《Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)》 Chapter 01 Tibs laughed as he ran along the roofs. The wind caught in his black cloak, making it dance behind him, exposing the black clothing he¡¯d worn for this day¡¯s excursion to the people chasing him. But no matter how hard it blew, the hood remained in place, the thick leather edging giving it weight and stiffness. ¡°In the name of the king,¡± a panting woman yelled behind him, ¡°I order you to stop!¡± She was the only one of the guards who¡¯d managed to keep up with him. He laughed harder, pushing it to the edge of deranged. ¡°The Night Runner stops for neither Kings nor nobles!¡± He jumped over the alley with ease and kept running. He¡¯d picked this route for him to be chased, this time, because it meant jumping over alleys and narrow roads. Today, his goal was not to lose his pursuers, but to ensure they kept up until the very end. One of the two adventurers that ran along with her formed an etching. They had Lightning, where the other one had Earth. Both with dense essence that marked them as being barely past their Epsilon examination. He didn¡¯t know if the city, or someone else, had hired them, but they¡¯d been here for a week now, asking about the robberies, and had joined in, keeping him from entering the noble¡¯s house. The reason didn¡¯t matter, their presence would make his performance more believable. He channeled metal as he laughed and made an etching of his own. Another reason for this route was where it ended. The city had been built at the base of a mountain a river had cut into two. Opening it to the sea on the other side. As it grew from the increasing trade, it built up the mountain, having to come to a natural end at the cliff sides, with building butting right to it, giving anyone running in that direction nowhere to go, other than down. And the water was far enough, with plenty of rocks jutting out, that no one could be expected to survive such a fall. He wrapped his etching of metal around the closest metal rod that jutted out of a roof. They were everywhere, to deal with the frequent lightning storms the city experienced. It made the rod more attractive to the adventurer¡¯s lightning. They threw the etching at him, and the Night Runner laughed. He was certain they¡¯d accounted for lightning¡¯s natural like to metal in the etching; he thought he could even sense Maur within it; the Arcanus could be used to change what an element responded to. But that only worked when the metal calling to it didn¡¯t also have an etching of its own, stretching and bridging the distance, so that instead of the rod being two rooftops away, the adventurer¡¯s etching thought it was only a few paces distant. That was an invitation it couldn¡¯t refuse, and the lightning bolt suddenly arched away from Tibs and struck the rod. ¡°Adventurers?¡± he yelled, then laughed. ¡°Has the Night Runner been so successful, the king doesn¡¯t trust her guards to catch me? Consider myself properly honored!¡± ¡°What you will be,¡± the other adventurer yelled back, ¡°is without a hand!¡± ¡°Without both,¡± her companion added. ¡°After we turn you over to the guards.¡± He picked up speed, with a little help from Air. He couldn¡¯t go so fast the adventurers noticed, but he needed enough distance between them by the time he reached the end of roofs if he wanted this to work. When he skidded to a stop, it was as if the guards and adventurers had distracted him enough he¡¯d missed the end of the roofs and the long drop to the foamy and rocky waters below. He spun, a clear intent to take up the run again, but his pursuers were three and zero paces aways, and the adventurers had moved away on each side of the guard to block any escape. The hood remained in place as he looked for another escape, even with the rapid head motion. It, and the shadows that clung to its insides, only gave hints as to the shape of his bearded face, and made the darker tone of his skin unseeable. ¡°There¡¯s no where for you to run to,¡± the guard panted, ¡°thief.¡± ¡°Now, now,¡± he replied, his tone a theatrical level of offended. ¡°The Night Runner is no mere thief. He is a master of the craft. You will not see the Night Runner wander the markets, picking pockets. He will only go against¡ªNow, now,¡± he protested as lightning danced on the adventurer¡¯s fingers. ¡°Is there really a need for this? Can we not come to an arrangement?¡± Tibs would be more offended at the lack of seriousness in the adventurers¡¯s effort, if he hadn¡¯t gone out of his way to ensure they thought he was nothing more than an ordinary, if expert, thief. Every such role he¡¯d played had that in common. ¡°The only arrangement that will satisfy the king,¡± the guard stated, having regained her breath, ¡°is you in a cell.¡± ¡°After we¡¯ve collected the bounty,¡± the earth adventurer said. So coins were why they were here. ¡°Well, then.¡± He smiled. ¡°If money is what drives you. The Night Runner can more than accommodate you.¡± The smile turned wicked. ¡°After all, it has taken a long time before the king¡¯s guard could keep me from the coffer of my choosing. The Night Runner can make your purses heavier than any bounty.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t even¡ª¡± the guard started, turning to the lightning adventurer as he stepped forward, arm outstretched. The essence coursing over and between the fingers didn¡¯t shift, but the gesture, and lightning dancing over them, formed enough of a threat Tibs used it to excuse his step back, raising his hands in fear. Before he could voice the expected protest, his foot came down on nothing, and the gesture taking his hands up turned into a pin-wheel that had no hopes of keeping him from falling back. He screamed. Both adventurers were moving as he lost sight of them, so he needed to hurry. He kept yelling as he fell past openings into the wall of buildings that melded into the cliff face; past ledges used for repairs, or left over from when they were built. He tapered his yell as he sent air to catch the rope he¡¯d set in place nights before, and bring it to him. He softened the yell to nothing as he caught it, wrapping his hand and arm with earth for the tight grasp needed, and as protection against the¡ª Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The rope jerked him as it went taut, then jerked again as the added weight dislodged something. Then the breath was knocked out of him by the impact against the wall. He grabbed onto it, using earth to secure himself in place as a form dressed in black clothing and cloak fell past him. He wrapped the etching of darkness around him to better blend in with the light shadows, then etched air so it would bring him this pursuer¡¯s words to confirm this had worked. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you catch him?¡± the earth adventurer demanded. ¡°And kill him with my lightning whip?¡± her companion replied. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you lock him in place, like you did with that assassin. It¡¯s not like there¡¯s a lack of stone up here.¡± ¡°That worked.¡± She bit the words. ¡°Because he wasn¡¯t moving until the etching took hold. It¡¯s not a fast etching, unlike your lightning.¡± He made out a head, peering over the side. ¡°At least he won¡¯t be causing trouble anymore.¡± The guard sighed. ¡°That will please her majesty.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s not getting us our bounty,¡± the earth adventurer said. ¡°The nobles aren¡¯t paying us without a body to prove we did the job. I should throw you off the edge so you can get it, for what you pulled.¡± ¡°How was I supposed to know he¡¯d be so easily scared? He¡¯s been giving the guards the runaround for months. Fought half a dozen of them at a time at least once. And they were fully armed and armored.¡± ¡°You had lightning crackling. You know that always scares them.¡± ¡°How about you jump down and get it, then? You aren¡¯t going to be hurt if you turn to stone, right? It¡¯s going to be faster than me running down and getting a boat. And you¡¯re just on top of it, so it¡¯s going to be easy.¡± ¡°I doubt that,¡± the guard said. ¡°The currents against the wall are strong and wild. By now, the body¡¯s probably halfway to the sea.¡± The earth adventurer groaned. ¡°We¡¯re going to need a boat.¡± The guard chuckled. ¡°Good luck finding anyone willing to brave these waters.¡± She vanished from sight. ¡°But that¡¯s not my problem. Once you¡¯ve filled the witness report, you can look for it however you want. Just don¡¯t disturb the city¡¯s peace in the process.¡± Tibs sensed them moving away. ¡°This is your fault,¡± the earth adventurer repeated. ¡°You¡¯re always blaming¡­¡± the rest faded as he let the etching unravel. It had worked. He¡¯d been concerned when he found out about the pair of adventurers. It didn¡¯t matter what element each had. With proper training, any element could do what another did. With enough skill, an adventurer could sense essence work, even if it wasn¡¯t their element. If either had been more skilled, they would have realized he wasn¡¯t an ordinary thief. And adventurers didn¡¯t automatically dismiss what they didn¡¯t understand, the way the guards tended to, so they might have realized something was unusual if they¡¯d bothered talking with anyone who had witnessed those fights they had referred to. Still, his part of the plan had worked. He lowered himself to reach the opening in the wall. The window wasn¡¯t barred, or even covered with planks. The thief who tried getting into the storeroom from it had more chances of falling to their death. He confirmed the room was empty, then slipped among the barrels and crates. By the sense of them, they contained alcohols. Because of how secured the rooms were, merchants stored the wares in them while waiting for the ships that would take them to lands beyond the sea; beyond the ocean, even. He would see those lands; one day. Once he could use the transportation platforms. He was never handing his life over to a pile of wood and pitch that shattered at the first high wave of a storm. He shuddered at the memory as he undressed. He hadn¡¯t been at risk, but so many had died. He tried to save them, to hold back all that water, to calm the storm, but there had been too much water essence, too much air essence. What he didn¡¯t control overwhelmed the comparative little he did. He never wanted to experience such a thing again. He was older, he¡¯d told himself, the last time he booked passage on a ship. More experienced, skilled. He¡¯d regained a great deal of the strength that had been taken from him, back in Kragle Rock, in the decade and some more years since that ship and storm. He didn¡¯t have to fear that unending water. Those skies that stretched until the two met. He¡¯d paid passage, but hadn¡¯t set foot on that ship. He never did. He pulled the wrapped bundle from behind the crate and dressed himself in the clothes it contained. A green doublet with darker pants and a muted red overcoat. They were well worn, as was appropriate for those of the city who earned their coins through hard work. The time of the Night Runner was done with. For today and ever. He¡¯d planned for this day to happen a week before. The nobles¡¯ bounty, and the arrival of the adventurers had meant the Night Runner was now too infamous. As with the numerous other roles he¡¯d played throughout cities, to distract the guards as he went on with his real work, the Night Runner had needed to die. But a bragging noble had changed his mind. Tibs could let much pass, even when it came to nobles. But this¡­. This had needed seen to. And if the others had played their parts, it had. All that was left was for him to confirm it, and he¡¯d leave everything this city had come to mean to him over the last year. An etching of fire, and the cloak and black clothing vanished with a flash of light and the smell of burned fabric that air pushed outside. Another burst of air scattered the ashes over the floor, mixing it with the dirt. He sensed no one was nearby, then exited the storeroom, leaving no evidence he¡¯d been there behind. * * * * * This part of the city was quieter, a reason he used the inn still further, as the place he had meetings with his associates. Most folks here worked hard, so during the day, there was hardly anyone along the narrow streets and alleys. It made spotting a tail easier, and with two adventurers on the Night Runner¡¯s trail, he didn¡¯t take for granted that they believed he was dead, even after witnessing his fall. It made the man and boy stand out when he turned into the street they were on. The boy sobbing, the man with an angry demeanor. Tibs remained aware of them, since he knew anyone could put on an act as a distraction, but otherwise didn¡¯t expect anything from them. The hand went up and down. The motion only registered after the sound, and the boy landing on the ground. ¡°What kind of good-for-nothing son are you?¡± the man demanded, grabbing the boy and raising his hand again. Tibs was next to him, shoving him away, while grabbing the boy and letting him down gently. That was enough, he told himself, keeping his anger in check. He¡¯d given the man time to realize what he¡¯d done, he would¡ª ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± the man demanded, pushing to his feet. ¡°Get away from my son. The good for nothing¡­.¡± The hand was up already as the man approached. He fell back, his cheek cut from Tibs¡¯s punch. ¡°How dare you,¡± he growled. ¡°He¡¯s just a boy.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not good for anything other than my fist.¡± Tibs helped the man to his feet. ¡°He¡¯s your son!¡± He shoved him against the wall hard enough the man staggered. ¡°You should protect him!¡± He punched him. ¡°That¡¯s what parents do!¡± He grabbed and shoved him against the wall again. ¡°Do you have any idea what it¡¯s like not having that? Being alone? Do you want that for your son?¡± He lost count of the punches he threw. Of the man¡¯s fading pleas. The kick at his shin barely registered, but was enough to snap him out, as was the accompanying threat. ¡°Let my daddy go, you monster!¡± Tibs stared at the boy, who ineffectively kicked his shin again. ¡°I¡¯m protecting you.¡± The words had a hollowness to them, incomprehension. The anger, when the boy looked up at him, was familiar. ¡°You¡¯re a monster! I want you to die!¡± ¡°But¡­.¡± He looked at the man he was holding. The face, barely recognizable as that of a person. He almost threw the man away in disgust. The need to remove the evidence of his anger so strong he almost didn¡¯t care what other damage he caused. He let the man go and backed away, and the boy took position between them, fist closed, eyes angry and fierce. ¡°If you come closer, I¡¯m going to kill you.¡± Tibs tried and failed to find words to explain himself. To the boy or to him. It had been a while since he¡¯d lost his temper like this, and to do it over a father beating his son¡­. No, even that wasn¡¯t acceptable. He remembered the laughter of the guards, Mama¡¯s cooling body. His burning hatred of the men who had taken her from him. Unlike previous times, he didn¡¯t stoke the anger the memory brought forth. He tried to push it away. That man hadn¡¯t deserved this. Tibs formed an etching of purity and sent it to the man, then one to the boy as well. Maybe they¡¯d see this as the elements showing them favor and they¡¯d learn from it. Tibs walked away. All he wanted was to forget how he¡¯d been ready to kill someone just for raising a hand against his son. Chapter 02 Tibs forced what had happened a few streets over out of his mind before entering the inn. He couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted by recriminations. He discretely looked over the people at the tables as he headed to the bar. With a pair of adventurers on the Night Runner¡¯s trail, he couldn¡¯t know what they¡¯d unearthed of what he¡¯d worked to keep hidden, even if, as far as he was aware, they¡¯d never come close to this part of the city. The crowd was the usual mix of dock workers, a few of the area¡¯s shop owners, and some of the guards more interested in the cheap ale served here than keeping the peace. Along with plenty of people he hadn¡¯t seen before. The place was popular with the sailors, and they brought travelers with them, or they were from other parts of the city, waiting for their ship to put the gangplank down. They all kept to themselves; none of them surreptitiously looked around. Today, the king¡¯s tax collector was here, speaking with the inn¡¯s owner. The arrangement, as far as Tibs understood it, was bed time in exchange for the tax woman finding some of the owed coins elsewhere. There was no one on the stairs leading to the upper floor. This close to the docks, the inn was used more as a tavern that happened to have beds, than as an inn proper. In the room he stopped at, he sensed the two he expected, and no one else. He¡¯d taken the time to learn the pattern of their faint essence so that even with clever disguises and acting, he couldn¡¯t be fooled. He couldn¡¯t use that to keep track of them once they were more than a dozen steps into a crowd, but this close, with no one else to crowd the essence? This trick had kept him out of the guards¡¯ grip more than once, and also kept adventurers from surprising him. He still knocked the appropriate code. It wouldn¡¯t do for them to think he was so comfortable as to be careless. He had an act to maintain here too, after all. Three, two, four, and one. The woman moved, then the door opened, and she looked him up and down. She smirked. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t our lord and master, Tiberon. What happened, Ty? Got lost on the way?¡± He pushed her out of his way more forcefully than he¡¯d intended at the reminder of his delay. But he forced a smirk. ¡°Did you want me to bring guards and adventurers to this meeting?¡± ¡°You were noticed?¡± she exclaimed in a good imitation of horror. She hurriedly looked left and right in the hall before closing the door. ¡°Whatever happened to all the talk about¡ª¡± ¡°Leave it be, Lev,¡± the man seated at the small table cut her off. ¡°Him being noticed was the plan.¡± They were as contrasting a pair as Tibs had come across in a long time. She was thin and wiry; her skin a darker shade than Tibs¡¯s. Cuixtly, in contrast, was solidly built, with skin the tan of dock workers. The bulk was more muscle than appearances led people to believe. She had a sharp mind and sharper tongue, while he¡­. He wasn¡¯t a dullard, but he couldn¡¯t be described as sharp either. ¡°But Ty likes the banter, don¡¯t you?¡± she asked, dropping onto her man¡¯s lap. She kissed his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. ¡°Let¡¯s say I¡¯ve grown to enjoy you cutting me with your wit,¡± he replied with another forced chuckle. He also appreciated that their affection was understated. He set an etching of air into the walls to keep would be eavesdroppers from listening in on them. The most they¡¯d get, no matter how hard they tried, were mumbled whispers. ¡°How did it go?¡± ¡°As you said it would.¡± The words glowed faintly, then Cuixtly pulled a bag from the chest by his chair and lobbed it at Tibs. ¡°While the guards were chasing the Night Runner, we walked in, got to the safe, and left without barely anyone noticing.¡± ¡°Barely?¡± he asked. Acting like the bag¡¯s weight strained him as he caught it. He¡¯d intended to let the lie pass, but now he needed to know more. ¡°Well,¡± Levtival stretched the word. ¡°There was this guard by the safe that didn¡¯t have the good sense to chase after the Night Runner with the others when the cry came. Cuixi had to deal with him before I could open the safe.¡± Her words glowed, too. He could work out enough he didn¡¯t bother pressing for more. ¡°What did you do with the body?¡± The hefty bag was filled with silver, electrum, and gold coins, along with a few platinum. This would set them up for a lifetime if they were careful. He took five gold coins, tied it shut and lobbed it to Cuixtli again. If not for the need to maintain the illusion the theft had been what he¡¯d been after, he¡¯d let them keep all of them. He no longer needed coins in this city. ¡°I put it in the safe.¡± The ¡®it¡¯ spiked in brightness. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a while before anyone looks in it. They¡¯ll probably think he ran off to chase after the Night runner too.¡± The ¡®he¡¯ spiked, too. She chuckled. ¡°They¡¯re going to be in for quite the surprise.¡± They were downplaying how many guards had been there. It wasn¡¯t the first time. Cuixtly liked to fight, and he fought to win. It was why Tibs had picked him, even before he knew she was with him. She was clever enough to pick any lock that wasn¡¯t protected by magic, while he could take down anyone who got in their way. The issue had been his predilection for ending those fights in a drastic, and permanent, way. He understood that what they did came with risks; to himself and others. He accepted that, at times, he and his team inflicted death. But he didn¡¯t like it. Guards only did their job. Maids and servants were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Adventurers and nobles? Well, he wouldn¡¯t go out of his way to kill one, but he didn¡¯t feel bad about how far he needed to go to survive when they got in his way. A boy being beaten by his father? ¡°Is everything okay?