Free the Darkness (King's Dark Tidings Book 1) (14 page)

The young warrior stopped at a few more stalls and was
heading back toward the inn when a rainbow of fluttering fabric caught his eye.
Rezkin suddenly remembered his master telling him that the wind could be quite
cool on a boat. He thought that he should probably make sure Frisha had
something to keep her warm. It would not do for her to catch a chill.

Rezkin selected a soft green scarf that reminded him of the
pale green tunic she had been wearing last night when they met. He was half way
back to the inn when he realized he had not gotten a scarf for Tam. He was
perplexed as to why he had not even thought of it at the time when he purchased
the scarf for Frisha. He decided Tam would just have to figure something out
for himself.

For the rest of the way back, Rezkin decided to practice
some of his
City Stalking Skills
. Taking care not to be seen, he scaled
walls, jumped gates, and slinked across rooftops. He took a wide, circuitous
route so that he could get a little more practice. While he had trained
extensively all over the fort and the few outbuildings, this was the first time
he actually had the opportunity to put these
Skills
to use in the city.
He found that it felt liberating to traverse the city over the rooftops. Not
used to the almost overwhelming confines of overcrowded streets and towering
structures, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders slip away with the
openness of the rooftops.

He slipped over a balcony railing and down into a darkening
alley before stepping back out into the main thoroughfare. The few vendors
along this street were pressing their wares with more intensity as the final
light of day faded. Several crates were stacked at the mouth of an alley to his
right. He heard the hiss of frantic whispers when someone warned, “No, Ash. Not
that one!” It was unfortunate for these people that they had not learned that whispers
often carry further than quietly spoken words.

Rezkin’s hand swept out and snatched the grubby little
fingers that were reaching for his purse. Without slowing his stride, he hauled
the young small-man into the alley and rounded on his comrades, effectively
blocking their escape. The eldest small-man looked to have perhaps eleven
years, although the undernourished body may have hidden a few. The second was a
couple of years younger, while the third, still squirming in Rezkin’s grip, was
closer to six.

“Your
Skills
are practiced but still poor,” the
warrior commented.

“Let me go!” the youngest yelled as he attempted to kick
Rezkin in the shin.

“Silence,” Rezkin ordered with an icy glare. The young one
whimpered but ceased his struggling as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Rezkin turned his attention back to the older two and said,
“Even if the young one had not been caught on his own, the two of you gave him
away. You are not
Skilled
enough to be placed in a supervisory role.”

“You don’t know nothing!” shouted the eldest. “If it’d been
me, you wouldn’t never know’d I was there.” His dirty brown hair barely hid
soft hazel eyes too filled with anger.

“What is your name?” Rezkin asked.

“Um…they call me Broken,” the eldest said. “He’s Cracker,”
he said motioning the middle small-man. He nodded to the youngest and said,
“That’s Ash.”

The warrior’s cold, blue gaze bore into the young man called
Broken as he said, “I knew you were here before I came within five paces of the
alley. Your presence was only hidden for that long because of the noise
emanating from that cantaloupe merchant. You warned the young one not to target
me. Why?”

The oldest boy’s mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise. “Ah, you’ve
got too many sharpees…ah, I mean blades,” he said motioning to the swords at
Rezkin’s waist. “An’ you look like you can use ‘em. You’re a
Red
,”
Broken said, referring to the color-coded system the thieves used to rate the
threat of a target.

Rezkin turned his attention to the one called Ash who was
trembling in fear with wide eyes bouncing back and forth between the
frightening warrior and his over-confident cohort. “Why did you choose to
target me?”

The little one’s mouth flapped silently a few times before
he finally managed to speak. “I like the ones with swords. They’re always
lookin’ for big trouble. They think they’re too good to rob. They ain’t lookin’
for little
me
.”

Shaking his head, Rezkin said, “Your assessment of the
arrogance of many sword-bearing targets may have merit, but it is not always
the case and the consequences of failure are too great. Commoners who carry
blades openly usually know how to use them, and anyone who does not is mostly
likely a noble. What is the sentence for robbing a noble?”

The young one’s lip quivered again, and he squeaked, “You
dangle.”

