The Twilight City Read online

  “You’re a danger, luv, that’s for sure. I must admit, that magic of yours can be scary but useful too.” Nera rubbed her side, where the fresh scar was. Uncomfortable under Malek’s eyes, she busied herself finishing her mead.

  Malek looked into his goblet and took another sip of wine. “I was training and studying the nature of magic with my master in the hopes that I could gain some understanding of it and, as a result, perhaps learn to control it better. I seemed to be making some progress, but as you could see, when lives are on the line, I tend to lose it.”

  Nera stared at him thoughtfully. After a moment, she shrugged. “I’m a bit glad you did lose it, or else I would be dead for sure. Before I follow you into any more trouble, I think we need to enlist some more muscle. I know just the person—”

  “I think it’s better if we keep this as quiet as possible,” Malek interrupted, suddenly nervous. “Not sure who can be trusted. After last night, they’ll definitely be looking for me—you too, most likely. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those people would sell me up the river in a heartbeat.”

  Nera’s eyes narrowed. “You really think I’d be that careless? The person I had in mind is a brother to me—he’d never sell us out. Besides, I’m farther up the great river o’ dung worse than you could ever be. Ninety-eight more years in that hellhole foundry. You don’t know what it’s like being me, coming from your high table with your fat coin purse and magic rings, your master who looks after you and teaches you what you need to know. Just imagine being confined by magic”—she tapped her collar angrily with her nails—“and not even being able to carry a weapon for self-defense, feeling the sting of the lash on a daily basis, in danger of being trampled by five-ton golems or burning to a crisp in the foundry furnace… ninety-eight more years of this shite, human. Longer than you’ll even be alive. I won’t even go into the long years I’ve spent growing up on the street, being cursed, spat at, and worse. They call my kind plane-cursed… I’m cursed all right, and don’t you forget it.” Nera slammed her fist down on the table and fought to keep the tears from coming.

  Damnation, what the hell is wrong with me, getting emotional like this? Once the moment had passed, she realized she was angrier at herself for her childish outburst than she was at Malek for his insinuation that she was foolish enough to get them captured.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead watching her clenched fist turn lighter in color, the bronze fading to a more normal skin tone as the blood leached out. Malek placed his pale hand on top of hers and squeezed gently.

  “Easy… I was wrong to question your judgement. You’re right. I have no idea what it’s like to live in your skin. I’d like to help you if I can.”

  Nera was tempted to snatch her hand away but didn’t. The mage’s dark blue eyes held hers as she met his gaze. After a moment, she nodded slowly.

  “Lean toward me and turn your head a bit.”

  Nera glanced around the tavern, but nobody seemed to be paying them any attention. She did as he requested, and Malek swept her unruly lavender hair back behind her ear. She flushed as his fingers brushed her neck, gently wiggling the collar and testing it for slack. Cursing herself silently, she wondered what it was about the boy that got under her skin.

  Mayhap it’s because he treats me fairly and doesn’t seem like he just wants to get in my breeches. He saved me last night and doesn’t treat me like I’m plane-cursed.

  His hands grasped the collar, and it sparked lightly. Nera instinctively gripped the table, fearing the collar would go off, shocking both of them. She didn’t want to fall out of her seat.

  Malek’s eyes closed, and he took a couple of deep, calming breaths. A glow moved from her collar and into Malek’s hand, followed by a loud click. The inert collar came free in his hands, and he plunked it down on the table.

  Nera’s eyes went wide in shock as she could only stare at the thrice-damned collar that had bedeviled her for the past year. It was a thick leather band covered with rune-inscribed metal links and an elaborate locking mechanism. She was afraid to touch it, as if it were a poisonous snake that would strike her. She already felt lighter, as if an anchor had been freed from her neck.

  I’m free!

  “How’s that for a finder’s fee?” Malek said with a grin, his eyes shining with mirth as he watched her reaction.

  “Damn me to the Abyss,” Nera breathed. Her jubilation was tempered by sudden concern that the Special Judiciary would somehow sense her collar had become deactivated and send a retrieval officer after her.

