Tattered Pawns - (Endmage, Book 1)
Chapter 5
We kept moving. Once my legs refused to run any farther, the hound and I ducked into a back alley and spent the remainder of the night limping from one narrow, dirty nook to the next. Guardsmen dashed up or down the streets periodically, but for the first few hours it was obvious they had no idea who or what they were looking for. Only later, as dawn was brightening the sky, did I start to hear shouts of "endmage." Apparently, my self-incriminating vandalism had been discovered at the scene of the crime—though I wondered how many of the searchers had any idea what it even meant.
Stupid, I know, but how was I supposed to know the Count would go and get himself killed?
I finally found a pile of refuse near a row of warehouses that I could collapse behind. It even had a low roof of sorts, under some planks that were leaning against the wall. The dog sniffed around for a bit, then slipped between some broken boards into a warehouse nearby. Damned pup was more flexible than I was; I couldn’t wriggle in after him.
I had barely tucked myself out of sight before sleep took me.
I woke to a slight rustling behind my head.
"Whossit?" I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
"Hmm," murmured a smoky, female voice. "Not dead, huh? Pity."
I bolted up, whirling to face the speaker, bumbling into things in the narrow confines of my hidey-hole.
A hooded figure perched precariously on a shipping crate, elbow-deep in my pack and rummaging around. I had a fleeting pang or terror, afraid it must be one of the robed monsters from the black coach, but something was off. A nagging voice told me that the coach-critters probably weren’t interested in my cutlery and dirty clothes, for one thing. Then I realized I could see her face beneath the cowl, not a disconcerting pit of shadows. Another promising detail.
Choppy, russet bangs framed the sharp, precise features of her face—she was a bit dirty, but I was hardly one to throw stones. A mud-flecked brown cloak covered her simple tunic, adorned with various belts and straps holding a variety of pouches. She had a deep, reddish complexion, and her eyes—blackened furies. Her eyes weren’t just colored like fire, it looked like there was actually an active, living blaze going on just behind them.
And she was touching my things.
"No. Not…things," was all I managed to blurt out, groggy from my abrupt awakening and general lack of rest. It would have to do.
She laughed at me.
I was regaining my composure, as part of my cunning plan to wake up. Thankfully I had spent the majority of my developmental years living just this side of complete disaster, so I got my act together in short order. Practice makes perfect, they say.
The thief just sat there, eyeballing me and snickering. What a piece of work. She should have at least had the decency to run once she’d been discovered.
Fine. I snapped my fingers, snarling as I hurled my aura outwards. It washed over her like a wave hitting a swimmer, and she staggered back, hissing. "You picked the wrong mark, sister," I began. "Now let’s just say you drop my stuff and we both go about our merry—"
To say I was surprised when she hurled a fireball at my head would be an understatement. Call me spoiled, but that’s always been the one real bright side of being me: generally, folks don’t get to hurl fireballs at my head. Or lightning bolts. Or wonky hexes or bloodline curses. They can try, but it all usually just degenerates into pretty Ether-sparkles and leaves me be.
Not this time, though. I dodged having my eyebrows cooked off by about an inch. That’s the thing about fire; when someone does manage to chuck some at me, ethereal energy and metaphysical mechanics stop becoming the primary issue. The spell itself might fizzle out before it hits my skin, but all that hot air is going to burn just the same—heat is heat. Now, how the hells she’d managed to conjure any inside my aura was…concerning.
The fireball hit the warehouse behind me, where it ignited some scraps and trash and started spreading up the wall. Of course. Because there’s no better way to hide from the law than lighting a thrice-damned beacon for the guards.
There was a rustle beside me, and the hound squeezed out of his hole, looking miffed. He grumbled in the direction of the smoldering wood, then paced a few yards away from the building and plopped down, as if to go back to sleep.
I locked gazes with the thief, sizing her up again. I’d missed a few key details in my sleep-addled state: the two delicate horns curling up from her brow, half hidden by the bangs and the hood, a set of fangs visible in flashes as she panted for breath—good, casting in my aura had at least taken the wind out of her, which was something. And there! That twitch, hidden by her cloak…I was betting on a spade-tipped tail, wrapped up and tucked out of sight. Now things were making sense.
"Fiendling, huh? Explains the eyes," I said, advancing on her. "I’m impressed you got that shot off on me at all, but I’m pretty sure it cost you something. Another one like that’ll suck the juice right out of you. I don’t recommend it."
She scrambled backward as I approached. I saw at least two blades in evidence on her various belts, but she didn’t reach for them. Which didn’t mean there wasn’t already one up her sleeve.
"Look," I continued, "I don’t think either of us wants a fight here. Just give me my stuff back and walk away. You could rob literally anyone else and have an easier--hey!"
She bolted, dropping my pack and scattering my various possessions across the cobblestones, but not before pulling free the coin purse the Count had paid me.
I snatched up the pack and stuffed what I could back into it. I know I didn’t get everything, but I was fairly sure I had the essentials. I checked to be sure the odd little gem I’d taken from the Magus was still in my pocket. It was. Good.
Still needed that money to eat, though. I sprinted down the alley, hoping the thief hadn’t gotten too far ahead.
She was quick. She only had the lead by a few seconds, but I barely caught sight of her disappearing around a street corner. I took a gamble and cut over a block early.
