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 Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 6:42 pm
Prologue I’m not an orphan. If I were, I wouldn’t be out here on the street, fighting for my life, scavenging for every morsel of food. That’s the weird thing about Atl Jeylee-orphans are pitied and taken into nearby families. They live like nobles, waited on hand and foot by slaves or servants.
I can never be an orphan, whether my parents die or not. My mother wore no scarf, never married, and was not rich. That is to say, she sold her body to men. She was with so many, it’s impossible to tell who my father was. My mother didn’t want me- a child would interfere with her business- so I’ve been living on the streets all my life.
A little girl of about seven took care of me for the first few years of my life. Her name was Kanaar, which I couldn’t pronounce, so I called her Naara. Funny, I never noticed it didn’t have the double ‘I’ in it. My best guess is that she was taken in when she was little, and wanted to repay the favor by doing the same for me. It's an unwritten law that you can't give yourself a real name; the only choice is to combine words with an apostrophe and be branded for life. She named me Restelle, again no double 'I'. I had always thought it was a rather girly name, but every time I commented on that or the lack of an anyang's heritage, Naara just laughed or tousled my hair.
Naara’s policy was, “If you want it, work for it.” To her that meant getting odd jobs, such as sweeping the front of a store twice a week for a copper Knoch. It also meant going hungry for a week or two when she couldn’t find enough work, sleeping on the street, and getting beaten or yelled at if they stayed in one place too long. If you ask me, taking something is work. She disapproved of thievery, so I often didn’t tell her where the bread came from when I couldn’t get a Knoch from collecting firewood.
How she lived for nine phases before I started helping out, I doubt I’ll ever understand. How she took care of herself and me for three, I’m even more clueless. I believe that if it weren’t for me, she’d have starved to death. But she didn’t, and as she was my protector, it wasn’t my place to ask. Gradually, I got better at thievery, to the point where I could steal from a jewelry store-which I did, once, on Naara’s eleventh birthday for her present. She scolded me and returned it to the store, where they whipped her. Not me, but she probably didn’t mention that I was the one who stole it. Naara was just that insane.
A week later, when I was dressing the scores across her back, she started coughing. She got sick, to the point where she couldn’t move to a new place to sleep, and one bully tried to throw her out of the way. He deviated my septum for stopping him, fancy talk for breaking my nose. You can’t tell, but I don’t breathe quite as well as I used to.
Naara was sick, and it was my job to take care of her, stupid as she was. But I didn’t know how to fix her- I couldn’t afford healing herbs, and I couldn’t read the labels on the vials to tell which ones would help. Logically, I’d have to take all of them, but that would be impractical and difficult. One or the other, perhaps, but both was somewhat beyond me.
So I resolved to go to the herbalist with money. I’d have to steal it, because Naara was hungry, and I’d need to use the last copper Knoch on a little bit of food for her. But there wasn’t that much difference between stealing money and stealing food. At least, I didn’t think there would be.
I’d steal it from the largest house in town, because the people in there didn’t need the money, and Naara’s scruples stung enough that I wouldn’t take food from someone else who was starving.
I must have been a sight, four phases, with tattered breeches and a faded and hand-me-down shirt, walking straight towards the largest building in town-the city hall. I thought it was a house of some sort, and gulped when I saw two men standing beside the doors, each carrying a spear and wearing armor. I could get in real trouble for what I was about to do.
I went along the side, finding statues, which I’ve later learned are of the main God in Atl Jeylee. They were somewhat worn, and provided several places where a young boy could get a foothold. I jumped at the opportunity, and started climbing up the first one, onto a ledge one statue below a window. It was a three story building, unthinkable, but I figured the second story would have the least secure defenses. Even though there weren’t any building higher, the roof still seemed like a more obvious place to penetrate the building.
Once or twice, the stone moved beneath my fingers and I almost fell, but within a half Cycle, I had dropped through the window onto the carpet, knocking something off the ledge as I did such. It was silver, and pretty, tinkling as it moved. That was the first bell in my extensive collection, and I put it in my pocket, allowing it to jingle as I walked down the hallway. A moronic decision, but I was too young to know any better.
I walked into the first room on my left, opening the door. I was greeted with a second bell, which I shook next to my ear before placing in my pocket. It was the closest I’d ever come to a real toy. As I stepped forward, something gave beneath my foot, and I stumbled forwards, lucky as a crossbow sent a steel arrow whizzing towards the spot where my head had been moments before, where an older boy’s stomach would have been. All I realized was that somebody was trying to kill me.
There was a dresser on each side of the room, but the finest one was dead ahead. I wouldn’t go to that one- somebody would be more likely to notice if I took something from the prettier one. So instead I went left, towards the grander of the two remaining pieces of furniture. It was also the only one whose top drawer I could reach.
I pulled it open, and was delighted to find two bells drop onto the floor. I reached down to pick them up, but one had rolled beneath the dresser. I crouched down beneath the open drawer, reaching beneath and feeling for the bell.
“Captain, there’s been an intruder after all!” the voice echoed through the room. “I told you I’d heard something!” Small as I was, and tall as the guard was, he must not have been able to see me through the drawer, for he left immediately, and I heard his footsteps echoing above me. They were going to the roof. Go figure. There must have been something valuable in here after all.
More curious than scared, I stood up after retrieving my bell (strange how my priorities were ordered) and reached into the drawer, feeling along each side. There was nothing inside. Perhaps there had been an intruder. I couldn’t find anything in the drawer. But why were there still bells inside?
Something must have struck me, for I returned under the drawer, reaching my hand up behind it. Two more bells. Lady Luck favored me today! My fingers found a keyhole. Just my luck. There was nothing I could do about it. I crawled back out from the door and started to find two boys about thirteen phases hanging in the doorway.
“Oiy. A kid beat us to it,” one remarked, staring down at me in disbelief. I needed to make a break for it. He started towards me.
“Don’t!” I warned, afraid; there might have been more arrow traps.
He looked at me and started laughing. “Dolt. I’m trained for this. You don’t think I’m gonna get caught by a couple of amateur Anyangs like these, do you?” He took another step forward, and his foot slipped on another of the buttons.
“Apparently so,” the other boy remarked, trying to restrain a laugh as the first leapt out of the way.
“He distracted me,” the boy countered hotly. “Well, boy, give us what you’ve got from there, or we’ll have to kill you.”
That startled me. I jumped, bumping my head on the drawer, to the amusement of my audience. Immediately, I shoved my hands in my pocket and drew out the bells, holding my hand out. “I got some from the window, and one was on the door.”
“Idiot,” the more cautious boy scolded, smacking the other across the head. “I told you there should have been bells.”
“We don’t want that boy. We want what was in the drawer.”
“It’s locked.” They both stared at me in disbelief. After all, it was hanging open. “I mean, there’s nothing in the drawer. But there’s a keyhole on the back.”
“So? Go ahead and open it,” the boy urged.
“I don’t have the key.” Why would I? But I got to keep the bells and live, so I wasn’t about to ask.
“He doesn’t have the key,” the obnoxious boy mocked.
“I knew he wasn’t even Pointed by now.” I stared at him in disbelief. “You mean you en’t even a member o’ the Lawless?” I shook my head. “That’s raw skill right there. Kyi’iren, get whatever’s in there. Kid, come with me.”
“I can’t. Naara-my sister- she’s sick.”
“Well you’re not going to find the cure in there. Come with me.” I followed him, hanging my head. I knew I was in trouble, although I would have been hard put to explain why. ~ ~ ~ He led me back to Naara, and even got her the cure. She was well within two days, at which time he approached me again with the offer to join the Lawless. He knew enough about me by then to know I had no family, and that Naara wasn’t really my sister.
“Let me get this straight,” Naara said in disbelief. “Not only did you try to steal from the City Hall, he’s asking for you to train to become a professional thief?” I hung my head, but the boy must not have noticed my embarrassment.