  “Well, how’s that feel?” Malek drained his wine goblet and looked at her smugly.

  “I don’t know if I should kiss you or beat you over the head. They’re probably gonna send one of those mad whoreson retrieval officers looking for me now.” She finished her tankard of mead and shoved her chair back. “Let’s get out of here.” She stood up, considering the collar for a moment, then snatched it up and shoved it into a pocket.

  “Please don’t beat me. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep like you, and my head still hurts. Besides, they’re already looking for you after last night.”

  Nera roughly grabbed his robes with both hands and pulled him toward her. He was nearly a head taller than her, but she stood on her tiptoes and glared at him, their faces inches apart.

  “Very well, I’ll spare ya the beating… this time.” She pulled his head down and kissed him firmly on the cheek. She pulled away quickly, leaving Malek gaping at her. “Come on, then. I need to get myself some daggers.”

  She couldn’t help but be pleased with herself after seeing Malek’s flushed face turn to a nervous smile before she turned and swaggered out of the tavern, the mage hurrying to keep up.

  ***

  “Master, there’s been an… event… which you should be aware of.” Lassiter was kneeling on the flagstone floor before the high throne upon which the Lord of Nexus sat motionless. “Powerful unsanctioned magic of an unknown origin was used. I have not seen its like before.”

  The hood of the Pale Lord’s inky robes was drawn up over his head, and beneath it, only darkness was visible. Long white fingers twice the length of a normal man’s digits curled around the bone arms of the throne. The Pale Lord himself often remained in a state of torpor for long days, perhaps months and years, without stirring, as far as Lassiter knew.

  A magelight lamp burned cleanly on the wall. The flagstone was cool beneath Lassiter’s knee where he knelt for long moments, waiting for a response. After a time, the darkness beneath the hood was suddenly breached by a pair of yellow eyes gleaming like lanterns. The long fingers uncurled like the legs of a spider as the Pale Lord stirred.

  “I have felt this power you speak of… My Warders sought out its source unsuccessfully. I have not sensed its like for many centuries.” The voice seemed to emanate from everywhere in the room, a powerful rumble. “Rise, my loyal servant, and tell me more.” A hand beckoned for Lassiter to rise.

  The commander stood smoothly. “Last night, my lord, there was an attempt to breach the prison by a pair of impostors dressed as members of the Watch.” He went on to relate everything he knew of the event.

  The Pale Lord’s eyes winked out, and Lassiter waited uneasily. Long moments passed, and just as he was about to speak up again, the eyes reopened.

  “There is a corruptor who yet lives,” the Pale Lord said. “I had thought their line ended many generations ago. You must find and eliminate this one—do not hesitate to destroy them. Beware, for they can steal your magic and turn it back against you. I will not allow a corruptor loose in my city. Go forth and carry out my bidding.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Lassiter left the throne room of the Lord of Nexus, glad to be out of his presence. He might have been mistaken, but there seemed to be something in the tone of his master’s voice he had never heard before—unease. And that made Lassiter very nervous indeed.

  Chapter 16

  “Oi, greenie! What in the name of Balor’s brass balls are y
ou lookin’ at?”

  Malek was roused from his reverie by a thug glaring at him from the next table. A burly human with a vertical scar down his cheek and shaved pate was leaning against the wall with a tankard perched on his lap. Across from him sat a dirty-looking dwarf with a bushy beard, missing teeth, and a large dent in his forehead. The dwarf’s smile was devoid of any humor, and a malicious glint filled his eyes.

  “Nothing, friend. Was just lost in thought, that’s all.” He sighed. Merciful Sage… Nera sure knows how to pick these places. The Wet Warrior was the sleaziest tavern he’d frequented yet in Nexus. The wine was cheap and bitter. Whatever was burning in the kitchen had stolen any appetite he might have had. It smelled like rotten fish and onions tossed with dung.

  “I don’t like the way ye’re lookin’,” the thug growled. “Why don’t you buy me friend and I here another round, and we might let it slide, eh?”

