Story 1 - Oath of the Orphans
The blazing desert sun hung high over Sunhaven like a punishing amber eye. Despite the tranquil oasis that shielded the town from the harsh Desolation beyond, the market square simmered in stifling heat. Beads of sweat trickled down my brow as I skulked through the cramped alleyways, the shadows providing pitiful refuge from the scorching heat of the afternoon.
My stomach clenched in protest echoing with hollow pangs of hunger. It had been six days since I'd managed to scavenge even a scrap of moldy bread from the refuse heaps. The other orphan kids who made up my pack didn't fare any better. Their ribs were showing too much these days.
Sali, the youngest of our crew at only six years old, let out a plaintive whimper. Her enormous dark eyes bored into me with accusing hurt. As leader, it fell to me to deliver salvation from our constant torment.
"Easy, kid. We'll eat soon enough," I lied.
Up ahead, the main bazaar bustled with frenzied activity. Canny merchants hawked all manner of exotic wares to the passing trade caravans and milled throngs. Perfumes, jewels, spices—a cavalcade of overpriced luxuries amid the desert hardscrabble. My hollow pang flared into an inferno at the savory scent of baking bread floating on the heavy air.
That's when I spotted our golden opportunity—a stall groaning under the weight of loaves still warm from the ovens. Sweet butter glistened invitingly on their crusts. More importantly, the burly vendor was haggling furiously with a group of robed travelers, his attention solely consumed by driving a lucrative bargain.
Stealing a glance over my shoulders, I gave my crew a quick hand signal. They burst into action with the frenzied energy only starvation can fuel. They scattered in all directions through the market, whipping up swirling clouds of dust. Vendors sputtered in outrage as their wares were jostled and kicked aside. Customers and vendors alike, were entranced with chaotic pandemonium was erupting around them.
Seizing this moment of perfect bedlam, I exploded from the shadows. My bony fingers closed around the firm, beautiful loaves — three of the finest and plumpest I could grasp. A wild, fleeting thrill coursed through me, the triumph of my larcenous victory sending my heart hammering with electric exhilaration.
But that blissful moment was short-lived. A vise-like hand clamped around my wrist with crushing force, wrenching me off my feet and sending the precious loaves tumbling from my grasp onto the filthy street. My captor was one of the armored guards, his face a gnarled mask of rage beneath his plumed helmet.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"Caught red-handed, you thieving gutter-rat!" he snarled, dragging me before the bread vendor, now thoroughly apoplectic at the chaos that had disrupted his stall.
"This miserable wretch tried to rob me blind, sir!" the merchant howled. He swelled up, looking like a hot-tempered toad about to burst.
The guard's meaty fist slammed into my sternum, driving the wind from my lungs as I doubled over wheezing. "I should lock you in the stocks to roast for a few days, you flea-bitten louse!"
As the blows began to rain down, fists battering my head and ribs, a traitorous tear leaked from the corner of my eye. It wasn't the agonizing pain that broke me — I was regrettably well-accustomed to weathering brutal beatings. It was the crushing weight of utter failure and despair. My solitary chance to provide a scant meal for my pack had been squandered. My eyes sought out the wriggling mass of urchins still churning the square into frenzied chaos, now without purpose or coordination.
But then, as the guard paused to catch his breath, readying another haymaker blow, a commotion arose nearby. A cantankerous old woman was shrieking and brandishing her cane, a gaggle of giggling orphans scattering away from her vegetable cart laden with pilfered produce. For the briefest of moments, the distraction proved sufficient for me to wrench my skinny frame from the guard's slackened grip and bolt into the crowd.
I emerged sometime later, bruised and battered, in a squalid side street lined with teetering hovels. I made sure I wasn't followed. The others were already there, triumphantly feasting on their ill-gotten bounty — pomegranates, onions, flatbread stuffed with olives and chesse. Though I had been the one captured as the decoy, my diversion had allowed them to strike the motherlode while the guard's attention was diverted.
At least we will eat tonight.
No sooner had I shoved a looted fig into my mouth than a hooded figure emerged from the shadows. Even with my young eyes, I could detect the lean, corded muscle and poise of an experienced fighter about the figure. Shooting to my feet, outstreching my arms blocking the intruder from my pack.
"You've got guts for a mangy mongrel. And you don't fight fair. Those are valuable traits for one with ambition."
The stranger's accented voice was feminine yet laced with predatory menace. My heart stuttered in my chest as she lowered her cowl, revealing tawny features and keen eyes that burned with appraising scrutiny.
"What do you say, gutter-whelp? Tired of scraping for scraps in the dirt? I can show you how to seize your due. To make the fat scum like those fools in the market grovel at your feet."
As she extended her calloused hand, I didn't hesitate before grasping it fiercely, a feral grin splitting my face. The currents of Sunhaven's underworld had swept me up at last.