A Thirst For Vengeance (Book 2) Read online

  By instinct, my hands went to the sheath of the ivory knife. It was still there. Then, I checked on Blackstone’s wrapped amulet. There as well.

  Satisfied by this short rising ritual, I sat up and stretched. My neck ached in a dull, throbbing sort of way from having been slept on the wrong way all night. I considered masking the feeling through the Flame of Souls, but thought better of it. That was reserved for more serious ailments.

  Like my leg and fractured rib. The leg wound from the sword was healing faster than the cracked rib I had gotten in the fight with Three-Grin. I knew that was because Blackstone had actually tended to it.

  One thing I regretted was never picking up a sliver of healing from Magda. Perhaps if I knew more about her blend of Physiks, I could have sped up the healing process of my rib.

  But, I was in no position to complain. I had the Flame of Souls, and it let me function as if the injuries did not even exist. Every morning, I loosened that tight ball of pain at the back of my mind just to check on the healing progress. Today, both felt better than ever.

  The thought energized me as I rose to my feet. I took a deep breath of the cool city air and exhaled. More than a month after the fires, you could still sense the lingering smell of charred wood. It didn’t bother me. In fact, I kind of liked it.

  The people trudging to and fro along the street paid me no mind as I stepped out of my corner and into their midst. Automatically, my eyes went to their belt pouches, coin purses, and wallets. My fingers itched to nab something. It was all-too-easy to pickpocket somebody still half-asleep and only vaguely aware of his surroundings.

  I stayed my hand. I had promised myself that I would not steal from anybody in the vicinity of the place where I had been allowed an undisturbed rest. It was a way to appease my much-subdued conscience.

  I wandered away from the plaza, trailing one hand along the rough siding of the buildings lining the alley. When I moved, I preferred the tight, small, back alleyways to the busier streets. Here, it was easier to tell if I was being followed or watched.

  Not that I expected myself to be faced with either. Who would care about some homeless ten-year-old kid?

  I had no real destination in mind as I walked. I wanted breakfast. But, thought I would probably skip it in favor of lunch. I had one mark, three dimes, and a few dozen pennies in my pocket. Food was not a priority. I could afford whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it.

  I found my path angling down toward the hells. I realized it only when the faint smell of the open sewers drifted up to me.

  I stopped. I hadn’t been back to the hells since the night Blackstone died. Since I had freed the slaves and set fire to the Arena. Since my mistake had cost my mentor his life.

  I wouldn’t say that I consciously avoided the place. I simply had no reason to go back. Aside from that last, stray, guilty thought, I had not let myself dwell on all I’d lost that night. I was not sentimental. I already told you that my emotions were as dull as retired blades.

  So, instead of turning away, I decided to keep going. A sort of masochistic curiosity compelled me to see what remained of the Arena.

  I walked through the back alleys and side streets while south Hallengard came to life around me. As the sun slowly inched its way into the reluctant sky, the quiet of the morning was being replaced by a city rousing from sleep. Voices started to fill the air. People began to leave their homes and go about their business. When the early hawkers started trumpeting the virtues of their wares, I knew that the day had officially begun.

  It is interesting to note that the closer I got to the hells, the stronger the stench of human waste became, but the less it bothered me. In fact, it soon felt as natural as the air itself. It was simply a part of this place. No more and no less.

  I stepped out onto a main road when the alleyway I was skulking down came to a dead end. It was a main road, but less crowded than it would be elsewhere.

  My appearance caused a few heads to turn. An old man briefly met my eye and then looked away. A middle-aged woman, carrying a full jug of water, glared at me with that look mothers give children they know are up to no good.

  I greeted her with my most winning smile. She huffed, stuck her nose in the air, and stalked away.

  I looked ahead, and saw the reason this road was less crowded than others. There was a massive black pit, deep in the ground, extending to either side for the length of many city blocks.

  The remains of the Arena.

  People avoided this place, these days, because of the Church. When the Master of Hallengard granted the Church power to act in his name in south Hallengard, one of the first things they did was ban mention of the former betting ring. At first, of course, everybody thought it was a joke. But when ten men were hanged by the city watch, on orders of the Church, for speaking of the fire a little too loudly in a rundown tavern, people realized the priests were deadly serious.

  I looked up and saw ten carcasses dangling in the wind. Ten bodies, all in a row, with some scraps of skin and muscle still hanging from the decrepit shapes. Ten men, of all ages and sizes, hanged for blasphemy by the Church.

  When that happened, people understood the Church was serious. They were too tired and too hungry to fight back. So, they simply accepted the new rule. Afterwards, they began avoiding this area by day.

  I did not go to the public hangings, even though word of them had reached my ears. I had no interest in such things. Not when there were coins to steal.

  You must realize how deftly the Church managed to increase its influence in the few short weeks after the fires. They sensed weakness, and they pounced. They gained a priest in position to whisper lies in the Master’s ears. They gained control of south Hallengard as decreed by the city ruler and acceded to by the people. After the hangings, they demonstrated their ruthlessness, and thus demanded respect.

