《Top The Tower: Paint and Tarot Action Adventure》 Chapter 1 - Six of Brushes
The Long Fangs Mountain Keep Prize of the warlord Karich Urough Nestled between twin curved peaks Perched above the downtrodden village of Row
ABLEE
Wrapped in cold air, knees to my chest and a rime-coated cell wall at my back, I shivered. "D-damnit..." My escape attempts all failed. I lost my "privileges" to a cot, a coat, or anything else I could use to escape. All that remained were stone walls, shackles, and a barred window that welcomed the winter wind. "Gli-Glimin!" I called for my guard and "caretaker" through clattering teeth, "I''m icy blue in here; better stop me, or I''ll paint these shackles that color and shatter them!" I wished that was how my Ambrosia worked, but it wasn''t. Glimmin knew well that I couldn''t paint the cold iron of my shackles, that the liquid would bead and drip off them like water off oil. If it hadn''t, I''d have coated them in paint pulled from a loaf of stale bread and crumbled my way out long ago, laughing into the night. My strength slipped into the frigid wind and out the window, but the sight beyond returned an ounce of it. The Tower. That titanic, white-stone challenge spanned into the clouds. A web of electric-blue ley lines snaked across it. It was my and my father''s greatest ambition. Topping The Tower. He commanded me to serve in his expedition, and my refusal landed me here. Upon my escape, I would gather a world-class crew and beat him to it! Glimmin gave no response, "I''ll freeze to death in here; give me some warm water, something!" It was too long before the shutters on my cell door slid open. I raised my head and glared at the young man through a curtain of rough-shorn auburn hair. The brow of his clean-shaven face was furrowed, taking in my state. Barefoot and huddled in overalls and a tank top, goosebumps ran down my wiry arms to those cursed shackles. "Back of the cell, Lord''s Spawn," the nickname he''d given me had long since lost its bite, but the reminder of my place in life still stoked my fire. His voice wasn''t angry; there was a touch of... concern to it? Really? I hated his pity, but I also needed it, and what I really needed was to get rid of that need. He was more rival than foe. Glimmin had to keep me here, and I had to escape. He''d bested me many times, but I only had to win once. My father''s wrath would be upon him when that happened. It was an unfortunate truth we both had to live with, but I wouldn''t feel sorry for the guard. It was all part of our game, and I''d suffered enough losses. I shuffled along the wall, my chains clattering beside me until I''d maximized the distance between us. "Come on, Glim, this is bullshit! You know I''m right, you can''t treat prisoners like this!" His key slid into the lock with a jagged metal clamor. The rusted hinges of the iron door screeched as he stepped from behind it. He was hyper-focused on me. I''d made him pay for venturing into my cell many times. Draping his right arm was a rough wool blanket dyed the deep purple of a terrible bruise; that color, the mark of my father''s Warband, was everywhere across the Keep. In his other hand was a wooden bowl of steaming lamb''s head soup. As a child, I''d turned my nose up at the stuff; in my current state, it was taking all I had not to spring across the cell. The only thing holding me back was the thought of Glimin dropping the bowl in panic.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Savory, herby notes met my nostrils, and my eyes began to water, "Glimin, are you finally coming around?!" He turned his head to hide the curve of a smile spreading across his lips, "Don''t get any ideas, Ablee. Keeping you alive''s part of my duties; I don''t think your dad would be happy if you lost any digits to frostbite." "You''re wrong," I said, my eyes tightening to a scowl, pushing out tears that, while shameful, still warmed my cheeks, "Now, could you set that down?" His gaze dropped to the bowl and blanket, "You promise you won''t make me regret it?" I wiped an arm across my face, my breath hitching. That wasn''t a deal I wanted to make. "You want me to lie to you?" I asked. Glimin''s thumb picked at the blanket''s rough fabric, "Fine," he said, bending down to place his gifts on the floor, "I''ll have to take them back in the morning." "Deal!" I said. After springing to my feet and giving him a moment to retreat, I descended on the provisions. I threw the blanket across my back and huddled over the fuming bowl, basking in its warmth. Glimin watched through the door shutters, "You eating that or worshipping it?" he chuckled. "What''s it to you?" I sighed; the edge of my voice had fled. My numb fingers were beginning to awaken in a storm of pins and needles. "Well," he said, "I''d like to know how it tastes..." "Your mom make it or something?" I asked, huffing steam. "Eeh..." He exclaimed, hesitating to respond. "You made this?!" I asked, dubious, and brought the sloshing bowl to my lips. The broth felt fiery hot against them, but I didn''t care. The warm, salty liquid was a hearth for my soul to bask beside, its gamey smoke curling with notes of onion, cardamom, and black pepper. "Real low of you, seeking praise from someone that''s lived off stale bread for the last 5 years; this is so good..." I slurped again at it, the chew of a string of meat soothing my chatter-weary teeth. He was still silent, his eyes pinned against the wall of the cell to my side, refusing to look at me. "Hey!" I continued through a mouthful, "I just gave you a compliment!" "Yeah... thank you... I think..." he said, pulling past the edge of the shutters; they clicked closed. "You think!?" What the hell was up with him? The ungrateful prick, men never cooked; hearing that from a girl should have been a high honor. I savored every drop, licking the bowl clean, and wrapped the blanket tight around my shoulders. The cold and gray of my cell''s stone walls pressed back in on me. This relief would, of course, be short-lived. It had been a long time since I''d had new colors to work with; the gray of my overalls was an exact match to the Keep''s stone. It was a cruel joke of my father''s that prevented any sort of artistic expression. In my first year here, I''d thrown a wonderful cast of characters onto the walls to keep Cline and me company. That color had quickly returned to the things it was pulled from. What could I do with the charming walnut brown of the bowl and the purple, which I hated, of the blanket? My mind set to work. All that I wanted, desperately wanted, was escape. If only I could get out of this cell, pay my father a well-deserved ass-whooping, reclaim my brother Cline, and set about my climb... An image began to form in my mind: a waving curtain of purple fabric hung from a walnut-brown wooden rod that I could slip behind it, never to return. I placed the empty bowl in front of me and closed my eyes. My breath slowed as I focused on the image in my mind, letting it fill the dark corners of my cell. The idea of escape felt like a flicker of light, fragile and fleeting. I reached out with trembling hands, fingers brushing the rough rim of the wooden bowl. Taking a deep breath, I plunged my hand into it, thinking of the rich, walnut-brown paint pooling in my palm. Withdrawing it, I opened my eyes. The paint dripped thick and dark from my fingers, glistening in the ley-light through my window. Behind it, the inside of the bowl was the stark white of a blank canvas. My heart pounded with a frantic rhythm as I turned to the wall. I stroked a bold line across the cold stone. It spread like ink on parchment, its edges uneven. Using my fingers, I added more and more detail, forming it into the sort of sturdy beam my father¡¯s banners hung from. Stroke by stroke, the rod took form. I didn¡¯t stop. Pulling off the blanket, I dragged my hands through it, gathering the purple I needed for thick folds of fabric. It felt wrong to use the warband''s color, but as the curtain took shape, I found myself liking the irony. Using a mark of his rule as a means of escape, I knew it was only a dream, but could feel hope swelling within me. My work was coming together; the basic form was there, but I wanted to perfect it. I pulled batch after batch of fresh purple paint from the blanket, leaving it striped like a tiger''s pelt. It took my frigid hands some time to realize the scrape of the rough wall was missing; It had taken on a sort of give. I pulled back in surprise and saw it: the fabric I''d painted was rippling beneath the touch of the wind. It was moving. My work had never done that before. Was this real? I froze, staring at the living image. A gust tore into the room, and it fluttered. Pressing my hand against it, I expected the trick of my eyes to break, but the fabric yielded, sinking under my touch. My chains clattered as I leaned closer; the sound was distant in my ears. My fingers slipped through, past the slit at the curtain''s center, into a warn dark expanse. My heart thundered as the truth of it set in. I could step through, maybe even leave. What waited on the other side? The hallway and Glimmin''s desk? Somewhere completely different? For a moment, fear gripped me. What if I couldn''t come back? What about my brother Cline? Could I truly escape the Keep, and my father? Did I really want to? I owed the old man so much in return for what he''d done to me. I turned to take in my cell, the bleak stone walls that had been my prison for years. My hands clenched into fists. The time for thinking had long passed; I would find a way out. Donning my white and purple tiger pelt, my bare foot padded past the painted veil. Chapter 2 - Page of Hands
The mountain path to the village of Row In the shadows of the Long Fang Mountains Two Fated travelers approach Hunting the Warlord Karich
RHODY
My place in Ablee¡¯s story began at the side of a boisterous assassin named Zeph. I was a girl of 16 years, and I knew that I was out of my depth. It''s only appropriate that things began with a blunder, a taste of many more to come. I was plummeting to my death. Zeph and I spent the day ascending a mountain path. The village of Row lay ahead of us, a small settlement nestled in the valley between the Long Fang Peaks. An imposing keep, Zeph''s and my destination, loomed above it; those sleek twin summits curved around it like the maw of a monumental viper. The pine-scented mountain air was thin and frigid. Behind us, the trail was long, winding, and sharply inclined. I had stolen a glance over my shoulder to see how far we''d come. The sheer drop behind me was dizzying; vertigo slammed the side of my head like one of the sacks of potatoes I''d peeled daily back at the temple. I twisted my body in an attempt to reorient myself. The chestnut leather pack I was muling, full of Zeph''s belongings, pulled my feet from the ground. The thing must have weighed ten stone, looking like it was specially crafted for a traveling strongman. I watched in horror as the path''s ledge pulled away beneath me. Why couldn''t I have fallen hours ago? It seemed the gods wanted to watch me toil one last time before thrusting this moronic end upon me. Zeph''s irked expression caught my eye. Was she disappointed in me, or the fact she''d have to find a way to fish up the pack? Why did I care? Why was I wasting my final thoughts on this? I felt the grip of her strong, yet soft, hands around my ankle before my mind registered she''d moved. Her heels planted in front of her, and she wrenched her chest to the side, wheeling me through the air and back onto the gravel path. "Is that how you plan to survive the evening, Rhody?" she asked with a wry smile. It seemed watching me flail was the night''s entertainment. Great job, idiot, I admonished myself. This was sure to make the worst kind of lasting impression. My face was red as the pouch that hung from the silver chain around my neck. It contained my Royal Tarot Deck, the only reason I was worthy of the honor of traveling beside her. The locks of my inky-blue hair clung to the sides of my sweat-drenched, cherry-red face. I must have looked like the flag of a defeated nation. Zeph, Miss Cool and Collected, stood in stark contrast. Her appearance was immaculate. Maintaining it, lugging her wardrobe, clothes-iron, makeup kit, and ammunition, had somehow become my divinely appointed duty. She was so many of the things I aspired to be: brave, driven, charismatic, and self-assured. Climbing the mountain, I''d kept my eyes glued to her. She paraded up it in supreme confidence. Dressed in all black, a flat-brimmed hat crowned her tall frame, her blonde hair flowing in wild disarray beneath it. The designer outfit she wore was glaringly expensive. Its blouse sported a plunging, collared neckline and billowing unbuttoned sleeves. A long cape draped across her back rippled in her wake, and It''d taken me five attempts to put an acceptable pleat into the pants that hugged the athletic curve of her hips. The features of her face were, naturally, as sharp as her ensemble. Her dramatic makeup would have been more at home in a stage production than on a hunt, but somehow, she made it work in this environment. I trailed behind her in my drab, gray woolen robes, adjusting the leather straps that dug into my shoulders. The chain around my neck swung back and forth beneath my hunched form as I trudged onward. As we drew upon the town, I dwelled upon my mistake. This wasn''t the only first impression I''d screwed up; the last had been disastrous, costing me years¡­
The King of Wands Temple buzzed with life the day I first laid eyes on a Royal Tarot Deck, the springtime Festival of Budding Branches. I was nine years old and rail-thin, selling pastries in the courtyard of the King of Wands Temple. Its spires pierced the sky, their intricate carvings gleaming in the sunlight. Tattered pink banners, once a rich crimson, rippled in the cool breeze; the King¡¯s golden emblem foiled upon them, a staff wreathed in flames, had largely leafed away. My patched dress hung loosely, and my tangled hair concealed wide, dirt-smudged eyes. I was barefoot, calloused toes gripping the stone as I leaned forward, peeking at the scene before me. Our temple''s Acolyte had returned from his travels, his pack full of exotic artifacts, gifts from the peoples he''d visited. He stood at the courtyard''s center, an excited crowd surrounding him. His deck gleamed like treasure on a cloth-topped bench. As he revealed each card, it caught the sun''s light in a flash. The crowd was gripped as he performed readings for those lucky enough to draw his attention. His calm voice belied secrets as though he recited from the gods¡¯ own manuscript. My breath caught¡ªawed, envious, yearning. From that day forward, my dreams were steeped in the allure of fate¡¯s mysteries. Every moment I wasn¡¯t working¡ªscrubbing the temple floors or hauling water for the priests¡ªI spent in the temple''s back alley, reading the faces of the other kids, watching for the twitch of an eyelid or the telltale quirk of the mouth. I wagered and bluffed, mastering another deck of cards. Five-card draw became my second language. With it, I worked toward affording a third, a used deck of ordinary tarot cards from a second-hand store. One I could use to practice, to someday earn the real thing, a Royal deck. I knew what I could read from others and, by extension, they from me. My next step was to mask those parts of myself. I lied to everyone: the priests, our caretakers, shopkeeps, and urchin-weary travelers. I wasn''t trying to steal, just misdirect them, get something past them. Pretty soon I could dead-pan, keep a smile from my lips while spinning a yarn. I realized, though, that I''d subtracted too much; something was needed in its place, a toss of the eyes, an illusory sharp breath when I wanted to "hide" something, a thumb picking at the dingy fabric of my skirt. Word of my antics had spread; one of the other children, unable to contain their anger over a lost silver penny, had alerted the clergy. I''d expected a sharp reprimand and a caning, but what I got was an invitation to a table of robed holy men glugging red wine. I left with an empty coin pouch, a suitable punishment in their eyes, but I didn''t mind. That evening was an investment, a price paid to listen to them speak of cards and numbers, of probability. The concept of fate had been drilled into me over years of sermons; I knew some things were just bound to happen, but I hadn''t understood why. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. In my back alley arena, playing other orphans for eights-pence, I was a champion. Most of those kids hardly knew what the numbers on the cards represented or what the word "probability" meant. However, the game started to feel less like sport and more like predation. The other orphans no longer wanted to play with me, and I no longer enjoyed taking their hard-earned coin. I spent less time with my peers and more in the market, sharking travelers and lining my pockets. Scraping together my winnings, I went to purchase that battered old deck. The shopkeep, an older woman who smelt of burnt sage, tried to refuse me its sale, asking "Those priests didn''t teach you a bought deck''ll bring bad luck?" I pressed her. Yes, I''d heard the myth, but the clergy sold cards at a much higher price and were staunch that any "bad luck" was something the purchaser had already brought upon themself. Besides, I had no one to gift me a deck. Tugging at heartstrings was a lie I''d gotten down pat, and I made the transaction happen.
