《The Blood Of Hallowed Stars: A Standalone Epic Fantasy》


 Prologue

    Shadows danced across scowls pressed between prison bars. Lanterns set in alcoves in the dungeon walls cast a haunting light on the best of nights, but tonight the moon was full and the lanterns blown out, allowing pale light to flood through the high, peaked windows, giving the walls, and their captives, a ghastly hue.


    This was once a wing of the Cathedral, Wallard thought absently as he watched the man hanging in the cell before him.


    The prisoner¡¯s arms were splayed from two chains fixed to either wall, a crossbow bolt sticking from the brown flesh of his left bicep. His head lay limp on his chest, but he lived. Rasping breath hissed and rattled between cracked lips. The prisoner coughed¡ªa strangled sound¡ªand dropped a bead of blood and drool on to his own dangling foot. It trailed down between his toes and onto the stone floor, a tiny, dark puddle beneath his feet.


    ¡°You¡¯re a terrorist." The man sitting at Wallard¡¯s left had a low voice that resounded off the stones. He flipped the page of an oversized tome as he spoke. ¡°Found guilty of fire bombing a Temple of Time. How do you plead?¡±


    The man coughed again. Or, perhaps it was a laugh this time. Thick blood trickled from where the bolt punctured his arm. He didn¡¯t look up.


    Wallard took a cigar from his sleeve and ran it under his nose. For a moment he was in a field, thick green leaves bustling, women in light shawls chatting as they picked fresh tobacco, piling it into linen aprons.


    Then the scent was gone, replaced with mildew and the copper tang of rust.


    ¡°What do you plead?¡± The man repeated.


    Wallard looked over at his companion. With his long black robe, hemmed in gold, the open tome, and the thin gold rimmed glasses it would be easy to judge him as an academic, a scholar. Wallard knew better. He watched sweat trickle down the man¡¯s burnished bald head and knew he¡¯d snap the prisoners fingers one by one if that¡¯s what it took to end this interrogation.


    Leaning forward, Wallard reached a hand through the bars, holding his cigar out toward the prisoner¡¯s left hand.


    ¡°Would you mind?¡± Wallard asked.


    The man¡¯s wrist hung limp from the chains that bound him, thin fingers slack. His dark eyes remained distractedly crossed for a moment before focusing on the cigar. Then his fingers twitched and a tiny flame burned between them.


    The flame made the silver rings on Wallards¡¯ fingers sparkle. The black beak of the raven head ring he wore on his index finger looked poised to entrap the flame itself in its half opened mouth, while its metal eyes cast back twin reflections. Wallard let the cigar remain there long enough for it to light before he pulled it back and set it between his lips. He breathed out rich smoke, the laughter of sweet women in linen aprons briefly returning, before he gave the prisoner a nod of gratitude.


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    Wallard¡¯s companion slammed the tome shut, then removed his glasses and laid them folded on the black leather cover.


    He shook his head before pointing a finger at the man¡¯s chest. ¡°Your flesh bears the mark of the Observatory, yet you burned a cleric to death in the temple.¡±


    Wallard traced the tattoo on the man¡¯s naked chest with his gaze. A three tiered tiara; one crown for each of the celestial layers, representative of the first, second, and third Orders of magic. The Orders were a common enough belief, but that symbol specifically belonged to the body who read and interpreted the stars: the Observatory, the Eyeglass of the Heavenly Bodies. Only the most pious and schooled men could be honoured with the highest rank of Timekeeper and granted access to all the Observatory secrets.


    Wallard knocked his cigar against the arm of his companion''s chair. The bald man grimaced as he watched ash land beside the crossbow that laid on the stone floor between their chairs, but Wallard pretended not to notice.


    I would like to know what Alosrin the Abominable did to earn a Timekeeper¡¯s robe, Wallard thought as the bald man returned to his interrogation.


    A cloud of cigar smoke made its way to the prisoner who coughed again then licked his lips, black eyes darting up to Wallard¡ªor at least to his cigar.


    ¡°How do you plead?¡± Alosrin repeated a third time.


    The prisoner still did not reply. Alosrin grew more agitated in the silence, fingers curling around the tome in his lap.


    Wallard sighed and reached through the bars again, this time holding the cigar to the man¡¯s lips. The prisoner licked his lips again, with a greedy urgency this time, before opening them to accept the offered cigar.


    His eyes tilted back in his head as if he were consuming something far stronger than tobacco. He let the smoke roll out his nostrils, a sigh escaping with it.


    ¡°Guilty,¡± the man said, parched voice just above a whisper.


    Wallard reclaimed his seat, crossing one leg over the other, mauve satin pants shifting, the shiny fabric catching the twinkling light from the old cathedral windows. He knocked the cigar against his chair again before allowing it to drop to the floor. He exchanged it for the crossbow and the long silver bolt that laid atop it, pulling the weapon onto his lap.


    Alosrin slowly unfolded his glasses and returned them to his nose. He opened the tome again and wrote a single word. Then, for the first time in the interrogation, he turned to Wallard. ¡°Your tact in these scenarios is truly appreciated.¡±


    Wallard winked, then notched the bolt. ¡°Always a pleasure.¡±


    Alosrin stood and looked the prisoner over. He made a tsk tsk sound with his tongue as he cupped the tome, and the man¡¯s confession of guilt, under his arm. ¡°How could you do this to one of your own?¡±


    Wallard watched Alosrin leave, the long black scarf he wore pinned to one shoulder brushing the stones in his wake, gold hem grasping at every speck of starlight in the dark dungeon.