It paid off. I came around and caught her looking back, expecting me to follow her route. I closed the distance considerably before she caught on, cursing and snarling before taking off once more.
Already I could hear the alarmed shouts of city guardsmen, flocking to the rapidly growing fire behind me. Fantastic.
I stayed at her heels for a while, but I was still exhausted from the night before. I couldn’t keep up, and she realized it. She settled into a runner’s pace; long, even, loping strides. I caught a glimpse of her damned tail whipping out behind her, beneath her cloak. She looked over her shoulder as I began to lag further, casting a contemptuous smirk--
—Right before she was flattened by a hurtling dog-missile.
My intrepid new furry friend pinned her, snarling teeth bared an inch from her throat. She struggled at first, until he punctuated his annoyance with a bubbling growl and opened his maw a hair wider. The thief became very still.
I caught up to them sprawled out in the street a moment later, panting more than I care to admit.
"Good…damn good dog," I wheezed, scratching him behind the ears. "I think this might be the start of a wonderful new partnership."
He didn’t relax his ferocious posture in the slightest, but his tail started to wag.
"How touching," the thief muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Hey, we’re having a moment here. Now. I believe you borrowed something of mine. And I would like it back, please."
She pursed her lips, a not entirely unappealing gesture on her sharp features. She eyed the dog’s fangs significantly, then sighed. "Front pocket," she said, pointing a finger without moving her arm from where the pooch had it pinned. "Don’t get handsy.”
“I’ll keep it professional,” I replied, reaching down to rummage.
“What a gentleman,” she quipped as I retrieved the purse.
"You’re lucky I’m not charging interest for the rude awakening," I told her. "But I’m in a no-harm, no-foul mood today. You go your way, I go mine, and we call it even. Deal?"
"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?"
The dog seemed to agree. I felt his wagging tail thump against my back as I knelt beside them. And then again against my leg. Which struck me as odd.
"Oh, blackened sh—"
Too late. Her damned demon-tail shot up, quick as a whip, and wrapped around my torso. I was struck by how strong its python-like embrace was—and how burning hot. Even through my clothes, her skin felt like it was just a degree shy of combustion.
One simple, writhing movement, and I was thrown to the ground. Her tail whipped at the dog an eye-blink later, striking with enough force to send him sprawling. He yelped in surprise as he rolled across the cobblestones.
She snatched the purse back and scrambled to her feet much faster than I could have managed. I didn’t bother. I spun and kicked her in the shin, and she stumbled, cursing. I lurched forward awkwardly, grasping, and my gloved hand caught that damnable tail about a third of the way up. I clamped down, dragging her back to the ground even as she struggled to stand again.
"Ow, ow, ow! That hurts! Gods and furies, that really hurts!" She cried, her voice catching. I realized I was twisting her a bit, but it was the only way I could hold on. Truth be told, it wasn’t fun for me, either—the free lower third of her tail had coiled around my forearm, and I could feel it slowly cooking my skin through the thinner fabric of my sleeve. The spade-shaped end in particular felt like it was filled with red-hot coals.
"Well, you know," I hissed through clenched teeth. "I told you to just find an easier mark, but no, you had to get all up in my things. And you smacked my associate here. So guess what, sister—"
“Halt! In the name of the law!” A booming voice cut off whatever I was about to say.
It turns out that a magic-sapping anti-mage, a big-ass super-pooch, and a hot-blooded half-demon having a wrestling match in the middle of a crowded street during a fire alarm the day after the local head of government is found murdered attracts a surprising amount of attention.
The guards surrounded us, batted us around a bit, stripped all of our weapons and possessions off of us, and then manacled the thief and I together before unceremoniously plopping us down in the muck. The dog pulled another disappearing act during the commotion. Small favors, assuming he was planning on coming back to help again.
I considered putting up a fight, but there were at least a dozen armed and armored guards surrounding us, and all I had was a half-melted sword, a boot knife, and probable first-degree burns down my arm. I decided to bide my time and wait for a thrice-damned miracle.
My new shackle-mate came to a similar conclusion, slumping beside me.
"Well," I muttered. "This is a predicament."
The thief sniffled.
"Are you…are you crying?”
“Fuck you,” she snapped, her eyes reddened but refusing to let a tear fall. "I told you, it really hurt, but you kept on twisting anyway."
Gods and furies, I actually felt pretty bad about that.
"Oh. Well. I…uh. You kind of had the drop on me there, I was sort of desperate, and…"
"Whatever." She snorted. "It doesn’t matter."
I frowned, feeling irrationally guilty about this stupid little detail. Something about her getting chained up and smacked around right alongside me had me feeling sympathetic.
"If it makes you feel any better," I said after a pause, "I think you burned about half the hairs on my arm clean off."
She was sullen for a minute, pouting. We could hear the chief guard talking to his subordinates and messengers a few yards away. Words like "Count" and "execution" came up with depressing regularity.
"…Really?" she asked.
"Yep. I’m probably going to have a nice tail-shaped scar all up my arm now. It’s going to be really hard to explain to people."
She chuckled softly. Then she giggled. Then erupted into a full-on belly laugh. I couldn’t help it, I joined in. The whole situation was just too damn much.