  Not today. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with these louts. “Let me think about it.”

  “Yeah, you do that. Don’t think too long—we’re almost dry here, right, Baldo?”

  The dwarf grinned again and raised his tankard in a toast.

  Malek closed his eyes, concentrating on the energy he had retained from when he had disabled Nera’s collar. He slowly released it, channeling heat into the metal tankards of the two thugs. Opening his eyes, he saw them frowning at him, wondering what he was up to, most likely. Malek allowed more energy to flow into the tankards, and they suddenly turned red hot.

  Baldo noticed first, snatching his hand away with a grunt of pain. His eyes went wide as the ale boiled out of the top and sizzled as it hit the table. The scarred thug reacted a second later, letting out an unmanly screech of pain, swatting the tankard from his lap and leaping from his chair. The tankard hit the floor, splashing boiling ale all over. A big warrior from the next table cursed as his cloak was splattered. Conversation ceased, and a heavy silence fell as heads turned to watch the confrontation.

  Malek waited for their reaction. He had a little bit of power remaining if he needed it.

  “We didn’t mean any offense, master mage,” Baldo said, eyes wide. “We be leavin’ now—don’t magic us. C’mon, Gill.” He started backing away.

  Gill glared at Malek, and his hands balled into fists. “You think some simple parlor tricks are gonna scare me, greenie?” he snarled. “I’m gonna beat yer face in—”

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink, mate?” A hand clamped down on Gill’s shoulder. A lean man with a burn-scarred face stood behind him, his piercing green eyes hard.

  A huge orc bouncer glared at Gill from behind the scarred man.

  Gill whirled around but blanched when he saw the duo confronting him. He looked around to find Baldo, but the dwarf had wisely disappeared. “Aye, methinks I’ll head home,” he grumbled, casting a glare at Malek before heading for the door. The bouncer lumbered after him, ensuring he left.

  “You seem to have a knack for trouble, I see.” The scarred man pulled up a chair and sat across from Malek. He set a tankard of ale on the table and regarded the mage with amusement.

  Malek stared right back. The man was actually a half-elf. He wore a dark-green bandana covering his head and a brown tunic. His face was red and swollen from healing burns, and the tip of his nose looked to have been cut off.

  “Trouble tends to find me… recently, at least,” Malek replied. “Thanks for your intervention.”

  “Don’t mention it. Looked like you had the matter well in hand, anyway. Nice trick with the tankards.”

  “You saw the whole thing?”

  “Aye, I was observing you from the bar. The name’s Arron. Nera sent me—she wanted me to keep an eye on you until she got back.”

  “Much appreciated.” Malek introduced himself and shook the half-elf’s hand. “Where is our mutual friend? She sure knows how to pick the classy establishments.”

  Arron chuckled. “She went to get some things from the guild hall and set us up with a safe house for a few days. She’ll be around a bit later. Sounds like the two of you had quite the adventure last night.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement. I wasn’t planning on this trip to Nexus turning into a lengthy adventure, but that’s the way it seems to be ending up.”

  “It’s always an adventure where Nexus is concerned.” Arron took a gulp of ale and made a sour face. “This really is some piss-poor ale. Why don’t we find a classier tavern? You ever been to the Zombie?”

  “I have, but I thought it might be a bad idea to go back. Nera and I got in a scrape with some cutthroats that were frequenting the place the first night I was in the city.”

  Arron’s eyebrows went up, and his eyes twinkled. “Oh, she didn’t mention that. You really do have a knack for trouble. I’d love to hear about it on the way.”

  Malek got to his feet, relieved to be leaving the Wet Warrior. He didn’t bother to finish the bitter swill being passed off as wine.

  Arron clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, friend. We’ll be fine. I never get in trouble like Nera always does. What could go wrong?” he asked with a grin.

  Malek felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

  ***

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite fiendling,” boomed the corpulent man seated upon the dais. “I’m afraid I was away on guild business and missed your last visit. How is our friend Arron?” He rose, leaning heavily on an ornamented cane. The guildmaster had grown old and fat, but his eyes were sharp and cunning and his greed legendary.