¡± Levtival asked, worried. With a sharp mind came sharp perception. He¡¯d taken too long working out how he felt about the unneeded death at Cuixtli¡¯s hand. At least, he had a response to explain the delay. ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡± Cuixtli jerked, nearly throwing his woman off. ¡°What? Why? Don¡¯t we have it good?¡± He hadn¡¯t told them today was the day the Night Runner died. ¡°Adventurers are getting involved. Two of them were with the guards. Who knows how many more are in the city,¡± he added. ¡°And you survived?¡± Levtival asked, sounding suspicious. Tibs laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to bards. It¡¯s not because they have magic they can¡¯t be outsmarted.¡± He sobered. ¡°But there¡¯s no telling how many will join in next time. The Night Runner ran his last roof today.¡± ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean you have to leave,¡± she said. ¡°We can lie low for a while with this money. You can make someone else and then we¡ª¡± ¡°That¡¯s not how I work. My time here is done.¡± Some of the scribes had been more attentive to the scholar Tibs pretended to be in the last days. ¡°We can go with you,¡± Cuixtli said. ¡°We make a good team.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I travel alone.¡± ¡°I can keep you safe.¡± ¡°I have no doubt.¡± His smile was genuine. ¡°But you have your woman to look after. Are the wilds for her, really?¡± They exchanged a look, and her expression was uncertainty. ¡°Where are you going? Back home?¡± Images of Kragle Rock came to him, and he missed the town; his friends there. Visions of the box that had been home before, with Mama. The dilapidated buildings around it. Stolen story; please report. ¡°No. I have a horse stabled by Sunrise Gate. I¡¯ll follow that road to whatever is at the end of it and¡­.¡± His smile turned cunning. ¡°I¡¯ll see what¡¯s there to do.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t just go.¡± Panic tinted Cuixtli¡¯s words. ¡°What are we going to do? We never had someone this smart before. I don¡¯t want to go back to bashing heads for copper.¡± ¡°Then don¡¯t.¡± He looked at Levtival. ¡°I explained how I work. Make your own team and keep reminding the nobles they have reasons to worry about those ¡®weaker than them¡¯.¡± Cuixtli stood, forcing his woman off. ¡°I won¡¯t¡ª¡± She had a hand on his arm. ¡°Don¡¯t, Cuixi. Ty¡¯s as free as any of us. We can¡¯t force him to stay.¡± The cunning in her eyes said she already had a plan, but he wasn¡¯t worried. He had his. And it was better than hers; also simpler. Levtival¡¯s flaw, as a planner, was that she thought complicated meant better. ¡°Be careful.¡± He paused, hand on the handle. ¡°¡¯The Night Runner might be done, but the guards will be alert for some time. Take your advice and lie low.¡± He undid the etching as he opened the door, then left. He paid for another week, telling the owner he¡¯d be gone for a couple of days. Once outside, he took in the late day sun and salty damp smell of the river before heading deeper into the city. He was aware of his stalker without having to sense him. He kept too close as Tibs walked through the crowd, caused people to exclaim as he bumped into them, as he tried to close the remaining distance. Tibs let him. The young thief waited for a lull in the traffic before clumsily slipping fingers into the pocket. Tibs grabbed it. ¡°You¡¯re going to lose a hand.¡± He looked around for guards. ¡°Which is going to make your life difficult.¡± ¡°I knew you knew,¡± he replied petulantly. He was young. No older than Tibs, when he¡¯d been sent to Kragle Rock. Like him, Stifin had no one but himself to depend on, so he survived however he could. He was nowhere near as skilled as Tibs had been picking pockets, but he could get into places Tibs would never have dared at that age. That was why he¡¯d picked him for the job. ¡°How did it go?¡± he motioned for the boy to hand it over, and in return, Stifin made a motion of his own. Pay first. ¡°It went okay.¡± He shrugged. ¡°There was guards by that door, but someone yelled and they ran off. The lock was easy.¡± His eyes grew wide at the silver coin Tibs held, and he grabbed it, but couldn¡¯t pry it out of the fingers. He took the small bundle of torn fabric and offered it. ¡°What else did you take?¡± ¡°Nothing. You said just this, and I don¡¯t want those people looking for me over some other thing.¡± No light on the words. He took the bundle. Stifin pulled on the unmoving coin. ¡°I did it the way you said.¡± He sounded worried. How often had he been betrayed after doing a job just for being small and easily beaten? ¡°I want to pay you with more than just this coin.¡± He¡¯d spent the night working on the words he¡¯d use. Those that wouldn¡¯t have scared the Tibs of the Street if a stranger holding payment ransom told them to him. ¡°It¡¯s going to be work, but if you apply yourself, you¡¯ll have a roof over your head and food when you¡¯re hungry.¡± The boy looked uncertain, but hadn¡¯t run off, so he continued. ¡°There¡¯s a merchant on Cobble Heel Road. The sign over the door is a bundle of wrapped fabric with a needle through it. He¡¯s expecting a young man named Regis to see him, and asked to be tested as his apprentice. Nimble fingers are key for what you¡¯ll have to do, and a willingness to work hard.¡± Stifin¡¯s expression turned fearful. ¡°Do¡­I get to keep the coin?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He fought against the disappointment. ¡°Then I¡¯ll do it!¡± the words glowed. Should he press? The boy didn¡¯t understand what he was passing up. He could take him there, make sure he accepted the position. Of course, he¡¯d have to drag him there. The boy wouldn¡¯t go willingly. He let go of the coin. He¡¯d known this would be a possibility. It¡¯s why he¡¯d told the merchant it might be sometime before Regis, his son, overcame his shyness. The glow only meant what Stifin¡¯s was about what he intended to do now. Maybe, as he had time to think it over, as the silver turned into coppers, was broken down further, and vanished entirely, he¡¯d realize that a roof and food was better than the freedom of the Street. The illusory freedom of the Street. He watched the boy disappear into the crowd, still wanting to do more for him. He¡¯d done all he could. He knew that. But after the pain he¡¯d inflicted on another boy, thinking he was protecting him, this didn¡¯t feel like enough. He put both boys out of his mind. Those actions were done with. And he had a last break-in to commit in this city * * * * * Getting into the house was simple. This part of the city didn¡¯t have guards patrolling the streets and the locks on doors were rarely more than a bar across it from the inside. The goal was to keep the area¡¯s thugs from easily barging in uninvited. Windows had nothing more than shutters, if even that, and possibly a wooden latch to ensure they stayed closed when the wind picked up during a storm. This one didn¡¯t even have that. The woman who lived in the room Tibs entered through the unprotected window had been happy, once. She¡¯d lived in a better part of the city. She and her man worked hard to feed their children. They had little, but they earned it. Then, sickness took them from her and left her weakened. Left her unable to work the ale boilers as she¡¯d previously done. Even tidying a room, which was all the work she could get now, left her exhausted. But she pressed on, instead of giving up and letting the end come faster than needed. Her one happiness was the one item she¡¯d kept; left over from her man. A wooden ring he¡¯d carved to celebrate their first born. It kept her going. And the fucking noble had taken it from her, then bragged to all that listened about the ¡®exploit¡¯. He¡¯d nearly burned the man where he¡¯d stood, recounting how he¡¯d charmed the fool of a woman. Had her believing he was there to save her from the miserable life she¡¯d built for herself. He laughed as he told of her begging for him not to take that worthless wooden ring when it was the only thing he¡¯d found in that hovel of hers. How she howled in despair as he left her there to die, the way her kind deserved; in the filth and their tears. She hadn¡¯t died, Tibs had been pleased to discover when he¡¯d found the house the noble had talked about. Her essence might be no thicker than that of the other cityfolks, but she was made of harder stuff. He¡¯d seen the misery on her face as she carried on with her work, and he¡¯d set about making the noble pay for what he¡¯d done the only way one of their kind felt. Even if it meant the Night Runner wouldn¡¯t vanish into the night, as he¡¯d intended. Levtival and Cuixtli had taken all the coins the man had, while Tibs distracted the guards. And they had been, in turn, the distraction that let Stifin get the ring. He placed the open bundle on the worn dresser, with the wooden ring in its center. The work was exquisite in its simplicity. The man had been skilled. Next to it went the paper on which he¡¯d written his message, the letters neat and crisp. He¡¯d bothered, because in his investigation, he¡¯d found out she knew her letters too. ¡®The Night Runner¡¯s last job. I wish I could do more for you.¡¯ But it was all he could do. Giving her coins would only make her stand out and bring the greedy down on her. If he had someone in another city, he¡¯d have arranged to send her there. But Tibs didn¡¯t leave people behind who helped others. The teams he made were built from criminals and ruffians. It was what the work he did needed. Once he left, they went back to other crimes. He didn¡¯t think of them as bad people, but he knew they wouldn¡¯t help a woman, even if he was the one sending her to them. With the ring delivered, he had one stop left, then he¡¯d be ready to leave. * * * * * Tibs looked at his reflection on the polished metal, running a finger over the short beard he¡¯d kept for his role as Tiberon. It wouldn¡¯t do for the next one. Tyborg was a respectable guard. Someone for whom neatness was important. He took care of himself, his clothing, his weapon, and whatever he was hired to protect. He took the obsidian blade out of the plain wooden box and shaved to the skin. Gaining an immunity to the elements had brought a problem he hadn¡¯t considered until he¡¯d aged and his beard came in. Metal not being able to cut him meant it couldn¡¯t cut his hair or beard. A master barber had told him of obsidian as a shaving tool. Tibs had been unsure, until the man brought it out. It looked like stone, but he hadn¡¯t been able to tell what the essence was. It had meant it wasn¡¯t an element he had, so no immunity to it, and he¡¯d let the barber shave him. He¡¯d then bought one of his own and had cut himself often in the process of learning how to shave. Once done, the blade returned into its protective case and that went into his pack. Then he put on the supple leather armor, again missing his old one. Not only the hidden places and its ability to repair itself, but what it had meant to him. It had been a gift from Sto, one he¡¯d cherished, but eventually outgrown. Just as his beard came in with time, his body grew from the boy he¡¯d been to the young man he now was. It had taken longer than for common folks, even with being drained back to Upsilon by the guild, but over a couple of decades, instead of a handful of years, Tibs had changed. And he¡¯d had to leave the armor behind. With the armor on, he put his bracers back in place. The leather was old, cracked, in spite of Tibs oiling it daily. He hadn¡¯t realized the protective weave had failed until the damage had started showing. The reserves in them were intact, but even once they stopped working, if that happened. He wouldn¡¯t leave the bracers behind. They were all he had left to remember Sto by. So he took care of them and built a story to explain why a man as young as Tyborg wore something so old and worn. They were his mother¡¯s; left to him when she died protecting their town. The only thing he had left of hers, other than the memory of how much she loved him. He wiped the tears and straightened. He attached the plain sword to his belt and left the simple room Tyborg had rented two weeks before, and only occupied as often as needed for the owner to believe the man came and went about some business. The caravan he¡¯d hired on waited at the Zenith Gate, and he didn¡¯t want to be late. Chapter 03 ¡°Rigel!¡± the older man, who was the chief of the caravan guards, called, loud enough to be heard over everyone setting up camp in front of the stopped wagons. Tibs stopped hammering the stake in the hard earth and look in the speaker¡¯s direction. They¡¯d only stopped, one day out of Arteron, and Tibs had no idea what to expect from such a call to the caravan master. The reply came from among the wagons. ¡°Yes, Gray?¡± The man would be speaking with the merchants. Tibs had noticed the man had an ease with smiles and spoke with anyone. He thought he made out amusement in the tone, but didn¡¯t understand why. ¡°I¡¯m taking the newbies and the same numbers of veterans. Summoron is in charge until we¡¯re done.¡± The sigh carried over the distance. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll do my best not to pester us. I¡¯m sure I can hold it in for after you¡¯re done putting them to the test.¡± Tibs exchanged a look with the closest three, also setting up their tents. Four more had joined the caravan at Arteron, and they¡¯d been clustered together by the veterans. They, too, had paused to listen. He was the youngest, at least by appearance, but they were just as confused. Why hadn¡¯t they been tested before they were hired? Every other caravan Tibs had served on had demanded an exchange of blows to show he knew enough to hold his own when required. ¡°You heard me,¡± Graiden called. ¡°Newbies, grab your sword and come to me.¡± Tibs unhooked the scabbard from the pack he¡¯d dropped next to his tent and attached it to his belt as he walked. The chief of the guard was called Graiden, but everyone who¡¯d addressed him when Tibs could hear called him Gray. He was solidly built, with hair and beard even part gray and black. His face and exposed arms had the scars of many battles. With him were eight of the veterans, plus his right-hand woman, Summoron. She was taller than Gray, and also muscular. Her skin was so dark, it could be the black of Darkness, and made her blue eyes so vibrant in contrast Tibs had sensed for Water when he¡¯d first seen her. She had no elements. The older man looked them over, not looking impressed. Tibs hadn¡¯t seen him impressed by anyone throughout the day of travels, but he hadn¡¯t complained either. It seemed to be his natural expression. ¡°Follow me.¡± He turned, and they followed. When the eight veterans fell into steps behind them, blocking any easy retreat, Tibs focused ahead, extending his sense. He¡¯d pulled it in as soon as the day had been called. He already knew there was no one among the caravan with an element, and so many people made it useless to sense all of them. A few steps around him were enough warning to react to anyone attempting an attack. There was no one, so he relaxed. If this turned ugly, he¡¯d be able to hold his own. Being only a day out of the city at caravan speed, Tibs could be back there faster, even without using essence. Graiden came to a stop and turned to face them. ¡°Alright. Each and everyone of you claimed to know how to fight. Some were abyss brazen about it, too. Now you get to show how much of that was lies. I¡¯m putting each of you up against one of the veterans. You want to impress me? You better be able to disarm the one you¡¯re up against. Leyimen, Step forward.¡± The man next to Tibs took three steps and drew his sword. The blade was thick; heavy looking. Designs of animal heads, jaws open, were etched along the flat of the blade, and the guard had been shaped into long fangs bending toward the pommel. The metal was natural, but its essence had been altered in the process of being worked by the blacksmith. Working material didn¡¯t cause the same kind of change in the essence as etching or weaving. There was a flow to how it had been realigned, a lack of need for Arcanus or will to hold the essence in that form. Over the years of sensing blades, reading and speaking to experts about them, he¡¯d learned to get a sense for the quality of the weapon by how the essence was ¡®folded¡¯ within it. This was a quality sword, and Leyimen had the muscles to wield it. The woman who took position before him was a head shorter, but matched him in muscles. Her sword was thinner, unadorned, but also of good quality. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°Listen well, because I¡¯m not saying this twice. Whoever disarms the other wins, and it stops. You cut your opponent, and you¡¯re walking back to Arteron. Yes, Loren. That applies to you, too. If you haven¡¯t learned to keep your temper under control, I¡¯m not keeping you around.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Gray. I won¡¯t cut any of them.¡± The man replied, his voice oddly rough. He was Tibs¡¯s height, but leaner, and carried himself like nothing worried him, but had an old scar across his neck. ¡°I might bruise one or two, though. I hope that¡¯s okay.¡± ¡°Fists are fine. Kicks aren¡¯t.¡± He looked them over. ¡°The only thing you need to prove is that you are as good as you claimed.¡± He stepped back. ¡°Start.¡± The exchange was quick, and ended with Leyimen¡¯s sword sliding on the ground, and him with a befuddled expression, staring at his empty hand. ¡°She didn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°You lost,¡± Graiden cut him off. ¡°You want to give excuses? Go back to your parents. I don¡¯t have time for them. Get your sword and step back in line. Normey, forward.¡± The woman was slender; her armor more clothing than protection. Her sword was long and thin, with a large guard made of delicate looking metal strands. The woman who stepped before her was petite, in thick leather armor. Her sword was short, but wide. It had been the sword most people used in the kingdom of Emilion. The fight was just as quick, but instead of an exchange of strikes, Normey danced around her opponent¡¯s attacks until, with a quick motion that Tibs expected to break her sword, she sent the thick one flying. She stepped back, did a salute with her sword, and returned in line without having to be told. ¡°Tyborg.¡± Tibs stepped forward, unsheathing his sword, and a smirking Loren joined him. ¡°You know the rule about not cutting you doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t break that pretty sword of yours.¡± The sword the man pulled wasn¡¯t as thick as Leyimen, but it was close. This close, he sensed how the life essence as structured itself in the process of healing the wound. There had been damage deeper within the throat, explaining the roughness. Tibs¡¯s sword was a Surilian Noratu. He¡¯d picked it because the thin blade, three fingers wide, looked light, and made the way he willed it to move more believable. Only the best of the normal ones could survive a battle without shattering, and those were priced so only kings and high nobility could afford them, but metal was one of Tibs¡¯s elements, and it was as hard as he willed it to be. Loren attacked with wide swipes Tibs easily avoided. When he returned the attacks, it wasn¡¯t his body that moved the sword, but the sword that pulled him along. He¡¯d tried to wield swords the way everyone else did, back in Kragle Rock. But his small size and lack of strength had limited him to shorter blades, sometimes hardly longer than a long dagger. He learned to use Earth to increase his strength, and with that, he¡¯d been able to wield a decent length one, but he¡¯d then had to learn how to move it. Repeating the same motions over and over. It had been physically and mentally exhausting in a way Purity did little against. And he¡¯d been able to make ice swords controlled by his will back then. Even Quigly had encouraged him to make use of that, and to alter it however he¡¯d needed to win a battle. Passing himself off as a normal person had meant he¡¯d needed to go back to metal swords, and back to training. And he¡¯d been reminded of how hard it was. Using metal to help was simple, barely took more than applying his will to the blade. And it was easier to remember how to will it to move than actually moving it. It had made more sense to train that. Was simpler too. The hardest part had been learning to maintain the expected forms, while remaining loose enough to follow along with the flow of his sword. Loren parried and followed that with a punch. Tibs coated the arm with a layer of earth as he raised it and took it there. Loren cursed in a language Tibs wasn¡¯t familiar with as he stepped back, opening and closing his hand. ¡°He has armor under there.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Graiden said. ¡°Means he¡¯s smarter than most. Are you out?¡± ¡°Abyss, no.¡± The man charged, and Tibs parried. As soon as the blades touched, Tibs¡¯s essence flowed over and he willed its movement, forcing it to slide along the edge. He stepped away and Loren nearly fell, unbalanced. Tibs waited. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you managed that,¡± the man snarled, regaining his balance. ¡°But you aren¡¯t doing it twice.¡± He came again, sword high. Tibs stepped back, his sword under Loren¡¯s, and took control of it when they touched. When he twisted, it moved with him and wrenched itself out of the other man¡¯s hand, landing on the ground. ¡°How?