The next Spring, I received bittersweet news in the announcement of a contest. The temple would be taking on another acolyte. The young man I''d watched with hallowed reverence, the previous Acolyte, had left the position vacant in a tragic incident. The ritual that manifested a Royal Tarot Deck was an expensive process for my temple. As a result, Acolyte positions didn¡¯t open often and were reserved for youth, who had more time to train and maximize the investment made in them. Knowing this might be my only chance to claim my dream, I gave it everything I had. The test was composed of three demonstrations: reciting scripture, reading tarot, and performing acrobatics. They were meant to gauge our readiness for serving a congregation, interpreting the gods'' wills, and the perils of the road. I studied any materials I could get my hands on and drilled gymnastics routines until my muscles screamed. Even then, I felt a gap growing between myself and the other contestants¡ª many of which were children from wealthy families, who had tutors and training, and whose cards weren¡¯t scuffed and peeling like my own. There were 78 of us. We had a good idea of who would end up claiming the title. Brenna. Sweet, perfect Brenna, all pink clothes and ribbons. Somehow, we''d developed a friendship over numerous lazy Sunday afternoons. Since the position had opened, she had become my jealous obsession. Each of the contest''s three aspects was just a part of who she was. She didn''t train; she just showed up and socialized. I''d used to look up to her; now I saw her as a cliff to summit. ¡°You don¡¯t have to push yourself so hard, Rhody,¡± She said after practice one day, offering a hand to pull me out of yet another failed cartwheel. ¡°Don''t worry, it¡¯s okay if this isn¡¯t for you. You''re great at cards!¡± I smiled at her through clenched teeth, my palms burning from the rough stone. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± But I wasn¡¯t; my shameful, used, stained deck of cards was cursed. How else could I have been so good at poker and so terrible at all of this? In my desperation, I''d committed a taboo act, used ill-gotten gains, and drawn fate''s ire upon me. When the test came, my readings faltered. I couldn¡¯t remember the second half of the passage I''d tried to memorize, and my gymnastics routine ended with me lying on my back. I came in last, dead last, my performance so poor that Father Herus didn¡¯t even bother to tally a score. That would have only added to my humiliation. Brenna was chosen, of course. I watched her ascend to the altar, radiating pride, draped in the robes I wore in my dreams. The Royal Tarot Deck in her hands was a testament to my poor decision-making. The bitter knot in my throat burned worse than failure. Brenna hardly even tried.
I wasn''t done, though; over the next three years, I continued to push myself, hoping desperately for another chance. I begged Brenna for the second, lesser deck of cards she no longer needed. I pleaded with her to share insights on her training so I could try to replicate them with my limited resources. The conversation always went the same way. "Rhody, you''re thirteen... another year, and you won''t even be eligible..." she would say, trying to dissuade me. "Besides, it''s not as great as it seems." That Fall, she disappeared, leaving nothing but a note in her chambers. The temple elders released a statement that she had taken a pilgrimage, but I knew she wouldn¡¯t be coming back. Brenna had loved the idea of being an acolyte, but it didn¡¯t challenge her. She¡¯d grown bored. When the temple elders sought a replacement, my name wasn¡¯t even whispered. I''d failed too spectacularly. The others snickered behind my back, calling me "table scraps.¡± Even Father Herus, who indulged my endless questions about fate and the gods, only seemed to pity me. I refused to give up, pouring myself into my training and cutting all frivolities from my life. My readings grew sharper, and my interpretations more profound. Still, the clergy dismissed me. I''d had my chance, and I''d failed. The list of potential replacements dwindled; many had moved on to other pursuits. Some accepted, lasting a week, two weeks, a month, finding the training either too rigorous or too mundane. When the final name was crossed off that list, I remained, not even a last resort. A small package arrived in the weeks following, wrapped in ribbon and pink cloth. I knew immediately who had sent it, and I hated her for it. The shape of it was unmistakable, a deck of cards. Begrudgingly, I discarded its wrapping. They were, of course, pristine, backed in a brilliant sunburst of blue and orange. I closed my eyes. I didn''t want to see my ruddy fingers juxtaposed against something so... so... unlike me. Flipping the top card over, I set it face up on my cot and wrapped my arms around my back before daring to look at it. A wise man on a throne with a blooming branch in his outstretched hand, The King of Wands, stared back at me. The message was clear: This wasn¡¯t over.
Father Herus¡¯s vice was no secret. The old priest, with his stooped shoulders and threadbare cassock, loved gambling as much as he loved to preach. His wispy gray hair never stayed combed, and his sunken eyes, perpetually shadowed, gave him the air of a man who wrestled nightly with his conscience¡ªand usually lost. His cracked fingers often fiddled with a weathered coin, his good luck charm, as he recounted tales of divine wisdom from the pulpit with a charm that belied his failing stature. Yet, at the poker table, his charisma faltered. Over the years, I had played countless hands with him, learning his tells¡ªthe way his eyebrows furrowed when he bluffed, how his breath hitched a moment too long when holding a strong hand. When our weekly sessions first started, he would lose a few coins, chuckle at his folly, and wave me off with a self-deprecating grin. Lately, his losses had grown larger, the laugh-drawn lines around his mouth giving way to deeper creases of worry. His coin purse hung too light on his belt. Each ante seemed like a prayer for deliverance that our god refused to answer. I knew the Acolyte position was still vacant. And I knew they would never offer it to me. Unless¡­
I shuffled the deck of playing cards, riffling them with a satisfying hiss. Five cards each, I dealt them with practiced and deliberate grace. Across the table, he rubbed his temples, his stack of coins pitifully small. ¡°This is a terrible idea,¡± he muttered, fanning out his cards. His expression tightened, but I spotted that telltale furrow of his brow. A bluff. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I responded, rearranging my hand. ¡°But here we are.¡± He groaned as I threw more coin to the table''s center. ¡°You¡¯re relentless.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what makes me good,¡± My tone was calm, my gaze sharp as I discarded a card and drew its replacement. He hesitated, then discarded two cards with a sigh. The pot grew as we upped the stakes. Finally, the moment came to lay down our cards. He revealed his hand first. ¡°Queen high straight,¡± he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "What ya got?" ¡°Nice," my grin was slow and deliberate as I flipped my cards. ¡°but not nice enough.¡± Three Jacks and two sevens lay in front of me. "Full house. I know you love those, Mr. Preacher." He leaned back in his chair, loosing another heartbreaking harumph. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding me dry,¡± he muttered, his eyes growing wet. ¡°How about a wager?¡± I offered, gathering the cards to shuffle. I could see his hesitation, running his hands over his wrinkled cheeks, "I don''t have much more to give you..." My patchwork book satchel hid a hefty leather sack; I pulled it free and set it on the table. "Your last three months'' losses, one hand. I don''t want any more of your money." His hands were shaking as he brought them to the table. A good sign. ¡°What... what do you want in return?¡± he grumbled. ¡°I want to be an Acolyte,¡± I said, dealing another hand. ¡°If I win, you''ll back me. Convince the rest of the clergy that I can handle it.¡± Father Herus froze, his face tightening. ¡°Rhody, I can''t¡ª¡± he said, "It... It wouldn''t be a good fit for you." "You''re wrong," My voice strained, and I broke my expertly-crafted demeanor. "I know what happened in that contest, but I''ve come so far since then. I''m better than Brenna. I actually care about this." His eyes narrowed upon me. "It''d be an abuse of my position..." "Either way, I''ll give you your money back," I interrupted. ¡°If you win, I¡¯ll give up on the temple. I''ll find something else." He let out a sigh that carried the weight of resignation and picked up his cards.
Zeph continued her unbothered strut toward danger as I waded neck-deep in a river of shame. Why was I still screwing up like this? How could I have fallen off a damn mountain? I trained for years in acrobatics. My fingers picked, anxious, against the clasp of my red pouch. Realization struck, and my eyes widened. my breath caught in my throat. I wasn''t gifted this deck. I bought it. Chapter 3 - King of Ships
On the border of a forgotten place
ABLEE
The soft, creaking floor beneath my foot felt so strange after years of treading stone. A giddy chuckle bubbled up my throat. It was dark here and so warm. The soft, sleepy smell of smoke curled in the air. Flickering firelight beckoned me from somewhere deep within the structure. I could have curled up on those floorboards and gotten my best rest in years if pure excitement hadn''t been coursing through me. Wisps of the cool mountain breeze drafted from behind, and the sound of clinking glass bottles came from ahead, followed by a hoarse man''s voice, "Ey'' now, is that a draft!? What a novel concept!" Someone was here?! How?! I quickened my pace, my toes bouncing off the floor. Pop. Pop. Pop. "HEY!" I shouted. There was a crash and a clinking riot like a wind chime in a cyclone, "Uah-huh!?" the man''s startled voice replied. I was too giddy to notice as my chains rose behind me; their shackles yanked my wrists, and my feet left the floor, rising higher and higher as my back slammed into the ground. My breath left me, and as I struggled to drag it back in, light cut across the room from a door flung open. The flame-backed form of a pirate met my gaze: tricorn hat, overcoat, and the handles of a cutlass and flintlock pistol poking from his sides. There was something off about the scene''s lighting; it filtered through the edges of his form and the door frame, like peeks of canvas through a work''s first brush strokes. "A-a pirate!" I said, bucking my legs beneath me, trying to push myself back where the chains weren''t quite as taut, "This is the greatest!" "Well now," he said, leaning against the door-frame, "wasn''t expecting company." I finally gathered enough slack to rise to my feet. Looming behind the pirate was a cabin scene suited for the cover of an adventure comic, the kind that''d have a skeleton''s arm hanging from a loose attic door. Its floor was a mosaic of empty emerald-green and jasper-brown bottles, filtering the glow of a stacked stone fireplace. Its shifting flames appeared to be nothing more than a series of glowing images, each replacing the last at a speed my eye could barely track. Looking up at his shadowed face, I asked, "Who are you? Where are we!?" "Pinbeard, lass..." He straightened up and grabbed at the corner of his hat, trudging toward me, "...Captain and sole resident of this painted brig." He turned to look back at his litter-strewn domain, his long spike goatee bobbing with each word. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. "What, THE Pinbeard?" I asked, "How''d you end up here? Aren''t you supposed to be dead?!" I reached out and slapped his goatee, rattling it like the end of a rapier, SPROINGGGG. He was like a character from a children''s book; a laugh pulled itself from me, "Ha-haha!" "Ey!" He recoiled, swatting my hand from striking it again, "Aye, I''m THE Pinbeard, or as close as ye''ll find." He turned away in a scowl, grabbing hold of the end of his goatee, his hand shaking to a stop. "Hmph, okay then, I need answers, Pinbeard!" He was a cross-hatch of brushwork, a painting of a weathered sailor who breathed, his rum-blushed cheeks the red of wildflowers. I grabbed the sleeve of his ruddy, orange leather jacket. It felt real. "What is this place? Why are you here?" He cleared his throat, a sound like churning wet gravel. The white lines of spittle between his yellow teeth were something I''d struggle to depict. Whoever painted him, if he was really painted, was good. He leveled his eyes, their whites matching the yellow of his teeth, down his nose at me, "It''s a place for forgotten things." He glanced down at my tattered over-alls and the chains hanging from my unwashed arms, "Suppose ye'' meet the requirements." "What?!" His remark lit inside me like a torch to a haybale, and I slammed my palms into his chest, "Don''t act like you know who I am!" He veered lazily behind my strike, turning in a full circle and rounding about with his flintlock pistol drawn, "Ye''r hardly a mystery." He only held it level at me long enough to imply what he could have done. Then, he returned to the fire-lit room and lowered himself into a rugged wooden chair. Plucking a half-full rum bottle from the table beside him, he took a long swig. I glowered at him. "Looks like ye''r real blood and fire, redhead, not an imitation. I''d garner a guess on what brought you here, runnin'' from somethin'', right?" Despite the resentment burning within me, I couldn''t stop myself from nodding. "Well ye''ve found another dead end..." he said and huffed. Leaning back and propping his chair onto two legs, with his back against the wall, he continued, "...nothin'' here for ya besides a picture of a long-passed sea-dog." "Shut up!" I yanked against my chains, and my arms dragged behind me. The pirate was now well out of reach, "If there''s no other exit, I''ll just leave through the Keep. Give me your sword and pistol." "Heh, that wouldn''t help ye'' girl, even if I was inclined to do so." He waved his bottle toward the painted curtain on the wall behind me. billowing in the cool breeze, "Ye'' won''t be taking anything beyond that drape that ye'' didn''t bring in yerself." "That''s one of the rules... of this place?" I asked, this useless pirate was holding out on me, "So you do know more, spill it!" He stroked his chin, pausing to think, "That drape, it''s yer work, right? No one else made it for ye?" "Yeah, that''s right, very life-like, I''d say." "Then I suppose some explanation is in order..." Bang! He was cut off by the sound of a gunshot from beyond the curtain, and then another, moments later. My thoughts drove straight to my brother Cline; he had to still be here in the Keep. He could be in danger, and I had no time to bargain with Pinbeard, "Damnit, I''ve got to get out of here; just help me!" He stood and trudged to my side, snatching the chain on my right wrist and bringing it up to his eyes. I nodded, "Yeah, we need to get rid of these! Not sure what to do with ''em; paint just slides right off," wet paint did, at least. My eyes dropped to the pistol on his hip. "Aye, think I''ve got a file ''round here somewhere..." He said, releasing my chain. More gunshots reverberated from beyond my cell. "No time!" I grabbed the handle of his flintlock, pulling it loose and rushing away from him as my other hand bundled my chains. "Hey now, lass, wait a second..." He stumbled forward, reaching for his weapon. I didn''t falter; my left hand was wrapped in layers of chain; Pinbeard was rushing me, "...I''ve only got one¡ª!" he shouted. I pointed the barrel to the bundled links atop my left hand, gritting my teeth. I would have begged the fates not to cripple me... if there''d been a moment for it. Chapter 4 - Five of Songs
In the village of Row In her element
ZEPH
"Let''s keep it moving, Rhody!" I shouted, rushing into the middle of another grouping of Row''s patrolmen. The girl held my silver revolver, Applause, and was fumbling at the task of reloading it. Coming from all around, wild spear stabs were easy enough for me to dodge and redirect. I weaved my way through them, allowing instinct to take over as I turned my focus to The Acolyte. "S-sorry!" she replied as yet another cartridge dropped and hit the ground in a puff of dust. Seriously? My shoulders pulled back as a spearshaft flashed in front of my eyes. When I realized its presence, my hands were already upon it, wrenching it from its owner''s grip. I whipped about, striking its other end into the jaw of a flanking attacker. The woman went reeling, a flash of crimson spittle streaking from her open mouth. What was wrong with the blue-haired girl? Was she battle-weary? That priest, Father Herus, had claimed her resourceful; he''d said the job would be half as hard with her along. As if that made up for the fact he was offering a third of my going rate. An opening appeared; a very young patrolman, a whelp devoid of facial hair, overextended himself, exposing the back of his neck to a wicked elbow strike. His limbs shook violently as he went to the ground. Nerve damage? The King of Wands Temple had gotten ahold of me as I was running out of leads for work. Maybe they were as fate-blessed as they claimed? If that were so, they could have afforded to pay me more. I''d tried playing hardball with them and came away convinced Rhody''s help was truly all they could offer to sweeten the pot. Why else would they assign such an unprepared girl to such a dangerous errand? My current mark, Karich Urough, was a renowned terror in combat, had consumed Ambrosia, and commanded a sizable warband. I was surprised when they met with me about the mark. Of course, I''m capable, but my record didn''t speak to that. I''d spent the past two years working to correct it, taking on the greatest challenges any employer would dare to give me. I wound up agreeing to Rhody''s company. Worst case, I thought, I''d have someone to carry my luggage. Best to slow her down with that ridiculous pack and let it keep her out of harm''s way. I was starting to second-guess myself, though, after she''d tried to scatter herself and my belongings down a mountainside. My eyes caught on Applause in her trembling hands, four rounds loaded. "That''s enough!" I shouted to her, raising an open palm above the rabble and pounding my mirror-polished black boot into a patrolman''s chest. He fell back, tripping over one of his fellows. "Come on you rabble, that the best you''ve got!?" Applause careened through the air, off-course. I rushed forward, sidestepping a series of stabbing spearpoints, claiming three steps of contested territory, and snatching my silver six-shooter from the air. My meandering focus shrunk, shrunk, shrunk to a pin-point. The shaft of the incoming spear drove toward my chest, one inch behind its tip; my gun hand snaked up, barrel pointing to it, and fired, blowing the spearhead off in a shower of splinters. Everything sped around me as I spun into the remains of the patrol, the sharp crack of Applause¡¯s shots punctuating a tempo. BANG! BANG! A beat, a hum, rose in my throat. That sound long buried. The music of my memories stirred within me like a forgotten voice...
