Chapter 1

  Drowner’s Sip

  “One more Drowner’s Sip, old hag!”

  “Who the fuck you call a hag, pup? You still have to pay for the last drink.”

  “Giv’ my ale, bitch, or I’m gonna-- Hey! Hey! What are you--”

  A burly man dressed in ragged, dirty clothing flew out of the window of the Drowner’s Cut, rolling over the cobblestone road before coming to stop with a grunt. After lying there for a moment, the man sprang up, adrenaline surging through him. Confused, he cradled his left wrist which was twisted in his unlucky landing.

  Confusion turned to blazing anger, as his gaze fell on a different man who stepped out of the inn after him.

  “That lady you called a bitch is a friend of my ma’s,” the newcomer said as he slowly walked towards the man whom he just threw out of the inn.

  ,,Well, then you’ ma’ is bitch too, you son of a bitch,” said the burly man as he pulled a knife from his belt, pain in his wrist already forgotten, bloodlust and indignation taking its place.

  The newcomer didn’t flinch upon seeing a knife in the ruffian’s grip. He pulled out a knife of his own and set his stance, ready to strike.

  Two men stood in silence, sizing each other up as a crowd gathered around them. All the downtrodden stopped to watch the show free of charge. People laughed and smiled, gathering around them, as blood was cheap in the lower district of the New Riverrock. People spent most of their lives in dirty cobblestone streets barely making ends meet in hopes there will be no more wars, and food and jobs will become commodities someday. Even the most illiterate beggar knew it was nothing more than wishful thinking, but it was all the people had. People of New Riverrock had nothing more than hope, constant struggle and occasional scruffle as a seasoning.

  Ash didn’t care.

  The thin young man looked like a starved wolf as he passed the cheering crowd to slide into the Drowner’s Cut. He was short on time. The task on his mind, consuming all his attention. This was it. Last job, and he will be out of this shithole for good. Just this one job, and every pain will be worth it. His path was so hard, and long, but finally he stood at the doors of his destiny. Only one last fucking job stood before him and his new life. He will not fail. Ash never did.

  As soon as he entered the inn, he did a sharp turn and slid into a chair in the darkest corner of the establishment. Only when he was out of view of the patrons, he scanned the inn. The inn was old and grimy, as expected, with most patrons being commoners from the lower district, yet the air seemed more vibrant than the air outside. Men came here to forget their troubles, or maybe find new ones. The stench of alcohol in the air was so intense, it would be enough to intoxicate any of those posh uptown folks on its own. But it was far from the only clue which gave away Ash’s target.

  In the far end of the inn sat a group of people who stood out like a sore thumb. Six men sitting around the table and sipping their drinks, didn’t look any different from the other groups crowding the inn. Same dirty, cheap leather clothes, same cheap pig iron knives on belts, same dirty mugs in their hands filled with the slop the innkeeper dared to call the best drink in the New Riverrock.

  Only on a closer look, one would see that there was something amiss. Men at that table sat with backs too straight, and faces too dignified. Five of the men were large and muscular, with squared jawlines and sharp looks constantly bouncing around the inn. Their clothes seemed too large on them, and at the same time they fit them tightly. Almost as if there were chainmail hidden under their leather garments, and light shortswords expertly strapped beneath their clothes hidden from view.

  These weren’t the kind of men you would see doing manual labor in the city, they looked more like mercenaries if not for their rigid movements, which gave them away as army men.

  Sixth man at their table was different.

  He was a small dark haired man in his thirties. Despite his lithe build he stood out even more than his bodyguards. The man’s skin was pale and soft as a silk, and eyes shone slightly in the dimly lit room with a light blue shine. His clothing seemed to slightly move on its own, even if there obviously was no wind in the Drowner’s Cut. He also seemed like the only one from the group who actually sipped his drink and smiled while enjoying the rowdy atmosphere of this place. Everything about this man screamed extraordinary in this ordinary place.

  There was no rush. Ash silently waited in the dark, for pieces to fall in their places.

  A young barmaid came to his table with a plate with mugs of ale. Her face was full of fear and worry as she placed one of the drinks in front of Ash.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” said Ash as he handed her copper pieces, “Relax!”

  She took the money along with the pill hidden in his palm. Girl turned to leave, but then stopped, and turned her head back to Ash.

  “Are they safe?”