¡± Loren looked at his empty hand. ¡°By keeping a cool head,¡± Graiden said. ¡°Which is something you should learn.¡± He motioned Tibs back. ¡°Stepano.¡± The man who stepped forward had a deep tan and a slightly thicker sword than Normey. A man stepped before him, but Tibs didn¡¯t pay attention to the fight. He kept it on Loren, who glared at him. * * * * * ¡°Alright,¡± the guard chief said, once the last had fought. ¡°None of you are particularly horrible. I¡¯m going to need some other reason to send you back to the city. Keep in mind that if you give it to me, it¡¯s going to be a much longer walk for you. I don¡¯t know where you came from, or why you needed to get out of the city. If you cause me troubles, I will deal with you.¡± The look in the man¡¯s eyes promised worse than a long walk to the city. ¡°So if you¡¯re thinking of taking advantage of anyone under my protection, you¡¯ll want to be heading in the opposite direction from us when we set out in the morning. Otherwise, welcome to Rigel¡¯s caravan. Don¡¯t make me regret hiring you.¡± Chapter 04 Tibs focused on his reserve again. It was his daily essence exercise aimed at building up his ¡®rank¡¯ rather than learning new ways to use what he had. Back before the guild punished him and stripped him of the essence he¡¯d had, he¡¯d been somewhere between Rho and Lambda, although his multiple elements had made it difficult to figure out where he¡¯d fit, especially since he hadn¡¯t been able to tell his teacher about it. He¡¯d also broken through stages out of desperation at not being killed much sooner than he should have been able to. He¡¯s cracked the ¡®walls¡¯ of his reserve, and filled his channels with his essence, all the way when he had been Upsilon, instead of it being part of how a Runner became Lambda. Now, the density of the essence in his nearly bottomless reserve was no more than that of when he was Rho, and its ¡®walls¡¯ were unbreakable, it seemed. His problem was, in part, that he hadn¡¯t had to crack them the ¡®guild¡¯ way. Bardik had been trying to kill him for protecting the dungeon. His friend, Sto. And in desperation, he¡¯d absorbed the man¡¯s essence. There had been so much, and his reserve had been small then, that by the time it was filled, the Darkness Rogue hadn¡¯t felt it, so it¡¯d kept absorbing, forcing more and more into the already filled reserve. And the pressure had cracked the walls, filling his channels with it. When the guild has taken his essence, draining him nearly to nothing, it had somehow undone that. And he¡¯d spent the most of the last two decades rebuilding the strength of his essence to the point where he could force the walls to break. He¡¯d been told how by his teacher, but he¡¯d had to play at not already being there, instead of paying attention to the method. He¡¯d read about it, but the books were written by scholars, not those who¡¯d gone through it, and they were filled with theories on the process, instead of established method that worked. The guild made sure that kind of information didn¡¯t spread. So, he focused. He channeled an element, Air, this time, and pulled essence from around him into the reserve until it pushed against the walls, then tried to force more of it in. Those ¡®walls¡¯ weren¡¯t real. Neither were the minuscule reserves containing essence of the elements he¡¯d had audience with. Those he needed to ¡®touch¡¯ to transform his gigantic one from life essence to that element; and change the color of his eyes in the process. They were all ¡®constructs¡¯ of his mind. Ways for him to have a sense of what he had. But they weren¡¯t real. He was aware of that, and he¡¯d been certain that knowing it would have made this part easier. Another problem with the books related not to the scholars writing them, but to the fact that when it came to the elements and essence, there were no words that properly described what they were and how they worked. When he had to describe how water essence felt to him, he said wet, and blue, and peaceful. But the words were all approximations of something¡­ deeper was the only term he could think for it. So when a scholar who had spoken with uncountable number of adventurers wrote that the way to ¡®break the walls down¡¯ was to make the essence as dense is it could be until the pressure itself became too much for the walls. They weren¡¯t lying. But it didn¡¯t convey exactly what he needed to do. It couldn¡¯t. There were no words for that. Only approximations of them. That advice had led to improvements. Tibs¡¯s essence was denser now than when he¡¯d escaped the guild. Based on that, he placed himself somewhere among Rho, as the guild recognized the stages of power for Runners and Adventurers. He¡¯d started as Omega, when he¡¯d been conscripted into being a Runner; before he¡¯d gained his element. All Runners started there, and most died before gaining the strength to attempt an audience and gain their element. Upsilon has been how he¡¯d returned from his audience with Water. Although, because of the decision he¡¯d made during it, his training had been complicated. He¡¯d still grown in strength enough the guild eventually recognized him as Rho, by passing a test that relied on what he could do with the essence he had, rather than how dense it was, since the guild didn¡¯t have a way to copy his sense of people¡¯s essence and how dense it was, as far as he¡¯d been able to work out. The density increased naturally, although it seemed to have walls, another approximation, where it needed to be forced beyond. Some came as part of training the body, some as part of training the mind, and some by acting on the essence itself. Tibs had done with increasing the density by acting on the essence, since outside of a dungeon he hadn¡¯t found the kind of challenge that pushed his body and mind to their limits, which was part of the requirement for the natural progress in the essence¡¯s density. As far as he¡¯d read. He¡¯d first tried just pushing more; forcing what he¡¯d done when absorbing Bardik¡¯s essence. But he¡¯d done that through absorbing what was around him, same as he was doing now, and that had allowed him to progress until he¡¯d hit the first wall. And he couldn¡¯t remember what his teacher, Alistair, and told him needed to be done, and the books were no help there. Most Adventurers just¡­got it. And he eventually did, too. Although the inspiration came from workers packing metal rings to be shipped. Before packing them in crates, some were twisted, so they became smaller rings, slightly thicker, but able to fit within the larger ones in the crate, therefore, fitting more in the same box. Figuring out how to ¡®twist¡¯ his essence had taken time, because essence wasn¡¯t ¡®a thing¡¯ it was what a thing was made up, what it could be. Which were all approximation of what essence really was. He¡¯d had to come to understand, back in Kragle Rock, under Alistair¡¯s training, that essence was, and wasn¡¯t, at the same time, before he¡¯d been able to advance. And here, he¡¯d had to work at making his essence do something that wasn¡¯t part of what it was. How did he ¡®twist¡¯ something that wasn¡¯t? But also was? He¡¯d tried using Arcanus to change the property of the essence, but that simply gave him etchings that did nothing. And the Arcanus was ¡®written¡¯ within an etching with the essence itself. So¡­ He¡¯d had headaches for weeks trying to understand that one. And then, one morning, he just got it. He didn¡¯t remember how it came to him, but he¡¯d realized that if essence wasn¡¯t, how could it take space in anything. And he¡¯d simply pressed, and it had done something that he could only describe as twist in on itself, and he was certain the approximation came from the workers, and suddenly his reserve was half full of a denser version of his essence. He hadn¡¯t been able to recreate that and make it denser still, or how to ¡®un-dense¡¯ it once his reserve was full again, in the hopes the increase would crack the walls and cause it to spill out into his channel. But he couldn¡¯t stop trying, as he was now. He needed to become stronger than he was, than he had been, for when he figured out how to take on the guild again, and bring it down for good. The ridicule of the thought hit and broke his concentration. He couldn¡¯t believe there had been a time when he¡¯d thought removing the guild¡¯s leader would be enough. They weren¡¯t a gang, always on the edge of breaking apart, held together by their leader¡¯s strength and the fear they engendered. The guild was a complex machine, where people were the cogs, and their actions the ropes that pulled it to work. There might be one person he could remove that would cause the whole thing to grind to a halt, but the guild was setup in such a way that nearly anyone could be replaced by those around them. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. But as ridiculous as the idea was, he couldn¡¯t stop looking for a way to make it happen. The guild had to be made to pay for the abuse they performed, and allowed to be performed under their watch. Its reign needed to be challenged. And the first step was to grow stronger. Regain what he¡¯d had, then go beyond. He ¡®took hold¡¯ of the essence in his reserve, and pushed it against the ¡®walls¡¯ making it into a mesh, the way the latest book he¡¯d read described, so it would ¡®interlock¡¯ and act against the wall. Once the technique was mastered, the scholar¡¯s book had promised, the break would be achieved. Tibs felt like cursing them to the abyss, but he kept at it. He had ample time before the caravan reached a city with a dungeon or a library. * * * * * ¡°What is he doing?¡± The whisper came from his left; a youthful voice. ¡°I think he¡¯s sleeping,¡± their companion whispered back; a voice just as young. ¡°Guards can¡¯t sleep,¡± the first one countered. ¡°The old man in charge kicks them awake, then they have to leave.¡± Tibs shifted his attention fully. He¡¯d sensed them approach, the same he sensed those at the edge of his pulled in range, but like them, he¡¯d ignored these two in favor of his training. Yet another hour spent focusing and nothing to show for it. Many of the merchants and artisans traveled with their families, often also involved in the same trade, or helping with it. But it also meant children. Rigel had a liking for children that Graiden didn¡¯t share. Tolerating them was the best way Tibs could describe the chief¡¯s interaction with them. ¡°Poke him with a stick,¡± they whispered. ¡°You do it.¡± ¡°I said it first, so you have to do it.¡± ¡°What if it makes him angry?¡± Tibs opened his eyes and turned his head in their direction. ¡°What if I have magic?¡± They bolted behind the tree with a scream. Then poked theirs heads out. ¡°Guards don¡¯t have magic,¡± the blond-haired one said in a confident tone. ¡°Is that so?¡± Tibs smiled and pulled a copper coin from his pouch and set it rolling over his knuckles. ¡°Come close. Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m not going to hurt you, since you didn¡¯t poke me with the stick.¡± ¡°I told you we shouldn¡¯t do it.¡± The other, their blond hair had a copper sheen to it, looked at their¡­friend? Sibling? There was a uniformity to their face that made Tibs think they were related. ¡°My Moma says that guard are bad people someone keeps in their place.¡± Tibs made his expression quite serious. ¡°You¡¯re mother is very wise, but the old man is around to keep me in my place, so you¡¯re safe.¡± It was their turn to have a serious expression. The blond one look at the other, Tibs, then stepped out from behind the tree. With a suspicious expression, their companion followed, eying Tibs as if he¡¯d used magic to get them moving. They watched the coins as it moved over his knuckles. With a quick jerk, he sent it up and caught it between two fingers. ¡°If I can¡¯t do magic.¡± He held the coin at their eye¡¯s height, moving his other hand to pass between it and them. ¡°How did I do this?¡± As soon as the coin was out of their view he let go, catching it and holding it in his palm. Their eyes went wide as his fingers reappeared, minus the coin. As a demonstration that he couldn¡¯t have it in his hand, he turned it palm side down, tensing it to hold the coin in place. ¡°Where did it go?¡± the copper-sheened child asked, awed. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Tibs replied with a baffled expression. ¡°When I do that, the coin just¡­vanishes.¡± He studied them. ¡°But¡­copper is drawn to copper. So¡­.¡± With a quick motion, he ruffled the hair, then pulled the hand away amidst the protest, again holding the coin in his fingers. Their hands froze, fingers in the hair, then they shook them, looking around for any coins that might have dropped. Tibs kept from laughing in delight at the youthful antics. ¡°How¡¯d you do that?¡± the blond-haired one asked. ¡°Well¡­¡± Tibs stretched the word, both for drama and to consider his answer. ¡°What is the coin made of?¡± ¡°Copper.¡± The tone made it clear they thought little of him for not knowing that. ¡°But what is copper made of?¡± They exchanged a look, and the other said, with little confidence, ¡°Metal?¡± ¡°And what is metal?¡± His question was met with confusion. ¡°Metal is an element,¡± he elucidated for them. ¡°And the coin is made of the element¡¯s essence. Everything is made of essence. The ground, the trees, the stones, the wagons, the air.¡± He smiled. ¡°You.¡± ¡°No, we¡¯re not,¡± the copper-hairs one proclaimed. ¡°I¡¯m made of me.¡± ¡°If the air is essence,¡± the other said, expression serious. ¡°And the ground is essence, too. How come I can touch this.¡± They stomped a foot. ¡°And not this?¡± They waved their hands in the air. Tibs smiled. ¡°That is a very good question. It¡¯s because the essence is¡ª¡± ¡°Megelo! Nirna! Get away from the man,¡± a woman yelled, as she ran in their direction. ¡°Moma!¡± the blond-haired one called to her. ¡°He¡¯s telling us about magic.¡± ¡°I said come here,¡± she ordered. Dragging their feet, they obeyed. ¡°I am truly sorry they bothered you.¡± She held them close. ¡°I¡¯ve told them to keep away from¡­guards, but they¡¯re just children. Please don¡¯t be angry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he replied in as soothing a tone he could. ¡°I never mind children¡¯s curiosity.¡± She eyed him suspiciously. The expression was so much like that of the copper-haired one Tibs had trouble not smiling. ¡°You¡¯re¡­not like the other guards.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just like the others. There¡¯s nothing¡ª¡± The deep, booming laughter interrupted him. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him.¡± Graiden became visible, approaching from where the guard¡¯s tents were setup. ¡°Our Tyborg¡¯s something special, alright. He¡¯s a learned guard.¡± He leveled an accusatory gaze down on Tibs. ¡°He knows how to read.¡± The revelation awed the children more than his disappearing coin trick. He shrugged again. ¡°I had this friend, a long time ago, who insisted learning my letters would be good for me.¡± The man laughed again. ¡°Listen to him. ¡®A long time ago.¡¯ Have you even seen twenty winters?¡± Tibs smiled. ¡°I have, and they were very busy winters.¡± Graiden laughed again. ¡°Well, you better be done with all that thinking, and scarring children with knowledge. I¡¯m going to assign duties for the coming week.¡± Tibs stood. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he told the woman, who still eyed him suspiciously. ¡°Some sweets will make them forget all that horrible knowledge I gave them.¡± He bowed, then walked along with the Chief of the Guards. ¡°You are a strange one,¡± the man stated. ¡°I don¡¯t know anyone willing to endure them.¡± ¡°Children should be allowed their curiosity.¡± Tibs wished he¡¯d had that chance. That Mama had been there to answer all the stupid questions about the world the child he¡¯d been would have had. Tibs forced himself to remember what had been done to her. What those men had done, and his promise to make them pay, once he found the city he¡¯d lived in, then. Something easier to do if he could travel by transportation platform. He fought the urge to rub his left wrist. ¡°How far until Tarven?¡± ¡°A few months still,¡± Graiden answered. ¡°Are you staying on past that?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡± It would depend on if he could mix with the Runners there. The man eyes him, thinking. ¡°If you¡¯re leaving, don¡¯t warn Rigel. He¡¯s going to make a fuss. My man¡¯s gotten it into his head that you are lucky to have around.¡± ¡°Luck¡¯s not a thing.¡± Graiden chuckled. ¡°You are a strange one.¡± Rigel led the caravan, looking after the merchant¡¯s moods, while his man looked after their safety. All Tibs had done was deal with animal that could have been problems by chasing them away as soon as they came into his range. He couldn¡¯t do much at those distances, his etching were more effective closer to him, but animals were easily scared away. ¡°Listen up, everyone,¡± Graiden announced when they reached the assembled guards. ¡°For the next nine days, it¡¯s going to be¡­¡± And assignments were distributed. For Tibs, it was taking charge of wagon six through nine, with Sarbela. If there was an attack, it would be their jobs to make sure the wagons formed a box in which the people could hide. Then, they¡¯d deal with any bandits that broke through the guards and headed for their wagons or the adjacent ones. ¡°And by the Abyss,¡± Graiden said to finish his speech, as he had the previous three times duties had been assigned. ¡°If you have to kill one of those bastards. Make sure it¡¯s where none of the kids can see. Got that?¡± The answering ¡®yes¡¯ was more cacophony than anything as they broke away to return to their evening. Tibs understood the merchants and artisans¡¯ concerns. The men and women Graiden employed didn¡¯t look, or in many cases, were, reputable. Caravan guards were people looking to get away from trouble they found themselves in, often because they caused it. Caravans were an easy way out of a city for someone wanted by the guards. There were too many people, and caravans were too important to be delayed. It fell on people like Graiden to ensure those troublemakers didn¡¯t become so while working for Rigel. Seven had left the caravan within the first three days of leaving the city for causing trouble. Some were caught in the act by guards, others Graiden found. There were no ceremony. They were ordered to grab their things and leave. Or simply weren¡¯t there in the morning. Everyone assumed they¡¯d decided of their own accord this life wasn¡¯t for them and nothing more was made of it. Tibs knew, because he¡¯d sensed the altercation, that Graiden had killed one of them. He hadn¡¯t found out why, so he¡¯d kept an eye on the chief, in case he was someone who enjoyed killing. There had been no such altercation since, and Tibs had noted, the next day, how relieved one of the merchant had been on finding out a different guard was posted with their group. Tibs hadn¡¯t found out why she¡¯d made him uncomfortable, but he suspected it had to do with the man not having anyone else traveling with him in his wagon. Outside the cities, men and women like Graiden had to be the makers of the laws and their enforcers. Tibs had worked for good and bad ones in the more than a decade he¡¯d traveled as a guard, and after three weeks, he¡¯d decided that, even with what the man had done to the woman, Graiden was one of the better chief to work for. Chapter 05 ¡°Come right up!¡± Rigel yelled over the already assembled crowd, standing atop his wagon¡¯s roof, which was built to act as an elevated stage. ¡°Come and look at goods from all over the kingdom and beyond!¡± This was the first village of the trip, after only twelve days of travel. Rigel had timed their arrival for the afternoon, while everyone there was busy with the fields or with taking care of the village. It gave the merchants and craftspeople time to position their wagons to serve as booths, since the village wouldn¡¯t have a space dedicated to caravans within their walls, or even let them in as such. Villages, towns, and even small cities were cautious about outsiders. Even a few days out from a large city placed them too far for them to hope help would reach them in time if they were attacked. So, they erred on the side of keeping as many as they could outside their walls. Rigel, as with all other caravan masters Tibs had worked for, didn¡¯t mind. It was the norm, so the merchants knew to have their wagons made in such a way they could sell out of them if they couldn¡¯t get access to a marketplace. Some had sides that raised up to become awnings, and down, opening the back to expose wares. Others simply had hooks for them to display what they sold. And others still used the crates to make counters for trade and display. The villagers had gathered as they returned from the fields but kept their distances. Caravans were a regular, if not common, occurrence, and they knew to wait for the caravan master to announce the merchants were ready for them. In the meantime, they gathered with the meager coins they had, items they hoped to trade in return for what they needed, or tools in needs of repairs. The other reason some stood, waiting, was to hear news from the world. While bards could be counted on to sing stories, tradespeople with caravans were more reliable in the veracity of what they talked about, and in visiting. Bards traveled on their own schedules, while those engaging in trade traveled on caravan¡¯s schedules. And caravan masters were keen on keeping to those. ¡°Enjoy an evening of admiring cloths from the far regions of Gartary. Gaze upon the potteries made of silys clay. And tastes sweets from the sands of Zombar.