Dust swirled through a sleepy western town. Rows of clapboard houses and sun-starched ground. Not one bar brawl, shoot-out, or skull, So damn monotonous and dull. From within a squat white-walled home, a door banged open.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Out I stomped¡ªa girl of thirteen years and three days¡ªblack hat askew, a wooden BB pistol gripped in my hand. My golden hair curled out wild and untamed as I glared down the empty street. A wagon wheel creaked. A dog barked in the distance. I sang, my voice bright but clipped; I was like a fire locked in a cage, words hitting like sparks that popped in the stale air. ¡°Another day¡ª, Another yawn, and here''s this tiresome town at dawn. The blacksmith bangs, The cowboys hum, Makes me wish I was blue and numb.¡± I marched forward, my pistol swinging in rhythm with my steps, stomping purposefully on every beat. A tumbleweed rolled lazily into my path, and I sent it flying with a sharp kick. The street bustled to life. Men tipped their hats. Mothers swept porches. Children chased each other through clouds of dust, singing out snatches of melody that harmonized with my own. A rancher strummed a banjo lazily on the steps of the saloon, adding twang to the town¡¯s sluggish tune. As I strode into the street, everyone around began to sway and move to the plodding harmony. Their voices blended like a creaking wagon train across a rutted trail. ¡°Mornin¡¯, Zeph.¡± ¡°Howdy, Zeph.¡± ¡°Don''t your swine need to be fed?¡± ¡°Ey there, Zeph.¡± ¡°Look ''ere, Zeph.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t let those dreams get to your head.¡± I spun dramatically, my arms thrown wide, and my frustration bled into a grin. The children nearby mimicked me, twirling clumsily, their laughter cutting through the dusty melody. ¡°Well isn''t this swell? It¡¯s still the same! The world goes on¡ªwhy have a name? A butcher cuts, A cobbler kneels, Like dirt stamped under wagon wheels.¡± I raised and twirled my BB pistol, striking a pose before hoisting it into the air. ¡°Bandits wait beyond that ridge,¡± POP! The BB pistol fired. ¡°I¡¯ll meet them all atop the bridge! A bounty high, A legend made, To claim a mark''s¡ªthe grandest trade!¡± The banjo plucked a cheeky tune as shopkeepers muttered and shook their heads, wiping their brows or folding their arms in choreographed exasperation. A baker, hands streaked with flour, clapped a rhythm as he wiped his apron in time with the beat. ¡°She¡¯s mad, A loon, A girl with no sense.¡± ¡°She¡¯d shoot out, her eye, If given a chance.¡± The town choir swelled, swaying and rolling their eyes in perfect unison. Children mimed exaggerated gun battles, throwing themselves to the ground, felled by imaginary bullets. I continued to the general store, my eyes glued to the silver-plated revolver in the window. Its tag gleamed like a beacon: fifteen dollars. ¡°Guns and assassins, What nonsense she¡¯ll spew! But chores will remind her¡ª Life¡¯s work is the glue.¡± I spun on my heel, brandishing my pistol and marching up to a trio of gossiping women with wicker baskets. The women shifted their stances in a practiced waltz; their noses tilted skyward. I raised my voice to confront them. ¡°The trick-shooter! She told me how¡ª Assassin''s work! I want it now! With perfect aim, With iron will, I¡¯ll climb my way atop that hill!¡± I belted the line and leaped atop a barrel. The banjoist struck a dramatic chord as I sang of my imagined future. My shadow stretched long in the golden light, and I gestured toward the horizon as if drawing my dreams across the sky. ¡°I see it there¡ª The world¡¯s dark edge. Beyond that fence. Beyond that hedge. Where shadows pool and steel burns hot, You''ll find me there¡ªtaking my SHOT¡ª.¡± I pulled the crumpled, hand-drawn wanted poster from my coat and waved it high like a battle flag. The other children danced around my barrel in a mocking circle, laughing and pointing, but I continued, ¡°Trick-Shot Legend, Assassin Queen! Her pistol bright with silver sheen. The page will turn; their jaws will drop. And Zeph¡¯ll climb¡ª And Zeph¡¯ll top¡ª.¡± I took on a triumphant pose, my hat tipped low as the last note rang out. The laughter faded, and the townsfolk scattered back to their daily routines, their movements a dull echo of the earlier harmony. "Girl needs to pull her weight. Have ya seen the state of her ma''s ranch?" someone muttered, tipping their hat in time with the lingering music. ¡°Yer right, she¡¯s dodgin'' more than a prairie dog in a barn dance.¡± I sighed, hopping down from the barrel. My pistol hung limp in my hand, and my voice softened to a wistful melody. ¡°They laugh and scoff, They don''t believe¡ª But I¡¯ve got dreams they can''t conceive. What¡¯s life to me, if life¡¯s this small? If nothing changes, nothing calls?¡± The banjoist shifted into a minor key as boots clattered against wooden planks, drawing all eyes toward the rider storming into town. His horse¡¯s mouth foamed, and his voice broke through the fading tune like a cracked whip. ¡°It¡¯s come agaaaaain! All teeth and claw! It killed the Whitmans¡ªate ''em raw!¡± A gasp rippled through the town choir, their staggered voices rising in alarm. My head snapped to him, and I stepped forward, my gaze sharp. ¡°What''s that?¡± I demanded. The rider wheezed, slumping forward in his saddle. ¡°A terrible beast! Part armadillo, part mountain lion! Down near the gorge!¡± The music trembled with tension as the mayor waddled out of his office, pale-faced and shaking. ¡°I''m puttin'' a bounty on its head! Fifteen dollars¡ª¡± I didn¡¯t hear the rest. My eyes locked on the general store window where the revolver gleamed. The music surged with pounding purpose. My BB pistol raised, and my voice rang out, clear and defiant. ¡°A beast¡¯s rough hide¡ª A silver prize. It¡¯s finally time, no compromise! I¡¯ll take my aim, I¡¯ll take my shot. I''ll slay this beast, and earn my spot!" The town choir erupted into chaotic protest, their movements clashing as voices overlapped in frantic disarray. ¡°She¡¯s lost her mind!¡± ¡°Someone stop her!¡± ¡°Please Mayor, rescind yer'' offer!¡± But I, undeterred, pushed through the crowd, my grin wide and wild. The banjo picked up a furious tempo, and the music swelled into a final triumphant refrain. ¡°Let them sneer! Let them doubt! I¡¯ll earn myself some gosh darn clout. This town can scoff, But I will soar! It¡¯s time to reach¡ªfor something¡ªMORE¡ª¡± The last note soared into the dusty sky as I burst from the throng, my black hat tilted, my pistol raised in challenge. The townsfolk stilled, and the music faded into the whisper of the wind. BANG!
My focus returned to the present. Rhody gingerly approached me, stepping across the circle of dismantled patrolmen, all injured or unconscious. My gaze narrowed upon her as she reached for Applause''s spent form. There was something familiar in the girl, though she was doing her best to hide it. I handed over the revolver and turned my attention to one of the injured patrollers, the woman whose jaw I''d battered with a stolen spear. She was slumped against a wall, clutching her mouth and eyeing me wearily. I squatted down before her, "Hope you can still talk; my associate Rhody here has some questions for you." Chapter 5 - Seven of Tricks
Atop buckling knees
RHODY
Rooting through the pack, my fingers brushed against the rough leather of Zeph¡¯s logbook. I yanked it free, its black cover peeling away like an old scab. Inside, the first page carried a grim tally: rows of names, each struck through with a sharp, deliberate line. King of Wands, she¡¯d killed this many... Every time I opened that book, the list pressed upon me. Tonight¡¯s confrontation added a new layer to that disbelief. If each crossed name had security like Karich''s the grand total of her victories in combat could fill this book twice over. Flipping through page after page, I reached the end of her list: six unmarked names, starting with the warlord Karich and ending with Ablee Urough. I swallowed hard; despite my better sense, I''d developed a picture of the girl in my mind, the daughter of a tyrannical warlord, young and impressionable; could I really blame her for consuming Ambrosia? The information we''d been given had her only two years older than me. She''d not been seen outside the keep in years. What if she was a victim in all of this? Regardless, we had to see it through. Zeph was going to kill her, and I was going to help. That was the will of the gods. I turned to the next blank page and readied my pencil, returning my attention to the patrolwoman. I''d been trying this whole time to push away the weight of my earlier mistakes and the realization of the nature of my cards, ¡°The Keep. I need the layout¡ªdefenses, guards, everything. What can you tell me?¡± She glared, blood streaking her chin. ¡°Don¡¯t make me get her involved. She didn''t kill any of you... but that doesn''t mean she won''t...¡± I said and nodded in Zeph''s direction. The blonde bombshell''s eyebrows twisted as if to say, "Really?" I didn''t feel confident when I said it, and felt less confident now. The woman''s defiance cracked under the assassin¡¯s presence. Lip trembling, she relented. Each word pained her¡ªZeph¡¯s handiwork had left her speaking with a lisp. Still, I pried enough detail from her to sketch a useful picture of the Keep¡¯s defenses. I turned to Zeph. Her precision had gutted the village¡¯s defenses without taking a single life. Brutal yet restrained. It didn¡¯t add up. She was an assassin with an incredibly deadly weapon, yet she''d spared these people. Why? Curiosity was plastered across my face, but I couldn''t ask her that. Zeph smirked, ¡°How many stories can a dead man tell? I want them alive to spread word of what they saw.¡± it was as if she''d read my mind, but her answer was nonsense. Father Herus had to be out of his mind pairing me with her. When I''d agreed to join her, I imagined she''d have me covertly using my cards to identify threats and keep me away from the messy parts¡ªshe¡¯d sneak in, kill Karich and the others quietly, then vanish. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Instead, we''d brawled through the village like a storm. I didn¡¯t even have a weapon. She proceeded through the crowd of broken watchmen, binding their limbs with rope she''d stolen from a covered wagon, beaming with confidence. The Ace of Swords, I''d performed a reading when I first met her. It was one of the minor arcana, the first time I''d drawn one outside of a temple event meant to fill out my roster of cards. Minor arcana were past the pinnacle of mortal ability; they were an imbuement of divine capability. Most people had a few mundane suits they ranked in. I myself was a Five of Tumbles, Eight of Scrolls, Page of Hands, and, to my chagrin, a Seven of Tricks. Zeph''s highest-ranking mundane suit was Fire-Arms, a rather new addition to the Tarot. She had Kinged it, the absolute peak of mortal ability, and the gods'' requirement to even be considered for a True Fate from the minor arcana. Her ranking in Swords was a step beyond that; through pure merit, she''d earned unnatural precision. ¡°Why..." I asked, dreading an oncoming reprimand, ¡°Why are we fighting everyone here? Aren¡¯t assassins supposed to sneak?¡± ¡°Ha!¡± She tossed her golden hair, the brim of her hat, atop a wicked grin. ¡°Who told you that? An assassin should be notorious. How else would we find work?¡± That stopped me cold. Was she right? Everything I¡¯d read about assassins¡ªmostly penny dreadfuls and comics¡ªportrayed them as shadowy figures avoiding direct confrontation. Zeph shattered that image. Shooting our way through this village, just steps from our mark¡¯s home, disobeying the quiet of night? That was her way? ¡°Alright,¡± she said, ¡°what''s our next step?¡± I scanned my notes. ¡°The roof¡¯s our best bet. We can climb the Keep¡¯s side¡ªit¡¯s barely defended.¡± ¡°Good. Grab the hook.¡± ¡°Wait, don¡¯t you want to hear the¡ª¡± ¡°Of course not!¡± She waved me off. ¡°I''ve got my next step. Don¡¯t cloud my focus with anything else.¡± I nodded, unable to offer any more resistance, and followed her through the town. Children peeked out from grimy windows. The winding road climbed on toward the Keep, the shadow of its walls growing closer with every step. At its base, she took the grappling hook from my hands, swung it three times, and sent it soaring. It caught with a faint clink, its hemp rope pulling taut as she yanked it into place. Zeph started climbing, her movements sure and quick. ¡°Want me to leave the pack?¡± I called up. ¡°What? No. We¡¯ll need it.¡± ¡°You expect me to carry it?" My eyes widened with dread. ¡°Obviously. Herus said you were resourceful; figure it out. When you reach the top come find me, just follow the noise.¡± She ascended with ease, almost walking up the wall. Her toned arms moved her weight effortlessly. I stared at the pack, then sighed. No way could I climb with that. Instead, I secured the rope to it. I''d have to climb and then hoise it up once I''d reached the top. The ascent came naturally to me; years of acrobatic training made it manageable. But graceful? No. I wasn''t Zeph. Halfway up, my thoughts couldn''t help but drift back to the deck. Had I really bought it? I¡¯d promised Herus his money back regardless of the outcome of our wager, and when I won, I returned the money and claimed the cards. That felt damning enough. It was a transaction. Fuck... How could I not have seen that back then? After all that time cursing the cards from the second-hand store, I''d made the same mistake twice. Maybe it was the curse''s fault; maybe it''d clouded my vision. When I''d replaced that first deck with the one Brenna¡¯d gifted me, things had become simple, almost too easy. I''d put together a plan to get what I wanted and enacted it flawlessly. Well, with one flaw. I could have kept Herus''s money, and he''d probably still have agreed to the wager, but I''d been greedy; I couldn''t let myself risk losing. Quit lying to yourself, I thought; you didn''t promise the payment to avoid him backing out. You did it because you felt guilty. Sleeved aces, I winced. It was a common trick in those back alley games. I''d reserved its use for hands I couldn''t afford to lose, and that last hand with Herus was not one I wanted to leave to chance. Chapter 6 - King of Spears
In the world of dreams Chasing young Urough children through stone corridors
RINVAL
A dull thud pulled me from my slumber. Plush, warm bedding wrapped my aching joints as my eyes opened to the comforting dark of my chamber. I''d slept so much better since moving to the dark-ward side of the keep. No more glowing Tower in my window, thank you. Another thud broke through the hum of the quiet world I lived in. Huh, something was definitely going on outside. I reached to my bedside, grasping for the mask and knocking the glass of water upon it off onto the floor. I assumed it had shattered but had no sensory way of confirming, short of sacrificing the sole of my foot to check. No, I¡¯d just put on my slippers and get someone to clean the mess. There it was, cool porcelain under my fingertips. I snaked my fingers through the eye holes and brought it to my face, holding it in place with one hand and tying its purple silk ribbons around the back of my head with the other. I rolled my feet out of bed and kicked on the suede slippers by its side. The creaking of my joints rattled the space between my ears as I took my feet, my nightshirt dropping to my ankles. On the way to the door, I slung the leather strap of my ear-horn over my shoulder and grabbed my polearm from its rack. As I stepped into the hall, I began to wonder why the boys hadn¡¯t woken me. Standard procedure was to bring any sort of assault or prison break to my attention. Maybe they¡¯d thought to handle it before I woke, to pretend it¡¯d never happened. Heh, I wasn¡¯t sure whether to applaud the initiative or to rage over the lack of compliance. Then I saw it, the outside of my door, chipped wood, gashes in the paint, and stress marks around the knob; they had tried to wake me. Recalling a moment prior, I had unlocked the door. Why had I locked it in the first place? And then my hard-of-hearing old ass had abandoned duty to slumber in a soundless void. ¡°Glimmin, Ashworth! Report!