    ¡°How indeed,¡± Wallard mumbled around his cigar. Then, without rising from his seat, he took aim and fired the bolt into the prisoner''s heart.

 Chapter 1: VUK

    An orange moon hung low over the North Tide mountains, its glow kissing their snow topped spine, snow that had not yet reached the city of Darkwell. Tucked away as it was in the valley at the mountain''s feet, it saw snow later than its jagged peaks. But the cold it felt all year, frozen winds right off the icy ocean hidden on the Northern side of the mountain.


    Vuk resisted the urge to pull his woolen cloak closer. Fur would have been warmer, but it was too bulky, too heavy for sneaking, and too rich to go unnoticed.


    Stealth was more valuable than warmth. He could rub feeling back into his fingers and toes, but he couldn¡¯t rub coins from his pockets.


    From his perch on the edge of a frail roof, heels hooked in the gutter to keep him from slipping, Vuk could see both ends of the alley below him. So when two men came in at the same time, one from each end, he knew he was in for a show. Although dressed all in browns and blacks, Vuk¡¯s shape would have been easily visible from the ground if either man were to look up. But no one ever looked up.


    Vuk bent his knees, allowing his body to shift forward slightly, before pulling his hood up over his waxen hair and tilting his chin down, burrowing his face into the shadows. He held his breath and remained as still as stone as the strangers came across one another almost directly below Vuk¡¯s feet.


    It was obvious the two men had not planned this meeting. One, a robust man in a too tight black coat stopped only steps from the alley entrance. He assessed his new companion, chest heaving, and girth threatening to pop the thick leather belt around his middle. He leaned heavily on the cane he carried. It had a silver handle, real silver. Silly to go out at this time of night carrying a thing like that. Unless you were looking for trouble.


    Trouble was two heads taller and bare armed, even in the chill. His pale skin looked ghostly and his teeth shone white when he smiled at the merchant still heaving at the other end.


    ¡°Lost, sir?¡± The man asked, flexing his too round shoulders. Vuk eyed a pin on the breast of the man¡¯s shirt. A small hand, palm facing the chest, the head of a nail sticking out the back. It gave the impression the copper hand was nailed into the man¡¯s chest.


    Again Vuk had to resist an urge to move, to slink back away from the roof¡¯s edge. Leaving now would only draw attention. Better to watch it play out from above.


    ¡°Please, man,¡± the merchant said. ¡°Take my coin, I don¡¯t want any fuss.¡±


    The merchant stuffed a meaty hand into a pocket of his coat, fingers fumbling, coins clinking.


    ¡°Oh, I plan too.¡± The larger man slipped a blade from behind his back with a practiced ease and closed the gap between him and the merchant.


    Vuk shook his head ever so slightly. You¡¯d think one of the Hand¡¯s goons would have better sense.


    The merchant cowed before the taller man, hunching over his cane and making fearful groaning noises that made the thug¡¯s smile widen. As soon as he was within half a foot of his prey, the merchant¡¯s cane shot up, the silver tip wacking the man in the temple with a sound that reverberated down the alley.


    The man didn''t have time to even form a curse. His face fell slack and the light in his eyes went out. Limbs crumpled limply beneath him, knees hitting the ground seconds before his head. He wasn¡¯t totally unconscious. Muscles began recovering the moment his head bounced off the dirt, arms already pushing himself upwards, but the merchant didn¡¯t give him time to find his feet again.


    The merchant pulled his hand from his pocket and his plump fingers were shoved into a pair of silver knuckle dusters. Metal collided with skull, bone cracked, audible even from the rooftop.


    Vuk cast his eyes skyward. The moon was still visible behind the mountains, their rugged cliffs still silhouettes. There were a couple hours yet before morning.


    Good, this will be over soon.


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    The merchant smashed his armored fist into the other man¡¯s head twice more before giving him a firm kick to make certain he was dead. He was. Vuk could tell that much from the roof. Satisfied, the merchant slipped his knuckle dusters back into his coat pocket and began rummaging instead in the pockets of his foe.


    He came away with a handful of coins and a nice flask that, full or not, would likely bear him something in return. He eyed the copper hand on the man¡¯s shirt but wasn¡¯t stupid enough to take it. The Hand would not be happy when he was told the body of one of his men had turned up dead in an alley a mere street away from the Sanctum. Unless the merchant knew where to sell the pin and how to do it quickly, the risk of being caught with it in his possession was too great.


    He settled for the coins and the flask and continued on his way down the alley, twirling his cane and showing none of the exertion he¡¯d earlier put on.


    The moment he turned the corner Vuk kicked up his heels, allowing himself to slide right off the rooftop. His boots hit the packed earth as quietly as falling a full story could allow, and his cloak fell silently behind him. He pulled the tail of the cloak aside, careful not to let it fall in the blood seeping out of the man¡¯s skull and matting in his dark hair. Then he squatted beside the body and began quickly, but delicately, running his hands over his clothes.