¡± Rigel lowered his voice as he ended, adding a sense of mystery to the location. Tibs walked among the wagons. He, and the other guards on duty, were there to ensure no trouble occurred. Either from the villagers or the merchants. One could get aggressive if they thought they were being taken advantage of, and the other could go too far in taking advantage of the perceived naivete of folks living away from cities. Not all caravan masters cared about that part. Some didn¡¯t pay attention to the merchant¡¯s trades, so long as the fleecing didn¡¯t erupt into violence. Rigel cares. He¡¯s warned those traveling on his caravan, as they broke camp in the morning, about taking too much from those who already had little. They were here, more as a diversion than a way to make their purses heavier. Something to distract the villagers from the hard life they lived for an evening. For them to be amazed at what the word offered. The cities weren¡¯t so far that the merchants couldn¡¯t exert patience before taking every last coin of those doing business with them. The speech had a practiced ease to it. Tibs figured he repeated it often. Possibly at every village. And there would be many of them before they reached a city. No matter how dangerous the wilderness was, people settled among it. Built houses, then walls, then if they had picked a place that let them thrive. More walls, out of better materials, against the creatures that roamed the wild. Tibs placed the blame for those fears entirely on the bards, who would sing about monsters and adventurers, instead of what really roamed the forest and plains, and deserts and ocean shores. The wilderness was indeed dangerous. But it was the animals living in it that made it so. Not invented creatures said to have escaped dungeons and rampaged through towns until a heroic adventurer came to their rescue. In the two decades since Tibs had escaped the guild, he¡¯d only come across one such creature. And he looked for them. He read about them, hoping the fight would push him to grow in power faster. ¡°And what can I tempt you with today?¡± a woman said in a silky voice. He turned, startled at the invitation, then glared at the plump woman, grinning mischievously. The table before her cart had small boxes with variety of candies. Those ¡®Sweets from the sands of Zombar¡¯. Tibs had never heard of such a place, and she had managed to misdirect every question about it he¡¯d asked, since the first day he¡¯d learned she sold sweets. ¡°What are you going to do, that day you take my last copper?¡± That he knew of the place or not, sweets were sweets, and Tibs had learned a long time ago that he liked them. ¡°You¡¯re too well paid for that to happen,¡± she replied, the tone casual, and the smile friendly. ¡°But not all my coins are supposed to go toward candies,¡± he protested. ¡°I don¡¯t want all your coins, young man.¡± Her smile turned mischievous again. ¡°Only most of them.¡± With an exaggerated sigh, Tibs admitted defeat and took a copper from his pouch. He¡¯d let slip he liked sweets that first day as he rode his horse along the wagons that included hers. Her wagon was decorated with painting of small candies, and she had stones painted as them too, on strings along the side. They hit each other in the wind, or as the wagon tilted on the road. It made it difficult to miss. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. And the game of her enticing him into buying sweets, and him playing at trying to resist, had begun. She didn¡¯t charge him as much as she would those in marketplace, but they were sweets; if Tibs wasn¡¯t careful, he could end up with an empty purse. ¡°One copper only.¡± He placed it on the table, between two rows of boxes. ¡°I only have my least expensive ones out.¡± She looked at the village folks. ¡°In places like this, I end up giving some away, if I want to see the joy of sweets on their faces.¡± He pulled the coin away. ¡°I¡¯ll have one of those then.¡± ¡°You have coins,¡± she said sternly. ¡°You can pay.¡± Her expression softened, but Tibs didn¡¯t trust her. He¡¯d seen such change in expression too often from confidence artists. ¡°Think of it this way. With each coin you give me, it¡¯s easier for me to decide to hand out candies to the village children.¡± With a less dramatic sigh, Tibs placed the coin back. ¡°How is it you know to use them to get me to give you more coins?¡± He pushed it toward her and added a second one. ¡°All I have to do is look at the children listening to you where ever you happen to sit.¡± ¡°I try to scare them away,¡± he protested. ¡°But caravan kids are just too brave.¡± She took the coins. ¡°The other one¡¯s for them.¡± Instead of reaching for one of the boxed on the table, she reached into the wagon, and handed Tibs three rose-colored ones, smaller than his thumb. He popped one in his mouth without hesitation, and the sweetness spread immediately. The hint of saltiness that followed made him smile as it recalled another candy he hadn¡¯t had in so very long. Then copper contrasted, without jarring with either sweet or salty. ¡°The ocean,¡± he said wistfully, and the tastes came together. He could feel the sun on his face, reflected from so many white stone buildings. He wondered where Kroseph and Jackal were. Had they moved to MountainSea, to take over his father¡¯s inn there? Jackal wouldn¡¯t stay in Kragle Rock, not with the history it held over him. She chuckled. ¡°Maybe I should have only given you one.¡± Tibs hurriedly pocketed the other two. ¡°You aren¡¯t getting them back.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll just know to charge more when you come asking for them.¡± Excited voices approached, and Tibs gave the merchant a bow before continuing with the work of ensuring no one caused trouble. Few did. And with a rare exception, most could be explained as someone getting overly excited and forgetting themselves. One of those exceptions had been the pickpocket Tibs noticed. Even a village had someone who thought taking was a better way than working to get something. The girl looked too well-fed to for it to be out of survival. It was the rare village that didn¡¯t look after its own, no matter how hard they had it. He pulled air essence from his bracer and sent the etching to tickle the back of her neck as her fingers approached the craftswoman¡¯s pocket. Her head turned as she brushed where the air touched, and he fixed her as their eyes met. She startled, revealing she knew she¡¯d been caught. He motioned for her to leave. She narrowed her eyes in defiance, and he raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on the pommel of his sword. Her courage faltered, and she moved away. ¡°She¡¯s just going to do it to someone else.¡± The gruff voice identified the speaker. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on her,¡± he replied. ¡°She¡¯ll just do it to someone once we¡¯re gone.¡± ¡°And someone in her village will teach her not to take from her people.¡± Loren snorted. ¡°Her kind doesn¡¯t consider anyone ¡®her people¡¯. She¡¯ll take everything she can, and then leave.¡± Tibs faced the man. ¡°And by her kind, do you mean children, girls, or thieves?¡± He didn¡¯t come up with other descriptives. Whatever he picked, Loren would agree. Tibs had never met anyone more hateful of others. He claimed he¡¯d gotten his throat cut by bandits, in his early days as a guard, but based on how the man had gone on about how every one of his problem being caused by some other group of people, when Tibs had had him as a patrol partner. Tibs was confident he¡¯d pissed off the wrong person, and they¡¯d tried to put him out of their misery. He snorted. ¡°Who cares. The best thing for everyone is for you to chop off her hand.¡± ¡°They might not do that here.¡± Tibs stepped away, returning to his duty. ¡°They do that everywhere.¡± Loren followed him. ¡°No one should suffer a thief to live.¡± ¡°So now cutting off her hand¡¯s not enough?¡± Tibs forced his anger down. ¡°Not everyone who resorts to thievery had a choice.¡± ¡°Speaking like one who¡¯s been there.¡± The reply was filled with derision. Tibs¡¯s response came through greeted teeth. ¡°I have.¡± He didn¡¯t volunteer information about the person he pretended to be. The characters he traveled as were always reserved. But he answered questions. And because he couldn¡¯t convincingly play at being someone who despised thieves, his stories always included a time when he¡¯d had to fend for himself, usually as a result of his mother¡¯s death. Graiden had questioned him about his past in the first day¡¯s travels, as he¡¯d done with all the recruits, and Tibs had answered him. Loren hadn¡¯t been there, but he was sure the other guards who had would have told him what they¡¯d heard. If not for that fight Tibs had won, he¡¯d think that was why the man disliked him so much. ¡°No wonder you let her go, then.¡± Tibs rounded on him. ¡°I let her go because she didn¡¯t continue when she realized she¡¯d been caught. We protect the caravan, not impose our beliefs on the place we visit. If she causes trouble, I¡¯ll bring her to Gray, and he¡¯ll decide how to handle her. He¡¯s in charge, not me. And not you.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Loren said, defensively. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± ¡°I know you¡¯re not.¡± Tibs had no interest in his justification. ¡°I¡¯m going back to my patrol. If you aren¡¯t working, go rest.¡± This time, the man didn¡¯t follow. It was full dark before the last of the villager returned to their home. The girl made a few more attempts, but even if he acted like he didn¡¯t see her, his presence was enough to keep her from carrying through; until she¡¯d finally given up and returned to the village. With his work ended, he retired to his tent for the night. As late as it was, the caravan would move on with the sun. It was the same with all of them. It had taken Tibs some time to understand why. No caravan master wanted to deal with an angry parent once they realized what their child had gotten up to with someone traveling with them. Or blamed someone here for whatever they thought had gone missing during the visit. For all the good times they brought, caravans were filled with strangers. And with as dangerous as the world was, as hard as they worked at keeping those dangers outside their walls. Well, if something happened to go wrong there, who else but those strangers could be at fault? It wasn¡¯t like they could do anything about it. The caravan had more and better guards. But it would cause delays, sour attitudes for the other caravans. It was best to be gone before someone came complaining. * * * * * Tibs rode beside the wagons he and his partner had been assigned as the sun crested over the horizon. The village would be in the process of starting their days, but it wouldn¡¯t take long for them to find out who had taken advantage of the caravan folks to experience things they weren¡¯t meant to. Tibs only had stories, from other guards, of what happened then. And he was grateful for it. Chapter 06 Tibs sensed something ahead of them, but couldn¡¯t be certain what it was. Over a decade of pushing his sense, it had seemingly reached a limit at a distance equivalent to walking for the span of four fingers-worth of the sun moving. An effect of sensing so far was that he could barely make out what he sensed within any of that distance. Even an adventurer next to him became nothing more than a fuzzy mass of essence he couldn¡¯t tell from another mass. He had learned to recognize signs within that fuzziness that warned of groups of people, bandits, when he was in the wilderness, which was the only place sensing this far served any purpose. It would be a barely detectable mass of life essence, due to the number of people, with points of fire and metal. The closer he got, the more details he made out, as he pulled his sense in, but it wasn¡¯t until he was a fingers-width¡¯s worth distance that he could tell anything of use. He¡¯d asked scholars about it, in relation to adventurers and how they sensed their elements. He¡¯d used bards¡¯ songs as the excuse for his question, since they were constantly referring to the adventurers sensing something in the distance. Usually in how the hero of the song found the villain. He¡¯d had to listen to them droning on about essence not being what people thought it was. That a skilled adventurer could do whatever they wanted with their essence; that was, after all, the basis for magic. How it was possible for them to sense what couldn¡¯t be perceived. That with training, they could know things that others never could. Of course, when Tibs ask how they could do that, none of them had an answer. It was simply magic. By what Tibs sensed, there was trouble ahead of them. ¡°Fernan,¡± he called to a guard looking after the wagons behind his. ¡°I need to have a talk with Rigel. Look over mine.¡± Tibs hurried his horse to the front of the caravan. He slowed it and settled next to the wagon. ¡°Sir.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Rigel,¡± the man sitting on the bench replied. ¡°One day, you will call me by my name, Tyborg.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Rigel sighed. Tyborg had too much respect for people in authority to ever address them by name. Graiden had resorted to threats of a knife in the gut, before Tyborg had reluctantly begun addressing him as Gray. Rigel was too nice to pull off the kind of threat his man could. ¡°Let me guess. Is it slowing down to avoid a coming herd this time? Or should we speed up?¡± Like people, animals barely registered to his sense; their life essence was too thin. That was, unless there were a lot of them. A herd or a pack¡¯s worth of them, with made scaring them with an etching risky. He had no way to predict how a herd would react. He also didn¡¯t need to sense them from so far to be able to advise on what they should do. It had come up twice over the two months of travels. He¡¯d explained it with ¡®he had a feeling¡¯. He couldn¡¯t claim to know how animals travel without coming up with a believable explanation for how he knew, and while he was certain there were books about that, too, he¡¯d yet to be bored enough of his other research to look into that. Having a feeling was an explanation nearly everyone used in their lives. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I just thought it might be good for me to scout ahead.¡± Rigel studied Tibs, looked at his eyes, as he did each time Tibs had advised him, then shook his head and chuckled. ¡°The way the gut of yours tends to be right, I¡¯d think you¡¯re touched.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± Being touched by an element, was what people called those who weren¡¯t adventurers but still did things that seemed impossible. The reasoning being that without the help of the elements, they wouldn¡¯t have been able to. In Tibs¡¯s experience, skill accounted for most of the cases he¡¯d witnessed, and randomness for others, and only extremely rarely, had the person had the faint tint to their life essence that spoke of a connection to an element. What he¡¯d never understood was the reflex to check the eyes. It was impossible to miss with the adventurers, and impossible to see in anyone else. Even those with the faint connection didn¡¯t show the element¡¯s color in their eyes. ¡°Then it¡¯s going to be trouble, ain¡¯t it?¡± ¡°I think we¡¯re better served if I go check and I¡¯m wrong than not, and we¡¯re surprised by bandits.¡± Rigel looked into the distance ahead of them. ¡°Bandits, huh?¡± ¡°What else would it be out here?¡± ¡°More likely to be a dungeon made monster than bandits.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a dungeon in the area?¡± Tibs looked around. There wasn¡¯t one. If there was, there would be a town already. The guild, taking possession of it. And there was no mountain. Rigel laughed. ¡°This would be a city road, if there was. Not some place, weeks away from even a village.¡± ¡°Bandits make more sense, then.¡± ¡°Go.¡± The caravan master motioned Tibs ahead. ¡°I¡¯ll let Gray know we might encounter trouble.¡± He set his horse to a canter until he couldn¡¯t make out the wagon, then pushed it to a gallop. He applied etchings of purity to the animal to deal with the damage pushing it without rest caused. As he pulled in his sense, getting closer, he gained more definition and confirmed what he¡¯s suspected. Water held up. It would be in barrels. Metal containing fire, braziers. Moving life essence with metal against them. People and the weapons they carried. Twenty of them, by the weapons being carried. There might be more, in the wild bandits often resorted to clubs, which he couldn¡¯t sense. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The camp was far from the road, and he didn¡¯t sense anyone close to it. So they weren¡¯t aware of the caravan yet. There could be sentries, but the essence would be too faint for him to sense lone people unless he pulled his focus in tighter. He did that as he got closer, and didn¡¯t sense anyone. Not every bandit group Tibs had encountered of the years used sentries. Many counted on the sounds caravan made. He didn¡¯t bother with hiding the sounds of his horse. They were too far in the forest to hear a lone traveler, and he could deal with sentries if they were present. By the time Tibs was close, he¡¯d had to dispatch two of them. He couldn¡¯t give them the luxury of letting them leave. They¡¯d run to the camp, and them knowing Tibs was on his way would just complicate matters. He walked the horse among the trees, on the opposite side of the bandit camp, tied it to one, and removed armor and clothes. He didn¡¯t need them for this, and claiming he¡¯d found nothing, when returning with his armor cut and pierced, raised too many questions. He¡¯d learned that through experience. Whispers had gone beyond him being touched, and into him being a dungeon made creature. He¡¯d vanished into the forest, and continued alone to the next city. He hadn¡¯t gone into battle against bandits, when he was alone, wearing his armor since. Wearing a worn shirt, his bracers, and pants, but no boots, Tibs trekked until he reached the camp. He couldn¡¯t understand the language, as he got close enough to hear them, but the tone of discontent came through clearly. It was months between caravans, and they must be tired of waiting. He walked between the tents at the periphery and among the bandits. ¡°Greetings.¡± The reaction was instantaneous. Two and two people jumped to their feet, sword and clubs in hand. He chucked to himself at how he¡¯d fallen back into his old numbers. He rarely did that anymore, and usually when things didn¡¯t go his way. They were dressed in clothing more worn than his. They were dirty and too thin. Some, he sensed, were on the last of their essence. Someone asked a question he didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Let¡¯s try this again,¡± he said, in Urynian, this time. It wasn¡¯t common within this kingdom, being the main one two kingdoms over, nadir wise, but there had been a war, a century back, that had brought many of them here. ¡°Can you understand me? I¡¯d rather not start this without at least giving you the option of leaving.¡± ¡°Leave?¡± a woman replied in a mocking tone. He smiled. ¡°Good, you understand. As someone who knows you might not be doing this out of choice, I¡¯m telling you to leave. The approaching caravan is under my protection. The fact hunger might be driving you to this won¡¯t keep me from making sure their travels are undisturbed.¡± She spoke in hurried tones, and the other¡¯s excitement told him she wasn¡¯t telling them to make plans to leave. The man who grinned at Tibs had blackened and crooked teeth. Even without this fight, he had no more than a day¡¯s worth of essence in him. He said something in nasty tones without looking away. ¡°Rupil take shirt for him,¡± the woman said in a defiant tone. ¡°Pants go to who kill you.¡± ¡°Have it your way.