The guards watching us sneered, looking disgusted. "Look how the freak consorts with demon-spawn," I heard one of them mutter. Another nail in the coffin. That thing was going to be more nails than wood by the time I got to it.
We eventually calmed down, though an occasional giggle-fit still bubbled up. "Ah. Ah-ha…ha. Oh. So, yeah. I’m pretty sure these guys are going to kill me today."
"Kill you? They’re going to execute me," she replied with grim certainty. "I’m a fiendling. Being detained for anything is enough to get me put to death. They aren’t exactly lenient on the subject of demon blood around here."
"Not exactly the most tolerant place I’ve ever been,” I said. "Is it bad that I’ve always wondered how that…worked? The whole half-demon thing. Not that I’m looking for gory detail, but I’ve seen a demon or two in my travels. And I can’t really understand how they could really go…half…with anybody."
“Well, first of all, it’s extremely uncool of you to ask that of the first fiendling you see.”
I blanched. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
I turned to find a mischievous eyebrow cocked in my direction. “I’m fucking with you.”
“Yep. Yep. Made that easy.” I pursed my lips. “I spend a lot of time alone. Kind of used to just blurting stuff out.”
“You don’t say,” she shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t wondered myself, to be honest.”
“Oh?”
"No clue. I’m only one-eighth blooded. And whoever the grandparents were, they didn’t exactly stick around to give me the talk."
"Ah."
"I imagine ‘gory detail’ about sums it up, though."
"Yeah. Ick."
She paused, considering. "They don’t all look like slobbering hell-beasts, you know. The really dangerous ones look human."
"Huh. There’s a lesson in there somewhere."
We took a moment to consider how very poignant we were being.
"So, I killed the Count," I said, plunging into new conversational territory. I got the impression that we were waiting on an escort of some kind. Probably more armed and scary gentlemen. Lots more.
"Really? That was you?"
"No, but they think it was, so what’s the difference?"
"Fair point. Were you there?"
"Yep. Saw who did him, too. Well, sort of. Scary pair, all hooded and creepy. Killed half his staff and raised them as meat-puppets. Not good times. Never mind that necromancy isn’t exactly in the endmage repertoire!" I shouted the last, futilely, at the guards. "But whatever. They can’t handle their business so it might as well be the big scary endmage’s fault."
"How’d you get away?"
"Hmm? Oh, I blew the place up."
“That seems…final."
"Hope so. Didn’t stick around to find out."
"Endmage, huh?"
"Yep. Shuts down magic."
"Sounds useful."
"Can be. Can kinda suck sometimes. Not too different from having horns and a tail, I imagine."
"Fair point."
We sat for a spell.
"They’re totally going to kill us," she said.
"Oh, yeah."
I kept eyeballing the guards, the street, and the crowd gathering at a safe distance, looking for any possible means of escape. I came up empty. The fact is, there really isn’t a lot two people can do against a dozen armed, alert men who are solely focused on detaining them. Maybe if I was some big-shot wizard, I’d have had more options, but I was pretty much the antithesis of that.
"Hey, thief," I muttered, trying to keep my voice as quiet as possible.
"Mm?"
"You’re still going to have to pay me back for stealing my stuff!" I said loudly, for the benefit of the guards. When they glanced away, uninterested, I whispered again: "Can you get us out of the cuffs?"
"I could, if you can distract them," she replied, speaking whenever the guards’ attention seemed momentarily elsewhere, "but that’s not the end of our problems. These cuffs put a tracking spell on you as soon as they’re locked, so even when we’re free, they’d be able to follow…us…anywhere…wait."
"Ah, just dawned on you who you were chained to, eh?"
She pursed her lips again. She was cute, when she wasn’t robbing me. Or burning my skin through incidental contact. Even sitting as far away as the chains would let me, it was like being next to a roaring campfire. I was sweating on one side of my body.
"Okay, so let’s say I got our hands free. Next move?"
"I’m working on that. If I could get to my bag, it would help, but…"
My bag was at least fifteen feet away, at the feet of two guards. It might as well have been on the farmoon.
"I could probably make that roof," she said.
I followed her gaze, then turned back and fixed her with my best incredulous stare. It was at least a twelve foot vertical jump, without much in the way of hand or footholds. I could maybe, maybe make a climb like that with a lot of effort and focus. Not while being pursued by a dozen bruisers planning to execute me.
"What? I’m nimble."
I sighed. "Well, unless you can throw me up there, we need a better plan. I can’t make that climb that quickly, and you can’t slip the tracking spell without me close."
"And there is the matter of the small platoon guarding us," she whispered back helpfully.
“There is that."
I furrowed my brow, grasping for a plan. I’d been in more dire straits, given my exotic and violent career, but I had always had options. They weren’t always great options, granted, but I managed to bumble my way through. Here, though, I found myself in a frustratingly mundane scenario with simply no viable course of action to take.
Life tip: don’t get captured. And avoid competent opponents whenever possible.
“I don’t suppose you’re one for praying?” I quipped, exasperated.
The fiendling furrowed her brow, incredulous. “Somehow, I doubt anyone’s listening.”
I chuckled to myself. I’m more worried when they are.
But then, lo and behold: I got my miracle.