    His fingers found a bulge in the hem of the loose fitted shirt. The man hadn¡¯t released his weapon even in death, so Vuk slipped the blade from his dead fingers and slit the seam. A couple notable coins fell out and he immediately pocketed them, not allowing them to clink together. Next he held the blade up to the waning moonlight. A good blade but no distinctive features. That was good. It meant no one would recognize it.


    Lastly, he checked the man¡¯s neck. He pulled a leather cord out from the collar of his shirt. Tied on the end was a piece of cerulean metal the size of a large coin. The talisman had been cast with a ring around the outside and a small skull at its center. A Death Token.


    Vuk unknotted the cord and slipped the Token free. Then he pulled up the man¡¯s shirt, exposing the pale flesh of his abdomen. With the tip of the blade Vuk sliced a line in the man¡¯s skin, making a small hole between two ribs. Some blood came out but not much. With no heart to pump, it would already be settling at the man¡¯s back. Vuk pushed the Token into the slit. More blood gushed out but once the Token was completely burrowed in the man¡¯s skin, Vuk wiped it away, hopefully hiding any trace of the wound from scavengers that might come along behind him.


    Vuk may be a thief, but even he would not steal a man¡¯s Death Token.


    Cast from the metal of falling stars, Death Tokens were a man¡¯s passage to the afterlife. It was customary that parents pass on their Death Token¡¯s to their children, giving them direct entry to the Other World and sparing them the long wait in the eternal fire in the belly of a star. Many believed if you stole a Token your soul would be cast into the void of space when you died, the Token null and void. Other¡¯s decided the risk was worth it¡ªor knew someone else who did, someone they could sell it to.


    Desperate parents were usually in the market for stolen Tokens. Custom dictated that if parents had more than two children that the Token went to the strongest. Some parents picked favorites. Others couldn¡¯t bear the thought of any of their babes going without and would pay, or kill, to get their hands on someone else''s.


    Vuk¡¯s hand went instinctively to his own neck. Most orphans or bastards wore cords around their necks tied to stones they kept hidden beneath their shirts so people wouldn¡¯t know they had been discarded or unworthy. But not Vuk. Vuk¡¯s neck was bare. He had a mother, and if she didn¡¯t wish to give him her Token that was her business, but he would not spend his days pretending he was loved when he was not.


    Vuk wiped the blade on the man¡¯s shirt and then unwrapped one of the long thin lengths of leather he wore around each wrist. He rewrapped the leather around the blade before tucking it into the waist of his pants at the small of his back.


    Then, he pulled the pin from the man¡¯s shirt and pocketed it.


    Not wanting to be seen leaving the alley, he sprinted toward the far wall and jumped, kicking off the stones and propelling himself toward the opposite side. His hands gripped the gutter and he swung for a moment, cloak swinging behind him, before pulling himself up onto the roof.


    The top of the moon was still visible behind the North Tide mountain range, but already the city was waking. Lanterns lighting, smoke rising from chimneys caked in ash. On the brightest of days the city still wore a blanket of gray.


    Vuk took the pin from his pocket and looked it over before scanning the city again, eyes falling on the Sanctum, the fortress of the Hand. The body would be found soon and thugs just like the dead man in the alley would be sent out to seek retribution. The absence of the pin would be noted and anyone caught in the vicinity would be searched thoroughly.


    But Vuk wouldn¡¯t be caught, because Vuk wouldn¡¯t be anywhere near here when the sun came up. One thing his mother had given him was an education; and education of the streets.


    Sleep with the sun, steal with the shadows...and never get caught.

 Chapter 2: Emysen

    Steel clanged above Emysen¡¯s head as she ducked, throwing up her blade to block Baylee¡¯s attack and rolling out of the way of his next strike. Her knees slipped in the loose sand but she kept her bearings and found her feet. She¡¯d barely regained her stance when Baylee was on her again. She blinked rapidly, trying to get the sweat out of her eyes as she parried his attacks.


    Just past Baylee¡¯s broad shoulders she spotted Morin sitting on the long wooden bench that ran along the wall of the training yard, pulling her dark hair into a clean, tight braid.


    ¡°Damn her to darkness,¡± Emysen cursed through her teeth, cringing as Baylee¡¯s sword struck her shoulder. The blow bounced off, but it was still heavy and Baylee was twice her size. On top of causing her to sweat profusely in the Southern afternoon heat, the thickly padded sparring tunic she wore was supposed to keep her from bruising badly. Maybe it worked for the others, but Emysen¡¯s waxen skin bruised from the slightest of pinches, and from this match alone she¡¯d have more than her fair share of welts to look forward to.


    She was a good swordsman, but not the best, and she didn¡¯t have Baylee¡¯s size on her side either, but she wouldn¡¯t quit. She¡¯d let Baylee beat her into the ground before she¡¯d quit.


    Unfortunately that came sooner than she¡¯d anticipated.


    A tall man in flowing black robes entered the training yard, two Twilight Knights in their black armor following behind him. They must have been boiling wearing nothing but black and gold, but they didn¡¯t show it. The man stopped at the edge of the square where Emysen and Baylee fought to quietly observe their match.


