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Just a little sneak peek into coming work "Queen of Ravens" working title. |
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"And Anāru lifted his eyes to the lands, and the lands raised themselves to Anāru" ~Hymn to the Anāru, Temple of the Thorn "At dawn we awaken from death, only too long for its embrace come evening" ~ Naxian Codex Chapter One: Brothers of the Raven How loud can a drop of water be? thought Gar flicking an irritated glance back up the alley. Like most of the rundown buildings in the poor quarter near the river’s edge, the guttering along Gar’s chosen alley needed some serious repair. The persistent rain from an hour earlier having melted into a dense soupy mist provided him with the cover he desired. But that drip! Gar growled again working to ignore its incessant patter and wiping his face to clear the moister condensing on his skin. The constant tapping sound on the cobles and rotting rain barrels, strained his hearing and masked the sleepy murmur of the city beyond his chosen alley entrance. Not that many would be out this time of night, but there was work to do and his guild fee was begging due again. A little murder and a touch of robbery will see that put to rest. Not that he actually enjoyed killing, if he were honest with himself. The fact is, I don’t really mind it either. Honestly, it just makes robbing just that bit more convenient, he mused straining at the night sounds filtering through the haze. Grab them from behind, a quick slip of the knife from ear to ear, keep a hand over their mouth until they stop kicking. And then..? Well, plenty of time to pick through their pockets, and who needs to leave a witness to run to the night watch? Besides a man’s got to earn a living somehow. So, tonight, Gar lurked among the barrels and refuses at an alley entrance. Which one in the twisted maze of streets by the docks, he was not sure. But it stank of piss, dead things and rotting cabbage. Why do they always smell of cabbage, he thought absently his mind drifting through simple boredom. It was not a question he had an answer for, and it did not really matter, they all did, and besides, it masked his own fragrance. Pressed against a wall and hidden by the gloom, he was just another indistinct shape in the misty dark. It was the perfect hiding spot really, with a dense mist drifting in off the river Sil to soften the edges, dampen the sound and lengthen the shadows, the night could not have been more perfect for a robbery. Yet it had provided little chance to earn his living, Gar lamented adjusting his rope belt. His stomach was empty and growling, which went a long way to explain his less than usual caution as the hours stretched on with little chance to ply his trade. Close to giving up and hoping to beg a little change in the morning Gar took a sharp breath at the telltale click of boots on worn cobles. He had almost missed them in his musings, and the mist muffling the night. Sighing in relief, Gar focused as best he could as little butterflies of fear swarmed in his head and belly. Or is that just hunger? he thought his instincts balanced between flight or fight. But it did not really matter if it gave him caution. It paid to be careful regardless of the hunger, Shăr was a dangerous place after all. Hands pressed against the mist damp wall and knife at the ready, Gar crouched poised on the balls of his feet, muscles tensing and relaxing eager to get the job done and out of the damp. Straining against the milky lamp lit street, Gar could see little at first until a man a little over average height materialized from the mist. He had an unremarkable face except for the scar that ran from just under his right eye to his lower jaw. A hooded heavy grey woollen cloak worn to beat back the winter damp, covered short-cropped black hair, and ice blue eyes held an air of danger about the man as he moved with a fluid grace that only hard fighting men displayed. “Good, I need a new cloak,” Gar chuckled to himself missing the warning signs. Gripping his knife Gar counted the heartbeats as the man walked past before he lunged for his latest victim. And that is where it all suddenly went terribly wrong. Gar felt a very sharp sensation in his guts before he hit the ground with an explosion of air. Panicked thoughts swarmed in his head, as the last thing he would ever see arrived in the shape of a very long knife slammed into his throat with a crunch and wet smack. The man stepped back, looking around the street for more assailants. Upon seeing no immediate danger, he cursed. “Shăr, what a shit hole,” Kallus muttered as he shook his head catching the stench of the dingy alley. Crouching with a sigh of disgust, he cleaned the blood from his dagger on the thief’s cooling corpse. “Poor fool, you were probably expecting a drunken sailor or a merchant, not a war hardened veteran,” Kallus whispered giving the rag-clad cutpurses a crooked smile and tossing a small copper coin onto the former thief’s chest. “Ormü owns you all,” he whispered resuming his journey toward the river. |
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