  “Of course, dear. We are not monsters. Go now. You have a favour to fulfill, don’t you?”

  Barmaid nodded and headed straight towards the table where sat his targets. Ash carefully watched girls hands, making sure the pill found its way into the second drink. She placed the drink in front of the strange man, who nodded at her with a charming, seductive smile. Barmaid didn’t even glance at him, as she turned away with a stiff face and headed back to the kitchen. Ash felt his body tense, and only when small man sipped his new drink, he relaxed.

  Ash didn’t bother to stay any longer. Young man swiftly stood up and left the inn, leaving his drink untouched. He pushed through the crowd at the inn entrance. People were excitedly discussing two men who had killed each other in a knife duel and now lay right there on the cobblestone road. Ash glanced at two fresh corpses, and deep red pavement under them.

  “That’s a bad omen,” Ash murmured as he turned into just one more innocent passerby.

  ______________________

  Irene couldn’t stop shaking. With ragged breath she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes trying to calm her racing heart. When she looked up, she saw her superior staring at her with curiosity.

  “All good, Irene?” asked Betsy.

  “Yeah! Just a bit dizzy.”

  “As you say. Good enough to bring these dishes to the third table? Already paid.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Irene took the plates and bumped into the kitchen doors with a shoulder pushing them open. Old and fragrant inn hall entered once again in her vision. Nobles still sat around their table, no wiser. Whatever was in the pill, the beautiful man hadn’t dropped dead yet. At least one piece of good news in this dreadful day. She might not end up cuffed in castle prison by the midnight after all, but possibility of death didn’t scare the girl.

  Street rat who sat in the other inn corner was gone. With a straight back Irene went to the third table, placing trays in her hands on it, and taking slap on her ass in return. With now empty hands, she floated straight to the vacant table in the darkest corner of the inn. Rats’ drink was untouched and under it laid a single piece of dirty paper.

  She took it carefully with trembling hands as if holding a piece of gold. With it safely in her hands she rushed back to the kitchen. In it she found Becky and shoved the crumpled note into her hands.

  “What does it say?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know how to read. What does it say?”

  Betsy looked at the note and worry set in the older woman’s face upon reading it.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Oh, gods! Irene, what did you do?”

  “WHAT DOES IT SAY?” All the kitchen girls stopped their work and stared at the Irene in silence.

  “It says, that you will find your girl back at home. Safe and sound.”

  Irene fell on her knees and buried her face in the Betsy's apron. Sniffling and crying in uncontrollable fashion. All the girls slowly came closer to hug and comfort the crying Irene.

  “Oh, sweet sweet child,” said Betsy carefully patting Irene’s head, “What did you do?”

  ______________________

  Owen Arnington exited the Drowner’s Sip with his whole entourage in a tow. The sky was already dark; the sun had probably left their city to find a better land to shine on.

  ‘That’s alright. Bitch will be back by the morning. She always is, as it’s all the same everyway,’ Owen thought with a smirk.

  At beginning he thought that five bodyguards were an overreaction. When his father insisted for his best fighters to accompany him on his outing to the lower district bars, he was displeased to say the least. But as it turned out, these men were great drinking buddies. Fighters who earned their noble titles by a battle prowess, not by a birthright, could hold their drinks with ease. Fascinating guys. Rough, not the best with personal hygiene, demented killers, but all in all not the worst. At least they knew their place, which was under his family.

  Lower city streets were dark, all windows closed, only moonlight shined over them as Owen with his bodyguards made their way back to his father residence.

  “So then I pull her to me and tell her this. Your husband is merchant woman? See this gold pedant, how much you think it cost? You would see her eyes. I took her to backroom--” Owens drunk story was cut short as one of his bodyguards pressed his palm on his shoulder.

  “Huh?” Owens exclaimed in a drunken haze, ”You dare!?”

  “Calm down sir,” bodyguard took off his hand from Owens shoulder.

  Owen looked up and squinted in darkness to see his bodyguards better. All five of them encircled him blades drawn, and looking into dark alleys around them with alarmed looks.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s silent, sir.”

  “So what? It’s night.”

  “We all come from around these parts, sir. It’s too early to be so silent. All the windows are closed, and not a single sound can be heard. It’s not normal, sir,” bodyguard said while putting his blade in front of him in a trained fashion.