  Yet still they did one better. With the Arena destroyed, they knew that the common people had to go elsewhere to quench their thirst for blood. The Church satisfied that by staging the public executions.

  They were masterminds of manipulation and deceit. They were patient. They waited for their one chance, and they seized it.

  They have not given up power since.

  I walked over to the remains at the far, far end of the street. I did this, I thought as I stared at the blackened wood. This happened because of me.

  I looked over my shoulder to where the motherly woman had long since disappeared behind a corner. She had no idea who she had just locked eyes with. Nobody who saw me did.

  Just then, a swell of voices caught my attention. It was coming from behind me. It sounded like a muted uproar, or some sort of celebration. Far away and distant for the moment, but coming this way.

  I turned back and looked down the long, empty street. At the very end was a procession of mounted riders, all in arms.

  Riders? I thought. I hadn’t seen riders of the sort since I was rescued from the back of the cart by that mysterious man who had given me the mark. Certainly never in Hallengard. Certainly never in south Hallengard.

  The riders weren’t alone. Around them, following them, milling about them, was a small mob of people. More of a crowd than a mob, really. None were richly dressed. They looked like they belonged in south Hallengard.

  Suddenly, I understood the real reason for the street being so empty. It wasn’t just that people preferred to stay away. This was broad daylight, and every street in a big city should have somebody on it during the day.

  It was because the people had all surrounded the riders.

  The horses, riders and crowd were getting closer. A proud man sat at the helm, chin up, head forward. He did not spare one look at the people around him. He led his horse with his knees, and set the pace of his companions.

  As they approached, I saw that the riders were wearing the colors of the city watch. But such splendid armor I had never seen before. Their chest plates were burnished a ruby red, after the Master’s own colors. A sigil of a h
ummingbird in flight was etched into the left breastplate, opposite a second sigil of a rising sun.

  The rest of their armor was a pale, white gold. Real gold or not, I could not tell from afar, but undoubtedly the attire was strictly ceremonial. Nobody could fight in armor like that.

  When I realized that the riders were coming directly toward me, I hurried to get out of the way. I knew my way with a knife, and I had killed before. But, I was not so arrogant as to abandon caution—at least, not at that point of my life.

  The riders and stragglers passed me by. I counted twenty-five armed men on horseback, led by the pompous one in front. They made an impenetrable wall that separated the common people from whatever was inside.

  I was not tall enough to see over the horses. So, I ducked down and looked through their feet.

  I saw the turning wheels of a small carriage.

  Immediately, my curiosity was piqued. These were not ordinary wheels. Their spokes were studded with glittering jewels. The wood was rich, dark cedar, the type reserved for magnificent tables at banquets hosted by the richest nobles. It was lacquered and, like the riders’ armor, gleamed in the sun.

  I stood back and considered. Who was in the wagon? What were they doing here, of all places?

  I sniffed the air. The smell of human decay and waste was as heavy as ever. What type of person would come to south Hallengard—to the hells, no less—riding in a carriage like that?

  Twenty-five mounted guards was an impressive force, but they would be nothing against an angry mob whose passions had been stirred by the sight of such riches.

  And yet, there was no mob. There was just the crowd of followers. Even they were not rowdy—at least, not excessively so. Mostly, it seemed like they were just clamoring over each other trying to get a better look inside.

  I was interested in finding out, too. So, instead of simply letting the group pass me by, I stepped into the throng of people and joined their rank.

  From the outside, the incoherent jammer of speech had been too jumbled up to really make out. But now, jostling for position amongst the bodies, I heard a certain phrase repeated over and over:

  “The Master!”

  “The Master’s here!”

  “The Master’s come!”

  Most of those proclamations were uttered as if the speakers themselves were uncertain of the veracity of their words. Still, there was an undeniable excitement in the air.

  Even I was not immune to it. The Master? Here? Could it really be?

  The soldiers on either side of the carriage did nothing to discourage the whispers. I found that interesting. Word of the Master’s apparent arrival would bring in hundreds, perhaps thousands of people to try to catch a glimpse. It was not often that nobility was sighted in south Hallengard. Even an upper noble was a novelty to clamor over for days.

  The Master was at the very top of the echelon.

  Maybe a crowd is what they wanted. Maybe the guards’ impassivity was a way to build anticipation and arouse curiosity. Maybe the mystery was what they were trying to propagate.

  As the man at the head of the circle led his group around the remains of the Arena, I decided that I had had enough. I would never find out whether it really was the Master or not inside the carriage from here.

  So I slipped away, casually walked into a back alley, and scrambled to the roof.

  Crouching, I made my way to the ledge and looked down. From my vantage, I could finally see the full magnificence of the carriage within.

  The jewels on the wheels were just the beginning. The sides were lined with impressive plates of glittering yellow metal. This was real gold. I had no doubt of that. One door had the same sigil of the hummingbird taking flight that I had seen on the soldiers’ armor.

  I followed the parade below me as I ran over the roof tops. The street curved, and I saw the door on the other side of the carriage. It had an equally impressive engraving of the rising sun.

  The hummingbird was the mark of the Master’s royal family. Everybody knew that. But the rising sun? I had never seen it before.