“Yes’m. He was born for this line of work.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help feeling a little bit proud of myself.
“He was born so he could live!” Naara said hotly. “And I do not call scrounging around with two-faced unscrupulous scum such as him living. Restelle, I am ashamed that I once called you my brother.” That hurt worse than the compliment was worth, and I was more than ready to slink off.
The boy didn’t back down. “The Lawless aren’t scrupulous, girl,” he leered. “We have a strict code of laws enforced by Lord Mytli’in!”
“Mytli’in? He chose that name himself, did he?” Naara sneered, and it was the boy’s turn to seethe. “No further discussion. Restelle, if I ever catch you hanging around this Anyang again, I’ll-”
I never got to find out what she’d do to me. Kyi’iren had stabbed her in the back, sword now protruding from her chest cavity. Naara, my protector, my sister, fell to the ground, a corpse.
The other boy turned to me, telling me that when I joined I’d have all the food I wanted. There didn’t seem to be any other choice at the time. He was twice my size, and I was completely terrified. Especially considering the blood-stained knife that had found its way into his hand. So I went with the boys. ~ ~ ~
“What’s your name, boy?” It was childish of him to add; he was a boy as well. But I was considerably younger than him, and he seemed to be in charge.
“Restelle,” I squeaked, eyes darting this way and that as I looked for an escape route. It was too late, of course, but my mind still tried to find a way out.
Some of the boys howled in laughter, saying things like “Stella!” “Ella!” and the worst, “he can’t be a boy with a name like that!” I turned bright pink, but I had decided to keep the name as a tribute to Naara.
“How old are you, Res?” The authoritative boy cut down the laughter, and granted me with my nickname. There wasn’t even a hint of amusement on his stoic face. Despite his age, he appeared aged and regal.
“Five,” I lied, staring at my sandals. In reality, I would turn five two weeks later, but saying four made me feel even smaller.
“And what are your special talents?” he asked, looking me over, although his gaze never so much as shifted.
“Ta-talents?” I choked out, looking at him. I didn’t have any special talents. If I had, I would have found work and been able to afford Naara’s medicine in the first place.
“What makes you worth my time, despite your age?” the boy tried again.
“I don’t know. I’m just a common thief, Sir.”
“That’s Lord Mytli-in. And from what Whythii said, you’re anything but. Don’t expect to be Pointed until you’re eight- everyone says it just takes talent, but you also need a lot of hard work and experience. It’s good to have you among us, Res. I’ll probably be gone by the time you become a Tolen, but I have no doubt you will.” He was wrong, of course, but he wasn’t off by much.
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Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 6:47 pm
Chapter 1
Dark, deserted alleys are always a dangerous place, and those in Atl Jeylee were no exception. With incredibly organized crime, thefts from a person were rarer than in most cities, but it still happened quite often to the unprepared. Going without a weapon at night was possibly the stupidest act one could commit—and it was never made more than once.
It could be implied, therefore, that the boy crouching towards the ground, running his finger through the dirt, was going to shortly become a corpse. He stood up abruptly, fingers brushing against his sleeves. He relaxed, sitting down on a broken barrel, face lifted upwards, watching as a shadow moved along the wall towards him. “Your approach is both unmistakable and sloppy,” the boy remarked, a rusted knife with a black hilt now resting between his fingers.
“Sorry, Ettolen.” The girl looked about the same age, perhaps eight or nine, with dark black hair cut unevenly just below her earlobes. She wore breeches and a dark shirt over her skinny boyish figure. The only thing betraying her gender was the brown scarf gripping her shoulders, suggesting she still lacked both a man and great fortune.
“At least you’re not late,” the boy replied gruffly. His green eyes turned down to his knife, and he ran a finger up and down the blade, almost as if he were polishing it with his fingerprints.
The girl shifted uncomfortably, and leaned against her own weapon, a staff. It still had its jewel-encrusted head on, which could be removed easily to reveal a four inch long blade which the girl knew how to use effectively. “Surely Naruken will make sure they’re not holding him up,” she remarked after a while.
The boy snorted. It would be better if the group was not together, but none of them seemed to understand the logic behind this. After a minute or two, he told her blatantly, “If the others do show up, tell them I demand tribute – fourteen Knochen’s worth, untraceable. Although if they don’t know that by now, there’s no way that they’re going to graduate as Sallephes.”
The girl ducked her head, trying to hide her smile. He’d said it louder than necessary, which implied that the others were nearby; his hearing had always been somewhat better than hers, even though her own ears were exceptionally keen.
“Getting afraid, now that you know we’ll pass?” a boy taunted as he rounded the corner. “Afraid I’ll take your boring position? Oh, don’t worry, Ettolen, I don’t want it.” He spoke the respectful title of ‘master’ or ‘wise one’ with sheer contempt, and would have thrown it away entirely if he hadn’t learned better by now. He was older than the other two, by about half a decade, and he openly carried his weapon, a curved sword, at his waist. Two boys were behind him, one taller and one around his height, although both became inconsequential beside this one, who drew attention as he did air, and thrived on it as well.
“You’re late, Ki’ranii,” the smaller boy drawled, intent on examining his knife.
“Apologies, Ettolen,” another boy told him, nudging Ki’ranii with his elbow as the boy opened his mouth. “You wanted to speak to us?” Naruken, at least, must have understood that there was a reason behind their ettolen’s summoning, for he rarely spoke up unless it would be beneficial for him.
Ki’ranni grumbled something beneath his breath. A knife zipped past his ear, severing a lock of his dark ashy hair. It fell to the ground, and the only noise was the harsh echoing of the knife as it struck the brick behind him. All heads snapped to the ettolen, bristling as they found him in the same position, leaning against the wall, studiously examining a knife and running his fingernails up and down its length, green eyes hidden beneath his unkempt hair.
The knife, however, had a navy blue hilt rather than his favored black.
Ki’ranni’s eyes were blazing. “Anyang!” he hissed, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, fingers gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.
“You blinked,” the ettolen finally announced, lifting his head and flashing a patronizing smile at the older boy. His laughing gaze was enough that Ki’ranni ducked his head. “You know what that means.” He couldn’t help smiling malevolently and Naruken and the girl mouthed the words as Ki’ranni was chided. “You’ll be doing my chores for a week.”
“Ettolen, you weren’t even watching!” Ki’ranni protested, refusing to accept the defeat. The thought of being forced to wash the little brat’s clothing again was repulsive.
“Really? In that case, it’ll be two weeks, because you must have seen my attack coming if you were watching me, and shouldn’t have allowed me to hit you.” The ettolen’s words were clear, precise, and authoritative, despite his youthful age of eleven. The girl was his only student younger than he was, and seemed to be the only one capable of looking up to him.
“Trying to make you feel better, Ettolen,” Ki’ranii said haughtily, eying his teacher scornfully, although being very careful not to blink.
Grinding his teeth, the ettolen asked him, “How old are you?” He knew the answer, of course, but he was trying to bring the conversation back on topic. They had been in one place for too long, and in a group this big, if the Lingre Force saw them, there was bound to be a fight.
“Fifteen,” Ki’ranni smirked, left hand reaching back to run through his hair.
“Naruken?”
The boy jumped, not having paid attention to the conversation. He ran through the events in his mind. “I’m fourteen, Ettolen.”
“Shiiv?”
“Seventeen.” Shiiv, tall and buff, was nothing more than an idiot. The Ettolen would be forced to fail him this time as well, which meant he’d have at least two more Phases putting up with the bully and his idiocy; he’d be even worse without Ki’ranni to direct his every thought.
“Liika?”
As the Ettolen spoke her name, Liika’s heart raced. She’d been rather fond of him for close to two phases and tried as always not to betray her feelings as she found her voice. “Ten phases, Ettolen.”