You always expect these things to have some preamble; some kind of dramatic, tense build-up. A drum roll, even. My experience has been that they typically don’t. One second, my fiendish frenemy and I were sitting in a gutter, surrounded, bemoaning our fate, and the next, the world was transformed into a thundering maelstrom of shouting, movement, and violence. And hooves. Lots of hooves.
I am ashamed to admit that I did not react with instantaneous, seize-the-moment reflexes. I was as stunned as anyone else caught in the open street, my eyes and ears screaming but my mind struggling to form any sense of what was happening.
I was saved from my deadly fugue state by none other than my intrepid canine companion.
The big mutt appeared out of the chaos directly in front of me, a head taller than I was while plopped down on the cobblestones. He fixed me with a reproachful "why are you just sitting there" look, then barked right into my face.
That did it. Things began to resolve themselves, though my sense of alarm didn’t disappear.
We were in the middle of a bloody stampede.
I’ll never know what started it, but somewhere up the road from where we sat, a herd of horses panicked. They’d probably been in transit to the market for auction, judging by the number of unsaddled beasts that flew by.
The first group had been large enough and scared enough that it caused a chain reaction. It seemed like every animal in the city had joined the charge; I saw horses still hitched to wagons, complete with terrified drivers, plus asses, dogs, cats, rats, sheep, goats, poultry, and even some cattle. It was a sea of living, snorting, stinking chaos.
Most of the guardsmen dove for cover. A few valiant fools tried to stand their ground. It didn’t go well for them.
We were spared the initial shockwave only because we were off to one side of the street. That good fortune would not last more than a few seconds.
The thief was quicker off the mark than I was. I heard a pop and a rattle, and the chains linking us went slack. One end was still locked around my wrist, but there would be time for that later.
As the chains swung free, I began reacting like a man of my reputation, exaggerated or otherwise. I was on my feet a heartbeat after she was, whirling to face the guard standing behind us. The poor bastard wasn’t as quick, and it cost him. I whipped the heavy chain around my wrist at his codpiece.
Something in there wasn’t as thickly armored as it should have been, and he wheezed, eyes bugging out, as he fought to stay upright. The guards in this depressing little shithole of a city wore half-helms, protecting their skulls but leaving most of their lower faces exposed. I lunged forward, wrapping some of the chain around my fist and punching him square in the teeth. He crumpled and went down. A ferocious snarl and display of fangs from the dog discouraged any notion he might have had about getting back up too quickly.
Shaking out my fist, I turned, half expecting the thief to have vanished, tracking spell be damned. She surprised me by shoving my pack into my arms. "Come on!" she ordered, dragging me along even as I struggled to get the straps onto my shoulders.
She bee-lined for the roof she’d indicated earlier. I started to protest, but she was already halfway up the wall, scrambling for purchase as she went. Apparently "claws" were among the things it was easy to overlook on this one.
She looked back down, seeing me at a complete loss. I was contemplating taking my chances and joining the stampede. "Chain!" she called, hand outstretched.
Catching on, I jumped, throwing the chain as high as I could. She snagged it and hauled me bodily up into the air. Blackened furies, she had some strength to her.
Once she’d pulled me up a few feet, that searing tail snaked out and wrapped around my torso. I could feel the burning heat through my tunic. I started to--
Actually, I’m not sure what I started to do, but it didn’t matter. She twisted and hurled me upwards, pack and all, toward the lip of the roof. It was a close thing, but I managed to catch it and haul myself up. I’m unclear as to what her plan had been if I’d missed.
She was up a second behind me, panting. "Come on, this way!" she said, running across the sloping rooftop like someone who’d done it plenty.
I looked down to see the dog bark at us, and then take off down the street, contrary to the flow of the other animals. I didn’t feel like I had to worry about him keeping up.
I also saw one of the city guards, apparently a more gifted mage than his fellows, moving through the thrashing animals. He kept waving his hands about, weaving some kind of calming spell. Whenever he got close, the animals would slow to a halt and stand as if entranced. He was coming towards us quickly, several of his companions in tow.
"Now, that just won’t do at all," I muttered, focusing on him and snapping my fingers. My aura gave a subsonic thrum as it radiated across the street.
The animals reverted quickly once his spell broke, and the gifted guardsman was battered down into the muck. A few of his armored compatriots scrambled to drag him from the rush.
"Are you through playing games?" the thief called behind me, her voice edged with stress. I took off after her.
We ran, rooftop to rooftop, jumping alleys, climbing gutters, and performing all manner of risky urban acrobatics I don’t care to dwell on. Below, we caught the occasional glimpse of brown and white—the dog was keeping pace. The guards had less luck. We lost the initial group of them in the stampede. Later, we saw dozens of patrols, mounted and on foot, careening around the city. We even spotted a few on the rooftops themselves, though they were never close enough to notice us.
We reached a lonely corner of the city’s wall after a couple of hours. It wasn’t particularly high or well guarded, and it was only made to stop people from entering, not leaving. I suppose there might have been some fancy wards or glyphs in play, but those don’t matter much to me.
I coldcocked a guard we found snoozing at his post, and after we hogtied him as a gift for the next watch, we went over the wall. Some rope from my pack made it simple enough, and in moments we were high tailing it for the anonymity of the open road. The damn dog just did his best stray impression and sauntered out of the nearest gate, joining us barely a minute after we finished climbing down.