  “Fucking jokes! I need sleep. Move!” he pushed the bodyguard out of his way, “I don’t have patience for this horsecrap.”

  Owen thrust out his hand and focused on the magic slumbering in his body.

  “Let there be a light! LUXNACETUR!” he pushed the mana through his hand as small sun appeared in his palm illuminating darkness around them.

  But something wasn’t right. Owen felt as if something blurred his mind, and that wasn’t alcohol. He felt with his mana sense as his core inside his cranium was engulfed in some dark pungent substance.

  “O, fuck!” was all Owen exclaimed when his arm exploded in red mist as his magic went wild.

  He fainted on the cobblestone road and with it light went out too.

  ______________________

  Just before the light faded a group of scrawny teens emerged from the alley sharpened knifes shimmering in the fading light.

  “ON THE RIGHT!” the closest bodyguard yelled, before swinging his blade on the approaching shadows.

  His blade met resistance as it sliced through the flesh and bone cutting off the head of the closest enemy. Training kicked in and before body of his enemy dropped to the ground, bodyguard already shifted his stance and sliced open the neck of next enemy approaching from his right side. He shuffled his feet backwards rotating with the swing motion and barely dodged a knife swing coming from his left.

  His attacker leaned too heavy in his swing and lost his balance. As he tripped forward all he felt was cold steel piercing his eye before he died.

  Bodyguard pulled out his blade out of the corpse, already winding up to strike the next attacker. His brothers-in-arms stood by his shoulders taking head on their own foes. There was no time to think, as guard let his instincts guide his strikes, each strike carving death into the shadows. Unconsciously a sinister smile bloomed on the bodyguard’s face.

  ______________________

  Owen woke up in agony.

  “Aaagh!” man screamed as he felt every fiber in his body constrict in a pain.

  “Calm down, sir!” a deep voice said as he was pushed back down on the ground by a pair of strong hands, “A priest is here. Your arm needs mending.”

  “It will be over soon, son. Be brave! FORTIMUS!” Owen heard a gentle voice infused with a magic caress his mind, but he was in too much pain to even consider resisting the influence.

  Pain subsided. After few breathes he felt magic retreat completely.

  “You are healed, son. Open your eyes, and praise the gods, as you will not die tonight,” the same gentle voice nudged him.

  Owen opened his eyes and saw a priest of seven gods loom over him in a flickering torchlight. When he pushed himself up he saw that he laid in a puddle of blood. An overwhelming smell of iron entered his nostrils making him almost fall unconscious again.

  “Easy there!” priest said as he held him upright, “It’s all over now.”

  Owen looked around and scene he saw made him vomit right over his shoulder. He still laid on the same street he fell when his magic went awry, only now it was illuminated by a number of torches, and more than twenty city guards were carrying corpses and severed body parts into neat piles. There were so much bodies, it seemed surreal.

  “What happened?” Owen asked in disbelief.

  “Street rats attacked us, sir,” one of his bodyguards explained,” When you went down around sixty of bastards crawled out.”

  “And you killed them all? Alone?”

  “All except one, sir. It’s our job. When we don’t fight, we train to fight. Ambush was executed perfectly, but there was simply nothing a group of hungry orphans can do against trained fighters like us. After fight was over I myself run to the closest church to get the priest.”

  Owen was in disbelief. If not for his father paranoia, he might be dead right now.

  “Why ‘except one’? You let one live?”

  “Well... He was clearly their leader,” bodyguard shifted his gaze in an uncomfortable manner, “And he fought good.”

  “And you let him run?”

  “Not run, sir. He stood until the end. Boys and me just felt that it would be a shame to put down such a fierce lad. He’s with the City Guard now.”

  “Too fierce you say, bastard?” anger flared in Owen as he pushed himself up, “Lead me to him! I will strangle him myself.”

  “It’s impossible, son,” interjected the priest.

  “What gives?”

  “He’s under City Guard authority now. The city jury will make a judgment over his life or death. Your family is in no position to take this right away from them.”

  “Are we not? I will speak to my father,” Owen said in anger, “Come on. We’re leaving.”

  “You do you, son,” the priest stepped out of the young noble’s way.

  Owen marched home, with his steel faced bodyguards following him right after. City guards who witnessed the conversation and priest looked at his back with looks ranging from disapproval to clear disgust.