“And you’re all set to take the test to become actual Sallephes when I deem you ready,” he continued, trying to make a point. “I was going to give you the instructions tonight, but seeing as the four of you need to learn respect at the very least, I suppose I’ll have to delay it. I passed the test when I was six, and became the youngest-”
“Ettolen!” all four complained, shaking with excitement. It was about time!
“We’re ready!” Liika whined, hand clenched around her dagger. With a shrug, the ettolen stood up, picking up the black-hilted knife from the ground and sheathing the blue one in his sleeve.
“We’re the best in our class!” Ki’ranii complained. And we’re stuck with a twirp.
“And that’s why I’m stuck with you. Sadly, your class appears incompetent. Not even close to the level the previous four phases were at when they reached me.”
“This is your fifth phase, Ettolen?” Liika gasped, eyes sparkling. The ettolen rarely gave information about himself, a smart thing to do in his line of work.
“Sadly, Lord A’tuniin has yet to put my talents to better use. I’m stuck here until I’m fifteen.”
“See? He needs someone older and more experienced to work in the field,” Ki’ranii sneered.
“He needs someone to teach the younger generations,” the ettolen corrected angrily. He tried not to cringe as the boys snorted. ‘Younger.’ It was laughable.
“Maybe that’s what he says,” Ki’ranni challenged. Something zipped past his ear.
“You blinked.”
~ ~ ~
“News from Ettolen Claie’s fourth,” a boy bowed, “Pariia’h, in charge of new recruits, reports that three of the trainees should be Pointed shortly. Pariia’h suspects that they’ll be two under Lord Renter, and one Monkey, who seems to be earning a name for herself. However Pariia’h notes that she was only recently moved to this position and-”
“Have Kar’ii see to them when she gets the chance. Any Specialists?”
“One metalworker, with skill rivaling the ettolen’s, but with a temper that none seems capable of quelling.”
A sly smile spread on the young man’s lips. “Does the trainee know that they’ve been marked?”
“No, but it’s quite obvious.”
“Give him-”
“Her,” the boy corrected with a bow.
“A female metalworker?” He raised an eyebrow, but dismissed the thought. “Have her report to the Salleph training within the next week. Under the ettolen.”
The boy looked surprised. “Ettolen of the Salleph? But that’s…” He smiled. “I see.”
“He should help her learn her place. And he’s always looking for something interesting to do. Although don’t let him know I said that; he’ll throw a tantrum, I’m afraid. And you might loose an ear beyond hope of repair.” Lord A’tuniin sat on a silk-covered crate in the center of a large courtyard. The mortar was cracked, and several of the stones had fallen, but the place was buzzing with activity, the highest ranked members of the Lawless discussing recent happenings and gossiping with one another. Lord A’tuniin, King of Castoffs, high prince of all unlawful, tapped his fingers against the side of the crate, considering whether or not to execute his second-in-command as Lord Renter began droning on about the tactics and supplies necessary to do some such thing. Renter had become far too ambitious over the last phase, and Lord A’tuniin did not plan on being dethroned any time soon. At all, if he could help it, which wouldn’t be too hard; at nineteen phases, he’d almost reached the unspoken age of retirement from the Lawless. None were over twenty, and none had been since Lord Ikyan had formed the Lawless some hundred and fifty phases ago.
“Lord A’tuniin.” The voice came from his ear, hot breath on his neck. Startled, he spun around, bringing a short sword up to the speaker. Quick as he was, whoever had spoken was gone. There was only one person that fast.
“Ni’iro,” Lord A’tuniin relaxed, turning back around to the front. A young boy was bowing low, black- and brown-hilted knives crossed over the bottom of his ribcage in a symbol of respect.
“Stand down!” Two guards cried, slow as ever as they noted a supposed attempt on their king’s life. Lord Renter watched in annoyance, A’tuniin in amusement as one jumped the boy whose head came to his stomach. They tumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust, and all around the courtyard, conversation was put on hold as well-polished weapons glinted in plain sight, ready to discourage whoever was necessary.
“You’ll not be taking Lord A’tuniin!” the free-guard informed the perpetrator, pointing his spear towards the two grappling boys.
“Was I going somewhere?” Ni’iro asked, a purple-hilted knife between his teeth as he jammed his knee into his opponent’s face. The sight made him look laughable, a little boy in the skin of a terrifying assassin, not noticing that he was too small for the desired effect. “Funny. You two certainly wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
The guard he was fighting wrenched his spear, and Ni’iro sliced it into two pieces, disarming the pointy half and sending it flying towards Lord Renter, who dodged it easily. “Watch here, twerp,” Renter began angrily.
“Majesty, shall we kill the perpetrator?” the free guard asked as he prodded the back of Ni’iro’s neck with his spear. Ni’iro turned around, eyes glittering.
“If you can manage,” Lord A’tuniin drawled, trying to hide his amusement. If his students were causing him too much trouble, Ni’iro might force A’tuniin to find two new bodyguards.
Ni’iro’s upper body surged forwards, bringing his arms up with him, as they’d been behind his back, both hands dropping his knives and grabbing hold of the guard’s spear. He did a somersault, yanking the guard off his feet and breaking the spear from his grip. Ni’iro rolled out of the way and kicked the guard’s feet from under him, sending the older boy toppling onto his ally, who grunted under the weight.
“I’m insulted, Lord. Am I now expendable?” Ni’iro seated himself on the guard’s back, driving the spear into the ground at the nape of the first’s guard’s neck, pulling the knife out of his mouth and holding it against the throat of the other. “Perhaps I should take these worthless lives to prove my loyalty; a guard is useless if he leaves his charge open to attack.”
“There’s no closing it with you, Ni’iro. Let them be,” Lord A’tuniin commanded. “I’ve had enough bodies to bury, what with this attack from the Lingre Force.” The Lingre Force sought to do in any child on the street, viewing them as possible members of the Lawless, catching and killing only ones who weren’t.
Ni’iro shrugged, sheathing his purple-hilted knife before standing and walking over to the other two he’d dropped during the fight, picking them up and wiping them against his breeches. With that, he sat down, hands in his lap, looking up at Lord A’tuniin expectantly. “Next time get guards who won’t attack fishes higher on the food chain than they are.”
“Ni’iro,” one of the guards tried the name, trying to place it.
“He’s Ettolen Ni’iro? But he’s just a-”
“If the word you’re looking for is ‘kid,’ don’t expect to leave here alive,” Ni’iro said, green eyes glittering with malice.
“Begone,” Lord A’tuniin chided the guards, shooing them with a hand. Bowing, they scurried back to their posts, ignoring the pain that shot from a torn ligament or bruised limb.
“Lord A’tuniin,” Lord Renter croaked, “shall we resume? I was trying to go over the statistics…” Lord A’tuniin stifled a groan. So much for excitement!
“Lord Renter,” Ni’iro said icily, bowing, although only one knife was against his ribcage, hollow and grudging respect although the boy was five phases his senior. A’tuniin made a mental note to take away the title from his second-in-command; only the King should have one above ettolen. Of course, chopping off Renter’s head would work just as well.
“Lord Renter,” A’tuniin finally remembered formalities, “I’m sure you remember Ettolen-”
“Yes, yes, the squirt,” Renter nodded towards Ni’iro, although his lips were held in a sneer. The little boy had to struggle not to pull out a knife and whip it straight into Lord Renter’s heart. Luckily common sense held, for attacking the leader of the Lawless’ small army would be suicide. “Now, A’tuniin, if you take into account-”
“Lord A’tuniin,” Ni’iro grumbled, correcting him.