¡± He ran at them, and only three weren¡¯t surprised at the rush, or that he was unarmed. He kept the etching in his mind as he jumped at the larger man, raising his arm as if he was armed. He channeled water, and he released it. The expression went from smug to terrified as the ice formed over Tibs, an armor that glinted in the sunlight. The sword that formed in his hand was a thing with vicious spikes jutting from a sharp edge. The mans sword shattered from the impact and was cut through as Tibs landed before him. The screams, as Tibs ripped it out of the body, were as much terror as rage. A few ran. He envisioned the etching and released it with the sweeping of his sword. Thin blades flew at their back. They fell, but only one¡¯s essence leaked quickly. The impact staggered Tibs forward and cracked his armor. He reformed the etching as he straightened, and turned to face the muscular woman. She stepped back in surprise. His eyes told her what she hadn¡¯t understood the appearing armor meant. She steadied herself, and with a scream brought the large war-hammer down on him. He channeled earth and coated his arm with it, stretching it down the side of his body and to his feet. He caught the head in a hand, the force of the impact sent down along the earth, instead of through his bones. He softened the metal and his fingers sunk in. She nearly pulled him off his feet as she yanked it back, but he took hold of the essence and held it in place. She pulled harder. He pulled, and she staggered into his sword. He casually flipped the war-hammer in the air as he stepped back, caught the shaft, and swung it into her side, adding his will to the blow. There was no essence left in her by the time she crashed through the shoddy tent. The arrow bounced off the side of his helmet, and he turned. He hadn¡¯t expected them to have an archer. The woman was already releasing another, and Tibs sent it careening with a wave of the hand, and burst of air. He sent essence at the fire in the brazier next to her, and she was engulfed in the explosion. He blocked the sword, then turned to face the man. He parried the following attack and stepped out of the way of the sweeps. The thrust made it past Tibs¡¯s parry and through the armor. The man smirked and said something. Tibs punched him away. He pulled the sword out, and with a smirk of his own, let the essence that made it go. He dropped the leather and wood that had been the pommel to the ground. The man cursed. Tibs turned to face the two wielding clubs running at him. Another etching as he raised his arm, and a shield of clear ice blocked them. He grinned at their stunned expression, then he had a sword in hand and cut their stomachs open with it. He made two ice blades and threw them at the two fleeing. One missed entirely. The next one, he directed with his will and the woman fell too. Why was throwing so abyss hard? He blocked the woman¡¯s sword and moved the shields ice over it before she pulled it away. He wrenched it out of her hand and cut her down. He looked for his next opponent, but all that was left of the bandits were the whimperings from those dying. He ended them with a cut across the throat. He let the etching that made his armor, shield, and weapon go and looked at the carnage he¡¯d wrought. He felt no guilt. He¡¯d given them the option to leave. They¡¯d chosen to fight. Now, to remove the evidence. He crouched and placed a hand on the ground. It parted under each of the bodies, swallowing them, then closed. He couldn¡¯t regrow the patches of grass, but he moved others to mask the shape of the hole. The fires he extinguished, then pulled even the residual heat from the coals and ashes. With air, he scattered them and the tents. If Graiden sent someone to check, they¡¯d think it had been at least days since the bandits had given up and left. He returned to his horse, cleaned the fight off himself, and dressed. Then rode back. * * * * * ¡°So, you came back.¡± Graiden rode next to Rigel¡¯s wagon. ¡°Figured you¡¯d turned thief and stole my horse to ride the rest of the way on your own.¡± ¡°Come now, Hun,¡± the caravan master chided him. ¡°Tyborg wouldn¡¯t do that. I told you he went scouting. Do we need to get ready for an attack?¡± Tibs shook his head. ¡°All I found was an old camp. They must have given up waiting.¡± ¡°Or moved to a better location,¡± Graiden countered. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, I¡¯m sure Tyborg will feel the need to scout ahead again.¡± Rigel smiled at him. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right?¡± Tibs realized that always being somewhat correct each time he came to the man could be giving the caravan leader the wrong impression Or the correct one. Which Tibs didn¡¯t want him to get. It might be best to let the caravan be caught in the next herd that crossed their path. Chapter 07 ¡°Alright, everyone!¡± Rigel yelled, and Tibs looked up from the crate he was helping the merchant unload from her wagon. The caravan master stood on the roof of his, with the gray stone of the city wall as the backdrop. ¡°The carts to transport your goods to the market will be here shortly. Be sure that the goods you want there in time for the customers to arrive are ready to be placed on it. It¡¯s first come first served here. Unless you are willing to part with your money. Then, cart owners are just inside the gate, ready to hire themselves out to bring anything you want to the market.¡± The gate was out of Tibs¡¯s sight, behind multiple wagons, but he sensed the mass of people and animals on each side of the road, as well as the line of them approaching. He nodded to the merchant, and he took most of the weight as she stepped down. Who paid for moving goods from the caravan coral to the caravan¡¯s marketplace within the city was always a contentious subject. Merchant expected that to be part of the what the caravan master charged them when joining, but they, too, wanted to part with as little coins as possible. No two caravans Tibs had traveled with handled it the same way, and none had had a system which resulted in everyone being pleased. He and the merchant were halfway to where her four previous crates were waiting when Graiden called out. ¡°Listen up.¡± He now stood on his and Rigel¡¯s wagon. ¡°The city guards are going to be here with the carts to take charge of the coral. That¡¯s when your duties for this leg of the journey official end. Go see Rigel for your pay, then you can do as you please. For anyone interested, I have needs of four volunteers.¡± Tibs glanced in the guard chief¡¯s direction, and as expected, the man was looking at him. He shook his head. He already had plans. ¡°This isn¡¯t part of your previous duties, so you¡¯ll still collect your pay beforehand. The work is for a quarter of each day, so you¡¯ll be free the rest of the time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± a man called out ¡°Me too,¡± a woman echoed. No one else sounded out, but when he glanced again, Graiden was nodding to someone unseen. ¡°You have a week, that¡¯s nine days, for those of you who can¡¯t make the translation, and then we leave. I need your name on the sign-up sheet by the end of the day in eight days, if you¡¯re returning to your duties. Keep in mind that your name on that sheet doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re going to wait for you, or pull you out of whatever trouble you land yourself in. If you aren¡¯t here when we leave with the sun in ten days, this is your home.¡± Jeers sounded from the guards, with warnings to watch what they drank, who they bedded, and others proclaiming they¡¯d never miss the departures. Despite the reassurances, Tibs knew some of them wouldn¡¯t be there. It was easy to fall victim to everything a city had to offer and either get in trouble, landing in a cell, or so enamored one forgot the deadline. Especially with those for whom this was their first time to a city not their own. Tibs had fallen victim to such charms on his first caravan, and the cell had held him past the deadline he¡¯d promised the guard captain he wouldn¡¯t miss. The trouble he¡¯d landed himself in also meant that when he finally escaped it, he couldn¡¯t remain in the city. It had been his first time traveling the wild unprepared for it since his escape from the guild and had been a reminder of why he¡¯d traveled with caravan since. He¡¯d been haggard when he reach the next village and had stayed there until another caravan passed by. ¡°I¡¯ll see those of you coming back in eight days, and those smart enough to stay out of trouble two days later. Enjoy your stay in Tarven.¡± Tibs found other merchants to help until all the carts had taken the good heading to the market. He was in no hurry. He had eight days to work out if he¡¯d stay in this city. He was among the last to go to Rigel. ¡°Don¡¯t enjoy yourself so much you aren¡¯t with us when we leave, Tyborg,¡± the man said, jovially, offering the coin pouch. ¡°I might not be back.¡± The pouch was taken away before Tibs reached for it. ¡°I have business in the city.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t say anything about this before.¡± Tibs shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it mattered.¡± ¡°What if I increase your pay? It¡¯d be worth it for another leg as peaceful as this one. Not even one hungry animal bothered us.¡± Tibs chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re putting a lot on me, sir, considering how many guards you hire.¡± ¡°Very few of them have a habit of walking into the wilderness when we stop for the night.¡± ¡°I enjoy the quiet.¡± It had also become the only way he could keep people from bothering him when he trained his essence work, or needed to practice a new etching. Rigel smiled. ¡°Of course, that¡¯s all there is to it.¡± He bounced the coin pouch in his hand. ¡°I¡¯m willing to go as far as doubling your pay.¡± He shook his head. ¡°If my business pans out, I¡¯ll have to stay. If it doesn¡¯t, I¡¯ll know before you leave and sign up again.¡± The man looked at Tibs suspiciously. ¡°Can your business really pay more than I would?¡± Tibs smiled. ¡°If it pans out, no money will match what I get out of it.¡± With a saddened nod, Rigel handed him the pouch. Tibs attached it to his belt without confirming its content. He could sense the metal in it, and felt roughly like what he¡¯d been promised. But it was more the fact caravan masters who cheated their guards didn¡¯t keep their business. Sometimes didn¡¯t even keep their lives. The coins he got for this part of the trip would see him in a simple room, in a modest part of the city for well over a year, including reasonable food. Not that money would be a problem if he decided to settle here. Even if the guild didn¡¯t let him keep much of what he earned from the runs, there were ample employment opportunities in a city like this. He could even resort to be a city guard if he wanted to keep Tyborg¡¯s identity out of trouble. Caravan guards had an easy time being hired by cities. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The room he settled on was in a better than modest part of the city. He¡¯d either be gone well before he noticed the drop in his coins, or money wouldn¡¯t be a problem anymore even if he didn¡¯t visit the noble¡¯s homes in the night. Omega Runners didn¡¯t usually make much from their runs, but his knowledge of how the guild worked and his hidden strength would let him and his team exit with enough to survive on. His goal, in choosing this room, was to create the impression of someone who had the coins to buy their way into being a runner. Although for that impression to become real, he¡¯d need to acquire more coins. Because the guild couldn¡¯t own those who paid their way in, it did what it could to take a much of their coins beforehand. It sometimes lead to them having to indentured themselves for the continued training, and the guild considered that another victory. But that would only be a consideration if he could approach the dungeon. That had always turned out to be the problem. How local guild chapters controlled who went in and out varied from city to city, but they all did. They didn¡¯t want the training grounds to be filled with folks who stood around gawking. Have the stalls supposedly selling dungeon goods, crowded by folks without the coins to buy what was there. Even stepping to the gate, wishing to become a Runner, didn¡¯t guarantee access. His first approach happened in the night. Not as a thief, but as one of the many people who worked even when the sun was no longer there. Cities never seemed to do more than slow, once the sun went down. Dressed in worker¡¯s clothes, and with a bag of tools over his shoulder, he approached the mountain side of the city. This city had settled enough away from the mountain, he wasn¡¯t sure if the dungeon¡¯s influence reached it. If it didn¡¯t pass the wall that divided the guild owned area from the rest of the city, he¡¯d have to go in with less information than he hoped. Even if he talked with the dungeon, it didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d learn much, or even get a response. Some dungeons had had an¡­extreme reaction to being engaged in conversation. Tibs expected that for many decades, the city kept its building away from the wall; there was a marked difference in the construction when he was eight blocks away. Cities needed to grow if they wanted to thrive, and try as they might, they were pulled toward the wealth the dungeon and the guild represented. He could already sense barracks, training buildings, as well as the guild¡¯s administrative one. What he¡¯d considered ¡®The Guild,¡¯ back in Kragle Rock, before he understood that all such building did was oversee with functioning of this one dungeon and related businesses. The person in charge of it could do more or less as they pleased, so long as their lapses didn¡¯t cause the higher ups in the guild to notice. As Tibs had experienced, they could get away with a lot before anyone noticed. Other than adventurers patrolling the area, it was empty of people. This was one of those where the gates to the area closed when the dungeon closed its door. ¡°Well.¡± The voice was low, and the word stretched as if they were waking up. ¡°That isn¡¯t something I¡¯ve seen before.¡± Tibs looked around to confirm he was the only one there. ¡°Hello.¡± He was three blocks away from the wall, and the mountain was¡­ far behind that. He climbed to a roof. To ensure no one would disturb him. ¡°What is it?¡± a second voice said. He still didn¡¯t know what how for its influence reached meant, in relation to how many floors it had. He¡¯d yet to be able to get into a dungeon since Sto, and the dungeons who had been willing to speak with him hadn¡¯t told him how deep they reached, even when he asked directly. The closest he¡¯d gotten from one of them was a mocking ¡®come in and find out¡¯. ¡°Him,¡± the dungeon said. ¡°Hello,¡± Tibs repeated. Addressing the dungeon was always a risk. The first time he¡¯d done it, he¡¯d been away from people, because he¡¯d expected them to freak out at someone having a conversation with nothing. He hadn¡¯t expected the dungeon to freak out to the point of closing its door and trapping the Runners inside. Twenty teams had been inside, he later learned. He¡¯d tried to explain he wasn¡¯t a threat, he certainly wasn¡¯t them, but nothing he said would convince it. It took three days after he¡¯d left its influence before it opened its doors. No team came out. He¡¯d always engaged them at night since. The door was already closed, so he couldn¡¯t endanger anyone. ¡°Oh. What is he?¡± the helper asked. ¡°I¡¯m Tibs.¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t know, then he¡¯s a mystery.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t told they could have more than one element. You think he¡¯ll come in?¡± ¡°That is what I¡¯m hoping to do.¡± ¡°That would¡­¡± Tibs waited. They¡¯d finally realized he was addressing them. Now came their reaction at something they considered impossible. ¡°Is he talking to you?¡± the helper whispered. ¡°No.¡± The response had a bit of an edge to it. ¡°I am. I¡¯m not a threat.¡± The silence stretched. ¡°What are you?¡± the dungeon asked tentatively. That was a good sign. Those that panicked rarely started by asking questions. ¡°I¡¯m Tibs. I¡¯ve been a Runner. I¡¯m hoping to be one again.¡± ¡°Can we handle someone like him?¡± the helper asked. ¡°The sixth floor, maybe. We¡¯re going to have to do something specific for him.¡± ¡°You know you can¡¯t. Not unless everyone on his team is like him and then you¡¯re going to need a way to ensure only his team has to go through that.¡± ¡°True.¡± Tibs didn¡¯t point out he would do the runs as if he was an Omega, and then only with the essence he picked when he was ready for an audience. When he¡¯d tried to explain what he was doing, the dungeons hadn¡¯t understood, or believed him. Even those who had understood that there was a structure to how the Runners entered, and what happened in the area around them, didn¡¯t understand what the guild was about, or what it meant for Tibs to operate under its rules. But this wasn¡¯t about that. ¡°How do people become Runners?¡± ¡°They survive my floors.¡± There was a tone of ¡®don¡¯t you already know that,¡¯ which comforted Tibs. If they could be dubious about him, the chances they¡¯d freak out were lower. ¡°That¡¯s how they gain strength. To become Runners, they have to apply to the guild.¡± ¡°It seems like you already know.¡± ¡°Are you trying to trick us? Is this a test?¡± the helper asked. ¡°Do those who sent you come and test me?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t been told about that happening,¡± it replied, ¡°but they wouldn¡¯t if I¡¯m not supposed to prepare you for it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡ªmy situation¡¯s complicated. Yes, I know I have to apply, but I don¡¯t know what is the application process for this guild is. I¡¯m hoping you do.¡± ¡°He¡¯s talking about the sorting,¡± the helper said, sounding like it was a revelation. ¡°But you have an element¡­many of them. Why would they need to sort you?¡± Tibs¡¯s chuckle came out mixed with the sigh. ¡°That¡¯s part of the complication.¡± It made sense they wouldn¡¯t pay attention to that. Or might even not know how to understand that part. ¡°How about the gate? Can you tell me about the weaves that¡¯s on it?¡± every gate had magic protecting it. Ranging from something to warn the guards if a visitor entered with an unapproved weapon to something that might let them see what each magical item someone wore was. The urge to rub his left wrist increased. ¡°It¡¯s a complex one,¡± the dungeon said. ¡°It¡¯s set to respond to an item those standing on each side have. I¡¯ve seen them make it impenetrable. I¡¯ve seen them block just one person while others kept moving through.¡± ¡°Can it detect other weaves?¡± Again, he ignored the urge to scratch at the brand. He couldn¡¯t decide if it was his imagination, from Bardik and Alistair reaching for their left wrist when the brands were mentioned, or a reaction included in its weave. All he knew was that if it got to be too much, a purity weave made the itch go away. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s a people weave. I¡¯ve never recreated it, so I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s made to do.¡± Tibs nodded. Something about how dungeons worked with essence meant they didn¡¯t have to do the kind of research Tibs had. He¡¯d learned enough that when he sensed simple weaves, he could sometimes work out what it might do from how the Arcanus were positioned. The lines of the weave itself could tell him more. Dungeon simply knew about essence and how to use it. ¡°If I reach your door now, would you let me in?¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t how it¡¯s done.¡± ¡°But would you be willing to do it? Just me against your floors. It should mean you don¡¯t have to make as many changes.¡± ¡°It would¡­¡± ¡°Baricron,¡± the helper warned. ¡°I know. He needs to follow the rules.¡± Tibs stood. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll see about registering tomorrow, and see how it goes.¡± They didn¡¯t respond, and soon, Tibs figured he¡¯d exited the dungeon¡¯s influence and he wouldn¡¯t hear their response. Chapter 08 Tibs joined the crowd heading for the dungeon area¡¯s gate. This early, the sun barely tinted the sky, it consisted of Runners and those looking to become one. He was surrounded by armors, from simple to complex, worn to new, mostly reflecting the strength and social status of the wearer. Simple to complex mainly accompanied the Runner¡¯s strength, as he sensed it through the density of their essence. A few wore what reflected they aspired to become, and their unease at the weight made that more apparent than their faint, colorless essence. Worn to new invariably followed the social status, as coins were needed to keep armor looking like it had just been purchased. ¡°He¡¯s here, Baricron.¡± As with all dungeon cities he¡¯d visited, no one here had the feel of a criminal forced to be a Runner. Those were only used to feed a new dungeon, to speed it through its early floors, so it became attractive to those with money. He sensed a few with enchanted items ahead of him, and paid attention to the gate¡¯s weave as they went through the process of gaining access. A few words and they were let in. The weave didn¡¯t react. He¡¯d be fine, then. He told himself and fought the urge to rub his left wrist. He repeated it, reminding himself it had been over a decade since the last time an adventurer had sensed through the etching he¡¯d perfected to hide the brand. And he¡¯d been through other such gates and had been fine too. He¡¯d gone as far as engaging such adventurer with a sleeveless shirt in one of the warmer city, and the only attention the ¡®ink¡¯ he made the etching appear as, to cover the black band of the brand, has been a mix of snide comments about the waste of good ink on his brown skin, and curiosity as to why he¡¯d gotten it. As the adventurers at the gate became visible, the urge to scratch the brand shifted to leaving the crowd. They¡¯d question him too much. One of them would be from Kragle Rock and recognize him, or realize he understood him too well, then question how someone without an element could have the language enchantment only the criminals used to feed a dungeon received to avoid the chaos of no one understanding each other. He¡¯d be fine. ¡°Reason to enter?