what it told our Queen. One that died but is still around. One that lives but is already dead.’
>
> ‘What king? What in Oras shades are you talking about?’
>
> The creature squealing manically excited over him in a crescendo.
>
> ‘In metal it whispers an ever-weaving thread. If left its influence shall spread and come for his daughter’s head.’
-
The heavily-bandaged face of the Lorian was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. Shit. Now both of them look this way. Nulanos snapped out of his reverie and danced away from the alarmed Dar Fenog.
Fine, he also made two stops. One to get something in his stomach since the exertions of the day had drained him and the other up the stairs. While rattled from the encounter Nulanos wasn’t going to leave the palace without visiting the little Princess.
----------------------------------------
Nulanos paused at the edge of the lavish bed and watched the little princess sleeping. Her breath rugged as if she had a fever. Young cheeks rosy and a sheen of sweat on them. He reached with an index finger and caressed the wet skin.
This isn’t a fever’s sheen, he thought. She’s crying in her sleep.
The thief pulled away without making any noise. Not that he could with the amount of thick carpet under his soft leather boots. He took a deep breath in looking about the child’s bedroom. The Rokae outside returning to his position after looking about the large corridor for the source of the noise. A large canvas with a half-finished painting on it near a table with brushes and vials with colors. An armoire that probably had no weapons in it and a large metal box at the other corner of the room. Then his eyes returned on the little sleeping princess.
A human, he thought and then glanced at the painting with a frown. Of sorts.
In the end Hardir O’ Fardor wasn’t a Zilan or a Folk. And his child isn’t a human exactly.
He approached the stunningly detailed painting. It reminded him of Eilven and he could see the master artist’s heavy influence on the young princess. The skill though behind the brush of her young hand astonishing. What a talent you possess little one? Have you a good heart in your chest?
Will you rule wiser than your father? It’s always a thorny question this and a heavy burden for all heirs.
Crashing at times.
His keen trained eyes absorbing the details and it was as if the picture slowly came to life. A skill so great, it was laced in magic. Not a witch’s magic. The Cofol woman stood up from the sculpted bench seeing the merry couple approach her. She brought both hands on her mouth in shock and Nulanos could recognize the raw emotion flooding out of the canvas. He could taste it in his mouth. The man let go of his partner and walked towards the shaking Cofol female. He paused midway there and turned around to glance at the other woman but she waved him forward with her arm. She turned her blue head around when he did move forward again and Nulanos’ eyes opened wide in yet another shock.
Because this dazzling Zilan the ancient thief immediately recognized.
What the princess had drawn couldn’t be and it affected Nulanos deeply for he saw it for what it was. This wasn’t the present. It couldn’t be the past and what it showed couldn’t unfortunately represent the future. This was a divination. No Sibyl had ever dared put one on paper.
For whatever the outcome of that scene was to be, it had now changed forever and the little princess didn’t know it yet.
He moved away from the now completely still painting and paused near her bed.
“Another princess like you drove herself mad trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed,” Nulanos whispered hoarsely. “She was haunted by cryptic words and old mysteries. You have a killer under your roof and this is the present. Find a way to solve your problems without resorting to violence if it’s possible. Don’t listen to their advice. Or mine, I suppose. Aye. Learn to forgive but also be wary of those that want to serve you blindly. Be patient with them for they’ll make a lot of mistakes in your name. Always stay vigilant. Guard your heart… for once you give it away, you could be deathly hurt.”
-
A week later
Hardir’s Port
Goras
Midnight
“Anything?” Nulanos asked and Nigel popped his head over the edge of the warehouse’s roof and glared at him.
“They barred the hatch,” Nigel hissed in his whispery business voice. “From the inside.”
Nulanos nodded, not that poor Nigel could see him but he’d swore himself out of any sort of climbing for at least a week after all that he’d been through at Morn Taras. He didn’t need another injury in his age. Not with Dar Fenog and who knows how many more of Nym’s pupils still around.
So Nigel had climbed the three-story high warehouse, or loot-house as he’d joked earlier that evening but the local thieves had put a wrinkle to his plans. Obviously the front door facing away from the harbor was now heavily guarded.
“Can you use a saw?” Eight whispered with a light smirk as this part of the job he always enjoyed since a little kid back in Coal Isle. Sneaking into Tinyssos estate and peeking at Dudrina’s tits among other things. Ah, the good old days. Every one of the people he knew were already dead. Most. Like ninety-eight out of a hundred.
“I didn’t bring one,” Nigel griped and it turned into a whispery protest. “I’m not a god darn carpenter?”
“How about a hammer?” Eight jested but Nigel missed his tone.
“Are you serious? How about I just set it on fire? I’ve a firestone with me! Who’s gonna know right?”
“Gods you’re tensed. Use a long dagger at the edges,” Nulanos advised him calmly. “If it’s a newly installed hinge and they nailed it in a hurry then you could pop the whole thing out if you find it.”
“Umm,” Nigel murmured and disappeared from sight.
Nulanos stared at the docks, completely hidden in the heavy shadow of the building. A ship had moored in the busy port. Not a big one and not a Zilan ship. Small lights making it more difficult to see instead of helping. The ship’s deck about two hundred meters away. But the docks were mostly quiet so late in the night and empty, well… except the bad thieves guarding the warehouse with their stolen loot and the good thieves looking to steal it back from them.
Ha-ha.
Uhm.
The nightshift of course but they were mostly sitting at the big tavern on the other side of the port that hugged the civilian buildings. A ramp dropped from the small ship and Nulanos realized that it was in fact a lowly Sloop. He narrowed his eyes unsure on the timing and a lithe figure rolled down the ramp followed by a hat-wearing pirate. Nulanos blinked trying to focus his eyes better. The sound of the hatch cracking and then coming apart heard from somewhere high over his head, followed by the appallingly desperate cry of Nigel Grim -now just background noise for his tutor. The yelp sounding like it was coming from an ever-deepening well afore it stopped abruptly with a crashing bang.
No way, the heavily distracted Nulanos murmured realizing the two Issirs that had come down from the ship were in fact an Issir pirate and a very dark-skinned Zilan.
“Huh,” the master thief gasped quite astonished at being proven wrong. Happy in fact. A smile forming on his mouth and then he saw ‘Phantom’ Ryker himself rolling down the ramp and carrying a heavy bag over his shoulder.
Right behind him a one-eyed but smiling Mori-Zilan female sauntered down the Sloop’s ramp under the gawking Eight’s perplexed scrutiny. That smile on his mouth had turned into an angry snarl in an instant. All that had happened the previous week coming back to rile him up.
“Betty’s hairy thighs!” A rough voice growled a curse startling him and it left ambiguous whether Betty was of the human or any other of the talking species. “You son of a plaguing dog. This is private property!”
Fuck. That was Nigel taking a plunge earlier. Damn motherfuckers didn’t put a new lock on, they just changed the way it opened. A grimacing Eight thought, mentally slapping himself out of the gut-blow of seeing Valydra in the flesh after so many years.
Centuries.
Millennia and some change.
Oras fiends in the blasted night!
Nulanos realized he’d no plan prepared for this.
Nothing.
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