“the behavior of the Qiiv during the most recent Phase. Regardless of their standings, they’re humiliating not only themselves, but all of the Lawless, and-”
Lord A’tuniin had had enough. “Ni’iro, you wanted to speak with me?” He turned back to the ettolen, pulling three knives from beneath his cloak, one with a white hilt, one with a mint hilt, and one with a deep crimson hilt. “You lost the white one and broke the crimson one, did you not? Or was it the other way around? Regardless, I figured you could add one more to your set.” Where he put them all, Lord A’tuniin had always been curious, but Ni’iro always seemed to have every knife on hand from his collection. With a flick of his wrist, he shot the knives successively at Ni’iro.
“If you were expecting me,” Ni’iro said, snatching them between the fingers of his left hand one at a time and admiring them as a girl might jewelry, “then how could I have caught you by surprise?”
“I’m always prepared for you, since you always manage to come when I’m unprepared,” Lord A’tuniin said merrily.
“That way,” Lord Renter interjected, “he has to put up with you less often.”
“Too bad it doesn’t work for you as well,” Ni’iro taunted. Sparks flew between the two.
“Watch it, twerp,” Lord Renter seethed.
A knife whipped from Ni’iro’s hand, cutting off the tip of Lord Renter’s nose and pinning it to the mortar of the courtyard wall. Lord Renter howled in pain, grabbing his nose with one hand, and his sword with another. “Call me twerp again, and that will be your head,” Ni’iro threatened, pulling a knife in each hand. They fit in his palms perfectly, although he could expect no less from the master smith’s work.
“The mint dagger appears to be acceptable,” A’tuniin remarked, taking it from the wall and handing it to Ni’iro, who wiped it off before sheathing it in his sleeve, eyes never leaving his foe.
“They are ready to take the test,” Ni’iro finally said.
“Go for it,” A’tuniin nodded. Like he’d prolong the discussion and risk losing an Ettolen. “I trust your judgment.” Ni’iro smirked at Lord Renter and spun around, walking out of the courtyard, ears tuned to make sure he wasn’t attacked during his exit.
He’d gotten the better of Renter this time, but he’d be a fool to think that was the end of it.
~ ~ ~
Ni’iro wandered down the city street, stopping at a street vendor or two to pick up his dinner, asking the men running them for directions to his grandmother’s house and baffling them with a name they had never heard of. Amazing how they forgot about their wares when thinking. It must not come naturally to them, he thought, smiling. Meanwhile, he took from them a leg of chicken, a couple of rolls and even a bowl of soup, the most difficult thing to steal. None of them noticed their wares depleting, which would have made him howl in amusement, had it happened for the first time rather than the hundredth.
“Delliid!” a woman cried, latching on to the arm of a member of the Lingre Force. “The Shadow stole my cooking pot!” Ni’iro snorted, shaking his head and noting that the Diilled, disrespectful version of Dellid, referring to a man of authority, did the same.
“The Shadow’s targets tend to be much more valuable. More likely it was merely a petty thief.” The man didn’t mention Ni’iro’s theory, that she’d simply lost it. These days, everything was blamed on The Shadow. Capital letters and everything. It was laughable.
It was also annoying. For ages, the Master Thief had been regarded with fear and awe as the number one felon in the eyes of the Lingre Force and the general public. Now some being nobody had ever seen, nobody even knew for sure whether they existed, was causing chaos and mass mayhem from the upper districts down even to the Lawless. Everything, even one of Lord A’tuniin’s weapons had mysteriously vanished.
The woman stuck her nose in the air. “I demand a new pot,” she told him. Trying desperately not to laugh, Ni’iro continued down the road, eying the houses with particular interest as he bit into a pilfered piece of chicken.
He was entering the better part of the district, and glass with lumps and whorls could be seen in every window, trying to discourage thievery. Many had left traps on the doors and sills, even the floor, if you didn’t know where to step. The rich were paranoid. And that made the game all the more enjoyable to play.
It was getting dark, and Ni’iro wanted to get back to the Lawless’ territory. He didn’t feel unsafe, really, considering his skill with knives. But a boy wandering down the streets past sunset was highly suspicious. With a shrug, he turned around, somewhat put off. None of these houses were to his liking. His students needed a challenge.
He tried to ignore the small part of him that said it was only because he didn’t want Ki’rannii to pass.
~ ~ ~ A sharp rapping on his door. Ni'iro rolled over in protest, and fell off his pallet, eye twitching as he pulled himself off the floor. Whoever had disturbed his sleep was going to pay. He secured the sheaths on his knives, and pulled a loose shirt over his head, going down the stairs. The knocking was louder. Who could be insane enough to come here? Ad’elli, perhaps, but his next door neighbor was always brewing strange potions at this cycle, and couldn’t be bothered to leave them.
He opened the door to see a girl about his height and age, although her skin was dark, and her limbs muscular. A permanent sneer rested on her face. “Must have the wrong house,” she grunted, looking him up and down. “I was told Ettolen’s were granted their own houses. ‘Less you’re his little brother, or something of the like.”
Ni'iro frowned, hands twitching towards his knives. Who did this girl think she was? For that matter, who was she? “You’re looking for the Master Thief?” he asked.
“Thief? What are you, daft? I’m a blacksmith.” She smiled, obviously a cocky thing. “I’ll be an ettolen before you even graduate. Now where can I find Ettolen Ni'iro? I’m supposed to report to him for further instruction. Not like I need it.”
“Daft and clueless,” Ni'iro announced. “Ettolen Ni'iro is of the Sallephe. And I graduated before you even joined the Lawless.” Now why would a blacksmith come to him?
“Sallephe? Ain’t that one of the Points?” the girl asked, confused. Smiths weren’t Pointed, they were taken by specialty Tolen or an Ettolen if they were lucky.
“At last, something got through your thick head!” Ni’iro announced, throwing his hands up.
“Watch here, shrimp-” Ni'iro’s hand shot up and a knife was pressing against the front of her throat.
“Look here, girl. There are a number of reasons why you reported to me. You can pick from the most probable two. Option one – the Lawless doesn’t need another smith, or at least not you as one, and someone noted your smooth hand movement, a crucial part to thievery. No talent, but that’s what I’m supposed to give that to you.”
“It’ll be the second one, then,” she said haughtily, stepping back away from the knife. Ni'iro let it fall; the next part would do just as well without her inching away.
“Second, they simply couldn’t stand your big mouth, and knew that if you continued to shoot it off at me, they wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore. I don’t take kindly to insults, if you catch my drift. You’ll take the latter, will you?”
“You’re bluffing,” the girl announced. “I can wield a weapon well enough to take you down. I know all manner of weapons inside and out, even your little butter knife. Besides, you ain’t no Ettolen. You’re too young!”
His eyes glittered, and she unconsciously edged closer to the wall, hand on a sword she’d made. “Too young?” Ni'iro asked, throwing a knife to strike the wall behind her left ear. “Too young for what?” Another knife flew from his hand, embedding itself in the mortar behind her right ear. “Too young to take you on?” He emphasized this with another, just under her chin. “Too young to have killed? Too young to have seen the horrors of everyday life? Have you seen them, then? You’re not more than a phase more than I am. Certainly far less experienced. Oh, are my little butter knives scaring you? Am I too young to know how to use them effectively? You know how they’re made, don’t you? You should be able to stop all attack!” By now, her entire body was framed with his knives, and he was inches from her face, black-hilted knife poking her nose. “Still think I’m not an Ettolen, girl?”
She swallowed. “Who made your knives?”
A one track mind. Genius, this one. Ni'iro made a mental note to murder Lord A'tuniin for whatever game he was playing at. More probable, he’d simply yell. A'tuniin always was incredibly amused by his rants. Bugger that the king of the Lawless found so much fun in playing with his subjects’ lives.
“They look flawless,” the girl continued, crossing her eyes to see the weapon on the end of her nose. “Razor sharp, and incredibly aerodynamic. Hardly any wind resistance at all. Who did you steal these from?”
“Steal?” Ni'iro demanded angrily.