    With his back to them Baylee hadn¡¯t seen him yet, but as Emysen spun to avoid his blade, leaning backward as the flat of his sword slashed just above her nose¡ªa maneuver she mentally applauded herself for¡ªhe saw their new audience and abruptly went for the kill.


    His sword came down on her fast, she blocked but his strength out matched hers and she stumbled. He took the opportunity to kick out at her knee. Emysen gasped and went sprawling to the ground. Pieces of her long blond hair escaped her braid, dangling in her already sweat blind eyes. Cool metal brushed the back of her neck.


    Dark signs! Emysen spit up a mouthful of sand. ¡°Yield,¡± she said.


    She waited to be helped up, but help didn¡¯t come. Help was busy bowing to Master Alosrin who, although he just perceptibly nodded in Baylee¡¯s direction, didn¡¯t seem to pay much attention to their match..


    Emysen sighed and helped herself.


    She left her sparring sword in the sand while she pulled at the fabric belt of her tunic, trying to pry herself out of the horrid garment.


    Baylee¡¯s hands were soon there to help, his fingers much steadier than her own. ¡°Sorry, Em,¡± he said. And he looked it. He still had his boyish features, and though she wouldn¡¯t be the one to tell him, she knew Alosrin, Master of the Twilight Knights, wasn¡¯t going to so much as glance at Baylee before he looked like he might have shaved a day in his life.


    ¡°I just saw Alosrin and, well¡­ I got carried away.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Baylee,¡± Emysen said. Finally free of the tunic she pulled her arms out of it and took a moment to enjoy the light silk of the white tunic she wore beneath. ¡°You want to be a Twilight Knight someday and I want to read large books. I don¡¯t mind taking a few scrapes if you want to look good in front of the Master.¡±


    But she did mind. She minded very much. She just didn¡¯t blame Baylee.


    Emysen retrieved her sparring sword and leaned it against the wall next to a line of others of varying heights and weights. Only one had a sharp edge. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her own blade, Constance, and dragged it behind her unceremoniously as she marched toward the training bench.


    Morin was already walking to take her place in the sparring square. The girl¡¯s dark eyes met Emysen¡¯s and all manner of silent hostilities passed unspoken between them. Morin had made a grand speech the week prior on how the men shouldn¡¯t go easy on the women. If they were all to be Knights they should all fight at the same capacity, and since then all the boys, even kind, courteous Baylee, had fought fast, hard, and dirty. Perhaps Emysen would have found Morin¡¯s speech empowering had she not been the only other woman in training. However, she hadn¡¯t gotten a say in the matter and, unlike Morin, she had no plans on keeping up her Knight mantle after training. She would go on to academia, to be a Timekeeper, Stars willing. But a military stint was mandatory for anyone looking to join the higher orders and she¡¯d rather get through it without speeding week after week nursing sore muscles and black bruises.


    When Emysen had tried to explain that the men going a little easier on them was simply them being gentlemanly, Morin had laughed and told her she fought like a girl anyhow.


    ¡°If you spent less time practicing pretty flourishes and more time actually learning to fight, you might end up on your backside less often,¡± Morin said as she passed Emysen to take her spot in the training square.


    Emysen said nothing, she merely hefted her sword into the air, twisting her wrist to perform one of the very flourishes Morin spoke of. Silver flashed, and for the briefest of moments Emysen could see Morin through the thin strip of translucent blue that ran from the hilt to the tip of the blade. Her swing was perfectly balanced, and perfectly in time with the swoosh of Morin¡¯s braid, the end of which came clean off and landed in the sand behind her.


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    Morin spun, mouth gaping and hand groping behind her head to where her black hair was quickly unraveling. ¡°You crone!¡±


    Morin¡¯s own sword came out of her sheath in a flash. She was fast, but Emysen was prepared. She blocked the sword, hitting it low enough to thrust it out of her hand, then she stepped forward and kneed the girl in the groin before pushing her to the ground.


    Emysen planted her sword deep enough in the sand that it stayed standing, pommel up. She bent low and grabbed a fistful of Morin¡¯s sparring tunic, her own discarded somewhere behind her, and hoisted her up until their faces nearly touched.


    ¡°They go easy on us because they underestimate us. If your opponent underestimates you then you¡¯ve already won.¡±


    Morin bared her teeth at Emysen, nearly spitting her words. ¡°You win by cheating and faking, and by batting your pretty eyelashes.¡±


    Emysen brought her face half an inch closer. ¡°I win by any means necessary. That¡¯s how you fight like a girl.¡±


    She dropped Morin to the ground and had just enough time to catch the slack jawed expression from Baylee before tugging Constance from the sand and marching from the training yard.


    <hr>


    After sparring with the boys she had to then change with the boys. Emysen tossed her sweat drenched tunic into the barrel outside the barracks, but left on her long undergarments before entering. Another habit Morin liked to poke fun at. While Morin shamelessly stripped butt naked along with the boys¡ªwho, when Emysen was present, typically had the grace to do so quickly and discreetly¡ªEmysen always kept her undergarments on and waited to get a hot bath in her own quarters rather than having one of the boys dump a bucket of luke warm water over her head.


    ¡°We¡¯re all equal under the sun and the moon,¡± Morin would always say.


    Well there''s a pair of things I¡¯ve got that say different, and I¡¯d like to keep them between me and the stars.