  “He’s much better after being tended to properly.” Nera strode through the main guild room as if she owned the place. “I like what you’ve done with the place, Rollo. Absolutely nothing, from the looks of things.”

  The dimly lit hall reeked of tobacco smoke, civet, and other more exotic elements, which overpowered the smell of roasting meat and onions. The usual assortment of thugs and scofflaws lounged around drinking, smoking, and gambling. Some fenced stolen goods while others chatted idly.

  Nera briefly wondered how such a life had once appealed to her. Countless hours she had wasted away doing the same exact thing as the others were doing. On to bigger and better things now, or so I hope.

  She had placed the powerless collar back around her neck to avoid unnecessary attention and found it gave her a newfound confidence she hadn’t felt since being arrested. It also was a sobering reminder of what a life of thievery could lead to.

  “Aw, you wound me deeply, lass,” Rollo replied. “Times have been tough, especially without your sharp tongue around to liven the mood.” The old man languidly roved his eyes over her from foot to head.

  Nera’s skin crawled, and she suspected he had something in mind other than her tongue. Years back, when Rollo had been younger and newly risen to guildmaster, he attempted to take advantage of her when she was a new recruit to the guild. That had been about thirty or so years before, a brief enough period for a half-breed like her with an extended lifespan but much longer for a short-lived human. She could still feel his slimy tongue on her cheek and the reek of onions and ale on his breath as he held her down on her pallet, a rough hand clamped over her mouth. Thank Sabyl that Arron walked in when he did and broke it up.

  “That so?” She thrust the memory to the back of her mind and stood with hands on hips. “Well, I’ve been working off a ninety-nine-year sentence, in case you’ve forgotten. Where is that whoreson Jarl? I’ve got a score to settle with him if he shows his ugly mug around here.” Her eyes probed the shadows at the edges of the hall but didn’t see the rogue anywhere, unsurprisingly.

  She spotted Zita, Rollo’s lieutenant and a friend of hers. The half-orc waved at her from a low table where she was playing tiles.

  Rollo shrugged. “He’s round and about somewhere, off plane most likely. What brings you back? Up for another score?”

  Nera shook her head. “Nay, thieving is off the table now.” She tapped her nails on the metal links of her collar. “I’m doing
some private contract work for a bit.”

  “Well, let me welcome you back to the fold.” The old master thief clasped Nera on both shoulders, leaned in, and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

  She had to restrain the reflex to wipe her cheek off on her sleeve.

  “You look well, darlin’. Hale and beautiful. I hope they are treating you right at the foundry.” He ran his fingers down one of her horns, flicking the silver hoop that hung from the tip.

  Nera stepped away, uncomfortable once again at the old man’s proximity and attention. “Stuff it up your arse, Rollo. I’ve come to cash in on some of the favors owed Arron and me.”

  “Oh, of course, lass. Come have a seat, and we can have a chat.” Rollo turned to a young boy and hollered at him to bring them some food and drink.

  Then, Rollo hobbled over to a table near the dais. Nera warily slid in the bench across from him. Zita joined them a moment later, giving Nera a quick squeeze on the shoulder as she sat beside her.

  “Arron is doing better, I hope?” Zita asked. “When we heard about his accident, we feared the worst. The gods blessed him by having you nearby to look out for him.” The half-orc was burly and fearsome looking, with the sides of her head shaved and tattoos covering her muscled arms, but she had an easygoing personality that belied her looks. Nera liked her. She felt guilty at not having dropped in to at least visit her friend since being sentenced.

  “Aye, we never stop looking out for each other.” She flicked a glance at Rollo, but the old man didn’t react. “Arron’s just about fully recovered. I stopped by the temple on the way over here and told him I needed his assistance. I think he was enjoying getting daily rubdowns by the young acolytes there.” Nera rolled her eyes, and Zita laughed. Rollo smiled but just listened quietly.