Rezkin nodded once. “That is correct. You hang by the
noose.” He looked back at eldest boy and said, “You were incorrect in your
assessment, as well. I am most certainly
not
a Red.
I
am a
Black
.”
Broken’s eyes widened in fear, and Cracker whimpered as he lost his bladder,
evidenced by the darkening of his trousers. “Do you know what that means?”

Broken gulped and nodded. “Yeah. It means we’re dead.”

Rezkin cocked his head thoughtfully and said, “I believe
this to be a shortcoming in your training. Ultimately, I hold your Guildmaster
responsible. Perhaps we shall see what he has to say.”

“The Guildmaster?! But, we don’t know the Guildmaster,”
Cracker stammered in a panic.

“Shut up, Cracker!” Broken said with a hard elbow to the
ribs. “Ah, ya see, we don’t know the Guildmaster, but we can take you to
Thorn.”

“This Thorn is your leader?” the warrior asked.

“Yeah, he’s the Denleader,” the eldest replied.

“Very well. Let us go to Thorn,” Rezkin nodded. He released
the youngest who stumbled forward to be caught by his comrades. The warrior
stepped aside, and the three immediately took off running as though a fire had
been lit under their feet. They darted down the alley and made several sharp
turns before ducking through a hole where a couple of slats had broken away
from a wooden fence. No doubt the three were hoping to lose their pursuer, but
Rezkin kept up with them easily. Without slowing, he leapt up, bounded off a
stone wall and slipped over the rickety fence. Eventually, the boys stopped
beneath a window boarded over with broken shutters. The window belonged to a
small, unused storehouse near the docks. The paint was chipped, and the roof
bowed dangerously in the middle, but the door was solid and locked.

The boys glanced at each other and then at the formidable
mark that managed to keep up with them in their mad dash. Broken rapped a
series of coded taps on the door. A heavy bolt slid to the side with a
thunk
.
Before the sentry could even get it open a crack, Rezkin shoved his way past.
The heavy door knocked the unseen man to the side, but two more waited in his
place, each with drawn weapons. One bulky behemoth held a rusted butcher’s
cleaver while a shorter man with a wicked scar running from the corner of his
mouth to his ear wielded a gnarled wooden club.

Behemoth attempted an overhand chop at Rezkin’s head, which
the young warrior easily knocked aside. Rezkin punched the man in the throat
and then elbowed him in the temple. Scarface took a swing at Rezkin’s exposed
back, but the warrior ducked as the club passed over his crouching form. He
reached out and grabbed the club, yanking it unexpectedly from the man’s grasp.
Rezkin then proceeded to bash the man in the skull, knocking him unconscious.
Behemoth stumbled to his feet just before Rezkin swept them back out from under
him, landing the man on his back. The young warrior slammed the club down on
the man’s chest leaving him gasping for breath.

The third man who had fallen over a pile of broken crates
and other refuse, came at Rezkin with a long serrated dagger and a disgruntled
roar. Rezkin blocked with the club, lodging the blade in the length of wood. He
thrust an open palm at the man’s chest as he simultaneously swept his foot
behind the man’s legs. The man fell backward, and Rezkin stomped on his
windpipe. The entire incident took only a matter of seconds, and the small-men
were too stunned to consider running away. Rezkin pointed at them and, with a
thumb over his shoulder, indicated they should lead the way.

The boys scrambled forward with haste. They lead Rezkin
through a doorway into a larger room. Rezkin stood in the entrance and peered
at the dirty, startled faces around the dim room. The debris scattered chamber
held about twenty small-men and –women of varying ages, all of whom were
wearing old, faded and torn clothing, much of which was probably held together
by dirt rather than thread.

Two grown men and a grown woman shoved past a couple of
older small-men. One of the grown men was dressed in clean, nondescript
clothing of good quality, and he was obviously well fed if his round paunch was
any indicator. The woman had long, raven hair, large green-brown eyes, sharp
features and thin, pink lips that turned up in a perpetual smirk. Her tunic and
leggings were tight over a toned figure and cut low at the bosom to expose
quite a bit of skin. She was not what most people would consider beautiful, but
some might call her stunning.