    Still boiling from her confrontation with Morin, Emysen quickly found her peg and ripped her robes from it. The long white fabric was hemmed in midnight blue. All novice Knights wore it, though those chosen few who went on to become Twilight Knights or Time Keepers would exchange it for black and gold.


    Emysen knotted the tie at her waist and tucked strands of sweaty, white blonde hair back behind her ears as she hustled from the barracks.


    As she strode into the courtyard a bright navy blue robe fluttering in the warm breeze caught her attention and her spirits lifted.


    ¡°Axilya!¡± she called.


    The Sister looked over her shoulder at her name, then her shoulders fell in an obvious sigh.


    Unperturbed, Emysen ran over to the Sister who oversaw the novices and who in many ways had been like a real sister to her.


    And, like a real sister, Axilya was often annoyed by her presence. ¡°What do you want, Emysen?¡±


    Emysen took long steps to catch up but then had to walk backwards to stay alongside the shorter woman. Axilya¡¯s black hair was cut in a perfect line across her forehead, her bangs the only visible hair beneath the blue scarf that covered her head and flowed down over her shoulder. She had kind eyes, even when glaring, and a pair of semi-circle spectacles she squinted through when reading.


    ¡°I wanted to ask you about my mission,¡± Emysen said.


    Axilya huffed as they began climbing the long steps that led up to the top of the palace wall. ¡°Emysen, I told you that when I have your mission I will tell you. I don¡¯t decide. The Time Keepers do.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know, but¡­¡± Emysen skipped around to walk on the other side of her. Halfway up the steps sword fighting and gruff laughter could still be heard from the yard below. ¡°Maybe a nudge?¡±


    ¡°You want me to nudge the Time Keepers?¡±


    ¡°A reminder, then.¡±


    Axilya rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Call it what you will,¡± Emysen said. ¡°I can¡¯t be a real Knight until I complete a mission and I can¡¯t apply to be a Time Keeper until I am a real Knight.¡±


    They reached the top of the wall and even as intent as she was at harassing Axilya, Emysen couldn¡¯t resist admiring the view. The palace, a complex construction of white stone, had been built across the lake from the great Southern Falls. The waterfall towered above the tallest turret and even from high on the wall the roar of the crashing falls could be deafening. The water rivaled Axilya¡¯s robes in hue and vibrancy and at night turned the deepest of blacks. The lake was surrounded by cobble paths and luscious foliage, benches for young lovers, and ties for small boats painted gold.


    Emysen stopped and rested her elbows on the wall, looking down at the falls.


    ¡°I could stay here forever. I want to stay here forever.¡± She turned back to Axilya who had stopped also, a pile of books held to her chest and a tired look in her eyes. ¡°But I need to complete my mission.¡±


    ¡°You just don¡¯t want to be forced to spend your days with the boys,¡± Axilya joked.


    Emysen laughed. ¡°Can you blame me? They are rough in manner and physique, they smell, and they don¡¯t even bother to speak in full sentences.¡±


    ¡°Barbarians, the lot of them.¡± Axilya turned to continue her walk. Emysen followed in silence, watching a hawk flying low, its wings appearing to kiss the water of the falls as the animal swooped by.


    They came to an arched door into one of the towers. Axilya was about to enter but Emysen stopped her with a touch on her arm.


    ¡°Axilya, Sister...do you think I¡¯ll get my mission soon?


    Axilya had a way of smiling and frowning at the same time, her eyes and her mouth at odds with which emotion to display. The sight made Emysen¡¯s heart hurt. She could stand it when someone underestimated her, but pity she hated.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, darling. Just¡­hmmm.¡± Axilya put a hand on her shoulder and nodded. What comfort that was supposed to bring, Emysen didn¡¯t know, but it was likely better than the false words she could have replaced it with.


    Emysen let her go. The Sister opened the door and for a brief moment the familiar sight of the interior of the library made Emysen feel an ounce better, then the door shut and she was left alone, staring up at the white stone walls of the library tower.

 Chapter 3: Krin

    Krin didn¡¯t like books. He didn¡¯t like debate or philosophy or adventure¡ªeven the make-believe kind found in the dusty tomes and scrolls on the very shelves around him. He preferred simple things. Ruin Leaf tea in the evenings. Long hard runs before the sun came up. Dipping the stale ends of bread in warm milk beside the kitchen fire. More than once he¡¯d been mistaken for a pauper, begging the kitchen maids for scraps, not the bodyguard and closest friend of the Heir to Stellagrad.


    Krin looked at the crumpled paper in his hand then slipped another book from the shelf beside him and added it to the pile he already had in his arms. The library was dim, narrow windows let in thin shafts of light where dust danced in lazy circles, but it hardly lit the tower room.


    He looked again at the paper and shook his head. Unlike Krin, Prince Teminon was an avid reader and often had Krin assist him in gathering his list of literature. Krin had been Tem¡¯s protector since they were both boys. Krin¡¯s father had been the King¡¯s Blade before him, and when Tem became King, Krin would inherit the title. Though, since his father was dead, most called him that already, or they used his more common, yet unofficial epithet: The King¡¯s Shadow.