¡± the adventurer asked in a bored tone, and Tibs made out her faint accent, which he wouldn¡¯t if they shared the language enchantment. ¡°I¡¯m hoping to become a Runner.¡± He made his voice tentative, that of someone who wasn¡¯t sure if he deserved the honor. ¡°What does he mean, become a Runner?¡± the dungeon asked. ¡°He already has his elements.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the helper replied. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve seen one like him before yesterday.¡± Tibs moved in the direction the adventurer indicated, the exchange having made him miss what she said. He¡¯d made it in; the first step in his plan to be a Runner again. To test himself against a dungeon, regain his strength, grow beyond what he¡¯d had, and use it to bring the guild down once and for all. And if anything went wrong? All he¡¯d have to do was escape past trained adventurers, Runners, and a gate he had no idea what its enchantment did, but keeping anyone from crossing through it had to be part of it. He¡¯d be fine. No one here knew he had an element, so wouldn¡¯t be prepared if he needed to use essence in his escape. The knowledge did little to slow his breathing, and that might give him away faster than anything else. ¡°Tibs, what are you doing?¡± the dungeon asked, as Tibs followed a handful of people without an element toward a building. He almost answered. ¡°That¡¯s for the easy one,¡± Baricron continued. ¡°Those like you¡ª¡± ¡°No one there¡¯s like him,¡± the helper interjected. ¡°Those with an element,¡± the dungeon said with a tone of ¡®you knew what I meant.¡¯ ¡°Go to the other side. They have the new ones, like him, fight to decide which floor he¡¯ll start from.¡± Tibs smiled. He could imagine it glaring at the helper, if it was a person like him. The room inside the building was large, but only had one of the nine tables occupied, and the only people, the six, not counting him, lined up before it. ¡°Yell when he reaches the table,¡± Baricron said. ¡°I¡¯m going to check in on the Rhurgars. Hopefully, they¡¯ve finally learned not to make a mess of their corner.¡± He filed the name as something to search for the next time he was in a library. It might not correspond to an animal, like Sto, other dungeons named their creatures, but it sounded like they were something it was training, instead of had made, so it might be something it had taken in. Two adventurers entered the room and Tibs actively didn¡¯t pay attention to either. Light essence was always dangerous, and the adventurers were in the range of Epsilon. Tibs couldn¡¯t hope to slip an outright lie past him, and the woman next to the fighter had Darkness as her element, so if Tibs tried to use that to hide the lie, she¡¯d know. He so wanted to rub his left wrist, even if he knew that unless she focused, there was no chance she¡¯d picked up on the etching. He¡¯d tested it by engaging Darkness adventurers of ever-growing strength, and reworked the etching each time one of them noticed anything about his left arm, even if it they didn¡¯t proclaim he had an etching hiding something. He hadn¡¯t found anyone at Gamma to test it against yet, but he¡¯d made it close to that. They headed to a door on the left wall without looking in his direction. ¡°He¡¯s next in line,¡± the helper yelled, and Tibs winced. ¡°Name?¡± the clerk seated behind the table asked the young man before her. Her element was water, and she used it to move the ink from the pot to the paper as he answered her questions. Dressed as he was, he¡¯d be a minor noble. Alone meant he didn¡¯t have his family¡¯s approval, probably. The more minor families needed their money to maintain their status, instead of hiring guards for all their children. Still, if his family approved, there would be an older sibling with him. Once done, she handed him the paper, and the man headed for the exit. ¡°Name?¡± ¡°Ti¡ªTyborg.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what he said his name was,¡± the dungeon said. He wished he¡¯d thought to warn them not to speak while he was here. This could get annoying. ¡°I¡¯m more curious why she¡¯s bothering with it,¡± the helper replied. ¡°Why isn¡¯t she sending him with the others to be tested?¡± ¡°Citizenship?¡± ¡°Sintabary.¡± He never picked the kingdom he was in, because no matter how good he got at the local language, someone better could pick up on the remaining accent. She looked at him, the ink pausing in the air. ¡°I didn¡¯t know there was anyone from there with your skin color.¡± Her tone called in question what he¡¯d said. While he hadn¡¯t expected anyone to be so familiar with a kingdom so far from their own, he was ready for it. ¡°My mother was from Hertian,¡± he answered in a tired tone, the one of someone who had to explain over and over how he could be from there. ¡°She escaped the war when I was in her belly and made it to Pokishish by the time I needed to come out.¡± ¡°Is he lying to her?¡± the helper asked. ¡°Did he lie to her about his name, or to us?¡± they sounded offended. The clerk studied him. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe he didn¡¯t lie at all. Maybe his name is Tibs Tyborg, and he gives one to certain people and the other to others. People can be odd at times.¡± Her frown didn¡¯t lighten. But if she¡¯d had an etching to tell if he¡¯d lied, she¡¯d have used it. His teacher had told him that any element could be used through etchings to recreate the effects of another, and books had supported that. Tibs had never bothered figuring out how to use Water to tell truth from lies, since he had Light. Why would she doubt him? If she knew enough about Sintabary to know nearly everyone there was fair skinned, she had to know they and the Hertian kingdom were always fighting over something. The books had been filled with lists of conflicts between them. And if she knew of Pokishish, she¡¯d know it was at the border. She should also know that anyone born within their border was automatically made a citizen. The ink added his citizenship to the paper. ¡°Have you sought, and been refused, admission to a dungeon before?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°That can¡¯t be true,¡± the dungeon said. ¡°Can it? Can people get their element without going through us?¡± It was true, technically. He did like that word. He¡¯d never been refused admission, because he learned enough in the process of seeking it to know if he could risk it. It had yet to be worth the risk. Too many processes were in place to keep undesirables out. But there was always a chance this was the one dungeon where the guild had grown lax. ¡°Do you have a team of your own?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Have you been tested for class assignment at another dungeon?¡± ¡°No.¡± She looked him over, and the ink wrote: fighter, rogue, archer. On the line. If she knew how much he read, she would have added sorcerer. How did she determine who to test as sorcerers? Those too physically frail to have a chance of surviving as another class? Had she met sorcerers? Tibs couldn¡¯t think of one who had been frail. Not as muscular as the physical classes, yes, but frail? The ink stopped flying, and she handed him the page. ¡°The testing building is on the other side. It¡¯s fifteen electrums to be tested. We only take Cartirian coins. If they¡¯re from another kingdom, get them exchanged and return tomorrow.¡± ¡°How do I get my magic?¡± ¡°What is he doing?¡± the dungeon asked, tone bordering on exasperation. ¡°Each time to make it out of the dungeon, you are tested. When you are judged to have the strength, you are granted an audience. If you survive that, you gain your element, and then you can be trained to do magic.¡± There was the bored tone of someone who¡¯d had to repeat this often. Tibs exited the building. He had more questions. What was the process if he¡¯d already done runs in another dungeon? Did a Runner with an element have to register with a team to do the run, or would they be assigned one? But he couldn¡¯t think of a way to ask that wouldn¡¯t have her question him in return. Each local guild office did things in different ways. Those differences could be slight, or large. There had been a dungeon where the guild required everyone to have their teams made before being allowed to register. Tibs paused when he sensed essence mixing and looked in that direction. Those two adventurers that had walked through the building were standing before the entrance to the dungeon. Each had a hand on the shoulder of the woman in armor at the head of four others. They were forming one etching using both their essences. Light and Darkness. Tibs knew of mixed etchings. He¡¯d read about them. They required skill and familiarity with your partner, or partners. It was possible to have etchings that contained each element; so twenty adventurers working together. He swallowed at the memory of eight sorcerers containing him, keeping him from saving Carina. He hadn¡¯t known how they were doing it, then. Now he did. It didn¡¯t make the pain of her death less. He studied what they did as they placed their hand on the next one¡¯s shoulders. It was complex, he couldn¡¯t work out how it would work, but there was a ¡­ roughness to the etching that made him think they either weren¡¯t used to do this together, or not fully trained in mix etching. He took a risk as they moved on to the third team member; he approached the Metal adventurer in the high range of Epsilon. ¡°Excuse me.¡± The man looked at him, the paper in his hand, and smiled. It and the eyes had care in them Tibs associated with a grandfather with young children. Even if the man barely looked older than Tibs, at that rank, he could be a century older. ¡°How can I help you?¡± He pointed to the adventurers, who were on the fourth team member. ¡°What are they doing?¡± The man looked. ¡°They¡¯re making sure any we let into the dungeon don¡¯t have thoughts of using what we will teach them against this kingdom, king, or any interest they hold.¡± ¡°So, it isn¡¯t to make sure they won¡¯t hurt you?¡± The man laughed. ¡°I am not so simply brought down that even a team of Runners bothers me.¡± ¡°But can¡¯t they eventually take that and use it against the guild of adventurers?¡± The expression had care; that of the grandfather hearing a ridiculous idea from a child. ¡°We aren¡¯t something that can be brought down. We have been here for as long as there have been dungeons. We will continue even if they end. The guild is for always.¡± Someone didn¡¯t know his history. He wanted to ask if they were always there; or if he might have to deal with more skilled adventurers? was only light and darkness used? But that would give away too much. So he thanked him and returned to pondering his conundrum. Should he return tomorrow as an Upsilon Runner and get more information? Rho, maybe? It was maddening such an organization couldn¡¯t maintain a fixed way to operate across all their guilds. They had so much magic, how hard could it be to set the rules in place and make sure they were enforced? Instead, in each city he had to start from the beginning, take a chance on what role to play and hope he could bluff his way past people with magic and training in working out who was trying to pull one over on them. And returning as someone with an element had its risk. If the clerk recognized him, or the gate guard, or anyone else. He¡¯d be in deeper trouble than he wanted to deal with. This felt like the closest he¡¯d been to becoming a Runner. He wasn¡¯t worried about the audience, although he wondered how they¡¯d react to him being strong enough for it after only one run. But there would be time wasted while they made arrangement. Then he¡¯d have to play at being Upsilon, and just how much could he hold himself back when he had such an opportunity before him? If he started as what he was, a Rho Runner, he would start on the third, maybe fourth floor. It would be easier to keep himself to one element, instead of holding himself back from everything he could already do. He changed direction. ¡°That¡¯s not where she told you to go,¡± the dungeon said. ¡°I need to think things over,¡± Tibs whispered. ¡°But you said you wanted to be tested on my floors. This is the only way you get to go in.¡± That was if he could get in. They might not be experts at their mixed etching, but what were the questions asked? Could it sense through his own etching and to the brand that was designed to be noticed by adventurers? His tests had been against the adventurers, and in situations where they didn¡¯t suspect something. Here they were looking for hidden motives and using an etching he knew little about. The combination of light and darkness was not a good one for him. Would any of the stories about his ¡®ink¡¯ fool both of them, if questioned? Could the etching register what they didn¡¯t? The best story for it was that of falling in with the wrong crowd, being marked as part of the tests to be one of them. He could pull on memories of almost those things to make his voice, his body language, fit. But even his best story was a lie. It was possible to trick a light adventurer. He¡¯s used almost truths, and not quite lies to fool that old Light guard more than once, back in Kragle Rock. But the questions had been simple, the story just about not a lie. The more he added, the harder it was for it to be just about true. And there was no simple way to explain his ink. All he had were extremely refined stories. He stepped through the gate without being questioned. ¡°How about you explain yourself?¡± Without being questioned by people, at least. He headed for an empty alley. ¡°I have to be sure I can go in.¡± ¡°She told you where to go, but you left.¡± ¡°Those two adventurers, they can tell if I¡¯m lying.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± ¡°Not to you. Do you know if it¡¯s always them?¡± ¡°Them who?¡± ¡°The light and darkness adventurer.¡± ¡°It¡¯s always a light and darkness adventurer there,¡± the helper answered. ¡°But is it always them?¡± if it was, with how crude the etching was, and with a few days to study it¡­. ¡°How should I know?¡± ¡°You can sense how strong they are. Are they the same strength as who was there yesterday? The day before?¡± ¡°They aren¡¯t stepping into me,¡± the dungeon said. ¡°Why would I bother paying attention to them? Until the Runners are inside they don¡¯t matter.¡± ¡°You were paying attention to me.¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t like anyone there. You are hard not to pay attention to.¡± ¡°Then I have to think about what I¡¯m going to do.¡± He headed out of the alley. ¡°But why? I want to find out how tough you are. With all those elements, you have to know so much I can use when you fail.¡± Tibs smiled at the dungeon¡¯s overconfidence. He might risk it just to prove it wrong, but he had to consider the situation. He only had seven days to be certain how he¡¯d proceed, or be stuck here, with a dungeon he couldn¡¯t get in tempting him. To keep from the dungeon distracting him, he chose a tavern outside of its influence. He nearly left as an unseen bard started singing, but he¡¯d already paid for the ale, and was almost at the corner table. Would it always be these two adventurers? Would their replacement be stronger, weaker? If they weren¡¯t skilled, this could be used as training. It wasn¡¯t like the guild cared all that much about what someone might use against a kingdom, no matter what they claimed. And they also couldn¡¯t know what someone would actually do. All light could do was say if a person was lying now, or if they intended to change their minds. They¡¯d need void for a chance to know what they¡¯d do at a later time, and none of the books he¡¯d read that addressed that had confidence in how good those predictions were. And Darkness only lent an affinity to finding secrets. At Epsilon, she might be skilled enough she¡¯d easily know he had secrets, but who didn¡¯t? Could she know the kind of secrets he harbored? He¡¯d only been able to know that when he was able to suffuse himself. And moving that essence to his node of sight had not been pleasant. Would she do that? He hadn¡¯t sensed it happening. Time, he decided, would be the determining factor. He¡¯d study the etching they used and¡ª ¡°Let me tell you of the Light-Fingers.¡± Tibs was up. ¡°The hero of Kragle.¡± He headed in the bard¡¯s direction. ¡°The savior of Rocks.¡± He was going¡ª ¡°Of a hero turned Dastard.¡± He made her out, seated at the table, smiling. ¡°Of the child turned Villain.¡± He slammed the silver coin on the table hard enough she startled into silence as the ale in her tankard sloshed over the rim. ¡°Sing about someone else,¡± he snarled. ¡°No one gives a fuck about someone like that.¡± Chapter 09 Tibs was less apprehensive, as he approached the gate with the other Runners and would-be Runners, but no less alert. The weave at the gate hadn¡¯t reacted to him the day before, so shouldn¡¯t this morning. But he couldn¡¯t know if something had changed throughout the day, so he was ready. He headed for the training hall, instead of the testing building, ready to offer the admission paper, claiming he was lost, to anyone questioning why he was there. The building was the largest, abutting the wall on the sunrise side. And before it, fields were set, with Runners already training. Inside, the entryway ended at a junction with a large hallway on the left and right. Too many doors for him to bother counting, opening to rooms for trainers to instruct Runners in how to use their elements. He sensed many trainers with Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. Fewer for Darkness, Purity, Light, and Corruption, and less than all of them combined to handle the other twelve elements. Possibly not even all of them. Some, like Potentia, Force, and Binding, didn¡¯t seem to be trained at the any of the dungeons. He peered through an open door. The woman leaning against the wall looked at him, bored. ¡°Come back if you live to get your element.¡± She had Water, and like a lot of the trainers here and throughout the dungeons Tibs had tried to gain access to was in the high Delta to low Gamma range. ¡°What do I have to do to survive a run?¡± She snorted. ¡°If you have to ask, you¡¯re already dead.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t learning as much as I can about it how I¡¯ll survive?¡± She looked at him again, with only slightly more attentiveness. ¡°You don¡¯t look like you¡¯re a sorcerer.¡± He looked himself over. ¡°What do sorcerers look like?¡± He wore the same as he had the day before. A good set of travel clothes. Thick fabrics with patches to reinforce places that saw more wear. It wouldn¡¯t be great as protection in a dungeon, but compared to what the guild had handed him and the Omegas they¡¯d thrown into Sto to be eaten, it was much better. ¡°Books,¡± she said with disdain. ¡°Pockets and packs full of them. Always thinking the answer¡¯s those, instead of out here.¡± ¡°Why are there guards by the door? Don¡¯t the guards patrolling the courtyard make sure no one causes trouble?¡± Her expression turned suspicious. As he¡¯d slowly aged, and went from being a child to a young man, people¡¯s willingness to answer his every question had shifted to questioning his motives. They couldn¡¯t seem to believe that he¡¯d kept that unending curiosity. That he wanted to learn just for the sake of knowing. That he had motivations behind every question, same as he had when he was a child, didn¡¯t keep him from wondering what happened to them, that they no longer thought curiosity was¡­normal. But, since she¡¯d already decided he was a would-be sorcerer, he had the freedom to ask, even if it annoyed her. ¡°Because they¡¯ve been assigned there.¡± But freedom to ask didn¡¯t ensure he¡¯d get usable answers. He moved on through the hall. No one was as brusque as she¡¯d been when he asked them questions, but no one bothered replying with something useful. The sense he didn¡¯t belong in that building, because of his lack of an element, was palpable. The hall ended at a door leading outside, and he walked the grounds. No one questioned what he did there. Some of the booths now had merchants, and Runners perused the wares. When a team exited the dungeon, injures, tired, but in good spirits, he angled his walk toward the loot table a few steps away from the path leading to the dungeon¡¯s door. They were Omegas, although the young woman being supported by the fighter had slightly denser essence. She might test ready when an adventurer checked her for an audience. He timed his arrival for when they walked away from the table after handing over items and coins. ¡°How was it?¡± he asked with a quiver in his voice. ¡°Hard,¡± the fighter in the lead said, his accent marking him as a local. His armor was the kind Leathersmiths sold, instead of what the guild offered to those who didn¡¯t have their own. It had multiple repairs, but all looked well done. He could afford to have it repaired. The sword at his belt, as well as the shield at his back, were plain, but the metal of the blade and of the binding around the wood was of good quality. ¡°But we¡¯re making progress,¡± the girl behind him said with an accent he couldn¡¯t place. She was the one ready for her audience. ¡°We almost made it through the sixth room this time.¡± While she wore armor, something lighter than the fighter, her lack of weapons meant she was the sorcerer. Clerics trained at the purity dungeon until they were Rho. ¡°How many rooms are there?