The best dressed of the three was a rough man in his late
twenties. He wore a good quality black coat that was worn but clean and was
held together by a gold chain. His hair was dirty and greasy but neatly tied
back, and his face was partially hidden by a few days worth of growth. The
gleam in his eyes was angry and defiant as he stalked toward the intruder.

When the man passed Rezkin’s reluctant guides, he thrust a
hand out and socked Broken with a full-fisted punch to the nose. Broken
stumbled back, and the man reached over and grabbed Cracker by his tunic,
backhanding him across his face. The man’s ring caught the small-man’s cheek
and left a vicious gash. He kicked Ash in the stomach, and the young one
doubled over as he lost the vestiges of whatever food he had been able to
scrounge all over the floor.

The denleader’s two henchmen glared at Rezkin as their
leader abused the young small-men. The warrior watched as the small-men cowered
under the older man’s assault. He cocked his head curiously as he considered
the dynamic. The older man was obviously punishing the younger small-men, but
there did not seem to be any expectation that they would defend themselves.
What good was a man trained to cower in fear? If the small-men at least
attempted to defend themselves, they would learn from their mistakes and
improve in their
Skills
.

Turning from his underlings, the denleader stalked forward.
He carried a slightly warped and pitted sword and waved it around as he talked.
He pointed the blade at Rezkin who was still a good ten paces away and barked,
“Who are you? What do you think you’re doin’ comin’ in my den uninvited?”

Rezkin had seen enough of this man’s idiocy. He did not
deserve to be in any position of authority. “Your recruits are dirty, underfed,
and untrained, and I doubt you have the
Skills
to train them properly. I
am taking it upon myself to remove you from your undeserved position.”

“Who sent you? Did Draphus put you up to this?” the
denleader asked hesitantly.

Rezkin did not know this Draphus, but the warrior guessed
the man was a higher-ranking member of the guild. He shook his head slightly
and said, “I do not work for the thieves’ guild.”

“Is that so? What makes you think you can get rid of me so
easy?” the man sneered.

“A strong leader needs strong warriors. Only a weak leader
would intentionally keep his men weak,” the young warrior replied.

The man raised the sword as if he was holding a club. He
held his arms awkwardly out to the sides like a chicken attempting to appear
larger and more intimidating. “Are you callin’ me weak?”

“Obviously,” Rezkin drawled.

The denleader took a step forward and then paused. He waved
his henchmen forward and said, “Kill him.”

The hefty male henchman glanced uncertainly back and forth between
his boss and the intruder. The woman’s smirk deepened with a lift of one brow.
Her eyes roamed up and down the intruder with interest.

“Uh, I don’t know, boss. He seems pretty sure of himself.
Maybe we should send for Draphus,” the man argued.

The denleader rounded on the larger man shouting, “Are you
questioning me?”

“No, boss. I’m just sayin’. He don’t look scared, does he?
Maybe he knows somethin’ we don’t,” the big man said.

The smaller man scowled with fury. Without taking his eyes
off the bigger man he snapped at the woman. “Attica, take care of him!”

Attica grinned and said, “I don’t think I can. It sounded
like he was challenging you for your position. Can’t interfere in a challenge,
can I?”

“What!?” the denleader exclaimed. “It weren’t no challenge.”
The man’s poor attempt at sounding educated dissolved as his back alley burr
bled through. “He ain’t even in the guild!”

The bigger man, who was not as ignorant as he looked, caught
onto the woman’s machinations and nodded as he said, “It sounded like a
challenge to me.” Several of the older small men who had gathered at a
respectable distance started muttering to each other about the challenge and
nodding along.

Thorn gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles turned
white. “Fine!” he barked as he shrugged out of his coat and threw it at the
rotund henchman. He raised his sword and set his feet in a poor parody of a
dueling stance.

Rezkin shook his head. “Your left foot is too far forward,
and your right shoulder is too high. You need to loosen your grip and shift it
higher on the hilt, not that it will make much of a difference with such a poor
blade. Also, you are staring at my hands when you should be looking at my
shoulders or even my feet at this distance.”