¡± I shouted for two of the guards I knew were on duty. Where in the blazes were those jackalopes? I kept the ear-horn to my ear and pointed it down the hall, one direction, then the other. Another thud, it was sharper this time with the horn, a gun-shot. And shouting, it sounded like a woman. Was that Ablee? My star pupil, well, she was, until she earned her spot on Karich¡¯s shit list. Why couldn''t she have just fallen in line like her step-brothers? Would have made things so much easier. She had been such a pleasure to teach, full of spirit, and she caught onto things fast. Despite her short attention span she somehow made an excellent painter as well. I was still proud that her father, the battle-axe, had let me sway his hand, giving the Painter¡¯s Ambrosia to the girl. It was such a natural fit, or so I''d thought. The power had gone to her and Cline''s heads. They thought they¡¯d be able to run away, avoid duty. That''d gotten them as far as the Keep''s dungeon. What a waste. Karich could have found a way to bring her in line. He had tried a few times but had never listened to my advice on seeking a better approach, thinking his brutality would eventually prevail. A shameful waste. It¡¯d been years since I¡¯d laid eyes on the girl, my ward. I didn¡¯t want to see the precocious twerp caged up like a dull-eyed zoo animal. Leave that to Glimmin, but he wasn¡¯t responding to my calls. Driving past my hesitation, I plodded down the dungeon stairs. Stolen novel; please report. Turning the corner, I saw Glimmin¡¯s empty seat. The boy was likely upstairs, dealing with whatever nonsense was taking place. The crew and "Karich" would likely have little trouble with whatever sort of intrusion had arrived. My time would be best spent checking on the girl. Another thud bounced off my deadened eardrum. This one sounded closer. I approached her door, pulling the horn to my ear, and heard wild, pained shouting coming from within, and, was that a man¡¯s voice? I slammed open the cell shutters, "Demon-child, you in there? What''re you wailing about?" "Ahhhh fuck! My damn hand, Gah, what the hell was I thinking? Wait, Rinval, what the hell are you doing here?!" The girl, no, she was a woman now, stood hunched over, glowering at her mangled palm. Wait a second; her chains, they were hanging limp from her wrists, coated in blood, separated just a few links down. That hand was soot-black and crimson. What the hell had happened, and what was that behind her, a billowing curtain, the warband¡¯s purple? Who the hell had installed a doorway? I blinked, incredulous. "This is a dream, right? You''re not in harm¡¯s way," I asked. "Why the fuck would you care?" She shouted and flipped me a right-handed bird. "Fucking hell!" She screamed and dropped to a squat, dipping her left hand into the ground and pulling it out dripping in gray stone paint. She was huffing air, looking like an incensed purple-pelted tiger with that white streaked blanket across her shoulders. Another piece of contraband Glimmin would pay for. This was not the cage-humbled beast I¡¯d imagined, she still had her fire. Hah! Poor girl! "Okay, say I am awake; what happened to you, who the hell installed a curtain in your chamber, why are your chains broken, and why are you injured?" "I''m not telling you beans, you deaf old tutor, it''s been five damn years without a peep from you, and now you show up? Really? This is fucking nonsense!" "Hey! That''s no way to speak to your elders¡­ I''ve been busy. Many appointments. You wouldn''t understand my schedule, you layabout." My chest began to bound; I¡¯d missed this verbal repartee. The other children were so serious. They¡¯d be sullen for days after such a retort, but Ablee would return fire. "Layabout!?! You think I want to be in here? And I am not LAYING ABOUT! I''ve been busting my ass trying to figure out these powers you forced on me! And guess what! I''ve done it! These chains are broken and I''m leaving!" She clutched that craggy, broken stone hand to her chest. "Yeah, that''s not going to happen, so what''d you do? Paint a gun and shoot your chains off? You little moron, you could have shot them on the floor." ?A figure approached from the other side of that obnoxious billowing curtain, "Watch it, ye¡¯ porcelain-faced ponce, watch yer damn tongue when you speak to the young lady!" Who the hell was that? A pirate, an actual pirate in some doorway that''d appeared in the young mistresses chambers? How? Why? "Come here and say that to me yourself, whoever the hell you are!" Wait, I actually knew who this was; his pointy stiletto-length goatee was a dead giveaway. It was Pinbeard? What? How? He was supposed to be long dead, a historical figure. But he wasn''t; the man stood there in the flesh, wait, not flesh... paint? This was some trick of the girls! "Ablee, how did you do this!? Queen of Cups, I wish your father was here to see!" "Go fetch him then, I''m going to beat his ass!" "I will do no such thing, young lady, for....numerous reasons. Now, best you surrender; we''ll rechain you and.... wash the walls." "Forget that! No... This ends here!" She rushed the door. She rushed the door! By the time my half-drowsy mind realized what was happening, she was already face-deep in it, her wood-paint-coated livid visage poking out inches in front of me. She tried to bite me, pushing forward further. I retreated a step, then another. Ablee¡¯s back and legs popped through the surface, but her arms were caught behind her. It was both a frightening and funny sight. I put things together quickly. Her arms, still bound by those iron shackles she couldn''t slip, were caught on the other side of the door. "Ha...Haha! Girl, you didn''t break the shackles, just the chains..." ?"Shut it, you ass!" She shouted at me, "When I get out of here, you''re in trouble, you and Dad, and Glimmin, and those three other sorry sacks of shit that somehow qualify as my "brothers". You''ll all pay!" A smirk lit my cracked lips to match the one she¡¯d painted across my mask. "I don''t think so, not unless you can find a key to that door.¡± She strained, thrashing, trying to get ahold of me. I raised a finger and booped her on the nose; she snapped her wooden teeth at me and roared. I turned, heading for the stairs. ¡°Well, glad to see you''re doing fine, demon child. I have other matters to attend to now; maybe I¡¯ll drop by in another five years¡­" Chapter 7 - Ace of Swords
Amidst the warband
ZEPH
I tore through the Keep¡¯s shadowed halls and carved a path into Karich¡¯s warband like a storm through brittle forest. The two ammo boxes I¡¯d grabbed before ascending the keep now lay abandoned somewhere near its kitchen, their contents spent in a strategic flourish. These rookies thought I¡¯d burned expended myself. Now, they crept from their holes, hungry to claim an assassin''s head. It was better this way. I wouldn''t have to track them down one by one; I''d have no need to look over my shoulder. ¡°Wretch!¡± My revolver Applause''s butt crashed into a helmet, crashing it like a gong. These weren''t spearmen, they were rattled, dented toys that needed to be put back on their shelves. ¡°Karich!¡± I fired down the central corridor, ¡°You lily-livered cur! Are you hiding from me?¡± A spear tip flashed from a side corridor. I ducked and swept a boot through its wielder¡¯s legs; she dropped to the floor with a thud that wrinkled my nose. Too easy. I moved like liquid silver through the chaos, my limbs quicker than my thoughts. The patter of my heartbeat began to rise, pushing the world into a narrow tunnel. Thump... thump... No. Not now. Not here. Thump-thump. Boot clomps, shouts, and my speeding pulse; each was a layer in the symphony that rose around me. Why now? My teeth clenched. Years had passed since I¡¯d heard that damned beat. I couldn¡¯t afford to lose focus here, not when the biggest score of my career was within reach. Not when my mark was close enough to taste. I whirled like a barn-toppling tornado of silver, black fabric, and sweat. My strikes came faster now, busted jaws, shafts smashed from hands, helmets pounded like war drums. Rhythm consumed and dragged me back to that place and time. Each collision shook my body; each blow was a note in that song I''d forced myself to forget. My head whipped from side to side, and my vision narrowed to a point. No! I threw myself from it and saw him. White porcelain, red eyes, and a jeering blue smile. A mask and a halberd. There''d been no prickle on my neck, no discordant pause in the music to let me know. A flash of steel sliced the air, and cold bloomed in my left shoulder. My blouse pulled tight to cling against my chest, and I staggered.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°The Ace?¡± His voice was calm and measured, ¡°I expected more.¡± ¡°How?¡± I gasped and dropped into a stance, trying to defend myself. My shoulder pulsed, a sickening warmth spilling down my arm. ¡°What was that?¡± the predator asked and tilted his head. ¡°You heard me! How''d you get so close?¡± I stammered, retreating one, two steps. He didn¡¯t follow; his red eyes were inscrutable, he had me trapped. The music vanished, drained from my chest along with my resolve. I breathed ragged and lunged, Applause arcing to knock his spear aside, to close the gap and end this. His spear¡¯s point pulled ahead of me. Too fast. No, he wasn''t quick; my hammering of heart-beat told me that. I was slow, ploddingly slow. I couldn¡¯t slip past that blade. We danced. He led. I tried again and again to switch our positions, to no avail. I tried to taunt him, but it fell on deaf ears. Rising from a forced dip, my eyes locked on the polearm''s tip as it raced toward my center. Thankfully, my hips held onto a vestige of melody. They yanked to life before my mind could catch up. They spun, and ran. My boots thundered around corners, through a maze of halls. Warm fluid slicked my side. Ragged breath burned in my throat. ¡°Rhody!" The words ripped out my mouth like sandpaper, ¡°I need ammo!¡± Nothing. ¡°Rhody!¡± Still nothing. And then¡ª A scream. The acolytes scream. My stomach twisted. ¡°Damn it...¡± I circled about toward the sound. Toward her. My vision narrowed, not in that razor-sharp, keen-eyed way I¡¯d come to rely on. This was the edge of a blackout; it felt like grasping at sand. Shit. I gave up my rescue and stumbled toward the nearest door. It slammed shut behind me, and I threw the bar. I ripped off my blouse''s sleeve, twisted the fabric around my trembling hand, and pressed it against my shoulder. Thump-thump. My heartbeat pounded like war drums in my ears. The room was small and suffocating¡ªan interior chamber, no windows, a bed shoved into a corner, and an armoire dominating the opposite wall. My eyes darted, searching for an escape. Thump-thump. Something flickered in my peripheral¡ªa distortion on the floor. I turned the pinprick of vision I had left to it and my chest tightened. The bedpost against my back kept me from toppling as I pushed the black bandage tighter against my wound. A crimson trail pooled along the floor. There it was again. That ripple. A subtle, unnatural movement along the stone and mortar surface. Thump-thump. It grew larger, and shifted¡ªsmooth stone became¡­ hair? And then¡ªeyes. They didn''t waver. Whatever this was knew what it wanted. ¡°What the hell?¡± My voice cracked, and I pulled my leg. But I was slow. The gray face, not unlike Rhody''s, surged from the floor. Its mouth, I swear that jaw unhinged before it clamped onto my calf. Its teeth felt like falling ten feet barefoot onto gravel. Fire shot up my leg. ¡°Gah! What the hell!?¡± I kicked out with my free foot, landing a solid blow. But it was like kicking a boulder. My boot rebounded with a jolt as I tore from the bed. Before I could comprehend what was happening, I was knee-deep in the floor. The liquid stone wrapped me like an icy lake. ¡°No!¡± My voice pitched higher as the ground rippled, pulling me down inch by inch. I thrashed, reaching for anything to stop the descent. My shoulder burned, but the sharp ache dulled as the rest of my body sank into the numbing expanse. My head went under, and the room slipped behind the black of a cloudy midnight sky. I would not go out like this! My right hand held tight to Applause. The barrel caught on something solid¡ªthe liquid floor above? How was that possible? How was any of this possible? I tried to pull myself up, teeth gritted, muscles tensed, but the weight beneath me was too much. The thing, no, the girl''s grip on my leg broke with a snap. When she struck the ground, the whole room trembled. My arm was caught; the ceiling above me had solidified and cinched around it. The girl, her skin was glistening wet rock. She rose into a crouch like a feral creature, broken chains hanging from her arms. Her eyes gleamed with ley light. "Stupid bitch!" I spat, "What the hell did you just do?!" WANT TO READ AHEAD? THIS IS THE END OF THE REVISED TEXT AVAILABLE ON ROYAL ROAD; CHAPTER 8 IS NOW AVAILABLE TO FREE SUBSCRIBERS ON PATREON AND WILL BE MOVE TO RR AS I CONTINUE WRITING. THE NEXT ROYAL ROAD CHAPTER IS FROM FROM THE ORIGINAL VERSION. PATREON ANNOUNCEMENT - CHAPTER 8 AVAILABLE TO FREE SUBSCRIBERS Hello yall! I appreciate you all reading up to this point! I want to announce, for those of you interested, that chapter 8 is now available to all subscribers on Patreon (free and paid). If you''d like to join me there / on my discord I''d be overjoyed to have you! More chapters will be coming to RR shortly! I plan to keep at least 1 free chapter ahead of RR on Patreon moving forward, so a free sub will always keep you ahead of the curve! Best regards, Adrum Below is an exceprt from Chapter 8: Chapter 8 - Knight of Bashes RHODY Zeph, where was she? This multi-floored labyrinth of gray stone and purple banners was a nightmare to navigate. I was lost and had no time to collect my bearings. Smoky air burned my lungs as I tore through the halls. That brute rumbled in my wake. When it had found me, I was hot on Zeph''s heels, tracking her via the clamor of her advance and the trail of Karich''s beaten conscripts. I thought it was Zeph''s first mark¡ªits looming, wide figure fit the description of the Warlord Karich Urough. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The resemblance, however, was only physical. This thing, it didn¡¯t think. It didn¡¯t plan. It ran on instinct. It hunted. Every corner I passed was a risk to be weighed. I could try to slip the bestial man hot on my heels, but I''d also have to wrestle Zeph''s pack around the bend. It did not take kindly sharp turns. I decided to chance it; my boots slid and carried me into the wall''s rough surface. My robe''s arm ripped open, and a hot, wet scrape blossomed across my elbow. ¡°Huhh! Huhh! Huhh!¡± Its incessant breath echoed around me. If I was caught... I couldn''t let myself dwell on that. That voice roared like an avalanche, ¡°AaAaBbLlEeEe," and I felt the blood leave my face. My vision dimmed, but I refused to slow down. A grand gold-framed mirror hung in an upcoming cross-section. In it, the hulking man galloped after me, using his calloused knuckles like a second pair of feet. Those hands looked like they could hammer bone to dust. That name, Ablee, the Warlord''s daughter. Whatever it wanted from her had been supposed onto me. My stomach tightened like a noose. Damn it, damn it, damn it! I was back in the alleys, wagering my hide against the pace of a man twice my size. The anchor on my back had to go, but Zeph needed the ammunition inside, and extracting it would involve slowing down. Cold fear and hot guilt warred in multiple theatres across my body. I was failing her, my temple, and myself. The next corner came too fast, the bite of gunsmoke still sharp in my throat as my eyes caught a trail of ruby-red droplets cresting around it. My chest tightened. Zeph? It had to be. The forces of Karich''s she''d splayed out hadn''t moved far enough to make such trails. No, this wasn¡¯t them. This was her. I was sure of it. [ORIGINAL] Chapter 1 - Constricted Greetings Reader, you have reached the end of what''s been rewritten so far. All text from this point is from the original version. ¡°Break¡­¡± her voice slipped through an iron-barred window of the Long Fang Mountains Keep, catching on the wind. ¡°Break,¡± she insisted. The air pirouetted around the twin curved peaks, descending again to devour her plea. Beckoned onward by her fervor, it collided with the Keep¡¯s wall. Its billowing form condensed and slithered through the bars into the prison cell of Ablee Urough. Moving with a will of its own, it coiled along the cell¡¯s diameter. Its loops slowly tightened, converging on the room''s center, wrapping around the ¡°impudent runt¡± of the warlord Karich. Ablee strained against her shackles as rivers of sweat poured from her shorn, auburn hairline. ¡°BREAK!¡± She demanded. The piney perfume of the living wind played on her tongue. Constricting her in tight circles, it wicked the moisture from her skin and drenched gray overalls. She started to shiver and grind her teeth as she pushed forward. Her calloused feet slipped across the damp stone, and she fell, arms held back by her restraints. CLACK. Her chin hit the ground. ¡°Ablee!¡± exclaimed the caricature of a woman with a basket of apples hanging from the crook of her arm. The woman, part of a colorful chalk-drawn scene on the cell''s walls, dropped to her knees. ¡°Are you all right,¡± she asked. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Depicted around her were a brilliant kaleidoscope of other concerned villagers, draped in a charming woodland village that wrapped full-circle around the room. They observed the real, flesh and blood girl, struggling in the cell''s center. Ablee struck the floor with a fist and lay prone for a moment, bathed in the dim white light of The Tower. Her eye peeked out from its corner to gaze upon the glowing titanic pillar, her barred window framing it like a picture of what she¡¯d been denied. Rolling to her side, her determined eyes narrowed. It was Karich¡¯s greatest ambition: Topping The Tower. I¡¯ll beat him to it. The woman¡¯s face was drawn with worry. ¡°Do you need help? I can call for Glimin.¡± Ablee¡¯s eyes turned to the woman. Smiling, a stream of bloody spit rolled down her cheek. ¡°Nah, Thalia, I juth bit my thongue.¡± Taking her feet, she spat on the floor. With crimson dripping down her chin and her shackle-scraped wrists, her playful demeanor was like the calm of a storm¡¯s eye. ¡°Thee, no worth for wear!¡± Thalia nodded, sensing her resolve. ¡°You¡¯ve got this. Keep going!¡± As the force of the wind battered Ablee, her head whipped back and forth, trying to track its movements. Small puffs of loose chalk dust trailed it as it rolled along the walls. What the hell is going on here? ¡°Cline?¡± she called out, a coy smile on her face. ¡°You have another breakthrough with your chalk¡ª¡± A prolonged burst of icy air cut off her voice. The surge didn¡¯t relent, pushing her backward¡ªone step, then another¡ªuntil only the bindings on her arms held her in place against its force. This has to be a sign... Tonight¡¯s not another wasted night... Tonight is different! She wrapped the chains around her fists, pulling herself forward along them. ¡°You¡¯re right, Thalia!¡± Ablee shouted above the wind, locking eyes with her. ¡°Five years gone, but this ends now!¡± Straining, she repeatedly slammed her heels into the floor, refusing to stop. Finally, she gained purchase and then yanked. The iron of her restraints began to stretch like wet clay. ¡°Yes,¡± she grunted, ¡°Yesss!¡± Drawn on the adjacent wall, a rum-addled pirate with ¡°PIN BEARD¡± stitched into his tricorn hat raised his mug and voice. ¡°Aye! Give it yer all, girl!¡± His long pointed goatee bobbed up and down as he hollered. ¡°Get yer brother out of this damned brig!¡± ¡°Cline¡­¡± She growled, reminded of her stolen sibling. Looking down at the second set of shackles, lying abandoned on the cell¡¯s floor, her memories overtook her.