“You said yourself you’re the Master Thief, ain’t you? If so, why do you have qualms with the idea?” She smirked. Ni'iro would cut out her tongue if it was the last thing he did.
“They’re the make of I’iryn. Not that it’s any of your business. Made especially for me when I graduated and became Ettolen. The one prodding your nose is the oldest. The one under your left elbow the newest. I have more’n twice you see here, so no funny business, got it?”
“I’iryn?” Her eyes sparkled. “They say he’s the best smith there is. Can I see your knives, please? Just for a while-to compare the differences between the oldest and the newest. Please!” she pleaded. Amazing the change in her face.
“Later,” Ni’iro said gruffly, plucking the knives from the wall one by one. The girl tried to help, but he swatted her hands away. “If I decide you’ve worked hard enough. You’ll train with me for four cycles, starting just after lunch.”
She grimaced. Four cycles was a fourth of a day; she’d be exhausted by the time they were done. But it would leave her with three, four cycles afterwards. If she hurried to the furnace, she’d have enough time to try and make one of the knives. They were, needless to say, intriguing. “All right, kid. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“First off, you’ll refer to me as Ettolen, or Ettolen Ni’iro if you want to push your luck. Anything else will get you a beating—without the knives,” he added. She deflated. “Now what’ll I call you? Moron?”
“Nai’iryn,” she told him. “Most people call me Nai, since I haven’t ‘earned’ the last part of my name yet, but that might get confusing, what with the first part of your name being pronounced the same and all.” At his look, she added, “Ettolen.”
“Moron it is.”
“But-”
“Get lost until after lunch.”
“Ettolen-”
“Go!”
She scampered off towards the forge, eyebrows furrowed.
There was a peal of laughter to his left. “Quite a show you put on there.” A girl’s head poked out the window of the house next door. “I forgot you love dramatics so much, Uncle Ni. We never get a chance to speak anymore!” She pouted prettily, and he glared, causing the girl to laugh.
“What do you want, Ad’elli?” he asked.
“I wanted to finish some of my potions, you know,” she
remarked wistfully. The girl was nine phases old, and a master with herbs, as her name suggested. Those in the lawless generally chose their names twice, generally from words of the dead language—once when they entered service and needed something to be referred to as, and once when they graduated from a Point or specialty. Ad’elli derived from Adence, which meant ‘cure’ and Ellieni, meaning ‘flower petal’. As the ‘curer of petals’ it was her job to brew potions for Lord A'tuniin’s court. If she made the drinkers gag in the process, it was simply a welcomed bonus. “I had so hoped to give you some new products before one of your students outdoes you.”
“That’ll be the day,” Ni'iro snorted.
“Don’t get cocky, Uncle Ni,” she warned vaguely.
“What with all the Anyangs picking fights with me these days, I don’t see how I could avoid it,” Ni'iro said, shaking his head.
“She’s almost more arrogant than you, you know,” Ad’elli pointed out. “Taking the same ending as I’iryn before she’s even taken as a specialist—that takes guts.”
“Or lack of brains,” Ni’iro snorted. “Tell me, Addie, did you know she was coming to me for instruction this morning?”
A small smile curled on her lips. “Well someone has to know the best time to have a one on one speech with one of our most famous ettolens,” she said. “Just think, much later and one of our neighbors would have seen you plaster her to the wall!” She broke out laughing again.
“Addie!” Ni’iro roared, lunging towards her.
“Oops! Potion’s done! Can’t talk now, Uncle Ni!” She disappeared from the window, hair fluttering behind her.
“Addie, get back here!” ~ ~ ~
“This one.” A picture of a boy slid across the table, collected in large dry hands. “I want him gone. Permanently.”
“You know who I want out of the way, surely,” a low voice rumbled.
“He’ll be dealt with, I assure you. I’ll take care of him personally.” It suited him just as well; he’d intended to kill him sooner or later. Preferably sooner. “You’ll attack at the specified time, then?” His hands shook with anticipation. Amazing how it all fell together.
“I wouldn’t presume to take me for a liar, given your position,” the man said, a bit more forcibly than necessary.
“I do no such thing.” After all, he only took him for an idiot and another pawn to accomplish his plans.
~ ~ ~ A shriek echoed down the hallway. Not the best wake-up call. She racked her mind for its origins and let out a sigh; her newest maid must have set off one of the traps. Tilting her head this way and that, she pulled herself out of the bed and walked down the hallway. The frantic maid almost ran into her.
“Milady! Sharp, shiny knives!” she wailed. “I was naught but trying to sweep the floor, I was! Cut me leg!” She pulled back her skirts to show a gash of blood. The angle was wrong for an accidental injury from the traps; she must have done it afterwards, in an attempt to escape punishment or being scolded. This maid was so very jumpy. What was her name again?
“Laerel, I told you not to go into that room.” She strode down the hallway, the maid limping afterwards, head ducked. “Surely you knew I had a reason for doing such.”
“Of course, Milady!” Laerel gasped, looking horrified. “But it looked awfully dusty, and-”
“You won’t make that mistake again.” It wasn’t a question. Saphe didn’t ask questions.
“No!” Laerel shook her head. It was only her second day in this household, and already she was making mistakes all over the place.
Saphe surveyed the room. The traps were up. That was no way to catch a thief! Pursing her lips, she stepped carefully towards the wall, having learned by rote where she could put her feet without worry. A panel of the wall moved aside at her touch, and she pulled a lever. Slowly, the traps somewhat similar to sharpened spears heads, blades on three sides to a point at the top, jagged all the way down to the floor, sunk beneath the wooden flooring, which closed above them cleverly, cracks only where the boards fitted together.
“Come, Laerel,” Saphe instructed, closing the door. “And don’t speak of this; it will undoubtedly distress my guardians.”
“My lips are sealed, Milady,” Laerel stammered, bobbing along after her. “If I may, shouldn’t you be going back to sleep until second meal is served? All my previous mistresses did.”
“I have work to do.” ~ ~ ~ “You want me to do what, now?”
“Jump out the window, Moron.”
“My name’s Nai’iryn!”
“You don’t have a name,” Ni’iro said, sneering.
“Oh, like you do?” Nai’iryn snorted, rolling her eyes. “What was your first name, anyways? I could always call you by that.”
“My first name is none of your business. My second name as well, but you could find that one in the records. I’ll save you the trouble, because there’s no way you’ll ever be advanced enough to steal them. Back then I went by Ni’ikeline. And don’t bother trying to dig up dirt on me, because there isn’t any. Now jump out the window before I push you out!”
“If you have a real name, why would you take an anyang’s? What are you, crazy?” Ni’iro shoved her out the window. Flailing, she smashed her arm against the wall as she fell, letting out a strangled yelp until she landed in a pile of hay, put there to prevent injury.
“Moron!” Ni’iro called, smiling. “If you’d jumped yourself, you would have been further away from the wall, and wouldn’t have broken your arm!”
“My arm’s not broken!” Nai’iryn yelled back, but cringed as she shifted it.
“Do you want to go to the injury ward, or should I get something from Addie?” Ni’iro asked.
“Who’s Addie?” Nai’iryn asked suspiciously.
“Ad’elii. Dunno if she’s an ettolen or just a tolen these days, but she makes most healing potions these days. I’m her charge, specifically.” In other words, he couldn’t get a potion from somebody else even if he wanted to. A blessing when she made what he needed and a curse when she added a side affect ‘nobody could have predicted.’
“Get something from her! Ow.”
Ni’iro couldn’t help smiling as he leapt from the window. Wrong decision, yet again. She’d learn. ~ ~ ~ Liika looked in the mirror, adjusted her brown scarf and nodded to her reflection. It was as good as she was going to get. She turned to her staff and toyed with the positioning of jewels adorning the top, selecting deep blue maliendynes alternating with nearly clear pink roumalynes; not show-offy, but still classy.