    It was Krin¡¯s duty never to leave Tem¡¯s side, though many previous Blades were liberal with their interpretation of ¡®never¡¯, Krin was not. With no family of his own and with Tem seeing his own parents very little, they¡¯d become like brothers and Krin had vowed to never let Tem out of his sight.


    Krin turned awkwardly, the narrow rows of books not built for his broad shoulders, and shuffled to the end where he¡¯d left Tem at a desk, flipping through the brown pages of a tome on theoretical astrology.


    The desk was empty.


    ¡°Stars.¡±


    Krin dropped the books on the desk, closed his eyes, and took in a long, deep breath. Tem had taken to wandering lately, without notifying Krin.


    He does it on purpose!


    Krin pushed the thought aside and focused inward. Dust from the ancient pages threatened to make him sneeze, but he held it in, eyes watering slightly. A moment later he felt wind on his face, warm midday sunshine on the back of his hands, and the soft spray of water on his skin. He had the sensation of being up very, very high.


    ¡°For you, Master Shadow?¡±


    Krin opened his eyes and the feelings were gone. He turned to find Book Keeper Quenreyell standing behind him in the stacks. She was tall for a woman, eye to eye with Krin, and her skin was almost a true black, a stark contrast to her cream robes and headscarf. She nodded toward the stand of books on the desk.


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    ¡°Oh,¡± Krin said, still trying to pull himself from his daze. ¡°No, they¡¯re for Tem.¡±


    ¡°I should have known.¡± She smiled and stepped forward, picking up the first book on the pile. ¡°Great Women of the Old Empire. Our Prince sure does enjoy his histories.¡±


    Krin nodded his agreement.


    Guenreyell ran her finger down the spins of the others. There were no words there, to titles, no names of scholars, but when she finished she nodded as if she knew the contents of every book by the quality of its leather.


    She turned back to the stacks and selected one more book and added it to the already unwieldy collection.


    ¡°That one¡¯s not on my list,¡± Krin said, showing her the crumpled paper covered in Tem¡¯s neat hand.


    Quenreyell didn¡¯t so much as blink at it. ¡°He¡¯ll want it. Only one other person has taken out all these particular books in all the time I¡¯ve been Book Keeper, and that book was her latest read.¡±


    ¡°Her?¡± Krin asked.


    Quenreyell eyed him as if offended.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean anything by it. I just don¡¯t see the serving girls having much time to read, and the ladies are usually more interested in Tem than in what he¡¯s reading.¡±


    She smiled and clasped her hands behind her back. ¡°Her name is Emysen, a Knight and an avid scholar. Her and Tem have been reading the same books without knowing it for months now. She¡¯s one of the only other regulars I see here. Other than the TimeKeepers.¡±


    There was a note of hostility in her voice, or fear perhaps. Many were hesitant of the Timekeepers, but Krin just chalked that up to superstition and paranoia of power. The Timekeepers were little more than glorified bookworms in Krin¡¯s opinion.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Krin said as he hoisted the teetering stack into his arms. Quenreyell helped him steady it and he didn¡¯t miss the squeeze she gave to his bicep in passing.


    He headed for the door, pushing it open with his foot and squinting against the glaring sunlight.


    ¡°Her name is Emysen,¡± Quenreyell called out.


    Krin looked back over his shoulder. ¡°Yes, I believe you mentioned that.¡±


    The Book Keeper shrugged and turned back to the stacks as Krin let the door swing shut behind him.


    Outside a breeze blew a light spray of water from the falls toward the wall and all the sensations from earlier in the library returned. But there was still no Tem.


    As Krin looked along the serpentine white stone wall he just glimpsed the corner of a burgundy cape flitting down the steps. Even from this distance Krin could almost feel the bounce in Tem¡¯s step and see the grin that split his face. He chased thoughts like a pup chasing a butterfly. Krin shook his head and chased after his charge.

 Chapter 4: Vuk

    Darkwell, despite its grim name, did have nice areas. They weren¡¯t the luxurious white stone palaces of the South, but there were sturdy streets you weren¡¯t likely to get mugged on. Bernwood was one such area.


    Vuk leaned back against the grey brick wall of a cobbler¡¯s shop, a brown cigarillo burning slowly between his fingers. For a man who didn¡¯t smoke he went through a frightening amount of tobacco. He only bought the cheapest, low quality kind traded in by Southern smugglers. He rarely had to taste it, and anything more flashy might give the impression he had money, which would get you robbed in any part of Darkwell.


    Standing, inspecting a crowd with no apparent purpose would be noticed, but put a cigarillo in a man¡¯s hand and he became invisible. Whenever Vuk had to operate during daylight hours, he stood and he smoked, and he could often stand for hours in the exact same spot without drawing attention.


    He¡¯d already been casing the busy square for an hour. Four hours the day before and another four the day before that. Waiting for a man who fit a very specific description who may or may not walk through this very square sometime between the hours of eleven and three. He would be tall but terribly hunched, wearing a long white fur cloak and matching fur hat. The inside of the cloak was lined, but not for warmth. A hidden interior pocket contained a small velvet bag tied with yellow-gold cord. He flaunted his wealth and was used to would-be muggers.


    But mugging was far too grisly for Vuk. He was a scavenger, content with letting others do the dirty work while he cleaned up after.