Snarky little mutt. I never proved it, but I’ve always suspected he orchestrated the whole stampede to begin with.
I scratched behind his ear as we walked. His tail thumped against my leg.
Stupid, I know, but how was I supposed to know the Count would go and get himself killed?
I finally found a pile of refuse near a row of warehouses that I could collapse behind. It even had a low roof of sorts, under some planks that were leaning against the wall. The dog sniffed around for a bit, then slipped between some broken boards into a warehouse nearby. Damned pup was more flexible than I was; I couldn’t wriggle in after him.
I had barely tucked myself out of sight before sleep took me.
I woke to a slight rustling behind my head.
"Whossit?" I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
"Hmm," murmured a smoky, female voice. "Not dead, huh? Pity."
I bolted up, whirling to face the speaker, bumbling into things in the narrow confines of my hidey-hole.
A hooded figure perched precariously on a shipping crate, elbow-deep in my pack and rummaging around. I had a fleeting pang or terror, afraid it must be one of the robed monsters from the black coach, but something was off. A nagging voice told me that the coach-critters probably weren’t interested in my cutlery and dirty clothes, for one thing. Then I realized I could see her face beneath the cowl, not a disconcerting pit of shadows. Another promising detail.
Choppy, russet bangs framed the sharp, precise features of her face—she was a bit dirty, but I was hardly one to throw stones. A mud-flecked brown cloak covered her simple tunic, adorned with various belts and straps holding a variety of pouches. She had a deep, reddish complexion, and her eyes—blackened furies. Her eyes weren’t just colored like fire, it looked like there was actually an active, living blaze going on just behind them.
And she was touching my things.
"No. Not…things," was all I managed to blurt out, groggy from my abrupt awakening and general lack of rest. It would have to do.
She laughed at me.
I was regaining my composure, as part of my cunning plan to wake up. Thankfully I had spent the majority of my developmental years living just this side of complete disaster, so I got my act together in short order. Practice makes perfect, they say.
The thief just sat there, eyeballing me and snickering. What a piece of work. She should have at least had the decency to run once she’d been discovered.
Fine. I snapped my fingers, snarling as I hurled my aura outwards. It washed over her like a wave hitting a swimmer, and she staggered back, hissing. "You picked the wrong mark, sister," I began. "Now let’s just say you drop my stuff and we both go about our merry—"
To say I was surprised when she hurled a fireball at my head would be an understatement. Call me spoiled, but that’s always been the one real bright side of being me: generally, folks don’t get to hurl fireballs at my head. Or lightning bolts. Or wonky hexes or bloodline curses. They can try, but it all usually just degenerates into pretty Ether-sparkles and leaves me be.
Not this time, though. I dodged having my eyebrows cooked off by about an inch. That’s the thing about fire; when someone does manage to chuck some at me, ethereal energy and metaphysical mechanics stop becoming the primary issue. The spell itself might fizzle out before it hits my skin, but all that hot air is going to burn just the same—heat is heat. Now, how the hells she’d managed to conjure any inside my aura was…concerning.
The fireball hit the warehouse behind me, where it ignited some scraps and trash and started spreading up the wall. Of course. Because there’s no better way to hide from the law than lighting a thrice-damned beacon for the guards.
There was a rustle beside me, and the hound squeezed out of his hole, looking miffed. He grumbled in the direction of the smoldering wood, then paced a few yards away from the building and plopped down, as if to go back to sleep.
I locked gazes with the thief, sizing her up again. I’d missed a few key details in my sleep-addled state: the two delicate horns curling up from her brow, half hidden by the bangs and the hood, a set of fangs visible in flashes as she panted for breath—good, casting in my aura had at least taken the wind out of her, which was something. And there! That twitch, hidden by her cloak…I was betting on a spade-tipped tail, wrapped up and tucked out of sight. Now things were making sense.
"Fiendling, huh? Explains the eyes," I said, advancing on her. "I’m impressed you got that shot off on me at all, but I’m pretty sure it cost you something. Another one like that’ll suck the juice right out of you. I don’t recommend it."
She scrambled backward as I approached. I saw at least two blades in evidence on her various belts, but she didn’t reach for them. Which didn’t mean there wasn’t already one up her sleeve.
"Look," I continued, "I don’t think either of us wants a fight here. Just give me my stuff back and walk away. You could rob literally anyone else and have an easier--hey!"
She bolted, dropping my pack and scattering my various possessions across the cobblestones, but not before pulling free the coin purse the Count had paid me.
I snatched up the pack and stuffed what I could back into it. I know I didn’t get everything, but I was fairly sure I had the essentials. I checked to be sure the odd little gem I’d taken from the Magus was still in my pocket. It was. Good.
Still needed that money to eat, though. I sprinted down the alley, hoping the thief hadn’t gotten too far ahead.
She was quick. She only had the lead by a few seconds, but I barely caught sight of her disappearing around a street corner. I took a gamble and cut over a block early.
It paid off. I came around and caught her looking back, expecting me to follow her route. I closed the distance considerably before she caught on, cursing and snarling before taking off once more.
Already I could hear the alarmed shouts of city guardsmen, flocking to the rapidly growing fire behind me. Fantastic.