Since he would be preparing the graduation test for them, Ettolen wouldn’t be doing anything more pressing tonight and she could coerce him into giving her a private lesson. She smiled at the thought and left the community building for Sallephes-in-training, passing numerous inferiors and one or two tolens trying to get them to do something useful. She hurried, afraid one of them might bar her from her ‘unimportant’ mission.
Once outside she heaved a sigh of relief. Now to find Ettolen. She bit her lip as she knocked on the door to his house, knowing he was rarely inside it. No answer. Liika cursed and turned around. “Now what?” she asked the buildings around her. An ettolen house, a couple tolen duplex, and something somewhat smaller right next to Ettolen’s house. Nobody in the Lawless lived alone except the ettolens and Lords A'tuniin and Renter, but they all had larger houses than this one.
A dilemma.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she knocked on the door, keeping both hands on her staff so she could remove the head if a weapon was called for.
“Give me a second, why don’t you?” a girl’s voice called peevishly from inside. There was a clattering noise and a curse muffled by a soft explosion. “Uncle Ni, if you destroy one more of my potions, you’d better watch it, because there’s no way-” the door opened, and the angry girl paused, looking Liika up and down. “You’re not Ni. Well, that’s a surprise, certainly. What do you want and why should I refrain from killing you where you stand?”
“Yeah, like you have a weapon,” Liika snorted, rolling her eyes.
The girl pulled out a vial. “This could make your flesh peel off within two minutes. Very painful, I assure you. This one makes your innards expand until your epidermis explodes and you make a very interesting pattern in the dirt. This one gives you a disease that will kill you in exactly 4 days-no pain except the knowledge that death is upon you. It was one of the most enjoyable to experiment with. So, once again, what do you want and why should I refrain from killing you where you stand?” The girl was eerily cheerful, smiling the whole time. A look of rapture crossed her face when she described each possibility, and she tapped all three thoughtfully before returning the first and the last to her sash, waiting for Liika’s answer.
Liika gulped. She had something of Ettolen in her, that was for sure, but it was creepy instead of endearing with this nut job. “I am Liika, a Sallephe in training. Along with Ki’ranii, Naruken and Shiiv, I am under Ettolen Ni’iro-”
“So you’re the girl! Nice to meet you! Ni’s mentioned you, probably. The name’s Ad’elii. I do potions and the like- Ni’s my charge.” She held out her hand as if to be shook, but the potion was still in it. Liika eyed it warily before holding her staff in both hands parallel to the ground, bringing them to either side of her ribcage in the sign of respect. “Oops!” Ad’elii tucked the final vial into her sash. “Sorry about that. Continue, please.”
Liika put her staff down slowly. She’d avoid this lunatic in the future at all costs. “I’m looking for Ettolen.”
“Ni? Oh he’s on some back street. Can’t remember the name. Yebex lane, maybe? It’s deserted generally, which is why he chose it.”
Who are you to call Ettolen ‘Ni’ so casually? she thought to herself furiously. He’s the grandest thief of all time, not to mention intelligent and handsome! You have no right to disrespect him so! Oooh, you’d better watch your back! “Thank you, Ad’elii.” Liika bowed again, although this time she surreptitiously let go of her staff with one hand, hiding her wrathful disrespect. She stood upright; turning around, she was more than ready to escape.
“If you do find him, tell Ni I made a potion for that student he’s giving a private lesson to, will you? Actually, if you could give it to him, it’d be better. Stop there for a moment, will you?” She ducked her head, fumbling around in her sash and tossing one vial over her shoulder as she did, which exploded on the ground in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind small pieces of glass and a small crater in the earth.
Liika wanted to leave to spite her, but the girl’s words made her froze. A private lesson? Someone had gotten to Ettolen before she could! Except… all the other students were guys. Eww!
“Here we go!” Ad’elii announced brightly, pulling out a bottle-necked vial. “I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what Ni would have wanted. It’ll clear up the nasty rash she got from the rushed potion I made earlier. Make sure she drinks it all. Afterwards, tell her it’ll leave her skin 40% more combustible for a week and that she should avoid flames at all cost! Afterwards, mind you; if she knows before hand she won’t drink the potion, and that would be just awful, wouldn’t it?”
“Who are you talking about?” Liika asked, gripping the potion carefully. If she spilled it, would it make her combustible? The thought was not a pleasant one, and she tucked it into the double-folded pocket in her scarf.
“Ni’s newest student of course!” Ad’elii laughed gleefully. “A couple years older than you, perhaps. I think she went by Nai’iryn. Ni dubbed her Moron.”
“Ni-a-rin? Why does that sound familiar?” Liika muttered to herself.
“Have you perhaps met I’iryn? If not, he’s the one that made Ni’s knives, so maybe he’s just mentioned it one too many times.”
“Ettolen’s teaching a smith?!”
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Posted: Tue Jul 11, 2006 8:33 am
I've only gotten a chance to read the prologue, but it was really good. Poor Naara. crying
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Posted: Wed Jul 12, 2006 9:33 am
Thankee, and I know. crying One of my friends spent an entire email yelling at me for killing her when she first read the prologue...
Mind you, she's still dead. xd
My friend was more concerned with 'poor Res' though; she insisted that nobody would want to read a story where the main character went along with the group that killed his mother figure. o_O Personally, I want to know how he couldn't go along with them. rolleyes
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Posted: Sun Jul 16, 2006 5:56 pm
SatanBarbie Personally, I want to know how he couldn't go along with them. rolleyes Seriously! XD Well, you've got to do what you've got to do, I suppose. biggrin
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Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 5:56 am
I like it. I like the word choice, and I like the plot. *waits for an update, for she is impatient*
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Wordstreamer~
Nifty Fairy~ Wordstreamer~
Nifty Fairy~
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Posted: Fri Jan 05, 2007 8:45 am
Quote: I like it. I like the word choice, and I like the plot. *waits for an update, for she is impatient* Oh dear, I'm in trouble now, aren't I? blaugh I've written a bit more, but I've just been so busy... sweatdrop I'll post what I have now, though, I suppose.
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Posted: Fri Jan 05, 2007 8:55 am
~ ~ ~
People are so easy to manipulate. Saphe pursed her lips as the guards spoke among themselves, hiding her pleasure behind her annoyance at their reluctance to let her through. One always had to speak with their superiors, regardless of how many times they were informed of her importance and The Prophecy.
It was a laugh, of course. People in Atl Jeylee didn’t believe in prophesies or Destiny or Fate. At least that’s what sixty percent of them said when probed, as Saphe had discovered when she was five and testing the boundaries of her world. But three years later, when she was experimenting with these things deemed as legends, she had learned that more than eighty-five percent of Atl Jeylee acted as if they were real. Spread a rumor here or there, and when you told someone to jump, they’d ask how high.
More important however, was the fact that if you changed something set in stone, they’d be jumping on their own.
“Milady! Milady Saphe! Where are you?” Laerel called, walking through the square frantically, head snapping from side to side. “I got the cloth, just as you requested! Milady! Oh, how did I get so lost?” The poor girl was on the verge of tears; she’d been doing so poorly, she half expected to be fired.
“Over here,” Saphe called, waving a hand vaguely.
“By the Lingre Force’s headquarters? Meeting with your father? Or perhaps a sweetheart?” Laerel teased, laughing softly to herself; Saphe was notorious for her poor love life. The one time she’d been promised, her husband-to-be had committed suicide and her other suitor had been found dead under mysterious circumstances. Or perhaps it was the other way around; Laerel never could get rumors straight.
“Not quite,” Saphe told her wearily. “Surely you’ve heard of the prophecy of the end of the Lawless’ reign?”
“Oh yes. Me Ma’am was real happy. She can’t stand that grime.”