    Vuk looked across the square to where a couple of boys played a game on the ground with sticks. They stayed close, huddled together under the same cloak which was far too large for either of them. They kept their heads down, laughing and shoving each other and seemingly totally engrossed in their own little world. But Vuk knew better. He¡¯d been them once. A child on the street, feigning weakness while hunting for it in others.


    Working with others just got you in trouble. There wasn¡¯t a soul in the world you could trust entirely. Even the closest of friends or loyalest of lovers could be blackmailed or strong armed to turn against you. Vuk never worked with people, but he did use them.


    A few days ago Vuk had offered a courtesan a smoke and they¡¯d shared a conversation in an alley. A large crate used as a vegetable store sat at the end of the alley making an all too easy hideout for eavesdroppers. And what more fun was there in the world for two young boys late at night than to eavesdrop on courtesans?


    To their assured disappointment there had been no removal of clothing, not that she¡¯d been wearing much as it were, but knowing there was even the possibility of sultry activity would keep them listening for a while, Vuk had boasted to the girl of a particular busy square where he frequently robbed blind dim witted aristocrats. She was uninterested, as she surely made a killing in her own profession off dimwitted aristocrats and likely believed thieving to be beneath her. By the time the cigarillo was gone so were the eavesdroppers.


    Vuk was not surprised at all to see they¡¯d taken his bait and showed up exactly as planned. They didn¡¯t know him, not his name or his face. If caught and questioned all they had was an overheard conversation between a drunk and a prostitute.


    It was the boys perking up that caught Vuk¡¯s attention before he realized what they were looking at. At one end of the square, walking at a brisk pace, came a tall man, badly hunched, wearing a white fur coat and matching hat.


    And the stars align¡­


    Vuk took a long draw from the cigarillo, holding the smoke a while in his mouth, before dropping it to the ground. Then he watched and waited for the boys to move.


    Just as they¡¯d been unable to resist Vuk¡¯s staged conversation, they were equally powerless to stop themselves from attempting to rob the obviously very wealthy man who¡¯d just walked into their trap. Or what they thought was their trap.


    One of the boys slithered out of the cloak just as the man passed. Likely no one had paid them much attention and if a passerby took a second look they would not even remember if there had been one boy or two there a moment before.


    Clever boys...


    The kid ran down an alley where Vuk knew there to be a shortcut along the back of a row of short houses and reentered the square from the other side only a few moments later, walking quickly in the direction of the man.


    It appeared the boy walked with his hands in his pockets but Vuk would put money on one of those sleeves being hollow, the boy''s arm slipped out of it and hanging close to his side, hand ready to shoot out the bottom of his shirt.


    Vuk took two perfectly timed steps toward the spot where the boy and man were destined to meet. Just as their shoulders brushed, Vuk lunged forward and grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the hunched man¡¯s side.


    ¡°Hey! Off!¡± The boy hollered. He almost slipped from Vuk¡¯s grasp as he was in fact half out of his shirt.


    ¡°Little thief,¡± Vuk said. ¡°Mother¡¯s going to smack you good if she catches you stealing again.¡±


    The boy looked about to speak but Vuk hoisted him up a bit higher, putting more pressure on the one arm that was still trapped in the shirt. The boy stared daggers at Vuk but wisely said nothing.


    The hunched man was brushing off his too white coat and looking equally displeased with Vuk¡¯s intervention.


    ¡°So sorry, sir,¡± Vuk said. He brushed the coat violently with his free hand like it was a rug to be dusted and he dropped the boy who immediately ran off.


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    Still brushing at the coat, Vuk looked after him and shook his head.


    The hunched man huffed and tried to pull away but Vuk put a hand on his chest. In one movement he unclasped the gold chain that hung from the breast pocket of the vest the man wore beneath, the gesture gone unseen as it was directly beneath the man¡¯s chin.


    Vuk held up the end of the chain for the man to see. ¡°Nimble fingers,¡± Vuk said as if he¡¯d found the chain unfastened. ¡°You¡¯ve got to watch children.¡±


    The man watched him through narrowed eyes and Vuk refastened the clasp. The man looked like he might say something when Vuk gave him a wide open mouthed smile, making sure to breathe out, giving the man a face full of his smoky breath.


    The man pulled back, repulsed, and snatched his coat from Vuk¡¯s hand. Vuk made a curt nod then walked casually off in the same direction the boy had gone.


    The man seemed just as eager to be away and didn¡¯t give Vuk a second glance.


    <hr>


    Vuk¡¯s current residence was an attic crawl space above the small home of two sisters. He¡¯d used to take shelter in the Death Tunnels, or sometimes in the boarding homes, narrow buildings shared by a couple dozen others. No bath and no food, just a closet sized room with no door and two sleeping mats. No space, no privacy.


    He¡¯d rented the attic almost a year ago and though he knew he should move more frequently, he couldn¡¯t give up the luxury of his own space, even if he couldn¡¯t totally stand up straight in one end of it.


    This area of Darkwell was built on a hill, all the streets sloped and wound around dangerous angles for carts and horses. Those wealthy enough to own a pack animal in this neighbourhood had ponies, the short, stout little animals whose mains were pure fuzz. They came off the mountains but most did just fine in the city. Many roads were too narrow for larger horses.