¡°Pin Beard had an eye patch, right?¡± Cline asked, turning his head from his drawing to look at her through moppy black hair. ¡°Yeah, he did. The comic kept switching which eye it was on!¡± Ablee responded, her face and shackled hands poking up from the ground. The rest of her lay submerged in the stone-turned-paint like she was bathing in mud. The ¡°Runt¡± was even runtier at fifteen, her body not yet conditioned by three years of failed escape attempts. Cline¡¯s mouth pulled into a wide grin. ¡°Ha, wonder why they did that? Maybe he still had both eyes and got tired of keeping one shut.¡± ¡°Doubt it. The artist was probably being lazy.¡± She kicked out a leg, trailing a gray splatter through the air. ¡°No!¡± His cheeks sank into a scowl, and he yanked his screeching, chalky red finger across the wall. ¡°Do you know how many hours Roma works a week!?¡± Ablee narrowed her eyes at Cline, annoyed. Then the cell door slammed open; BANG! Their father, Karich, stood outside, the doorway cutting off the view of his hairline and arms. His eyebrows were caught in their perpetual furrow. She sat up from her mud bath, beads of the stony paint dripping down her glaring face. Her brother took a step back, butted up against the room¡¯s edge; Thalia hovered behind him, a motherly presence. Ablee¡¯s tongue overrode what little reason she could muster. ¡°Rude! Can you come back later? We¡¯re having an important conversation.¡± The warlord lowered his head and turned in a shoulder, entering the room sideways. As he did, his cloak caught on the iron door¡¯s hinge. He grabbed its clasp and forced it forward, dragging the doorframe into the cell. CLANG. The door pounded onto the ground. His gaze pierced Ablee, searching for some way to bring her to heel. ¡°Well?¡± She said, refusing to be cowed. Cline grimaced as the steps of Karich¡¯s steel-toed boots reverberated through the chamber, trudging toward his sister. ¡°Dad...¡± Karich looked down on her. ¡°You¡¯re finally figuring out your Ambrosia." he said, referring to her unique ability. His tone relayed no emotion. ¡°Why should you care? I¡¯ll never use it for---¡± "Because it was a gift!" He shouted, his ogre-sized foot crashed into her wet cheek. She huffed and tried to hold her own against the force, but the action was futile. "The Food of the Gods. Wasted on you embarrassments!" "It wasn''t a gift. You forced it on us," She hissed through gritted teeth as her muscles strained and gave way under his weight. Pushed down to the floor, his boot¡¯s heel dug into her throat while its toe threatened to collapse her temple. ¡°Dad, stop!¡± Cline protested. ¡°Please, what do you want!?¡± Karich twisted his leg, applying screaming pressure. ¡°Aa-aaahh!¡± Ablee stammered. She fought the urge to sink into the ground, but her instincts won. She gasped a quick breath before her head and body dropped into the stone. She heard Cline¡¯s voice as she sank below. ¡°Slip your shackles and swim away! There¡¯s nothing special about metal; it¡¯s all just paint!¡± Her hands, held by their bindings, remained above the surface. Pulling herself up, her scalp met again with the steel sole of Karich¡¯s boot. She bobbed against it as if caught beneath the rime of an icy lake. Suspended in a black abyss, she couldn¡¯t see anything. Only muffled shouts reached her ears. She lost track of time. Grabbing the rough-threaded pants around her father¡¯s calf, she dug her nails in, yearning for any form of vengeance. More shouting. She couldn¡¯t hold her breath. Her mouth opened, flooding with the dull taste of stone.
Ablee¡¯s focus snapped back to the present. Cline¡¯s drawings, her friends, watched with eyes full of hope. The metal of her shackles continued to warp and twist as she strained against them. Flexing, she pushed her arms to their limit. Her bindings stretched further, leaking frigid liquid iron down her wrists and into the creases of her clenched fists. Across the chalky village, a host of hopeful voices joined in. ¡°This is it!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t quit!¡± ¡°FOR CLINE!¡± Her eyes were wide, her jaw set with focus. Two plumes of hot breath billowed from her nostrils. Puff, puff, puff. The wind tugged them like a dragon¡¯s whiskers. She took three long steps back. The links of her chains, slackening, plinked to the floor. The chill air tore along the walls, stirring into a storm of loose chalk dust. Ablee¡¯s eyes, locked on some distant point, didn''t waver, didn''t blink. He has to be right. There¡¯s nothing special about metal. Her right foot dropped back, and she leaned onto her left. The riotous gale continued to surge, pitching to a scream! Jump through it. It¡¯s all just paint. You¡¯ve got this... go... Go... GO! She threw herself forward, taking a step, then hopping and landing into a crouch. Capitalizing on her momentum, she fully extended her legs and rocketed into the air. The chains rose behind her like twin serpents refusing to release their prey. Roaring, the undulating chalk dust storm rushed to meet her head-on. She swung her right arm, an iron-painted fist at its head. ¡°HYYAAAAHHHH!¡± The wind, changing direction, quickly jerked away from her strike. Her chain clung to its anchor, its links screeching in desperate protest. The shackle, wrung like a sponge, vomited slick gun-metal paint that splattered the floor. He was right! Its form started to split, pulling apart around Ablee¡¯s wrist and reforming on its other side. CLINK. A viper¡¯s grin peeled from ear to ear, and she wrenched her chest to the right, dragging her left arm forward through the other shackle. CLINK. Her now unrestrained fist smashed into the snout of the veering wind, and a piercing wail shook the chamber. WAAAOOOO¡ª! As she flew through trembling air, her wild grin split, ¡°Ha-Hyahahahaha!¡± Descending side-first, she bounced off the ground and rolled to a stop against the wall. Behind her, the discarded chains clattered toward the window in the wake of the retreating wind. Pin Beard reached for the sash at his hip, ¡°Ye¡¯ve done it, girl! When you top that tower, etch ol¡¯ Pin Beard¡¯s name inta its roof!¡± He pointed a flint-lock pistol from his sash to the sky. ¡°Pin, the guards!¡± Thalia shouted and rushed to stop him, her basket tossed aside in a shower of red and gold produce. BANG! As the echoes of the shot diminished, the crowd looked down at Ablee, lying on her back, still shaking with laughter, ¡°Let ¡¯em come!¡±. She sat up and eyed the iron cell door, cupping her hands to her mouth, ¡°DAAADDYYY! Send whoever you want! I¡¯m gonna find you, and then I¡¯m GONNA BEAT YOUR ASS!¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± The chalk-drawn villagers cheered. Ablee got to her feet. Eyeing the door, she rubbed her iron-coated palms through her hair. ¡°Hey Glimin!¡± She shouted, tapping her foot. Pin Beard finished reloading his flint-lock, ¡°The coward¡¯s probly runnin fer yer dad...¡± Ablee sneered, ¡°I¡¯m not waiting around here all night. He needs to hurry it up..." She looked around, all patience having fled her, then paced to the wall beside her cell door. A few chalky villagers moved to get out of her way. She leaned her head into the stone wall, and it turned to thick, muddy paint around her. Poking through to her shoulders on its other side, she wiped her eyes and looked up and down the lantern-lit stone corridor. Glimin¡¯s chair sat empty. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this guy... GLIMIN!¡± her voice carried down the hallway, ¡°A gun went off in the warlord¡¯s daughter¡¯s bed-chambers! What in the hell are you doing!?¡± No response came. She strode forward, dripping stone paint along the hall. Bang. She heard a muffled gunshot. Bang. Then another. Pulsing with excitement, she flung herself back through the wall to her cell, ¡°Good thinkin¡¯ Pinny, get ¡¯em all riled up!¡± Pin-Beard turned to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me, lass...¡± [ORIGINAL] Chapter 2 - Arrival
Earlier that night, in the village of Row: Two travelers strode into the subdued settlement in the valley of the Long Fang Mountains. The twin peaks curled around it like the maw of an ancient beast, their jagged ridges glinting in the Tower-light. Scents of pine and the acrid tang of wood smoke hung heavy in the air. Along the streets, patrolmen moved in a dreary rhythm; shoulders slumped under the Warlord Karich Urough¡¯s rule. Dust rose from their tired footsteps, settling in the cracks of splintered wooden beams and sagging rooftops. Every inch of the place bore the scars of its master¡¯s iron grip, from crumbling walls to the quiet sobs within its shuttered homes. Making her way down a forlorn street was a woman in stark contrast to Row''s hollow-eyed inhabitants. She moved with a purpose that turned heads and widened eyes, her silhouette sharp and striking against the backdrop of decay. Dressed in all black, a flat-brimmed hat crowned her tall frame, and her blonde hair flowed in wild disarray beneath it. The outfit she wore was of glaringly expensive make. Its blouse sported a plunging, collared neckline and billowing unbuttoned sleeves. A long cape draped across her back rippled with her alluring movements. Her impeccably pressed pants looked fresh from the tailor''s rack, hugging the lithe curve of her hips. Trailing behind her was Rhody, a girl on the verge of adulthood, clothed in the gray woolen robes of an acolyte. Her petite frame struggled against a pack suited for a circus strong-man. Her every step was an effort as she adjusted the heavy straps digging into her shoulders. It bulged with equipment: munitions, spare clothing, and Zeph''s leather-bound log book tucked into a side pocket. Around her neck was a silver chain. A flame-red pouch hung at its end, swinging beneath her. The girl¡¯s soft features and nervous glances marked her in deep contrast to Miss Calm and Collected. The black-clad bombshell strutted forward without a care, daring anyone to stand in her way. ¡°Zeph,¡± Rhody called, her voice strained with exertion. ¡°Can we¡­ slow down? Just a little?¡± The woman didn''t even turn her head. ¡°Slowing down,¡± she said, ¡°is for people who haven¡¯t got a warlord to kill." Her terse statement cut through any objections Rhody harbored. The girl pulled her inky-blue locks into a ponytail and trudged on, trying her best to keep up. Ahead, a group of six patrolmen rounded a corner, their spears popping against the packed dirt ground. Their steps faltered as they took in the tall figure striding toward them. ¡°Halt!¡± barked one of the men, his voice cracking. He leveled his quivering spear with all the grace of a newborn calf. Battling his anxiety, he tried to steady it. One of the rear guard nudged another, "Theod''s report... that''s her, the Ace of Swords..." As Zeph walked on, Rhody¡¯s feet rooted in place, her breath caught between panic and disbelief. The acolyte''s hands fumbled around the pouch of her silver necklace, unclasping it and sliding out a tarot deck. The pristine cards were backed in midnight blue with a sprinkling of gold-foiled stars. Eyeing the spear-man, her left palm cupped the deck. The shaking fingers of her right snapped up the top card. Turning it to her eyes, its face was a glossy white, without suit or rank. She let out a small sigh of relief before moving her attention to the next patrolman. Zeph shot Rhody a quick glance. "None of these whelps warrant a reading; put those away and ready yourself, like we discussed." The patrol¡¯s lead stepped forward, his weapon poised at Zeph¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡¯ll go no further. Row''s got a curfew; anyone breaking it¡¯s to be imprisoned and lashed ---Karich¡¯s orders!¡± Zeph¡¯s eyes dropped to the shaft in his hands, and she grinned¡ªa toothy, predator''s grin. Her gaze flickered, measuring him. ¡°You¡¯re going to subdue me with a stick?¡± The patrol leader inched the razor-sharp head of his spear closer, its tip tapping a button on Zeph''s blouse. ¡°You¡¯re going to subdue Zepharin, the next Queen of Assassins, WITH A STICK?!¡± The man stuttered, ¡°A-a spear.¡± Her hand blurred into motion. One moment, it hung loose at her side; the next, it pointed a silvered revolver at his spear''s shaft, just beneath its tip. The man¡¯s eyes snapped to the word ¡°APPLAUSE¡± engraved into its barrel. BANG. A shower of splinters pelted his face, and he reflexively turned away, his shout of surprise swallowed by the echoing crack.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°What spear!?¡± She cackled as Applause''s recoil whipped her arm around her like an orbiting celestial body, its revolution ending against the side of his head. The impact landed with a deafening clang, his helmet flying loose as he crumpled to the ground. Chaos erupted. The remains of the patrol lunged forward as Zeph sidesteps their rush, more dancing than fighting. BANG. A single shot rang out, shattering a second spear. BANG, BANG. The fragments of a third and fourth scattered to the ground. One of the guards rushed her from the side, but she twisted on her heel, her cape flaring out like a raven''s wing. The man, dazzled, didn''t register the heel of her thigh-high boot zipping toward his throat. She moved like a river cutting through stone, her strikes precise and efficient. BANG. Applause belched smoke and fire as she dismantled the patrol¡¯s defenses, shattering their weapons and resolve with little effort. Shouts rose from around the village, growing louder as lanterns flickered to life in nearby houses. Curtains rustled as wary eyes peeked out, their owners unwilling to intervene but too curious to turn away. ¡°Zeph, I think we should start moving!¡± Rhody''s shrill voice called out while she searched for an escape route. Her trembling legs and the weight of her pack conspired to keep her still. Lantern light danced between the surrounding buildings, casting long, jittering shadows across the uneven walls and streets. BANG. "Empty!" Zeph shrugged and tossed the hot revolver over her shoulder. Duty overcoming her, Rhody rushed forward to catch it with a startled yelp, fumbling to reload the weapon. Zeph snatched a discarded spear from the ground, twirling it like a marching baton in a lazy figure-eight. ¡°Why are you fighting the whole town!?¡± Rhody shouted, her fingers fumbling around the ammunition. ¡°Aren¡¯t assassins supposed to be subtle?¡± ¡°What, who told you that!? An assassin¡¯s supposed to be notorious. How would a subtle assassin even find work!?¡± Zeph retorted, her voice filled with indignation as she ducked beneath a wide swing and swept the legs from under a new arrival. The patrolmen continued to fall until only one remained, useless, like the tip of a busted spear. His knees buckled and dropped as Zeph approached, her arm reaching for his paltry weapon. He offered no resistance as she slid it from his hands. She tossed it aside and held out her now empty palm. The acolyte returned Applause, its belly full, to its rightful place. ¡°Now,¡± Zeph said with a sugary lilt. ¡°My assistant Rhody''s going to ask you some questions.¡± The man nodded, his lips trembling as Rhody shuffled forward, flipping open Zeph''s logbook. The black cover of the leather-bound tome peeled away like an old scab, revealing rows of names. Each was dressed with a thick line through its middle. Line after line of past marks marched across the page, then another page, and more others, leading to six names that remained untouched, the first of which was Karich Urough. ¡°Keep¡¯s defenses?¡± Rhody asked, her pencil poised. Her tone was clipped but steady now, her earlier nervousness replaced by a determined calm. The man stammered out everything he could recall: guard rotations, entrances and exits, and directions to Karich¡¯s chambers. Zeph, disinterested, tapped the barrel of Applause against her thigh.