“Well, neither can I,” Saphe told her servant with a smile. “A good thing, in fact, seeing as it’s been discovered that I am the only one to fit this prophecy. ‘And lo, the scurge of the city shall be brought under the heel of the one blah de blah de blah.’ The blah’s describe me and me alone.”
“Are you sure? That’s an awful burden!” Laerel gasped in horror, bringing her hand to her mouth.
“Of course I’m sure!” Saphe hissed softly, as the guard was coming over. “After all, I wrote it myself!”
~ ~ ~
“Jump!” It was the familiar, strong, and sure voice of Ettolen. Liika was trained to listen to this voice unfailingly and she was off the ground before she realized what she was doing. She landed a little off-balance, but righted herself with her staff. Ettolen was watching something else as he spoke, and it wasn’t until she took another step that a knife slid into his hands, showing that he’d noticed her indeed. Another step and he relaxed.
“Liika,” Ni’iro said without turning around, tucking his knife away; she wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack him. “Jump!” he yelled again. A couple more steps and Liika could see a fairly bronzed girl, tall and with a muscular torso, running down the street, panting as she did such. How long had she been running, to be so tired?
“Ni’iro,” she hacked, pausing to catch her breath.
“Ettolen!” he snapped and she cringed.
“Ettolen Ni’iro, then.” This girl must have had gruel for brains; even Ki’ranii didn’t disrespect Ettolen so. At least, not when he was nearby. “How much longer,” the girl wheezed, “do I have to keep this up?”
“Until I say you can stop,” Ni’iro said, rolling his eyes. The answer was obvious. How long had this girl been Pointed?
“And when’s that going to be?”
“Save your breath,” Liika told the insolent girl. “It’s not going to be any time soon. Longer if you keep yabbering.” She stood next to Ni’iro, leaning against her staff. “So what’s going on, anyways?”
“Lord A'tuniin seems to think I’ve got too much time on my hands,” Ni’iro said, seething.
“Ettolen Ni’iro!” Nai’iryn shrieked.
“What do you want, Moron?” Ni’iro asked.
“Gee, I wonder! Let’s see, you’re making me run in circles, and I’m about to die from heat exhaustion! What do you think I want, a teddy bear?”
“What’s a teddy bear?” Ni’iro asked.
“Oh, come on! You know, soft, fluffy, you sleep with it,” Nai told him, agitated, but now given time to recover as Ettolen Ni’iro was too busy pondering this to yell at her to run.
“We call that a pillow,” he told her with a snort.
“It’s not that, you idiot!”
“This coming from someone whose name is Moron?” Ni’iro asked, intentionally trying to provoke her.
“I told you already, my name’s Nai’iryn! It’s not my fault if you’re deaf and stupid!”
“This coming from the girl who stands when I tell her to run, after she’s already consented to doing as I say?” Ni’iro asked, leering. “Now move!”
She flinched, and started jogging back down the street. “I could walk faster in my sleep! I said run!”
“So what is the purpose of this exercise?” Liika asked. “She obviously has the endurance of a dying corpse.”
Ni’iro didn’t bother mentioning that a corpse already was dead. “Certainly you realize the only reason I ever made you and the others do anything was to drive you insane. This is clearly no different. Now, why’re you here again? I didn’t order a meeting. And Naruken’d be here by now if there were, after me telling that you’d be taking the test soon.”
“Ah, yes, Lady Ad’elii sent me to give your student some vial thingy.” She tugged at her scarf’s pocket, but it was stuck, and she pulled the thing off, heart thumping. It was a sign! She was at Ettolen’s side without her scarf on! Definitely a sign! The fact that she’d done it intentionally was completely irrelevant.
Ni’iro took the vial from her, sniffing it. “Smells funny.” He sneezed, causing his head and torso to spasm downwards and he froze, handing the bottle back to Liika. “Make her do another lap, then give it to her. I’ll be right back.”
“Right, Ettolen,” Liika nodded. “Hey, Moron! Get it moving, I want to see dust rising up from those heels! Move it, move it!”
“My name’s Nai’iryn, idiot,” the girl seethed. “You don’t get to call me that, got it?” Liika pulled the cap off her staff and swung the blade low towards Nai’s stomach.
“I’ll call you what I like. Get a grip. Now move!”
Ni’iro smiled. That was one way to do it. He turned his head and plucked a dart from his shoulder. It had hurt quite a bit when it had punctured his skin, but it would have been a lot worse if he hadn’t sneezed, and it had struck the veins in his neck instead. He stuck it in his pocket and headed towards the nearest building, leaning against its side before rounding the corner.
Movement. Ni’iro slid a knife into his hand and hurled it at the boy scrambling to get away. The boy yelped and tripped over his own two feet, clutching his shoulder where the blade was embedded.
Ni’iro walked towards the boy until he loomed over him, and dropped the dart wordlessly to the ground.
The boy looked up at him in terror, frozen in his attempt to get the dagger out of his flesh. “Pl-please. I didn’t mean to- it wasn’t on- I wasn’t trying to-”
“To what, kill me?” Ni’iro asked, flashing the boy a shark-like smile. “I hope you realize how horrid your acting is. You’d never pass for part of the Derran- Claiie’s spies wouldn’t get caught in the first place, but if they were, they’d think up some wild excuse that is ridiculous, yet perfectly believable. Not a Monkey; you’d have scrambled up the wall rather than tried to escape down the street. If you were in Lord Renter’s army, you’d never stoop to a dart in order to kill. I doubt you’re in the Qi’im, and you’re certainly not part of the Sallephe. In fact, I doubt you’re part of the Lawless at all, are you?”
The boy was staring at him, now more dumbfounded than scared.
Perhaps he was a better actor than Ni’iro had originally thought.
“What, wondering why I’m not dead?” Ni'iro chortled. “I’ve built up resistance to 85% of the poisons used in this part of the country, thanks to all the potions Adelli ‘heals’ me with. You’d know that if you were a Specialist in herbs and the like, so that rules you out as well. You’re too young to be a member of the Lingre Force, and too quick to have lived in a house. That leaves only one option. Are you going to try to explain, or should I kill you on the spot?” Another knife was in his hand as he finished his rant.
The boy was out of options and conceded. “I din’t want to join the Lawless, Sir. I’ve been told- if you’re respectable an all, even an Anyang like me can make it off the streets. Now was my big chance- see, a Diilled came up to me-”
“You accepted an offer from a member of the Lingre Force and still have the gall to call him Diilled instead of Delliid? Disrespectful thing, aren’t you?”
The boy couldn’t meet Ni’iro’s gaze anymore. “The Diilled told me if I killed the boy with this profile, he’d give me a jade knoch.”
Ni’iro whistled. A jade knoch would be enough to tempt anyone. “You have a picture? Let me see.”
The boy dug in his shirt, cringing as he moved his still-bleeding arm. He pulled out a piece of paper, with a drawing in charcoal that looked almost exactly like Ni’iro. Ni’iro took it from the boy, staring at it in disbelief, folding it up, and sticking it in the pocket with a handful of bells.
“I appreciate your cooperation,” Ni’iro told the boy. “However, I do not appreciate your attempted murder, or your inability to withhold the truth under pressure. That makes you a liability, and that’s something I can’t have.” His free arm shot forward and grabbed the boy by his hair, pulling back his head to show the neck and cutting his throat, a nice, quick death, with only a scrape against his legs as the boy figured out what was going on and tried to escape.
Ni’iro freed his knife from the corpse’s shoulder and wrinkled his nose at it. Blood always made the blades so messy; he’d need to soak it for a day to make the stench go away. He left the body there and returned to where Liika was pushing Moron to the edge of her limits.
“Moron! Liika!” he called.
“Yeah?” Liika asked, heart pounding as she jogged over towards Ni’iro. Nai’iryn panted, far too tired to even make a decent retort.