    Because of the slant of the road it was easy for Vuk to clamber up to one of the shorter roofs and walk along the tops of the close homes, many of which didn¡¯t have an inch of space between them and their neighbour.


    From that vantage he could see most of Darkwell. Clouds that looked heavy with snow hung low over the tops of the ramshackle city. Unlike other regions in Twinfall, the North had been almost entirely destroyed after the fall of the Empire. There was little to nothing left of the castles or temples that had been common a few hundred years ago. Nothing in the North was old, and yet nothing was quite new either. It was a city in constant chaos, neither moving forward or belonging to the past.


    A window in the peak of the row of houses stood open and Vuk slipped inside. The sister¡¯s didn¡¯t mind him using the door but he preferred his comings and goings to be unobserved.


    Neither sister ever came into his attic room, though sometimes they would knock and, receiving no answer, push open the trapdoor and scoot in a plate of fresh bread or muffins. Today, however, no treats awaited him. The small worn floor was empty. Vuk lit the small lantern he kept on the window ledge and then shuttered the window behind him.


    He removed his cloak and hung it from a nail sticking from one of the beams. It was growing colder but the heat from the sisters¡¯ stove below kept it cozy enough for now that he could go without.


    For the first time since the square, Vuk removed from his pocket the item he¡¯d pinched from the hunched man and held it in his palm. A small velvet bag with yellow-gold cord. He opened it and poured the contents into his other hand. Coins. Many, but less than he¡¯d been promised in exchange for stealing them. He flipped each over until he found one that was slightly different. It had a strange blue tinge to the metal, almost like a Death Token but not as bright, and there was no image cast into its surface.


    Vuk scooped all the coins, including the strange one, back into the bag and pulled the cord closed. He had no idea what the odd currency was or if it was even currency at all, but guessed it was what his contact had really wanted. Her instructions had been clear. She¡¯d described the man perfectly, knew exactly when he¡¯d come through the market and where on his person he¡¯d carry the bag. She knew what the bag was made of, what it looked like, and how much it would weigh. This was not the first time Vuk had stolen something for her. She was always uncannily precise, and never wrong.


    Vuk didn¡¯t know how she did it or why she didn¡¯t steal the things herself as she seemed to have so much knowledge about her marks, but he didn¡¯t complain. He needed the money.


    A knock sounded below his boots. Vuk stood on tip toes and felt along the beam just above his head until his fingers felt a divet in the wood. He placed the bag inside the crevasse before taking the piece of glass he kept tied to a string that hung on another nail beneath his cloak. He dropped the glass through a thin crack in the boards just beside a knot hole in the wood. He knew from experience that due to the angle of an exposed beam, the glass was mostly hidden from anyone below, particularly if they were standing on a chair directly below the trap door, as Asamay was.


    Asamay was the younger of the two sisters, but as her elder sister was blind, she¡¯d become the more prominent caretaker of the home. She was a too-thin, yet still very pretty woman whose default facial expression was a smile in spite of her hardships.


    Vuk could just see past her slender shoulder to where her sister Dram worked at baking pies. Terrifying pies. Blindness didn¡¯t stop her from baking, but it did result in her sometimes confusing spices for the herbs Asamay used for the tonics and charms she sold in the market.


    Beyond the kitchen the only other room of the house was the bedroom the sister¡¯s shared. The door stood open, revealing two small simple beds laden with poorly stitched quilts.


    Vuk pulled the glass up as Asamay knocked a second time. He only ever used the glass when someone knocked, to make certain he wasn¡¯t letting in someone unfriendly. He might be a thief but he wasn¡¯t a pervert. He¡¯d considered telling Asamay as much. Telling her that even though the floor was thin and he knew she was a prostitute on top of being a herbalist, that he never watched, never peeked, and did his damndest not to listen either. But he assumed his assurances would come off just as unsettling, so he remained silent and only spoke to her when spoken too.


    Vuk squatted and opened the door, looking down at Asamay standing on the chair below him. She smiled warmly and held a small pie up to him. He eyed it cautiously.


    She laughed and wrapped a thin handkerchief around the pie to keep it warm. ¡°I watched her make it.¡±


    Vuk smiled back and accepted the pie.


    Asamay opened her mouth to say something more, then stopped. Vuk watched a rose blush color her pale cheeks. He held up a finger to her and then set the pie on the floor so he could dig in his pocket. He came away with eight silver coins and handed them to her.


    ¡°For rent,¡± he said, as she accepted them into her cupped hands.


    She looked at the coins. ¡°They¡¯re too much,¡± she said, trying to shove them back up to him. ¡°The roof leaks.¡±


    Vuk smiled, refusing the coins. ¡°This whole bloody city leaks.¡±


    Asamay smiled again and slipped the coins into the pocket of her dress. ¡°The pie is still very hot. Don¡¯t burn your tongue.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, I won¡¯t.¡±


    She nodded and climbed down from the chair as Vuk shut the door.


    He reopened the shutters and let the pie cool on the sill. Outside, the city had grown even darker, night falling on the valley. Vuk grabbed his cloak and climbed out onto the roof again. He was exhausted from staying up three days in a row, but he couldn¡¯t resist the night.