Wrapping up the interrogation, Rhody hoisted her pack and returned to Zeph¡¯s side. ¡°Okay, I think I¡¯ve got a plan.¡± Zeph raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. ¡°First step?¡± ¡°It seems our best shot of entering the Keep unscathed is through its roof.¡± ¡°Alright, prepare the hook.¡± Zeph started trudging toward the peaks in the distance, intent on the Keep lying between them. The towering structure seemed to pulse with menace, its jagged parapets slicing into the night sky. ¡°Wait, don¡¯t you want to know the¡ª¡± ¡°Rhody!¡± Zeph said, ¡°Don¡¯t pull my focus.¡± ¡°But-¡± ¡°No buts.¡± Zeph tossed her head, her golden locks spinning behind her. ¡°Just keep up.¡± Zeph strode away, casting a long shadow across the dusty ground. Rhody groaned and pocketed the logbook, trudging on. Looking up at the tall walls of the Keep, she couldn''t hold her tongue, ¡°You don¡¯t expect me to climb rope with this pack on?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll figure it out," Zeph called over her shoulder. "Father Herus said you¡¯re resourceful.¡± She glanced back, her grin sharp and unapologetic. ¡°Now hurry up. I want to claim this mark at daybreak. That¡¯ll read better in the papers.¡± Behind Zeph and Rhody, the village lay silent again, though its inhabitants remained restless. Children peeked from their hiding spots, their wide eyes following the gunslinger and her retainer as they vanished into the distance. Above, the shadow of the Long Fang Mountains¡¯ Keep loomed large, the faint sound of the wind whispering promises of challenge and glory. [ORIGINAL] Chapter 3 - Toil
Perched on the edge of the Keep''s roof, Rhody¡¯s muscles seethed like a forge stoked to its limit, her arms quaking as she pulled against a rope. Her breath bursts out in ragged hisses, each exhale a battle. Below, the pack swung like a mule caught in quicksand¡ªstubborn, heavy, and unwilling to budge. It clung to the keep¡¯s face, its weight dragging against the stone and mocking her every effort. ¡°Move,¡± she growled through gritted teeth. The coarse rope tore at her palms. Her fingers ached with the urge to let go, to release the cursed thing and let it crash into the shadows below. But the thought of Zeph¡¯s cutting disappointment and the stakes of their mission chained her to the task. The village of Row loomed below, its scattered lanterns like a constellation of stars. Sounds of chaos simmered up from the windows across the Keep: the sharp crack of gunfire, the ring of steel meeting steel, and the hollers of some spoiled brat who hadn''t shut up since they started their climb. All of it faded, eclipsed by the fibers of the rope biting into her hands and the inferno raging in her limbs; her thoughts began to wander.
The courtyard of the King of Wands Temple buzzed with life the day Rhody first laid eyes on a Royal Tarot Deck. Its towering spires pierced the sky, their intricate carvings glinting in the sunlight. Fiery red banners rippled in the breeze, each emblazoned with the King¡¯s golden emblem, a staff wreathed in flames. Beneath the spires, grand stone columns encircled the courtyard, their bases etched with winding depictions of the god¡¯s endeavors. The air was rich with incense, a heady mix of cedar and frankincense, mingling with the murmur of awed voices. Rhody, nine years old and rail-thin, hid behind one of the towering columns. Her patched dress hung loosely on her, and her tangled inky-blue hair cascaded into her wide, dirt-smudged eyes. Barefoot, her calloused toes gripped the stone as she leaned forward, peeking at the scene before her. The acolyte, her flowing robes edged with gilded patterns, stood at the courtyard''s center. Her deck gleamed like treasure, each card catching the sun''s light and shimmering. The crowd gasped as the acolyte revealed the destinies of those fated members of her audience. Her calm voice belied secrets as though reading from the gods¡¯ own script. Rhody¡¯s breath caught¡ªawed, envious, yearning. This was power. This was divinity. From that day forward, Rhody¡¯s dreams were steeped in the allure of fate¡¯s mysteries. Every moment she wasn¡¯t working¡ªscrubbing the temple floors or hauling water for the priests¡ªshe spent in the temple''s back alley. Reading the faces of her fellow orphans, watching for the faint twitch of an eye or the telltale quirk of the mouth, she wagered and bluffed, mastering another deck of cards. Five-card draw became her second language. With it, she might be able to afford a third. She learned the art of bluffing, feigning hesitation in a hand¡¯s slight tremor or the downward flick of her gaze. But the rush of a perfectly played hand paled next to the thought of holding a Royal Tarot Deck. Those cards, blessed by the King of Wands himself, could reveal a person¡¯s divine rank¡ªtheir place in the intricate web of existence. Scraping together her winnings, she purchased a battered old Tarot deck from a second-hand shop, an invaluable tool in achieving her ultimate goal. The next week, she won a book on reading the cards off of one of the temple''s elders.
The next Spring, bittersweet news came in the announcement of a contest to become the temple''s next acolyte, the position left vacant in a tragic accident. Royal Tarot Decks, bound to their acolytes, were expensive for the temple to create. As such, positions among the acolytes didn¡¯t open often and were reserved for youth, who had more time to train and maximize the temple''s investment in them. Knowing this might be her only chance to claim her dream, she gave it everything she had. Studying any materials she could get her hands on and drilling gymnastics routines until her muscles screamed. Even then, she felt the gap between herself and the others¡ªchildren from wealthier families who had tutors and training, whose Tarot decks weren¡¯t scuffed and peeling like hers. Brenna. Sweet, perfect Brenna. Her friend, her rival. Her jealous obsession. Each of the three aspects of the contest¡ªreciting sacred texts, gymnastics, and Tarot reading¡ªwas just a part of who she was. Rhody used to look up to her; now she saw her as a mountain to summit. ¡°You don¡¯t have to push yourself so hard, Rhody,¡± Brenna said after practice one day, offering a hand to pull Rhody out of yet another failed cartwheel. ¡°Don''t worry, it¡¯s okay if this isn¡¯t for you. You''re great at cards!¡± Rhody smiled through clenched teeth, her palms burning from the rough stone. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± But she wasn¡¯t. When the final test came, her readings faltered. She couldn¡¯t remember the second half of the passage she''d tried to memorize, and her gymnastics routine ended with her lying on her back. She came in last, dead last, her performance so poor that Father Herus didn¡¯t bother to tally her score. Brenna was chosen, of course. Rhody watched her ascend to the altar, radiating pride in the robes of an acolyte, her new Royal Tarot Deck gleaming in her hands. The bitterness burned worse than failure. Brenna hardly even tried.
Over the next three years, Rhody continued to push herself, hoping desperately for another chance. She begged Brenna to share insights on her training, trying to replicate it with her limited resources. The conversation always went the same way. "Rhody, you''re thirteen... another year, and you won''t even be eligible..." Brenna would say, trying to dissuade her. "Besides, it''s not as great as it seems." That Fall, Brenna disappeared, leaving nothing but a note in her chambers. The temple elders released a statement that she had taken a pilgrimage, but Rhody knew she wouldn¡¯t be coming back. Brenna loved the idea of being an acolyte, but it didn¡¯t challenge her. She¡¯d grown bored. When the temple elders sought a replacement, Rhody¡¯s name wasn¡¯t even whispered. She¡¯d failed too spectacularly. The other orphans snickered behind her back, calling her "Table-scraps.¡± Even Father Herus, who indulged her endless questions about the gods, seemed to pity her. But Rhody wouldn¡¯t give up. She poured herself into her training, cutting all frivolities from her life. Her Tarot readings grew sharper, her interpretations more profound. Still, the elders dismissed her. She had her chance, and she failed. One night, sitting cross-legged on the temple floor with her deck before her, Rhody flipped a card over slowly, meditating on her next step. The King of Wands stared back at her, the card¡¯s golden edges gleaming in the candlelight. Her pulse quickened. The message was clear: This wasn¡¯t over.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Father Herus¡¯s vice was no secret. The old priest, with his stooped shoulders and threadbare cassock, loved gambling as much as he loved to preach. His wispy gray hair never stayed combed, and his sunken eyes, perpetually shadowed, gave him the air of a man who wrestled nightly with his conscience¡ªand usually lost. His cracked fingers often fiddled with a weathered coin, his luck charm, as he recounted tales of divine wisdom from the pulpit with a charm that belied his failing stature. Yet, at the poker table, his charisma faltered. Over the years, Rhody had played countless hands with him, learning his tells¡ªthe way his left eyebrow twitched when he bluffed, how his breath hitched just a moment too long when holding a strong hand. Back then, he would lose a few coins, chuckle at his folly, and wave her off with a self-deprecating grin. But lately, his losses had grown larger, the laugh lines around his mouth giving way to deeper creases of worry. His coin purse hung pitifully light on his belt. Each ante seemed like a prayer for deliverance that the gods refused to answer. Rhody knew the acolyte position was still vacant. And she knew they would never offer it to her. Unless¡­
Rhody riffled the deck, the cards shuffling with a satisfying hiss. She dealt five cards each, her movements practiced and deliberate. Across the table, Father Herus rubbed his temples, his stack of coins pitifully small. ¡°This is a terrible idea,¡± he muttered, fanning out his cards. His expression tightened, but Rhody spotted that telltale twitch in his left eyebrow. A bluff. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she said lightly, rearranging her cards. ¡°But here we are.¡± Father Herus groaned as she pushed a bet into the center of the table. ¡°You¡¯re relentless.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what makes me good,¡± Rhody said, her tone calm, her gaze sharp as she discarded a card and drew its replacement. Father Herus hesitated, then discarded two cards with a sigh. ¡°All right, but don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡± The pot grew as they upped the stakes, coins glinting faintly in the lamplight. Finally, the moment came to lay down their cards. Father Herus revealed his hand first. ¡°Queen high straight,¡± he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "What ya got?" ¡°Nice," Rhody said, her grin slow and deliberate as she flipped her cards. ¡°but not nice enough.¡± Three Jacks and two sevens lay in front of her. "Full house. I know you love those, Mr. Preacher." Father Herus groaned, leaning back in his chair. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding me dry,¡± he muttered, his eyes growing wet. ¡°How about a wager?¡± Rhody offered, gathering the cards to shuffle. He hesitated. "I don''t have much more to give you..." Rhody pulled a hefty leather sack from her patchy book satchel and set it on the table. "Your last three months'' losses, one hand. I don''t want any more of your money." She saw his hands begin to shake. A good sign. ¡°What... what do you want in return?¡± he grumbled. ¡°The acolyte position,¡± she said, dealing out their cards. ¡°If I win, you''ll back me. Convince the other elders I can handle it.¡± Father Herus froze, his face tightening. ¡°Rhody, I can''t¡ª¡± he said, "It... It wouldn''t be a good fit for you." "You''re wrong!" Her voice strained, breaking her expertly-crafted demeanor. "I know what happened in that contest, but I''ve come so far since then. I''m better than Brenna. I actually care about this." His eyes narrowed upon her. "It''d be an abuse of my position..." "Let fate decide it." she interrupted. ¡°If you win, I¡¯ll leave the temple and find something else." He let out a sigh that carried the weight of resignation and picked up his cards.
