Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

Tibs sensed the oddity three days after reaching the road. Finding it had been simple. He sensed the break in the trees, the way the earth was packed, and the deeper ruts left behind by caravan wheels.

Traveling on it didn't make him go much faster, since he didn't want to bother with essence work—he wasn't in that much of a hurry to reach the next village. He expected the three days it took him to reach this point would have been traveled in less than one by a caravan.

As he approached and gained a better sense of the oddities, he realized that was what he sensed; or, what was left of one. A lot of worked wood, planks, spread about on either side of the road. Some metal, mostly strapping to reinforce the wheels and wagons. Enough, this had been a large caravan. That they were among the trees meant the attackers hadn't wanted evidence seen by the next one.

He paid attention to the distance. Enough bandits to do this meant a large camp. If he sensed it, he could make them pay for the deaths, because Tibs didn't think they'd bothered taking prisoners. Bandits didn't want the hassle of dealing with them or the drain on their limited resources. They wanted the easy wealth.

Which became another oddity as he was close enough to sense smaller metal items. There were many of them littered among the debris. Small status; sculptures. Things any bandit could sell for quick coins.

He removed the snow with a thought; cleared the forest on either side as far as he sensed the broken carts. There was a sense of hurried work in how they were broken and laid. How the trees had been broken to make space for the larger pieces of carts, instead of cutting them into smaller parts and carried deeper.

Broken trees, not cut.

He didn't think it was to add to the sense of this being a natural occurrence. Not with how they'd hidden the result of the attack. Lack of tools? Even before gaining Wood essence, he'd had an idea that bringing down a tree without an ax or a saw was hard work. The rope would have to be strong enough to withstand the force the people pulled with to bend it back until it broke.

He found rotted bodies and bones with animal teeth mark on them. This had happened well before the cold season for them to feast. He couldn't tell how early, until he came across the broken plank with painted candies on it.

He'd hoped it wasn't them. That this had happened before Rigel had come this way, that the bandits had then moved on with their riches, but it could explain why they'd left some behind. Tibs couldn't know what previous caravans had carried, but he knew Rigel's had many successful merchants on his.

He looked at the devastation.

He doubted any of them survived.

He pushed his sense as far as it would go, sensed for anything that might hint at a bandit camp. Where, before, he would have removed it out of a desire to keep the roads safe; now, he wanted to make them pay.

These had been people he'd known. Comrades in keeping the merchants safe. If he'd done what the barkeep had recommended, had put aside his desire to keep his secrets and rejoined the caravan, he could have kept them safe.

He should have been there for them.

Even Loren, for as intolerant as he'd been, hadn't deserved this end.

Jeremy definitely hadn't. The boy had deserved a chance to learn that pulling his weight didn't mean having to impress someone. That simply being there, doing what was asked. Being ready to help when it was needed was enough. Any hope the boy might have run off didn't survive the memory of how he'd been willing to accompany Tibs, so the two of them could take on a bandit camp alone. How he'd insisted on coming with the guards Graiden took to remove it. How he'd gotten hurt and still stayed.

No, the young fool had been in the middle of this until a bandit had taken him down.

He gathered the bones and remains of bodies he could find. He couldn't give them individual pyres, but he could see to it they traveled back to the elements.

He burned them. Stayed by them until the fire had consumed everything of theirs and released their essences to return where they had come from.

Then he brought back the snow, covered everything. It looked like someone had piled it on the road, but there was bound to be more snow fall over the following days, and no one would travel it until the next season. It was when Iritel had expected the next caravan, and no one from that village would brave the road in the cold season.

He camped there for the night, then returned to his trek in the morning.

* * * * *

His plan to wait for the caravan at the next village was thwarted by their refusal to let him in. Creatures of the Cold weren't welcome, they yelled from the top of the village wall. He told them he was from Iritel, had gone hunting, got turned around in a storm. That he just wanted shelter until the warm weather returned. He offered to help with whatever needed done.

They called him a liar. They made symbols of protections, some mimicking Arcanus. Told him to continue on his way. Said there was another village, further along the road, that wasn't as wise as they. That his lies would work on them.

His only other option to gain entry was to prove them right, so he moved on.

* * * * *

The next village was as wise. As was the one after that. The cold was something they all feared.

The weather warmed not long after it, and before he reached the next village, but by then, he'd grown tired of attempting and being refused. So he kept going, ignoring the glares he felt on him through the rain.

By the time the caravan caught up to him, he'd been regretting his decision to not wait for it in Iritel for days. The rain didn't affect him the way it did most people. It only made him wet if he let it. Only made his path muddy if he wanted it. But his element did nothing for how oppressive the gray sky was. How alone he felt.