¡± ¡°Depends on the route,¡± a younger version of the sorcerer said with a similar accent. Her freckles gave her an innocent look that the mischievousness in her pale green eyes contradicted. Definitely the rogue. ¡°We¡¯re taking the longest, so we need to go through twelve rooms.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Isn¡¯t it easier to reach the boss room if you take the shortest one?¡± ¡°Easy isn¡¯t the path to gain,¡± the other boy said in a monotone that reminded Tibs of the people living around the purity dungeon, but his accent was local. The maces at his belt marked him as another fighter. ¡°It isn¡¯t the way we picked,¡± the third fighter said. The girl was the same age and height as the fighter who¡¯d spoken. They looked enough alike they too could be siblings. A Runner of each class wasn¡¯t the standard Tibs had learned it to be from how the guild ran things in Kragle Rock. Just like each guild had its own way of handling how access to the dungeon went, they decided how Runner teams needed to be formed. With one exception, few guilds cared who was on a team. So long as the team had five people on it. Always that abyss cursed number. It¡¯s how things are done. Always that same answer. He understood the guild couldn¡¯t allow so many people on a team they would overwhelm the dungeon; there was a balance to maintain. But why couldn¡¯t they let smaller teams in? Wasn¡¯t it their decision how much risk they were willing to take? No. Always five. He pushed the anger aside. It would get in the way of gaining information. He looked around, then leaned in. When he spoke his voice was a whisper. ¡°What did they do to you? The guards by the door? They always put their hands on the people going in.¡± The pair was different, but also Epsilon. Their etching wasn¡¯t as crude as the two of the day before. ¡°They just asked what our goals are,¡± the leader replied with a shrug. ¡°If we liked the king, if we were going to help her when we were strong enough. Boring stuff.¡± ¡°Did you lie?¡± he asked conspiratorially. They exchanged a disbelieving look. ¡°No.¡± The leader said. ¡°We don¡¯t care about kings. When I¡¯m strong enough, I¡¯m returning home to protect my town from bandits and the animals.¡± ¡°Us too,¡± the sorcerer said, pulling her sister to her with a smile. ¡°Our village is so far from anything, it took a month by caravan to reach a city.¡± ¡°They¡¯d been gathering electrum and silver since before we were born,¡± the rogue said. ¡°And we were the best of those who wanted to come. When we go back home, everyone will be able to rest easier.¡± Tibs wanted to warn them about the guild charging for the essence training, but he had no way to convince them. How could an omega like him know anything of how the guild worked? And wouldn¡¯t the guild have told them if there was a cost to the training? Some did, Tibs had found out, but they were rare. And even they were set up in such a way that if Runners wanted to survive. Oh, training wasn¡¯t required to enter the dungeon, but now that they had their element, they wouldn¡¯t gain much from the first floor, and facing the second without being trained? Not enough managed to be worth mentioning. In the end, they had to take the training. Pay if they had the coins, indenture themselves if they didn¡¯t. He nodded as they parted ways. He couldn¡¯t work up the strength to wish them well. What would they do when they realized they¡¯d be working for the guild for so long they wouldn¡¯t recognize their town and village when they were finally able to return there? Would the guild send someone to protect them? Would they be allowed to send messages to let their families know why they weren¡¯t returning as hoped? He didn¡¯t think this guild cared about what happened to places that needed months to reach. He finally headed to the testing area. He handed the admission paper, along with the fifteen electrums. They were local, Cartirian stamped coins, as he¡¯d been instructed. He¡¯d taken two silvers from his own coins to get exchanged, and had received twenty-six electrums, instead of the thirty he would have if they¡¯d been Cartirian. If he planned on settling, it was best to slowly remove the coins from other kingdoms before he needed to use too many of them when paying for the help he¡¯d need. Even the criminals looked askance when it seemed an agent of another king bought their services. The woman who looked the paper over had crystal as her element, and in the mid-range of Epsilon. Clerical work, within the guild, seemed to be done mostly by Epsilon adventurers. He figured they¡¯d just passed their test and weren¡¯t ready to be sent out, or had no interest in progressing beyond that. The tests were the same bashing at an Epsilon adventurer with various weapons, being handed a lock and tools to crack it with, shooting a bow. Draw complex designs and answer questions only those who read a lot could answer. Some had different test, like here, where he needed to bandage a wound. He always picked a weapon he had little experience with and answered questions badly. He always did his best with the bow and failed horribly. He failed to open the locks or keep the traps from triggering. He was decent with bandages, because he¡¯d had to learn to convincingly apply them to cover the occasional healing help he gave. His lack of skill and any of the test meant he ended up as a fighter more times than as a rogue. The guild didn¡¯t waste the power crystal on someone who couldn¡¯t formulate the mental symbols to activate it and fire the bolt, even if they¡¯d charge him for it. Making someone who couldn¡¯t hit a target an archer was a waste of a meat shield. Tibs spoke with the others taking the tests as he went through his, as well as with the adventurers administrating them. This way, he confirmed that the pair of adventurers at the door were there on the king¡¯s coins. The guild didn¡¯t care about allegiances to kingdoms, but didn¡¯t object to the adventurers earning extra coins. And it used the experience as training. It meant the etchings the pairs did would be imperfect. If he studied them, Tibs should work out ways to ensure he had his own to protect what he didn¡¯t want them to discover, even by accident. An Epsilon Darkness Adventurere shouldn¡¯t be so adept at sensing their own element, they¡¯d be able to sense the one covering Tibs¡¯s forearm. He didn¡¯t like dealing with ¡®shoulds¡¯. So long as the questions were only toward Tibs¡¯s intent toward the king, he wouldn¡¯t have to lie. He didn¡¯t care about kings. The sun was well past its zenith when the testings ended. Tibs was declared a fighter, and he picked the mace and shield as his tools. He and the others then headed to an assignment area, and it was quickly apparent that most of them were fighters. He hung back. Those who hadn¡¯t already formed their teams were grouped, mixing the classes, until only fighters were left. While a fighter team would easily win any fights on the first floor, they¡¯d fall to the first trap. The guild might not care about the Runners, but it wasn¡¯t so wasteful as to send them to certain death if there was no gain in it. With a dungeon who had at least seven floors, Tibs figured that omegas falling to its traps didn¡¯t gain it much. They were instructed to return the next day, where they¡¯d been assigned to teams who had lost their fighters. Most would. The reason the guild made anyone they couldn¡¯t fit easily fit in another class a fighter was that they were the ones who died the most. He made it to the gate. ¡°Really?¡± Baricron said. ¡°You¡¯re leaving again?¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t think you were paying attention,¡± Tibs whispered. ¡°I have other things to deal with, you know. But I did glance your way here and there.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be back tomorrow.¡± chapter 10 The sign swinging in the breeze had an armor, without a wearer, holding a shield with a knife emblazoned on it. It told Tibs that he¡¯d find the armor he was aiming to buy here, as well as other items, should he let the merchant know of their common affiliation. The display room advertised the woman¡¯s success by its largeness. Stands displayed full armor sets in different leather, from those designed for comfort over protection, all the way to thick leather that didn¡¯t offer quite as much protection as metal armor, while impeding motion just as much. Those could be quite problematic when traveling, Tibs knew firsthand. The enchanted armor Sto had made him was more flexible than the heavy leather ones displayed here, but still thick leather. He¡¯d worn it all day and night, during his escape, and had discovered how uncomfortable sleeping in it was, but he¡¯d learned the dangers of being woken up in the night by bandits and not wearing armor. Once he¡¯d become a guard, he¡¯d had the luxuries of sleeping without it since, even on nights when he had patrols, he was afforded plenty of time to sleep. Out growing it had left him with mixed feelings. He¡¯d switched to lighter leather, both because he was more comfortable, and he¡¯d regain enough essence to add to his protection with etchings. But he hadn¡¯t wanted to get rid of Sto¡¯s gift. Coming up with reasons had proved challenging. ¡®He wanted to bring it back to his mother¡¯ had worked for a few years, then he¡¯d grown enough to make that claim dubious. ¡°Welcome to Madam¡¯s Leather and Shields,¡± the merchant greeted with an appraising smile. ¡°Looking to protect yourself while traveling? Enhance your bearing? Maybe you have challenged someone and are looking to survive the encounter? Whatever your need, Madam will meet them.¡± ¡°For the right price,¡± he replied, studying the hard leather armor on the stand. She chuckled. ¡°For the right price, anything can be had.¡± He faced her. She was tall, her blond hair in a braid over her shoulder, but easy to move out of the way if she needed to fight. The flowing silk shirt and pants were loose for quick motion and hid whatever muscles she had. Her blue-green eyes didn¡¯t hide her cunning. ¡°I¡¯m going to be a Runner. They classed me as a fighter, so I need an armor and a shield for defense, and a mace to fight with.¡± She studied him again. ¡°A fighter?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I was equally bad at locks and the mace. They need fighters more than anything else.¡± Her smiled was filled with understanding. ¡°It¡¯s good to keep secrets. They can help you survive places like dungeons. I don¡¯t carry weapons, but I can direct you to a reliable associate if you are satisfied with my offerings. Are you looking to blend in among the other fighters, or ensure you survive?¡± ¡°Blend in, and I doubt I can afford anything metal as armor.¡± ¡°I have competitive payment¡ª¡± He raised a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll pay outright. I have no doubt you¡¯re as honest as a merchant can afford to be, but I¡¯ve had unpleasant experiences with having to pay over time.¡± She sighed. ¡°It¡¯s an unfortunate reality of my trade that I, at times, suffer for other¡¯s behavior. Still, I¡¯ll do my best to show my honesty. Hopefully, by the time you need to upgrade, you¡¯ll be willing to get what will serve you best, regardless of how much you obtained out of the dungeon. Your ensured survival will mean extended business from you.¡± She walked him through the armors on display, as well as pieces that could be added, explaining their benefits and their weaknesses. Which had the mobility, but what had to be sacrificed with the softer joints, or the layered leather. How the metal strips attached to the leather would let him take a blow, but how the added weight would slow him down. Among the descriptions and explanations were hints that she could add modifications. Ways to ensure he got more out of the dungeon, if he had the coins for them. He ignored those. While he¡¯d identified himself as sharing a trade, he intended to do the runs only as a fighter. He settled on one with metal places on the forearm of his sword arm. And the upper arm of both. He couldn¡¯t have her make the forearms looser, to accommodate his bracers without having to explain why he needed to go in the dungeon wearing those ancient things. And, as much as he hated the idea, he needed to do the runs without them. The temptations to use the essence in them would be too strong. He included repairs to the purchase as they haggled. In return, she limited how damaged the armor could be, and how much she¡¯d charge for anything beyond that. With the price agreed on, she took his measurements and he left to retrieve the coins from ¡®his holding institution¡¯. * * * * * No one paid him much attention as he walked within the nobles¡¯ neighborhood. His attire wasn¡¯t that of even a low noble, but he fit among the workers they employed. He didn¡¯t know how expensive housing was in this city. He¡¯d learn, eventually, from listening to people talk; there was no avoiding that. The longest it had taken him was a couple of weeks. He didn¡¯t have to be told that these houses, which could fit four times the current occupants, on lots that could have another house built there, cost more than nearly the entire city¡¯s population could afford. Just like, without trying, he¡¯d eventually find this city¡¯s Street. He understood there would always be those on top, and those at the bottom. He¡¯d read enough to know that even if he tore down an entire kingdom and rebuilt it as fairly as possible, in time, some would have, and others would not. He hated how those who had sneered at those who didn¡¯t. As if they chose to be on the Street. He didn¡¯t know how he and Mama had ended up there, but he was certain it hadn¡¯t been her choice. He walked among those wasteful houses until the sun disappeared over the roofs, crossing it multiple times in different directions to that the guards at the entrances of the three-story house he decided on didn¡¯t realize how often he walked by it. When he had the time, he¡¯d find out who lived here. If they turned out to be one of the rare decent noble, he¡¯d find a way to make up what he¡¯d take from them tonight; from one of the worse of the nobles. Maybe someone who already caused these people trouble. But that was for later, and if they were decent. Right now, he chose it because it provided easy access. The upper windows¡¯ protection was in the form of an old enchantment. The weave was sufficiently frayed, he wasn¡¯t sure it did anything. It had houses close enough at the back he¡¯d be able to jump the distance easily. The people he sensed moving about the house had no metal on them he identified as armor or weapons. They might have guards inside once they went to bed, but Tibs didn¡¯t expect problems from them. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The one complication he foresaw was the safe. It was in a room on the ground floor in the center of the house, the head of household¡¯s office, probably. Entering through a ground window would be the most expedient way, if not for their protection. The nobles here hadn¡¯t let the enchantment on those windows deteriorate. While he¡¯d worked out how to tease a weave¡¯s strands apart until he had a gap to pass through, better enchantment had more strands, which meant he needed more time, and each strand was a chance for something to go wrong. He looked at the high windows. They had to be it, and he needed to make his way down while avoiding guards and night servants. He returned to his room to sleep. He needed to rest for his night¡¯s work. * * * * * Tibs sat on the roof, annoyed. It was his own fault; he reminded himself. He hadn¡¯t taken the time to fully study the house and its occupants. He hadn¡¯t had the time, since he needed the coins by morning, but he only had himself to blame. He sensed the rooms under him. By the people and their positions, they were bedrooms. Maybe that was why they¡¯d let the weaves fade. If the rooms were occupied all night, it made getting in complicated. He looked at the other houses. He could sense plenty with unoccupied upper floors, even one with a weave that was failing, but without getting closer, taking the time to study what he sensed, he couldn¡¯t tell where the coins were, or how much there might be. If he had time, he¡¯d find a better house. Now, he needed to go through this one without raising alarms. He needed to do this without anyone noticing. It was why this house was perfect. There were so many coins in the safe they wouldn¡¯t notice the few he needed for his armor. Once he was settled in. Once he¡¯d found the people to make up his team and created in identity with which to sow chaos among the city¡¯s nobles, then he could afford to leave evidence to be blamed on that extravagant thief. Right now, this needed to be an unseen crime. He teased the enchantment¡¯s remaining strands apart, not counting on how worn it was, and etched hooks to hold them out of the window without altering how they interacted with those around it. He¡¯d built this skill even after the guild took most of his essence. He didn¡¯t even need his bracers to make the hooks. His minuscule reserves were enough for them. The rest? That needed more essence than they had. He stretched the etching of air within the new gap in the weave to keep the sounds of the window opening from reaching the lone sleeper. Then he wrapped it around him as he passed through, so it kept his foot from making sounds as he placed it on the floor. He closed the window, then crossed to the door. The sleeper¡¯s breathing hitched, and he stopped, an etching of darkness at the ready. As careful as he was, people still woke on their own. It settled, and he reached the door. Stretching the etching around the door, he cracked it open. Shadows filled the corridor, and he needed to make a choice. Not being seen, or not being heard. He was already maintaining the etchings for the seven hooks holding the strands out of the way, and the etching of air. While none of them were complex etchings, they each needed he keep some attention on them. Adding a ninth, of a complexity matching his air etching, wouldn¡¯t be a problem, until he had to deal with the unexpected. He¡¯d let go of the hooks, as the least ¡®useful¡¯ ones at any moment, but it meant he¡¯d have to remake them, tease the strands apart again, while in a bedroom with someone who could wake up at any time. He didn¡¯t need that kind of aggravation tonight. He sensed three moving about on the ground floor, no one elsewhere in the house. One had a sword at their hip. It would be the air etching for now. He reached the stairs as a servant started up them. When they passed the floor below him, Tibs moved to a deep shadow, let go of the etching and made one of darkness, which formed as the candle light became visible. A half asleep woman with linens draped over the arm walked by him, entered a different room than the one he¡¯d exited, and headed for the bed to join the person already there. He switched etching again. The other servant was in the kitchen and the guard leaned against the wall next to a door. Guarding it. Guarding the door to the room with the safe in it. He confirmed it by peeking around the bottom of the stair. Of course. Where else would the one guard in the house be than in his way? He let go of the etching to focus on the lock, using metal essence to move the tumblers. He turned it enough for the tumblers to stick in their unlock positions, but not enough to make a sound. He prepared a darkness etching, this one much more complex, and readied himself. Even if all the man wore was leathers, he¡¯d make sound when he hit the ground. He sent it at the man, and as it clung to him, the etching drained his wakefulness. At first, he yawned. He glanced at a chair, but shook himself and straightened. Tibs couldn¡¯t tell when the man wouldn¡¯t have enough left to remain awake, other than by him falling asleep. Wakefulness wasn¡¯t an element he could sense, only a result of darkness absorbing some of the man¡¯s strength, and shaped by the etching. He¡¯d refined it over years of research and practice, starting from the principle that darkness weakened people, and reading from scholars who wrote about tiredness, and its relation to the elements, and theorized about what might be happening. He¡¯d even found a diagram that looked like what sorcerer made for their spells. It had been a starting point, although a blunt one. He hadn¡¯t wanted something that just rendered the target unconscious. They¡¯d wonder what had happened once they woke, and, considering the situations Tibs planned on using it, would investigate. With the right people, and enough dedication, they could work out they had been the victim of essence work. He¡¯d adjusted it, changed this Arcanus for that one, moved them about until the drain became gradual enough to be no different from staying awake too long. Which night guards had a habit of doing. The draw back was that the gradual aspect gave the target time to do something about it. There were drinks caused wakefulness, he could ¡®walk it off,¡¯ or he might call for a replacement. The last one couldn¡¯t happen here, and the second one could play in Tibs¡¯s favor, but it looked like the guard planned on willing himself to remain awake. Tibs nearly ran to catch the man, but the teetering stopped as the guard caught himself and straightened. When it happened again, Tibs nearly waited too long, and ended sprawled under the limp