  I ran along a plank and leapt over the small gap to the next building. The voices from the crowd were getting louder. Bolder. More insistent.

  “The Master!”

  “He’s here. The Master’s here!”

  I knew that if the guards did not put a stop to it soon, the area would be swarming with people like bees around an upturned hive.

  But that, I was starting to suspect, was exactly what they wanted. I stopped following and watched as the procession was led around the charred skeleton of the Arena. I guessed that this was still their destination. When the riders completed one full circle and reached me again, I knew I was right.

  By then, hundreds more had joined the throng. When I stood and looked back, I saw even more approaching.

  Suddenly, a strange ripple of discomfort ran down my back. I was about to witness… something. What it was, I did not know.

  The riders stopped. They were in the middle of an area that had once been a city square. I knew it well. Blackstone and I had rolled barrels of explosives down into the Arena basements half a block away.

  The square was the largest expanse of flat, empty land around the wreckage. I saw the ten bodies hanging in the air a short distance away. It was probably the same spot the Church had used.

  The leader of the guards stepped out. His horse snorted and shook its head. A few people standing too close edged back.

  He did not say anything. The simple act of stopping was enough to signify to the people that something was about to happen. Two other officers stepped out beside him. They shouted orders, and a space formed between the riders and the crowd.

  The carriage was now standing on the precipice of the ruins. It did not need to be guarded from the back, because nobody could approach it from there. The remaining soldiers made a solid semi-circle between it and the crowd.

  From my perspective, the whole thing looked almost like two opposing armies preparing for war. You had the crowd of commoners on one side, growing in number every minute. You had the expensive carriage on the other, rimmed by its wall of guards.

  Except, the entire thing was at an impasse. Nobody seemed to know what to expect. It was as if either side was waiting for the other to draw its first breath.

  I certainly did not know what to expect. All I knew was that, someway, somehow, I would steal a jewel from the carriage wheel.

  At least one. Maybe more.

  As I began scheming the best way to do that, an uncomfortable ripple ran down my back again. I froze, and looked over my shoulder. There was nobody there.

  I rolled my neck from side to side to dispel my discomfort. I’ve experienced the feeling of being watched before. It was like an unbearable itch between your shoulder blades. This was different. This was a definite, undeniable ripple, almost as if my skin had become a body of water that somebody had dropped a pebble into. It was strange, uncomfortable, and very unnerving.

  I touched the knife at my side to calm myself. Feeling the ivory beneath my fingers always offered me comfort. It was an anxiolytic. I knew it had to do with the magic inside the blade.

  I returned my attention to the spectacle below. The crowd was growing. People were pushing past each other to get a look at the guarded carriage. Of the many voices below, the word “Master” could be made out most often.

  The event was peaceful—for now. The common people had no great love for nobility. They remembered that it was the Master who had ordered south Hallengard closed off during the riots. Fewer people would have died if they had been allowed to flee north.

  Then, I noticed a certain group of individuals in the crowd. They were dressed almost like the rest. Almost. Their clothes were meant to blend in. But, they were made from fabric a touch too rich. Maybe in the midst of the bodies, the difference wasn’t noticeable, but from my vantage, it was clear as day.

  At least, clear to one who’d been trained to look for inconsistencies. br />
  The group entered from the back and spread themselves into the crowd. There were maybe thirty, thirty-five men. All tall and with strong bodies. All confident in the way they stood.

  No, these were not inhabitants of south Hallengard. These were trained men. Soldiers, perhaps, though dressed in civilian clothing.

  Sent by whom? The Church? The city watch? Why?

  I realized then that the group of men had been the last to join the throng. No others were coming. I wondered why. News of the Master’s appearance, real or not, would be spreading through the poor. Thousands should be clamoring to get a look.

  But a larger audience was not forthcoming. I stood up carefully, looked back – and saw why.

  The streets leading to the former square had been barricaded. From the rooftops, I could see that each of the four entrances was now guarded by teams of mounted men. These ones did not wear the ostentatious armor of the ones encircling the carriage below. They wore the regular garb of the city watch.

  So. That meant something interesting was about to happen. I saw the city watch turn away anybody who wandered too close. The area had been effectively sectioned off.

  I turned to look down. I saw the men I had picked out earlier spread themselves throughout the crowd. Each of them wore a cloak too heavy for the heat of day.

  You’d have to be an idiot not to understand that they were hiding weapons under those cloaks.

  The captain of the guard scanned the sea of faces before him. He seemed to be doing a count. I saw each of the thirty men make brief eye contact with him. Whatever was about to happen was going to begin soon.

  My eyes darted back to the carriage. The gems on the wheels made my fingers itch. Poaching one of them would be the ultimate challenge. It would be a theft unrivalled by anything I had done before. And accomplishing it now, here, in the broad daylight? That would be a feat to boast of for a lifetime.

  And if I got caught, so be it. Of course the venture was risky. But risk was what made it so appealing.

  I considered my options. The mounted guard presented a formidable force. But they were far from impregnable. Each wore a helmet of shining metal with a rectangular slit for the eyes. It limited their peripheral vision. And each of the soldiers had his attention directed forward, at the crowd.