All his reasons for moving on once Firmen no longer offered a challenge felt meaningless. His vanishing demonstrating he was just like the villagers and could fall to the danger of the forest? Did they care? Did they need to be more scared of it than they already were? Firmen and Mirka's company would have been pleasant. Even without doing runs, he could have taught them more of the Arcanus.

He should have returned to Mother Natril's farm. Hunted for them. Just been around people.

He should have forced his way into that next village.

He stepped to the side of the road and waited for them.

Instead, they sent a lone rider ahead, who unsheathed her sword before slowing the horse.

"Move back," she ordered, motioning for the forest. "Tell your accomplices this caravan isn't theirs to raid."

"I'm not—"

"Move back, or be cut down."

He considered taking her on. He seriously considered it. She couldn't hurt him, and he wouldn't hurt her. Just show that if it was his intent, he didn't need bandits at his back to take what he wanted.

Only, what he wanted couldn't be taken. He couldn't force them to keep him company. So he stepped into the trees until he couldn't be sure she saw him. But she didn't move.

When the caravan passed, the guards were on alert.

She remained at her post until well after the caravan had passed them by, then rode to catch up. Tibs waited until the next morning to continue on his trek, his trudge.

* * * * *

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He didn't stop at the next village, or the one after that.

There was no point. The caravan had already come and gone. It would be two seasons at least, maybe a year before the next one. The city was closer to him than that, by then.

So, he passed the villages by. He had no need for food or drink. He hunted when he needed, made the water he drank. Occasionally, he missed ale, but by the time he reached the next village, he'd forget about it. He'd be able to sate his thirst for it once he reached the city.

* * * * *

"State your name and business," the guard by the gate demanded, hand on the pommel of his sword. It was the seventh attempt, in what had been other languages, until Tibs understood him. It had been much the same for the travelers within earshot ahead of Tibs if they didn't immediately answer the question.

"I am Thibaud, arriving from Arteron," he answered in his best version of the same language. His thick accent might make question he was originally from there, but he was ready. Instead, the small woman next to the guard wrote on the board tied to her waist and neck that served as her desk, with inkpot, quills, and papers.

Tibs had made himself presentable once he'd sensed the stone walls in the distance. He'd washed, tied his hair back and comb his beard as best as he could. He'd put on the best set of hide clothing he had and crafted the person he would be in this city.

"And what brings you to Brokentia?" she asked in the tone of a bored bureaucrat, while the guard eyed him suspiciously. He'd done the same with the previous travelers as they answered her questions.

Tibs couldn't help himself under that look. "Why, I'm here to rob your nobles blind, or course."

All his statement got Tibs was a raised eyebrow from her and a smirk from him. Were nobles openly disliked here? Or did his claim come across as the embellishment it was?

"I am a scribe of great skill," he said. "Here to be well paid to immortalize the true histories of the noble families of Brokentia."

She wrote. "Since you are here to conduct business, you—"

"Art," he corrected.

"—need to register with the merchant's office before you can offer your services. They'll explain how to go about registering, then process the documents covering the services you can render."

"I'm not going to the artisan's guild?"

"You'll see the artisan's guild after you have been processed by the merchants. Any trade that comes with an exchange of money is first covered by the merchants."

"Doesn't all trade come with an exchange of money?" he asked.

"Yes." The annoyed tone gave him the impression it wasn't the first time she had to explain that. Possibly not for the first time today, or even while Tibs had approached within earshot.

It was a truth of the world that every kingdom did things its way.

"Very well, and where might I find the merchant guild's office?"

"The second street," the guard said, his tone turning mocking, "is called Office Street. If you know your letters, you can't miss it."

He couldn't help himself, again. "Office begins with Ohm, correct?"

The guard's expression darkened. "How about I explain how we spell Cell, here?"

Tibs smiled. "There's no need. I make it a business to never get close to that one word. Far too distasteful. I'll look for someone to guide me to the correct office…if you'll give me leave to enter."

The guard looked at the bureaucrat, who nodded.

"Go in. Don't let us catch you causing trouble."

"No worries there. I never do."

* * * * *

Instead of Office street, Tibs made his way to a market, where he walked among the people until he saw a proper target.

He turned before the display of glassware, and his pack knocked into someone. He reacted quickly, taking care his pack didn't come close to the display, or anyone else, and caught the woman's arm before she stumbled.

"I am so sorry," he said in Janidan, which he'd heard her speak with a merchant. "I've never seen so many people in one place." He righted her robe, straightening her belt in the process, before she struck his hand away.

"Unhand me." She looked him up and down distastefully. "How dare you even step this close to me?"