form, carefully siting him against the wall as if he¡¯d slid down. The servant was in the kitchen, cooking, by the smells, and no one else moved about the house. He unlocked the door and entered the office. He sensed the safe¡¯s lock as he headed for it, wishing he could take the time to pick it. He enjoyed picking them. It had been a while since one had challenge him, and this one might have. Instead, he used essence, then opened the door. He liked nobles who didn¡¯t bother ordering their coins, like this one. So used to them, they were in pouches, instead of in neat stacks. It made it easier to spread what he took and not have it noticed. He took the coins he needed for the armor, and a few extra because who in this house would miss them, and closed the safe¡¯s door, locking it. He sensed motion on the top floor and was at the stairs when he realized it was the sleeper in the room he¡¯d entered from. What were they doing already about? They did their business in the chamber pot, but didn¡¯t return to the bed. Early to wake? Way too early, as far as Tibs was concerned. The night was his time, not that of nobles. As they dressed, others, in the rooms, started moving. Abyss, would the entire household be up well before the sun? What kind of nobles were these? He¡¯d needed more time to study them. He couldn¡¯t hope to exit the way he¡¯d come. He let go of those etchings. Did he have enough time to tease the weaves on the windows or the doors? The back on didn¡¯t have a guard posted outside. If he could open the weave enough to pass undetected, but on top of the time it would take him, he needed to account for the servant in the kitchen and everyone else. How long until they came down and found the sleeping guard? Or that the servant walked out of the kitchen? He tried to get a sense of what the weave on the door did, but it was too complex, had too many elements he didn¡¯t have. It extended to the lock. Did that mean that unlocking it let him exit without the weave activating? Or was that to sense a matching etching on the key? Conversations above. Too loud to worry about waking others. Someone headed for the stairs. He was out of time. Even if he found a shadow deep enough to hide in with an etching, he¡¯d be stuck there until enough people left and he could move about undetected. He had the coins, there was that. He peeked into the kitchen. An obese man was rolling dough on the counter; something sweet was cooking in the oven. He hurried to the other side and eyed the door. He¡¯d have to hope they thought that what the weave did, when Tibs rushed outside, had scared the would be thief away, and not bring that up with the authorities. If they did? He doubted anyone in the house would be able to tell he¡¯d taken anything. So he¡¯d be fine. He etched darkness around him, then took hold of the tumblers in the lock. He turned them as he ran, shouldered the unlocked door open and ran into the night as the house yelled in distress. chapter 11 The armor chafed, and Tibs didn¡¯t hide the discomfort. His appearance had been crafted to show someone with coins, so it made sense he¡¯d buy armor for the runs. This marked him as someone who lacked experience with them, otherwise he would have bought it well in advance to break it in. While milling about with the others, waiting to be put on a team, he sensed what the darkness and light adventurers did as they questioned the runners. The flow was steady, and he quickly had a sense of the etching and the Arcanus within it. It gave him a sense of how the two elements interacted, but he lacked the knowledge to know what that meant in regard to the etching¡¯s effect. He needed time to work out that part. Studying how it formed and how the essence flowed while it worked. He didn¡¯t need to overcome it completely, but he needed to know what had to happen for his darkness etching to remain undetected while it hid the brand. That started with making sure he wasn¡¯t picked for a team, so he kept back. The adventurers placing the fighters on the teams as spots became available didn¡¯t have ¡®a plan¡¯ as to who went where. Everyone would be placed in time. It was all that mattered. Then, he had to figure out how attentive the pair of adventurer was to their etching. The easiest way he had for it to miss his own etching was to disrupt it just enough without them realizing it. So he gently pulled at strands and observed how they reacted. He didn¡¯t pull enough to disrupt the etching, only to distort it and see how far he could go before one of them exerted their will over it to return it in place. This pair was so inexperienced, or inattentive, that he ended up causing the etching to fall apart without meaning to. After that, they were more attentive, so the test was more accurate. It showed just how unskilled the darkness adventurer was. She noticed the out-of-place strand, but in exerting her will on it, she caused the etching to shatter and her partner wasn¡¯t pleased. He gave them a few turns without intervening. If they were the only pair he had to worry about, he¡¯d go in; but he needed to be able to fool better trained adventurers. When he affected the etching again, he did so with the light essence. This adventurer was more attentive, possibly as a result of what had happened before, but also more skilled. When she willed the strand in place, it acted ¡®neatly¡¯. He spent the morning testing how subtle he had to be for his work to go completely unnoticed. Around zenith, the pair was replaced, and he put this new one to the test. They were better, but with the practice Tibs had gotten, he evaluated them quickly. Then he switched to affecting the Arcanus within the etching. He started with Jir, because if he could only work out how to alter one, this was the best for his goal. Jir affect the intensity of the other Arcanus around it, so reduced the overall effectiveness of the etching itself. The more ¡®brackets¡¯ of Jir were in the etching, the harder it was to affect the whole thing, but this was simple, with barely a handful of them. The ¡®sets¡¯ were composed of Gur, Maur, and Qu, and Jir as ¡®brackets¡¯. The exact effect of one Arcanus was dependent on those around it, but for something this simple, Tibs expected the effect remained close to when each was used singly. Gur went toward limiting what it affected. In effect, it ¡®selected¡¯ what the etching affected, both through the intent when the etching was formed, and where in it they positioned it. Maur also influenced what the etching affected, but it served to ¡®remove¡¯ something that would remain included under Gur alone. If the goal of the etching was to affect everyone, except those with blond hair, Gur would be used to select hair, over things like skin, and muscles and bones, while Maur would then remove blond from the hair within that selection. Qu governed how the etching responded when the criteria were met. With proper placement and skill, it could be used to have an etching respond in different ways based on the previous Arcanus. In this case, he expected all it did was respond to the truthfulness of an answer, but until someone was caught lying, he couldn¡¯t know was the response was. But it didn¡¯t tell him ¡®what¡¯ the etching searched for. In something like this, the parameters couldn¡¯t be overly complex. But that ignored intent. What the persons wanted, as they made the etching, could have far reaching effect on it. And he couldn¡¯t just know how skilled they were at ¡®intent¡¯ simply from studying the etching. While most guild didn¡¯t care about a Runner ¡®cheating¡¯; some did. It would be a simple thing, if the adventurer is skilled at intent, to will that into what the etching searched for. Which was why changing the effect Jir had on the set was his best bet of getting by them undetected. The rest of the day went by with him carefully altering Jir¡¯s position, and causing the etching to fall apart more often than not. The Arcanus also acted as a way to ¡®bind¡¯ the etching together. A Purity etching dealt with the headaches the constant focus caused. When the waiting fighters were sent away, Tibs hadn¡¯t noticed the sun had set, and that lanterns provided the illumination. And only mildly realized that the dungeon hadn¡¯t talked to him once throughout the day. He hadn¡¯t made the progress he¡¯d hoped. The balance of altering Jir enough it affected the set, but wasn¡¯t noticed by the adventurers and didn¡¯t cause the etching to break was harder than he¡¯d expected. His body reminded him he¡¯d overtaxed himself as he stood to follow the others out. He ate lightly, then fell on his bed, instantly sleeping. The next day brought more of the same, although the first pair was better than those of the previous day. It served him well, as he needed to be able to defeat the best who¡¯d end up ¡®testing¡¯ him. But it basically meant he was starting from scratch. His multiple mistakes caused them to break into an argument over which of them was incompetent, and if they¡¯d bothered paying attention to their teacher. He¡¯d had to let them work undisturbed after that until they stopped messing up because their attention was on the other¡¯s part of the work instead of their own. This slowed his expected progress, but didn¡¯t stop it. The day after that, and the one after, were much of the same. Slow progress as he learned not only how to alter Jir to get the effect he was after, but learned how each pair worked. Nine pairs in total assigned in an order that wasn¡¯t obvious, but probably wasn¡¯t random. By the end of the day, he had Jir in a position where the etching barely registered what it searched for, without either adventurer noticing, and the etching remaining intact. Even the best trained of the adventurers didn¡¯t notice his work. Although there had been enough broken etching to reach that point, Tibs had worried they¡¯d call an early end to the day. He had to maintain his will on it the entire time, otherwise Jir returned to the position it was assigned to, but he could make the changes in a couple of heartbeats. He¡¯d do it as he stepped up to them, answer the questions, and let go. That evening, as he left the grounds, he decided he was ready. He had to be. There were few fighters left to assign. A few times he¡¯d had to move to ensure others blocked him for the adventurer¡¯s sight as they selected fighters for teams. ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s the day,¡± he whispered, not knowing if the dungeon was listening. He¡¯d decided that something it had said the first time they talked now applied to him. That until a Runner was inside it, they weren¡¯t worth paying attention to. He ate well that evening, listening to the bard signing about Far Reacher, an adventurer of old who, according to her song, had found many of the dungeons that made up the guild and had been central to its creation. He¡¯d never read anything about an adventurer by that name in his research on the guild, and this bard¡¯s song added nothing. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. He left, his meal not finished, as she started on the Ballad of Light-Fingers. He considered paying her to shut up, but his appetite was already ruined. Any caravan he traveled with that happened to have a bard among those there was invariably the worse time he had. They felt it was their duty to entertain the guards after a hard day¡¯s work, and his story kept being sung, and he couldn¡¯t tell them to stop when so many of the others enjoyed the performance. Not without having to explain where his hatred came from. The songs now had him as the one who attacked the dungeon, or led those who attacked it, or an unwitting pawn, too daft to know what he was doing. Others claimed he¡¯d single handedly kept the town safe, cleaned the corruption from it, and healed the residents of the sickness. He was also either the leader of dissident determined to undo the guild¡¯s great work, or the spy sent to infiltrate them for the same purpose. One had him as an agent of Sebastian, although the song didn¡¯t use the man¡¯s name. He was just the Villain, intent on destroying Kragle Rock. It rankled enough that anyone would think he¡¯d do anything to harm his town that the first time he heard that one; he barely kept from striking the bard. But the destruction of the man¡¯s instruments had been his doing. Not that anyone could explain the fire that consumed half the man¡¯s wagon. Tibs hadn¡¯t intended on taking so much from him, but the satisfaction of watching something of his tormentor, of this liar, burn had been too great. * * * * * Tibs reached the grounds well rested and in good humor. He talked with the other fighters about what the day would bring, which of them would be selected to be on a team. He was excited for the coming run. His good humor didn¡¯t sour when he sensed the group of adventurers in the distance approaching from the direction of the transportation platform. Not even as the numbers registered, more than he¡¯d sensed here before, or that at least one, no two of them were well into Gamma. It did falter when he realized all of them either had Light or Darkness as their elements. It soured fully as he watched two instructors lead the group to the dungeon¡¯s door. He watched them, one Light, one Darkness, take position and motion for a team to be sent to them. The precision of their etching stunned him into simply sensing. Once they were done with the team leader, they had a pair take their place, and under a supervision so intense Tibs was certain he could feel their will on the pair¡¯s etching, the two questioned the fighter. Another pair did the next one, and another after that. How hadn¡¯t he considered there would be consequences for so many adventurers¡¯ failed etchings? Of course, some of them would bring it up with their teachers, and they would talk to the others. Realize so many had had problems, it made more sense to bring the teaching to where it had happened, instead of keeping it to the training rooms. All Tibs had to do was keep from being put on a team until after the instructors had left. They couldn¡¯t remain any longer than it took to test each pair. As strong as they were, they had to have other duties. And there were enough fighters left he could keep from¡ª The darkness instructor¡¯s head snapped up. She searched the grounds, her head scanning from one side to the other. She ignored the other instructor¡¯s questions, and she, too, looked about, but without the intensity. The woman¡¯s gaze passed over Tibs twice, but felt like it returned in his direction faster each time. Then she looked at him, and he pulled his hand off his left wrist. It meant nothing. She couldn¡¯t¡ª Her hand moved up, and Tibs bolted. He didn¡¯t care he hadn¡¯t sensed an etching forming. For all he knew, surprise was why she wasn¡¯t calling out for guards to capture him. She¡¯d soon do so, and he needed to be out of here. He shoved Runners out of his way, and now people called for him to stop. He used the lack of training Runners had to put them between him and whoever he sensed running after him. Too many elements, too close together, for him to work out numbers, but at least they seemed to be the weaker of the adventurers. The guards ahead of him looked perplexed at the commotion, but they had the training to act in spite of that. Maybe this was the first time an Omega Runner attempted to flee. Or maybe it was the determination on his face, instead of fear, that puzzled them. He jumped over the first guard stepping in to block his way. The stiff armor impeded him and the guard caught his foot. He kicked the man in the face, then picked himself off the ground. Half closing his eyes, he channeled earth, and made himself stronger, shouldering another guard out of his way. With his vision clouded, and so many people around him, he only realized someone grabbed his arm when he felt the weight on them, and barely kept himself from throwing them away as the faint red tint to their life essence registered. He shook his arm hard and the Fire Runner fell away. Three guards stood between him and the gate, and he moved earth to his legs. He should have channeled air. It was better for jumps. He was never taking his bracers off again. The leap still cleared them. The gate was in sight, and the weave unchanged, but the doors were closing. He had no choice. He let go of Earth, channeled Air, and etched himself a launching pad. The arm that grabbed him as his foot landed on it kept him from flying forward like an arrow, instead causing him to ¡®leap¡¯ over their head as they used Earth to anchor themselves to the ground. He again cursed his lack of other essences and made an etching of air at his shoulder, that detonated when he slammed it into the guard. Anchored as she was, she didn¡¯t fly off, but Tibs was wrenched out of her grip. With a scream, he ran at her; the etching forming at her feet. He stepped on it, and his knee slammed into her face as he was thrown over her. He stumbled the landing from the pain, but forced himself to ignore it. This time, when he stepped on the etching, he was launched forward, between the closing doors, and into the people on the other side. He was up and running through them, trying to sense for pursuers, but no one with an element had yet to leave the grounds, and if guards were after him, he wouldn¡¯t be able to tell them apart from the rest of the city folks. Then he was in the alleys and quickly ascertained he¡¯d lost his pursuers. The pain that he finally allowed to register almost kept him from channeling Purity. Then the etching took it away and he could walk. He shed the armor and took pants and shirt to put over the underclothes he wore. He sensed for anyone with an element. There were a few, but none hurried. Runners coming and going. Maybe adventurers who didn¡¯t know they should be hunting him. Did the guild have the authority to hunt him outside the grounds? Not all kingdoms granted it the freedom it wanted. Still, he couldn¡¯t take for granted he was safe from them. Even without the authority, they could move about, keep an eye out for him. Did they know where his room was? It hadn¡¯t been asked, but he¡¯d talked with other fighters, and where in the city they resided had come up. He had to reach the room before they did, get his bracers, the rest of his stuff if he had the time, and then lose himself in the city until the caravan left. He cursed his bad planning. He¡¯d almost gotten in. Almost been able to do runs again. This was a lesson, he told himself. He¡¯d learned from it, and the next time, he wouldn¡¯t make this mistake. He¡¯d be more careful in how he manipulated the etchings. Would learn what he needed without causing them to fall apart. And he needed the runs. Needed to have a guild approve audience so he could get the documentation he learned Runners who paid for the privilege gained when they did. It let them go to other dungeons and do runs there. Maybe the guild would have given them to him once he reached Epsilon and could leave Kragle Rock. Of maybe at that point, what he could do was enough to prove he¡¯d gone through the guild. He couldn¡¯t know until he had gone through the process. And he¡¯d almost been able to. * * * * * He sensed no one with an element as he reached the house. No one wearing enough metal to be a guard, either. He wanted to wait for the cover of night, but by then his room could have been emptied. He made it to the roofs well away from the house and reached his window without attracting gazes. He used essence to undo the lock he¡¯d set in place, and kept the spring blade from triggering as he opened it and looked inside for evidence his room had been searched. The papers were in place on the table, the ¡®fallen¡¯ page still on the chest next to it. No essence work had been left behind. He stepped in, took the bracers out from under the loose floorboard, then dressed in his caravan guard clothes. And only then retrieved the coin pouch from where he¡¯d hidden it in the ceiling. He sensed around the house again. He didn¡¯t question how it was they hadn¡¯t made it here yet. Maybe the Runners he¡¯d talked with had decided to protect him. Or the guild hadn¡¯t considered asking them if they knew anything. He made it to the roof and walked away from the house, from this opportunity. He had one thing to do, once night had fallen, then tomorrow, he¡¯d put this behind him * * * * * ¡°Baricron,¡± he said, hoping the use of its name would catch its attention. Dungeons remained somewhat aware of everything within their influence, although they had to focus to interact with a part of it. He¡¯d been able to yell Sto¡¯s name to get his attention. He couldn¡¯t yell in the alley, but he hoped that¡ª ¡°There you are. You weren¡¯t with the others today.¡± ¡°There were complications. I won¡¯t be doing runs in you. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Why not? You seemed interested.¡± ¡°They won¡¯t let me in anymore.¡± ¡°Why? They¡¯ve never prevented anyone from entering.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a people thing.¡± He didn¡¯t have the energy to explain how the guild worked to a dungeon. ¡°I just thought you should know it¡¯s why I won¡¯t be there tomorrow, or anytime after that.¡± ¡°Okay. That¡¯s too bad. I was curious to find out how far you were going to make it before failing.¡± ¡°Take care of yourself and your helper.¡± Tibs walked out of the dungeon¡¯s influence and lost himself in the city for the night.