The powerful rhythm of Applause''s barks ended, and Rhody returned to her senses. Shit, she''s run out of bullets. The pack has to reach the roof. If Rhody falters now, their entire mission could crumble like a castle of cards. She jerked at the rope, and the pack scraped upward with a reluctant screech. Rhody gasps at the movement, dragging in the icy air. For a fleeting moment, hope stirred in her. ¡°Almost there,¡± she whispers, the words pleading. She leaned back, bracing her blistered feet against the roof''s edge. The motion sent a shiver of terror through her. One misstep, and she¡¯d tumble over the edge. She grits her teeth. ¡°Come on,¡± she hissed, her voice edged with desperation. She could see Zeph¡¯s smirk in her mind, hear her sharp, irreverent quip: Slowing down¡¯s for people who don¡¯t have a warlord to kill. The words were carved into her. Zeph thinks I can do this. Another heave. The pack inched higher. Sweat stung her eyes, blurring her vision, and frustration welled up within, threatening tears she refused to shed. Tools, ammunition, Zeph''s logbook¡ªthe pack carried everything they needed to bring down Karich Urough. She wouldn''t fail. She couldn¡¯t. "Rhody!" She heard Zeph''s commanding voice and flinched, her grip tightening. Damn it, why am I so weak?! Zeph was incredibly capable, but she wasn''t invincible. And she certainly wasn''t patient. If the pack didn''t reach the roof soon, Rhody¡¯s tender palms would be the least of her problems. The pack grated upward, inch by agonizing inch. Rhody paused, her head drooping forward as she gulped air. Her body shook, her arms felt like jelly, and the temptation to tie off the rope for a moment¡¯s rest gnawed at her resolve. No one would know. I would know. With a feral growl, Rhody squatted and yanked one last time. The pack lurched, cresting the edge and teetering back against her as she landed on her ass. Rhody collapsed onto the cold stone, her limbs splayed, her chest heaving. The length of the Tower blurred in her vision, mocking her exhaustion with its indifferent glow. ¡°Never again,¡± she muttered, her voice hoarse. "Rhody!" Zeph shouted again, jolting her upright. The battle below raged on. Groaning, she dragged herself to her knees and gripped the pack like a stubborn beast. With one determined motion, she slung it over her shoulder.
Below, in the Keep''s kitchen, Zeph moved with feral grace. Her every step was sharp and deliberate. She whipped about the room with Applause, parrying sword strikes with its barrel. A guard charged, the tip of his saber driving toward her midsection. Zeph didn''t dodge¡ªshe flowed, her long coat flaring out behind her. The blade whistled harmlessly past her side. Spinning on her heel, she rounded Applause with the precision of a striking viper. The man collapsed to the ground, knocked out cold. "This is your defense, Karich?!" Zeph bellowed, her voice cutting deep into the Keep''s labyrinthine tunnels. ¡°Send me someone worthy!¡± Her words barely settled before another guard barreled toward her, a jagged blade raised high. His face twisted in a grimace of desperation, his eyes flickering between Zeph and the fallen already littering the ground. He charged with a roar, but Zeph stepped into his momentum, her motion incredibly sudden. The butt of Applause slammed into his temple with a crunch. His roar died in his throat as he rebounded against a stone wall. Zeph caught the hilt of his falling blade, spinning it into her free hand without missing a beat. She resumed her hunt. [ORIGINAL] Chapter 4 - Collision
The clamor of boots and the sharp clang of steel echoed through the halls of Karich Urough¡¯s keep, their rhythm punctuated by Zeph¡¯s bold laughter. She strode through the chaos on her boisterous hunt, her voice ringing out like a war horn. Her black cape flared with each confident step, the hem snapping against her heels. ¡°Come on, Karich!¡± she bellowed, her voice carrying through the twisting corridors. A guard lunged from the shadows, his spear aimed for her chest, but Zeph sidestepped with a flourish, twisting her body in a practiced arc. The spear grazed empty air as she brought the hilt of her stolen sword crashing down on the man¡¯s helmet, the impact echoing loudly. Without missing a beat, she spun toward another guard, her fist connected squarely with his jaw. He stumbled back, clutching his face as she pressed forward. ¡°Where¡¯s your master hiding?¡± she taunted, her grin wide and wolfish. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me he¡¯s too scared to greet his guest of honor.¡± The air grew heavy with the tension of pursuit, guards hesitating as they heard her taunts. Zeph moved through them wildly, each strike deliberate and devastating. Her blade flashed in the torchlight, its blunt end battering weapons aside as she fought. She threw her head in a wanton motion, freeing her golden locks from the sweat on her cheeks. ¡°Karich!¡± she shouted again, her tone mocking. From the shadows of a crumbling archway, Ablee Urough grinned, her wide eyes locked on the spectacle. The girl¡¯s wiry frame, coated in a thick layer of gray stone paint, blended seamlessly into the dim walls. Ablee¡¯s breath hitched as she watched Zeph dismantle Karich¡¯s men with artistic grace. The assassin¡¯s movements were fluid and forceful. "She has to join my climbing party..." Ablee whispered. The admiration in her voice surprised even herself. Her arms hung at her sides, bare and streaked with dripping paint. Though her shackles were gone, the weight of her captivity lingered, a phantom pain digging into her wrists. She¡¯d spent so long dreaming of her escape, of the strength it would take to stand against Karich¡¯s men. Yet here was this stranger, moving through them as easily as a knife through silk. Zeph parried another blow, catching her enemy''s weapon in a flash of sparks. With a flick of her wrist, she knocked the attacker off balance and clanged Applause against his forehead like a door knocker, toppling him. For a moment, Ablee forgot her mission entirely. Her anger at Karich, her longing for vengeance¡ªit all blurred under the magnetism of Zeph¡¯s raw skill. The sharp echo of Zeph¡¯s taunts was cut short by a low, silken voice dripping with mockery. ¡°Ah, the so-called Future Queen of Assassins.¡± it purred, slicing through the din of the keep. ¡°What a reputation. So... theatrical.¡± Zeph halted mid-step, her head snapping toward the voice. From the shadows at the end of the corridor, a figure emerged, tall and unnervingly gaunt. He wore a porcelain mask that gleamed in the dim torchlight, its painted grin a parody of civility. The deep blue and gold of his cloak glimmered as he walked. A polearm rested across his shoulders, its blade wickedly curved. ¡°Finally,¡± Zeph said, her grin widening. ¡°I was starting to think I''d find no challenge here.¡± She raised the sword and shifted her stance. "What was that?" He asked, leaning closer. Ablee''s eyes narrowed upon her father''s subservient. ¡°Rinval The Deaf¡± she muttered angrily, naming the man she once considered a friend, "You''ll see no aid from me against this witch." "I''m not going to repeat myself!" Zeph shouted as a subtle weight seeped into the air around her. It clung to her skin and wrapped around her thoughts. Her grip on the sword felt a little less steady. She tried to shake it off, lunging forward with a sweeping strike aimed at Rinval¡¯s midsection. His polearm spun, deflecting her blade with a resounding clang. His effortless counter left Zeph off-balance. How did he... ¡°Tsk,¡± Rinval chided, his voice soft yet piercing. ¡°So much passion, so much fire¡ªand yet, it burns carelessly.¡± His words slithered into her mind, twisting her focus. Zeph snarled, driving forward with another strike, this one heavier, angrier. Rinval parried again, his polearm twirling lazily. Her swings grew wilder, her precision faltering as his words dripped into her psyche. Ablee gritted her teeth, "Come on, lady, you can take him..." ¡°Tell me, loudly please,¡± he continued, his tone light but unyielding, ¡°you don''t really think you can topple a warlord, do you? You''ve over-extended yourself, Zeph." ¡°Shut it,¡± Zeph growled, her teeth gritted as she pressed her attack. Her blade arced again, but Rinval sidestepped, his polearm darting forward. Its razor-keen tip slid into her right shoulder, pulling a spray of crimson from the black fabric of her blouse. She stumbled back, cursing under her breath. ¡°Ah, there it is,¡± Rinval said, his tone turning almost playful. ¡°A crack in the would-be Queen¡¯s facade.¡± Zeph hissed, trying to ignore the wound. Her pain married with the oppressive weight of Rinval¡¯s words, threatening to drown her focus. She glanced at the nearest doorway, her mind racing. With a sudden burst of movement, she turned and sprinted, her boots pounding against the stone. Rinval laughed, his footsteps calm and unhurried as he followed. Zeph dived into an open chamber, then slammed and barred its wooden door. Where is that acolyte? I need ammunition. "Rhody!" she called out, her breathing coming faster. Her bloodied blouse clung tight to her skin as she rummaged the room for any sort of advantage. Rinval¡¯s voice seeped beneath the door, low and steady. ¡°Well, that was easy. You''ll find that room doesn''t have any other exits. You planning to bleed out in there?¡± He paused for a moment, "Huh?!"Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Rhody rushed through the keep, skidding to a stop at the edge of a junction. Her breath hitched as she pressed herself against the cold stone wall. She peeked cautiously around the corner. Zeph''s assailant leaned against a wall, his porcelain mask leveled at a wooden cube he was working with his hands, twisting and reorienting sections of it. His unreadable visage and shimmering polearm sent a chill down Rhody''s spine. Her hand darted to the red pouch hanging from her neck, fingers fumbling as she pulled out her Royal Tarot Deck. Her hands trembled as she quickly shuffled it, whispering a silent prayer to steady herself before drawing a card. She turned it over, her breath catching. On its face, a hand descended from the heavens, holding a golden chalice overflowing with crystal-clear water. He''s an Ace of Cups, the trump to Zeph¡¯s Ace of Swords. If they fight, Zeph''ll have an uphill battle. Her heart sank like a stone. Her mind raced, panic twisting through her chest. She scanned the hall, desperate for a solution, and her eyes landed on a doorway leading to a chamber adjacent to Zeph¡¯s. An idea formed in her mind, shaky but solid enough to cling to. Moving as silently as she could with her oversized pack, Rhody trudged into the room and inspected the wall between her and the assassin. She could hear Zeph''s labored breathing, searching for it, she spotted a small, paper-thin crack in the mortar. ¡°Zeph,¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s me. I¡¯m here.¡±
Inside, Zeph froze at the faint sound of Rhody¡¯s voice filtering through the wall. ¡°Rhody!¡± She felt an ounce of relief that quickly flooded out her gushing chest wound. Ablee leaned casually against the chamber''s other wall, dripping with a fresh coat of stony paint. ¡°That your kid?¡± she asked, her tone laced with curiosity and a hint of mischief. Zeph spun, trying to spot the intrusive voice''s source, Applause''s barrel tracking with her eyes. Ablee waved a camouflaged hand, drawing Zeph''s gaze, "Yoohoo!" "How''d you get in here? Where''s the hidden passage?" Zeph demanded, trying to relay a calm demeanor. Her empty revolver leveled at the girl. Ablee laughed, "Closed behind me..." "Bullshit, tell me, now!" A twinge crawled across Zeph''s cheek, coaxed by her screaming shoulder. Ablee treaded toward her and said, "Alright, fine, there''s no secret door. I swam through that wall," gesturing behind her. Zeph groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Why do I find that more believable?" she asked herself, "If you don''t have an exit for me, what are you doing here?" "You were putting on a good show until that jackalope Rinval got involved," Ablee scratches her chin, "You''re here to kill my dad, right?" "Your Dad?" Zeph said, and the revelation hit her. She drops into a low stance, "One more step, and I''ll shoot." Ablee continued her advance, "That''s not going to happen. Plus it''d be pretty dumb, I don''t want to stop you." "You... huh? I''m going to kill your Dad!" Zeph squinted, trying to get a read on the girl. Ablee nodded, her cheeks rising in a smirk, "He''s got it coming. Though now I''m not sure you and your kid are up to it; you''re looking a bit pale." Zeph stumbled and then righted herself, "I''m fine." she said through gritted teeth, frustration bleeding into her voice. Ablee pointed to her shoulder, "Let me see it." Hesitant, Zeph sighed and then holstered Applause. She popped the top two buttons of her blouse and lowered it, revealing her shoulders. A thin line along the top right of her chest pumped gushes of crimson. Ablee approached her, palm extended. "Don''t freak out," she said and laid it flat to the unblemished skin on the other side of Zeph''s chest. It rippled, and Zeph''s eyes widened as Ablee''s hand pushed forward, disappearing beneath its surface. Ablee yanked it back out, coated in silky white paint matching Zeph''s skin tone. "Wha-what in the-" Zeph stammered. Ablee rolled her eyes and smeared the paint along Zeph''s stab wound, leaving behind a patch of wet, fresh skin, "That should hold you for a little bit." Zeph¡¯s eyes narrowed as she studied Ablee, deeply suspicious. The girl¡¯s painted form shimmered in the dim light, the stone coating on her skin lending her an otherworldly presence. The number of people Zeph trusted was equal to the number of rounds Applause could chamber. However, she could use this girl. "You said you can swim through walls?" "Yep! What you got in mind?" Ablee asked, "I can''t take you with me. You''re going to have to walk out that door..." "My acolyte, behind that wall. She''s got ammunition that I need." "Oh, yeah no problem!" Without waiting for further instruction, Ablee stepped into the wall, leaving no trace behind her. Zeph stared at the now-empty space. Propping herself against a nearby dresser, she took a moment to weigh her options. This girl was reckless, sure, but there was no denying she was capable. Zeph didn''t like working with wildcards, but the situation left her little choice.
Rhody¡¯s Royal Tarot Deck weighed heavily in her trembling hands. Her wide eyes fixed on the figure stepping through the wall. Ablee looked like a polished statue. This has to be the yammering brat we heard on our climb. The voices are the same... Rhody instinctively drew a card. Turning it over, the face shimmered gold¡ªa radiant, unreadable enigma. Her breath hitched. The girl was a rank she was unable to read. Her heart sank at the implications. What the hell is she? Ablee caught sight of Rhody¡¯s stunned expression and grinned, her teeth flashing in the dim light. ¡°What?¡± she teased, crossing her arms with casual confidence. ¡°Never seen a walking wall before?¡± Rhody swallowed hard, her throat dry. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ One of the Urough kids?¡± At the sound of her last name, Ablee¡¯s grin faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her tone, once playful, turned sharp. ¡°Yeah, Ablee Urough. What¡¯s it to you?¡± Rhody¡¯s thoughts went to Zeph¡¯s logbook, tucked in the bulging pack she carried. Her mind raced. Ablee¡¯s name was scrawled clearly among the list of marks, a future target that Zeph was slated to eliminate. The realization sent a shiver down Rhody¡¯s spine, but she put on her best poker face, tucking the revelation away for later. Her hands tightened around the deck, her expression neutral as she forced herself to focus. ¡°Nothing,¡± Rhody said after a pause, her voice quieter now. ¡°Just¡­ heard stories.¡± Ablee¡¯s grin returned. ¡°Yeah, I bet! You heard the witch, right? Gimme the bullets.¡± she held out her palm. Rhody nodded and reached into one of her pack''s outer pockets. She pulled out a small wooden box with "44 Magnum" inked on its lid and handed it to Ablee. The pressure of the situation weighed on her¡ªnot just the imminent danger, but the presence of this strange girl whose name lingered ominously in Zeph¡¯s logbook. Ablee gave her a curt nod before stepping back toward the wall. ¡°Be ready to act quick, card girl,¡± Ablee said with a smirk. ¡°Your boss over there doesn¡¯t seem the patient type.¡± Without another word, she vanished into the stone, leaving Rhody clutching her deck and trying to piece together what came next.