I stayed at her heels for a while, but I was still exhausted from the night before. I couldn’t keep up, and she realized it. She settled into a runner’s pace; long, even, loping strides. I caught a glimpse of her damned tail whipping out behind her, beneath her cloak. She looked over her shoulder as I began to lag further, casting a contemptuous smirk--
—Right before she was flattened by a hurtling dog-missile.
My intrepid new furry friend pinned her, snarling teeth bared an inch from her throat. She struggled at first, until he punctuated his annoyance with a bubbling growl and opened his maw a hair wider. The thief became very still.
I caught up to them sprawled out in the street a moment later, panting more than I care to admit.
"Good…damn good dog," I wheezed, scratching him behind the ears. "I think this might be the start of a wonderful new partnership."
He didn’t relax his ferocious posture in the slightest, but his tail started to wag.
"How touching," the thief muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Hey, we’re having a moment here. Now. I believe you borrowed something of mine. And I would like it back, please."
She pursed her lips, a not entirely unappealing gesture on her sharp features. She eyed the dog’s fangs significantly, then sighed. "Front pocket," she said, pointing a finger without moving her arm from where the pooch had it pinned. "Don’t get handsy.”
“I’ll keep it professional,” I replied, reaching down to rummage.
“What a gentleman,” she quipped as I retrieved the purse.
"You’re lucky I’m not charging interest for the rude awakening," I told her. "But I’m in a no-harm, no-foul mood today. You go your way, I go mine, and we call it even. Deal?"
"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?"
The dog seemed to agree. I felt his wagging tail thump against my back as I knelt beside them. And then again against my leg. Which struck me as odd.
"Oh, blackened sh—"
Too late. Her damned demon-tail shot up, quick as a whip, and wrapped around my torso. I was struck by how strong its python-like embrace was—and how burning hot. Even through my clothes, her skin felt like it was just a degree shy of combustion.
One simple, writhing movement, and I was thrown to the ground. Her tail whipped at the dog an eye-blink later, striking with enough force to send him sprawling. He yelped in surprise as he rolled across the cobblestones.
She snatched the purse back and scrambled to her feet much faster than I could have managed. I didn’t bother. I spun and kicked her in the shin, and she stumbled, cursing. I lurched forward awkwardly, grasping, and my gloved hand caught that damnable tail about a third of the way up. I clamped down, dragging her back to the ground even as she struggled to stand again.
"Ow, ow, ow! That hurts! Gods and furies, that really hurts!" She cried, her voice catching. I realized I was twisting her a bit, but it was the only way I could hold on. Truth be told, it wasn’t fun for me, either—the free lower third of her tail had coiled around my forearm, and I could feel it slowly cooking my skin through the thinner fabric of my sleeve. The spade-shaped end in particular felt like it was filled with red-hot coals.
"Well, you know," I hissed through clenched teeth. "I told you to just find an easier mark, but no, you had to get all up in my things. And you smacked my associate here. So guess what, sister—"
“Halt! In the name of the law!” A booming voice cut off whatever I was about to say.
It turns out that a magic-sapping anti-mage, a big-ass super-pooch, and a hot-blooded half-demon having a wrestling match in the middle of a crowded street during a fire alarm the day after the local head of government is found murdered attracts a surprising amount of attention.
The guards surrounded us, batted us around a bit, stripped all of our weapons and possessions off of us, and then manacled the thief and I together before unceremoniously plopping us down in the muck. The dog pulled another disappearing act during the commotion. Small favors, assuming he was planning on coming back to help again.
I considered putting up a fight, but there were at least a dozen armed and armored guards surrounding us, and all I had was a half-melted sword, a boot knife, and probable first-degree burns down my arm. I decided to bide my time and wait for a thrice-damned miracle.
My new shackle-mate came to a similar conclusion, slumping beside me.
"Well," I muttered. "This is a predicament."
The thief sniffled.
"Are you…are you crying?”
“Fuck you,” she snapped, her eyes reddened but refusing to let a tear fall. "I told you, it really hurt, but you kept on twisting anyway."
Gods and furies, I actually felt pretty bad about that.
"Oh. Well. I…uh. You kind of had the drop on me there, I was sort of desperate, and…"
"Whatever." She snorted. "It doesn’t matter."
I frowned, feeling irrationally guilty about this stupid little detail. Something about her getting chained up and smacked around right alongside me had me feeling sympathetic.
"If it makes you feel any better," I said after a pause, "I think you burned about half the hairs on my arm clean off."
She was sullen for a minute, pouting. We could hear the chief guard talking to his subordinates and messengers a few yards away. Words like "Count" and "execution" came up with depressing regularity.
"…Really?" she asked.
"Yep. I’m probably going to have a nice tail-shaped scar all up my arm now. It’s going to be really hard to explain to people."
She chuckled softly. Then she giggled. Then erupted into a full-on belly laugh. I couldn’t help it, I joined in. The whole situation was just too damn much.
The guards watching us sneered, looking disgusted. "Look how the freak consorts with demon-spawn," I heard one of them mutter. Another nail in the coffin. That thing was going to be more nails than wood by the time I got to it.
We eventually calmed down, though an occasional giggle-fit still bubbled up. "Ah. Ah-ha…ha. Oh. So, yeah. I’m pretty sure these guys are going to kill me today."