“Urgent stuff, yada yada- training’s over early. Liika, tell one of the Dellan to check the alley between… well, whatever that alley is over there. Usual stuff.”
“What’s that mean?” Nai’iryn asked.
“Corpse,” Liika told her succinctly.
“Great! As if I already didn’t need to barf!” Nai’iryn made a face.
“Barf. That reminds me- Ad’elii told me to give you this.” She rummaged in her scarf, hoping the vial hadn’t broken in her escapades. “She said it would clear up your rash.”
Knowing Ad’elli and her ‘cures,’ this normally would have made Ni’iro laugh, but he was solemn as he headed back towards Lord A’tuniin’s court without even a smile. There was no reason a member of the Lingre Force should have known what he looked like.
~ ~ ~
Laerel watched, cringing, as her mistress fell for what seemed like the hundredth time. Regardless of whether the Prophecy was real or not- Laerel couldn’t believe what purpose or reason Lady Saphe could have had to make it up- the girl was not a particularly good fighter. So far she could dodge only thirty percent of attacks from pikes and spears; she could block less than twenty-five percent of sword attacks with a wooden stave, and she could not shoot the center of a target with an arrow no matter how many times she fired.
Quite frankly, the girl appeared to be a hopeless fighter, which Laerel told her rather bluntly as Lady Saphe, sweating, had come over to her, ready to head home.
“I only started training a few months ago,” Saphe told the girl with a scowl, making her apologize profusely. “They still didn’t want to believe I could be of any use to them, despite the prophecy.”
“I thought you said the prophecy was fake,” Laerel said hesitantly.
“Of course. But you’d be surprised how often false prophecies come true. Destiny can’t do anything, but when people act off of the belief that something will happen, it generally does. For instance, if I told you that the stars said you were going to die tomorrow, you’d probably be reckless and try to do everything you wanted to before you ran out of time. And, by being reckless, you would cause your own death.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Laerel scoffed. And revolting.
“Agreed,” Saphe smiled. “But I’ve tested it and it worked three times out of three.”
“You killed three people?” Laerel asked.
“Nonsense. They killed themselves.” Saphe turned up her nose. Her, a murderer? Nonsense! She was a lady.
“It’s your fault they died, though.”
“It’s their fault, for believing the prophecies and for being reckless. If they’d had any common sense, they’d have locked themselves in their room for a day to prevent anything from happening which could have killed them,” Saphe told her.
“You set events in motion which caused three people to die,” Laerel insisted morosely.
“Far more than three,” Saphe said, for some reason proud of this fact. “But I didn’t kill any of them.”
They didn’t speak on the rest of the walk home, Saphe because she thought she had already won the argument and Laerel because she was trying not to insult her mistress. At dawn she’d been afraid of getting fired; now she was far more afraid of what Lady Saphe might do to her. The girl did not look particularly imposing, but it was said the devil didn’t either.
~ ~ ~
When Ni’iro peered over the roof into Lord A'tuniin’s courtyard, it was nearly empty. There was a fight one one side, where two boys were dueling for the recently vacated position of sien, a rank in the Lawless’ army slightly lower than that of the other Points’ tolen. Ni’iro dropped onto a protruding rock on the face of the wall and lowered himself to the ground.
One of the guards standing next to Lord A’tuniin’s perch turned his head and smiled, nodding to Ni’iro, who held a finger to his lips for silence as he crept towards A'tuniin, a knife in each hand. The guard cleared his throat and A’tuniin looked at him in confusion; if there was real danger, the guard would have attacked, which meant-
“Illoth!” Ni’iro cursed, snorting and tucking his daggers back in his sleeves. “I told you to be quiet. My sneak attack was going smoothly.”
“Although I appreciate your attempt to assassinate me,” Lord A'tuniin remarked, “I’m rather curious if there’s an ulterior motive to sneaking up on me when I’m about to retire.”
“I have several motives.” Ni’iro glared at him. “The least of which being a certain blacksmith you’re getting a kick out of passing off as one of my students!”
“If it’s the least of your worries, then I won’t hesitate to do it again,” Lord A'tuniin laughed. “I figured you’d enjoy getting someone who you could yell at almost as loudly as you yell at me.”
“Lord A'tuniin, believe it or not, I actually do have work to do! I never got to set the target for my real students’ test because I was too busy trying to whip your prototype into shape.”
“You could have done it now, instead of coming to harass me. Unless, perhaps, there’s something more serious to your assault?”
“Mark on. An Anyang- a real one, not in the Lawless- tried to assassinate me today.”
“And he failed, I’m assuming. Or are you now a zombie come back to haunt me?” Lord A’tuniin challenged. “What, did they try to kill you in some complex way we’ve never seen before that could be a threat to our community?”
“Ha ha,” Ni’iro said, rolling his eyes. “Believe it or not, this is a serious matter. A Diilled offered him a jade knoch if he killed the boy fitting the description he was given.”
“Ettolen of the Sallephe? Master Thief of the Lawless? Most annoying eleven year old to ever walk the face of the planet?” Lord A'tuniin asked, and even the guards laughed at this.
Ni’iro drew the piece of paper from his pocket. “Even better. A picture.”
Lord A’tuniin snatched it from his hand, eyebrows snapped together, jumping up from his throne.
“Tliink! Go fetch Ettolen Claiie. Tell her I need to speak with her now and if she isn’t here in three minutes, I’m giving her position to a slugworm! Jyenne! I want a warning out to every Ettolen- there’s a traitor in the ranks. I want info and I want it now, along with every one of them in this courtyard by the time Ettolen Claiie’s done speaking with Ettolen Ni’iro!”
“Does Ettolen Ni’iro have to speak with Ettolen Claiie,” Ni’iro asked meekly, sticking his tongue out. She was bothersome.
“Ni’iro, I don’t have time for your antics; this is a high alert! Did you manage to kill the Anyang who made the assassination attempt?”
“Lord A'tuniin, give me some credit!” Ni’iro complained before collapsing to the floor as some weight landed on his back.
“Lookie here! If it isn’t my favorite partner! How’s it going, Ni’ikelyne? Speaking of which, I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse!”
“Does it involve getting off my back?” Ni’iro squirmed; the girl was experienced in subduing subjects and had every one of his limbs pinned down fast.
“Ettolen Claiie. Excellent timing,” Lord A'tuniin approved. “Ni’iro was plotting his escape I believe.”
“Aww, Ni’ikelyne! Don’t you like me anymore?” Ettolen Claiie pouted, poking her head down by his and putting more pressure against his back.
“I never liked you in the first place! And I’m Ettolen Ni’iro! An ettolen, zyte! Stop calling me by my Pointed name!” Ni’iro roared.
“Both of you stop flirting and get down to business!” Lord A'tuniin instructed; Claiie immediately let her prey go although Ni’iro made a face before he got up. Flirting?! Eugh.
~ ~ ~
It was past dusk when Ni’iro managed to escape the clutches of fifteen-cycle terror, Ettolen Claiie, heading towards the richer part of the city. Not only did he need to prepare the Test, he needed to bypass some traps to relax; today had been an exacting day and the Sallephe course which he and the Tolai kept up for their students’ vigorous training would not be sufficient.
Slipping through the alleyways silently, he surveyed one house after another, most of which he’d looted before, and few of which had been even a little bit of a challenge. He chose the two houses closest to each other which he hadn’t already invaded, inspecting them from the outside. Both were large and well upkept, although one was more ornate than the other. With a shrug, he rammed a brown-hilted knife into the back of the cobblestone stairs to the less impressive house. Barely visible, but it would be perfect to arouse suspicion.
Then, cracking his knuckles, he slipped through the window of the fancier home, trying to decide if his own abode required a new vase, a painting, or perhaps, for a real challenge, a bit of furniture.
~ ~ ~
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