Ablee strode back into Zeph''s chamber, her stone-coated form gleaming faintly in the flickering torchlight. She held up the box, "If I hand these over, you promise not to shoot my Daddy..." Zeph''s face reddened, preparing to lambast this moron she''d trusted, but Ablee continued, "...until I''ve knocked his teeth out!" [ORIGINAL] Chapter 5 - Storm
Zeph¡¯s fingers flexed around Applause. Her knuckles whitened and her glare sharpened. Her focus was locked on Ablee. ¡°Let me make one thing crystal clear: I don¡¯t pull my shots. Not for you, not for anyone. Your dad gets what he¡¯s got coming, teeth intact or not.¡± Ablee¡¯s arms folded across her chest, her stance defiant. The wooden box of ammunition nestled snugly in the crook of her arm. The sheen of her stone-coated skin caught the lantern light, giving her an ethereal glow. ¡°Too bad, witch,¡± she said, her smirk widening. ¡°If you plan to ruin my turn with him, these stay with me. Guess you¡¯ll just have to wait.¡± Zeph snarled. ¡°This isn¡¯t a game of hopscotch, kid. It¡¯s life or death. We probably won''t get the chance to take turns.¡± Ablee didn''t falter. Instead, she stepped forward, her nose lifting to nearly brush Zeph¡¯s chin. ¡°If you think that way, you haven''t played enough hopscotch! Cline knew if he skipped my turn, he was going to catch a fist." The tension between them crackled like an overdrawn bowstring, both standing firm and unyielding. The shadows around the chamber flickered and danced, caught up in the heat of their standoff. Zeph opened her mouth, her sharp tongue poised to cut through Ablee¡¯s bravado, but the words were cut short by a deafening CRASH. The walls shook. The two spun toward the noise, their argument evaporating like steam from a fire. Zeph¡¯s eyes narrowed, her grip on Applause tightening. Ablee¡¯s cocky demeanor wavered just slightly as she angled herself toward the sound. ¡°What the hell was that?¡± From beyond the stone wall, a voice broke through the fading echoes of the crash¡ªpanicked, frantic, and unmistakably Rhody¡¯s. ¡°ZE¡ªPH!¡± Her shout was muffled, as if from the bottom of a deep well, but the fear in it cut clear.
Inside Rhody¡¯s room, the air was weighted with a terrible presence. A towering figure stepped into the flickering lantern light, his massive shadow enveloping Rhody. His form was stone, just like the girl Ablee she''d met moments prior. Eyes burning with otherworldly light were fixed unerringly on the trembling acolyte. Rhody scrambled backward, clutching the red leather pouch of her Royal Tarot Deck. Its once-reassuring weight was a lifeline she didn''t know how to use. Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, her mind fumbling to grasp a method of escape. He lurched forward, his stony hand sweeping through the air like a crusader''s flail. Rhody threw herself to the side, landing hard as the desk behind her exploded into splinters under the weight of his strike. She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering in her chest, and dashed toward the corner of the room. He paused. His head, framed in thick braids, tilted slightly, almost mockingly, before he lunged again. Rhody ducked beneath his menacing arm, her ponytail whipping through the air as she dived. She crawled behind the upended remains of a table, overturning it with trembling hands in a desperate attempt at a barrier. He didn''t even slow, brushing the broken furniture aside like a bit of errant dust. His ogreish hand shot forward and snagged her by the leg, his grip unyielding as iron. Rhody let out a strangled cry, her nails clawing uselessly against the stone floor. ¡°Zeph!¡± She screamed again, her voice cracking with panic as he dragged her across the room. Her free foot kicked wildly, her hands scrambled for purchase, but his strength was absolute. The weight of Rhody''s pack didn''t slow him at all.
Zeph¡¯s eyes snapped wide at the sound of Rhody''s cry. She turned on Ablee, her teeth bared. ¡°Give me the damn ammo!¡± Ablee, still clutching the box of bullets with infuriating nonchalance, raised an eyebrow. ¡°Gladly, just as soon as you make the DAMN promise!¡± Zeph didn''t waste another second. Her boot lashed out, catching Ablee square in the chest. The kick''s force sent Ablee hurtling backward. There was no thud of flesh on stone. SCHLORP, the surface of the wall wavered, thick and fluid, like wet paint disturbed by a careless brushstroke. Ablee was enveloped by the wall, her body swallowed whole. Tumbling into the hallway on the wall''s other side, she landed in a graceless heap. Her instincts flared, and her stone-coated skin ground the box of bullets against her chest. She looked around, dazed but unharmed. Her gaze caught on a familiar figure down the hall. Rinval, with his polearm propped at his side, turns his porcelain mask to meet her, eye to eye. Ablee climbed back to her feet, her gaze narrowing. "Yeah, I''m out of my cell. What you gonna do about it, old man?!¡± His porcelain mask tilted, the inked grin somehow smugger than before. ¡°Ah, the little painter''s slipped her restraints,¡± he said, his voice oozing disdain. ¡°I suppose I have time to give a lecture on obedience while your daddy tends to the pest problem.¡± Her eyes darted past Rinval, her chest tightening as she spotted her father at the far end of the hall. Rhody trailed behind him, her head and shoulders dragging the ground as he pulled her by the leg. Her small frame shuddered as she clawed at the stone floor. Ablee clenched her fists, ready to bolt after Karich, but Rinval stepped to the corridor''s center, the wicked blade of his polearm swinging across its width like a drawn curtain. ¡°I have not dismissed you,¡± he said, his tone dripping menace. Ablee didn''t hesitate. She lunged, her fist arcing toward his head. Rinval pivoted with infuriating grace; his cloak swirled as his polearm knocked her strike aside. She pressed forward, weaving beneath his counterattack and striking at his midsection. The shaft of his weapon slammed down on her knuckles, the sound of the impact reverberating like a thunderclap. ¡°Unlike a chain, a war band is as good as its strongest link,¡± Rinval mused, his tone contemplative. ¡°Everyone else must fall in line to be dragged behind them.¡± His words weighed down upon her shoulders, condensing her to the naive, inquisitive girl she was years prior. She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to drink in her tutor''s insights. She rattled her head from side to side and launched into another barrage of blows, her fists relentless. Rinval¡¯s movements were slow, but compulsive. His polearm spinned in a hypnotic dance, drawing her blows to futilely waste upon its length. ¡°On your father''s stage, you''ll want for nothing,¡± Rinval said, his voice pressing against her defenses. ¡°If you''ll just play the role you''ve been given.¡± Ablee stumbled, her rhythm faltering. Her swings grow wilder, less precise, and Rinval exploited the opening, slamming the blunt end of his polearm into her ribs. She staggered back with a hiss, her breath leaving her in a sharp burst. ¡°I expected more,¡± Rinval drawled, positioning his weapon for an incapacitating strike at her head. ¡°Even Cline somehow surpassed you.¡± Before he could deliver the blow, a sharp, mocking laugh echoed through the hall. ¡°Oh, this is rich,¡± Zepharin¡¯s voice cut in, dripping with amusement "It seems someone does know how to handle this brat!" Rinval¡¯s head snapped toward the sound as Zeph strode into the corridor, her golden hair catching the lantern light. Blood stained her blouse, but her grin was sharper than the stolen blade in her hand.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°I''m still here,¡± she said, twirling the sword in a lazy arc. ¡°Sorry to disappoint.¡± ¡°Can you repeat that? These ears of mine have trouble with soft voices,¡± he said, his tone still mocking. Zeph scowled, "I know you heard me, you son of a bitch!" She didn''t wait for him to respond. Her blade swings in an unrefined arc, and Rinval blocks it, letting out a soft yawn. As Rinval countered Zeph¡¯s strike, Ablee seized the moment. Her eyes locked onto the gap in his guard, and with a surge of determination, she vaulted, cresting just over his weapon. Her body slipped through his, exiting coated in the blue and gold of his cloak. Rolling across the ground behind him, she stumbled. The world around her felt warped and wrong. She straightened, blinking hard as her ears rang. Her surroundings were overwhelmingly silent. The chaotic echoes of his clash with Zeph seemed distant, muffled. Panic lanced through her chest as she slapped her hand against the side of her head. ¡°What the hell!?¡± she muttered, the words loud in her own mind but disturbingly hollow in her ears. Behind her, Zeph¡¯s voice cut through the muted din, sharp and furious, but the warbling words held no meaning for Ablee. She turned, catching Zeph¡¯s blood-streaked figure gesturing wildly, her mouth moving with what must be a reprimand¡ªor a threat. Ablee squinted, trying to read her lips, but the effort was futile. She forced a lopsided grin and gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. ¡°Thanks for the assist!¡± she shouted, though her voice felt distorted, warped by the quiet in her head. Zeph¡¯s eyes narrowed. Her mouth moved faster now, her gestures sharper. Whatever she was saying, it wasn''t pleasant. Ablee decided she didn''t have time to linger. The outline of her father''s hulking form stained her vision, growing smaller with every passing second. Clutching the box of bullets tightly to her chest, Ablee shot Zeph a cheeky wave and took off down the corridor, her bare feet slapping the stone. Behind her, Zeph¡¯s frustration crescendoed into what could only be a scream, but Ablee barely registered it. She swerved sharply, passing through a section of wall into an adjoining passage. The maneuver jarred her senses further, and for a terrifying moment, her equilibrium tilted. She landed braced against the opposite wall, panting, her painted fingers scraping faint lines into the stone. ¡°Damn it,¡± she growled, shaking her head, hoping the motion would clear the haze. Somewhere ahead, Rhody¡¯s muffled cries broke through the silence like faint ripples on a still pond. Ablee pushed off the wall and charged forward, deaf to the chaos she left in her wake.
Ablee hurtled through the keep. Her wild, uncoordinated movements were punctuated by the thuds of her shoulders against wall after wall. The power of her Painter''s Ambrosia flared instinctively as she took a hastily made shortcut. She misjudged her exit, stumbling out at a bizarre angle and landing with a muffled curse that felt distant in her head. ¡°Damn it!¡± she growled, scrambling to her feet. She squinted down the hall, trying to orient herself. The distorted echoes of her own voice bounced off the stone walls, making her flinch. ¡°Where did you go?¡± she muttered, steadying herself with a palm against cold stone. Behind her, Zeph wheeled around a corner, her golden hair trailing like a banner. She slowed just long enough to catch her breath. ¡°You are the worst runaway I¡¯ve ever chased!¡± she called, her tone exasperated. The words bounced uselessly off Ablee¡¯s dulled senses. Ablee turned, catching sight of Zeph¡¯s sharp expression, and scowled. ¡°You''re not getting these bullets, not til I''m done!¡± Zeph threw her hands up, baffled. ¡°Do you even hear yourself?¡± Ablee heard nothing, of course. She flipped Zeph an irritated wave and took off again, her form vanishing into the next wall. Zeph groaned, the sharp pain returned to her shoulder and she felt a wet warmth pooling down her chest. She forced a foot forward, then another, resuming the chase. This is a disaster, Zeph thought, shaking her head. But a grin snuck its way onto her lips, Damn if it''s not entertaining though. Farther back, Rinval strutted through the halls. His composed movements relayed little concern. "Can''t believe they slipped past me," he mused, ¡°This brings back fond memories, corralling those kids through these halls.¡± Ablee¡¯s eye caught on a glimmering object lying ahead of her. Without slowing her sprint, she bent sideways and scooped it up. A midnight blue card dotted with golden stars. "That girl." She huffed and surged forward, keeping her eyes peeled for any more along her path. Exiting another barrier of liquid stone, she found herself looking down an uneven stairwell. "Since when was this here!?" She shouted, tumbling down the steps and landing with a graceless thud. The bullet box flew from her grip, skidding ahead and hitting the base of the stairs with a resounding clatter. She slammed her fists against the ground before picking herself up. Her ears rang faintly as she jogged down the hall to reclaim her bargaining chip. Zeph eyed her from the top of the staircase, her boots skidding to a stop at their edge. ¡°You drop those bullets one more time!¡± she warned, her voice livid, ¡°I swear I''ll¡ª¡± Ablee turned to glare at the intrusive, garbled sound. ¡°What!?" Zeph blinked at the girl. ¡°You¡ªwait, can you not¡ª¡± she began, but Ablee turned and bolted again, clearly uninterested in whatever Zeph had to say. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me,¡± Zeph hissed, her temper bubbling. She took off after Ablee once more, her hand brushing the revolver at her side. ¡°This better end with bullets in my gun and Karich dead... Or I¡¯m tossing her off the nearest parapet.¡± Rinval strode after them into the stairwell, his polearm clanging against the banister as he gingerly descended it. ¡°The dungeon, huh,¡± he muttered, "What have you got planned, Karich?" Ahead, Ablee paused at a fork in the hallway, placing her hands on her knees. Her sense of direction was warped, and the muffled sounds around her seemed to bounce erratically. Bending down to pick up another card, she caught sight of Zeph upside down between her legs. ¡°Later, witch Lady!¡± Ablee shouted before passing through another wall. ¡°Stop doing that!¡± Zeph yelled, barreling down the hall after her.
The chaotic trail of noise and destruction funneled them all toward Ablee¡¯s cell, its smeared chalk murals glowing faintly in The Tower''s light. Inside, Karich towered over Rhody, his massive stone heel planted firmly on her head, grinding it into the cold floor. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her face pale with terror. Pin-Beard eyed Karich from the wall, shouting, ¡°Give it a rest, ya over-grown dogfish!¡± and punctuating his insult with a crude gesture. Ablee stumbled into the room, her stone-coated footsteps clacking against its floor. Her hearing, dulled to a frustrating muffle, made the scene feel distant, almost dreamlike. Her eyes locked onto Karich''s back. Something about him seemed off, but it was hard to tell what in her addled state. Trailing down the length of his fur-cape, her gaze landed on Rhody¡¯s trembling frame. Suddenly, her mind was yanked fifteen feet forward and three years back. She was lying in Rhody''s position, Karich''s boot digging into her temple. Her eyes slammed shut as tight as they could, and the ringing in her ears grew to a cacophony. "Stop...Stop!...STOP!" She fought her every inclination and forced her eyes back open, squinting tightly. She took in the scene, her eyelashes filtering its harshness, rendering it slightly more bearable by just the smallest amount. Ablee stepped closer, her fists clenched. ¡°Why are you doing this!?¡± she demanded, her voice raw with frustration. The sound rang strangely in her own head, amplified by the silence that surrounded her. ¡°Why are you doing this, to HER!?¡± Her shout felt swallowed by the space, leaving her words hollow and weightless. She saw some movement along her father''s back, and could feel movement in the air, but her ears registered no sound. A sudden, feral gust surged into the room, swirling about it with vengeance. Cline''s drawings, Pin-Beard, Talia, all of her friends, cried out. They shouted and screamed, as bit by bit, line by line, their forms were ripped from the walls. Ablee''s eyes twitched from side to side, seeing, but unable to hear, their pleas. The storm swirled as vibrant as a rainbow. In quickening circles, layer after layer was peeled away. The wind dragged across her, particles of chalk pelting against her stony skin. ¡°No! Stop!¡± she shouted, her ears drowned by the storm¡¯s furious roar. The cyclone churned, its presence suffocating and undeniable. As Ablee struggled to maintain her senses, Zeph crashed into her back like a battering ram, the force of the collision sending them both sprawling across the floor. The box of bullets clattered away, spinning into the vortex. ¡°What the hell?!¡± Ablee snarled. She struggled to push herself upright, but the wind pressed her down, its weight almost physical. Zeph groaned, clutching her revolver as she rolled onto her knees. ¡°What is¡ª¡± her voice cut off as her gaze locked on Karich; his head had turned, and his glowing eyes were fixed on them with cold, unfeeling precision. The storm intensified, a frenzy of chalky debris whipping through the air. Ablee¡¯s heart pounded as she lifted her head, the wind clawing at her hair and clothes. ¡°Zeph¡­¡± she began, her voice thin and strained, but her words were swallowed whole by the roaring tempest. The wind surged around Karich, and the cell itself seemed to shrink under the weight of its presence. Ablee and Zeph braced themselves as the storm howled louder.