"Kill you? They’re going to execute me," she replied with grim certainty. "I’m a fiendling. Being detained for anything is enough to get me put to death. They aren’t exactly lenient on the subject of demon blood around here."
"Not exactly the most tolerant place I’ve ever been,” I said. "Is it bad that I’ve always wondered how that…worked? The whole half-demon thing. Not that I’m looking for gory detail, but I’ve seen a demon or two in my travels. And I can’t really understand how they could really go…half…with anybody."
“Well, first of all, it’s extremely uncool of you to ask that of the first fiendling you see.”
I blanched. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
I turned to find a mischievous eyebrow cocked in my direction. “I’m fucking with you.”
“Yep. Yep. Made that easy.” I pursed my lips. “I spend a lot of time alone. Kind of used to just blurting stuff out.”
“You don’t say,” she shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t wondered myself, to be honest.”
“Oh?”
"No clue. I’m only one-eighth blooded. And whoever the grandparents were, they didn’t exactly stick around to give me the talk."
"Ah."
"I imagine ‘gory detail’ about sums it up, though."
"Yeah. Ick."
She paused, considering. "They don’t all look like slobbering hell-beasts, you know. The really dangerous ones look human."
"Huh. There’s a lesson in there somewhere."
We took a moment to consider how very poignant we were being.
"So, I killed the Count," I said, plunging into new conversational territory. I got the impression that we were waiting on an escort of some kind. Probably more armed and scary gentlemen. Lots more.
"Really? That was you?"
"No, but they think it was, so what’s the difference?"
"Fair point. Were you there?"
"Yep. Saw who did him, too. Well, sort of. Scary pair, all hooded and creepy. Killed half his staff and raised them as meat-puppets. Not good times. Never mind that necromancy isn’t exactly in the endmage repertoire!" I shouted the last, futilely, at the guards. "But whatever. They can’t handle their business so it might as well be the big scary endmage’s fault."
"How’d you get away?"
"Hmm? Oh, I blew the place up."
“That seems…final."
"Hope so. Didn’t stick around to find out."
"Endmage, huh?"
"Yep. Shuts down magic."
"Sounds useful."
"Can be. Can kinda suck sometimes. Not too different from having horns and a tail, I imagine."
"Fair point."
We sat for a spell.
"They’re totally going to kill us," she said.
"Oh, yeah."
I kept eyeballing the guards, the street, and the crowd gathering at a safe distance, looking for any possible means of escape. I came up empty. The fact is, there really isn’t a lot two people can do against a dozen armed, alert men who are solely focused on detaining them. Maybe if I was some big-shot wizard, I’d have had more options, but I was pretty much the antithesis of that.
"Hey, thief," I muttered, trying to keep my voice as quiet as possible.
"Mm?"
"You’re still going to have to pay me back for stealing my stuff!" I said loudly, for the benefit of the guards. When they glanced away, uninterested, I whispered again: "Can you get us out of the cuffs?"
"I could, if you can distract them," she replied, speaking whenever the guards’ attention seemed momentarily elsewhere, "but that’s not the end of our problems. These cuffs put a tracking spell on you as soon as they’re locked, so even when we’re free, they’d be able to follow…us…anywhere…wait."
"Ah, just dawned on you who you were chained to, eh?"
She pursed her lips again. She was cute, when she wasn’t robbing me. Or burning my skin through incidental contact. Even sitting as far away as the chains would let me, it was like being next to a roaring campfire. I was sweating on one side of my body.
"Okay, so let’s say I got our hands free. Next move?"
"I’m working on that. If I could get to my bag, it would help, but…"
My bag was at least fifteen feet away, at the feet of two guards. It might as well have been on the farmoon.
"I could probably make that roof," she said.
I followed her gaze, then turned back and fixed her with my best incredulous stare. It was at least a twelve foot vertical jump, without much in the way of hand or footholds. I could maybe, maybe make a climb like that with a lot of effort and focus. Not while being pursued by a dozen bruisers planning to execute me.
"What? I’m nimble."
I sighed. "Well, unless you can throw me up there, we need a better plan. I can’t make that climb that quickly, and you can’t slip the tracking spell without me close."
"And there is the matter of the small platoon guarding us," she whispered back helpfully.
“There is that."
I furrowed my brow, grasping for a plan. I’d been in more dire straits, given my exotic and violent career, but I had always had options. They weren’t always great options, granted, but I managed to bumble my way through. Here, though, I found myself in a frustratingly mundane scenario with simply no viable course of action to take.
Life tip: don’t get captured. And avoid competent opponents whenever possible.
“I don’t suppose you’re one for praying?” I quipped, exasperated.
The fiendling furrowed her brow, incredulous. “Somehow, I doubt anyone’s listening.”
I chuckled to myself. I’m more worried when they are.
But then, lo and behold: I got my miracle.
You always expect these things to have some preamble; some kind of dramatic, tense build-up. A drum roll, even. My experience has been that they typically don’t. One second, my fiendish frenemy and I were sitting in a gutter, surrounded, bemoaning our fate, and the next, the world was transformed into a thundering maelstrom of shouting, movement, and violence. And hooves. Lots of hooves.
I am ashamed to admit that I did not react with instantaneous, seize-the-moment reflexes. I was as stunned as anyone else caught in the open street, my eyes and ears screaming but my mind struggling to form any sense of what was happening.
I was saved from my deadly fugue state by none other than my intrepid canine companion.
The big mutt appeared out of the chaos directly in front of me, a head taller than I was while plopped down on the cobblestones. He fixed me with a reproachful "why are you just sitting there" look, then barked right into my face.
That did it. Things began to resolve themselves, though my sense of alarm didn’t disappear.
We were in the middle of a bloody stampede.
I’ll never know what started it, but somewhere up the road from where we sat, a herd of horses panicked. They’d probably been in transit to the market for auction, judging by the number of unsaddled beasts that flew by.
The first group had been large enough and scared enough that it caused a chain reaction. It seemed like every animal in the city had joined the charge; I saw horses still hitched to wagons, complete with terrified drivers, plus asses, dogs, cats, rats, sheep, goats, poultry, and even some cattle. It was a sea of living, snorting, stinking chaos.
Most of the guardsmen dove for cover. A few valiant fools tried to stand their ground. It didn’t go well for them.
We were spared the initial shockwave only because we were off to one side of the street. That good fortune would not last more than a few seconds.
The thief was quicker off the mark than I was. I heard a pop and a rattle, and the chains linking us went slack. One end was still locked around my wrist, but there would be time for that later.
As the chains swung free, I began reacting like a man of my reputation, exaggerated or otherwise. I was on my feet a heartbeat after she was, whirling to face the guard standing behind us. The poor bastard wasn’t as quick, and it cost him. I whipped the heavy chain around my wrist at his codpiece.
Something in there wasn’t as thickly armored as it should have been, and he wheezed, eyes bugging out, as he fought to stay upright. The guards in this depressing little shithole of a city wore half-helms, protecting their skulls but leaving most of their lower faces exposed. I lunged forward, wrapping some of the chain around my fist and punching him square in the teeth. He crumpled and went down. A ferocious snarl and display of fangs from the dog discouraged any notion he might have had about getting back up too quickly.
Shaking out my fist, I turned, half expecting the thief to have vanished, tracking spell be damned. She surprised me by shoving my pack into my arms. "Come on!" she ordered, dragging me along even as I struggled to get the straps onto my shoulders.
She bee-lined for the roof she’d indicated earlier. I started to protest, but she was already halfway up the wall, scrambling for purchase as she went. Apparently "claws" were among the things it was easy to overlook on this one.
She looked back down, seeing me at a complete loss. I was contemplating taking my chances and joining the stampede. "Chain!" she called, hand outstretched.
Catching on, I jumped, throwing the chain as high as I could. She snagged it and hauled me bodily up into the air. Blackened furies, she had some strength to her.
Once she’d pulled me up a few feet, that searing tail snaked out and wrapped around my torso. I could feel the burning heat through my tunic. I started to--
Actually, I’m not sure what I started to do, but it didn’t matter. She twisted and hurled me upwards, pack and all, toward the lip of the roof. It was a close thing, but I managed to catch it and haul myself up. I’m unclear as to what her plan had been if I’d missed.
She was up a second behind me, panting. "Come on, this way!" she said, running across the sloping rooftop like someone who’d done it plenty.
I looked down to see the dog bark at us, and then take off down the street, contrary to the flow of the other animals. I didn’t feel like I had to worry about him keeping up.
I also saw one of the city guards, apparently a more gifted mage than his fellows, moving through the thrashing animals. He kept waving his hands about, weaving some kind of calming spell. Whenever he got close, the animals would slow to a halt and stand as if entranced. He was coming towards us quickly, several of his companions in tow.
"Now, that just won’t do at all," I muttered, focusing on him and snapping my fingers. My aura gave a subsonic thrum as it radiated across the street.
The animals reverted quickly once his spell broke, and the gifted guardsman was battered down into the muck. A few of his armored compatriots scrambled to drag him from the rush.
"Are you through playing games?" the thief called behind me, her voice edged with stress. I took off after her.
We ran, rooftop to rooftop, jumping alleys, climbing gutters, and performing all manner of risky urban acrobatics I don’t care to dwell on. Below, we caught the occasional glimpse of brown and white—the dog was keeping pace. The guards had less luck. We lost the initial group of them in the stampede. Later, we saw dozens of patrols, mounted and on foot, careening around the city. We even spotted a few on the rooftops themselves, though they were never close enough to notice us.
We reached a lonely corner of the city’s wall after a couple of hours. It wasn’t particularly high or well guarded, and it was only made to stop people from entering, not leaving. I suppose there might have been some fancy wards or glyphs in play, but those don’t matter much to me.
I coldcocked a guard we found snoozing at his post, and after we hogtied him as a gift for the next watch, we went over the wall. Some rope from my pack made it simple enough, and in moments we were high tailing it for the anonymity of the open road. The damn dog just did his best stray impression and sauntered out of the nearest gate, joining us barely a minute after we finished climbing down.
Snarky little mutt. I never proved it, but I’ve always suspected he orchestrated the whole stampede to begin with.
I scratched behind his ear as we walked. His tail thumped against my leg.
Tattered Pawns releases Oct 1, 2022 and is available for pre-order RIGHT NOW!
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Copyright © 2022 Christopher D. Corrigan
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.