"How can't I?" He smiled lewdly. "When such a woman is within my reach?"

"Who let this filth in this market?" she demanded, horrified. She looked around and said something in the language Tibs had heard from most on his way to the market. Not seeing anyone to come to her defense, she left in a huff.

Tibs had counted on her wealthy appearance for more than the coins he'd get from the encounter. She looked wealthier than everyone there. He didn't think she was a noble, but she had coins. A willingness to display wealth didn't endear someone to those who didn't have them.

He returned to a display he'd crossed in his search and placed a newly acquired silver on the counter. "Do you have Sea Drops?" he asked, eying the candies on display, looking for that distinctive sea foam color. He had to repeat the question until he asked it in Laritanian.

The young man shook his head.

"The hottest sweets you have, then."

"A whole silver's worth?" he asked, eyes wide.

"If you don't have enough, I'll take half, so other can enjoy them too, and two from the other candies you have until there's nothing of the silver left."

The man hurried to partially empty one container, then added candies of various shapes and colors. Tibs took one from the first box and breathed in its spicy aroma. He popped it in his mouth, closed his eyes and…

Abyss the sweetness was delectable. The heat, as it traveled down his throat, made it hard to breathe. His face warmed from it; his fingers and toes curled.

He opened his eyes to find the young man staring at him, box of candies in hand, and fingers in it.

Tibs's face burned from more than the candy's spices. "It's been a long time since I've had candy this good."

The man looked at him in disbelief, then shook himself and returned to adding candies until the pile was significant. "I…" he trailed off, uncertain. "I don't have anything to carry them in."

Tibs took the pack off his back, careful of the people around him, then dumped all of them in. "No need to worry." He took out a handful of them before putting his pack on, then and walking away from the booth, scanning for anyone who wouldn't miss a coin or two.

He needed to buy an obsidian blade to shave with, a room for the night, clothing fitting for someone living in the city, and then arrange long-term lodging. He could then explore the city and see what he had to work with.

His initial plan, back when he'd hired on Rigel's caravan, had this city only as a stop toward Kartarosa, and the dungeon there. Now, with the possibilities Firmen represented, he hoped Brokentia had what he needed to turn them into actions.

* * * * *

The university was a sprawling building well within the wealthy part of the city.

He made a face at the new candy's sourness, watching well-dressed men and women enter. He kept to the alley because his clothing would draw too much attention. He'd donned clothing that let him blend in with the general population, but he had left them behind as he entered wealthier neighborhoods and attracted looks.

Walking up to the university would get him stared at.

He'd need the kind of money nobles kept to afford the type of clothing that would let him walk to its doors without attracting attention. The entry fee? He could see coins being handed over, but he was too far to make them out. He could count them with essence, but that didn't tell him their value.

He'd have to pay for that information, which meant more money.

He vanished in the alley's darkness and returned to parts where those he permitted himself to rob were the one drawing attentions, instead of him and the others dressed as he was.

* * * * *

The point of the dagger pressed into his side. "Don't be an idiot," the woman whispered. "Come with me."

By the time he'd realized the dagger was heading to his side, it had been too late to act, unless he was willing to draw attention to himself. Everyone carried one of them, some even held theirs as a thing to point with.

And beyond not wanting to draw attention, he was curious. The way she was dressed made it unlikely she was hired by someone with wealth. At times, when one of them had realized Tibs had lightened their coin purse, they'd hired an expert to make him regret it.

They'd been the ones who regretted taking him on.

The alley she directed him to had four others waiting.

A group of five.

Meeting them no longer felt like a pleasant opportunity.

"You're outside your neighborhood," the oldest proclaimed as they surrounded him. They were deep enough no one would bother them. He looked older than Tibs appeared to be, but that could be the work of the grime they were all covered in.

"I don't have a neighborhood."

The young man got in Tibs's face. "This is our neighborhood. We don't let just anyone work here."

"I didn't know." He kept his tone neutral. "I'm sorry. I'll find a different one to work out of." There were plenty of places straddling the wealth line more on the lower side than higher.

Someone snorted.

"They're all taken," the man said. "You want one of your own, you got to convince the Master."

He stifled the groan.

Gangs were in all cities. Small and large ones. Coexisting in varying levels of war and peace. Tibs was used to them and acting without bothering them. He had nothing against the gangs. They were just looking to survive, the way he'd had to do on his Street and beyond.

But if someone claimed to rule over the city's criminals, it would complicate his time here. There had only been a handful of cities where someone had dominion over any one aspect of it, but each time, the order that came with that control had added complications he preferred doing without.

"How about I just do what I need and leave? I'm not going to be here long. No one will notice."

None of them had been the kind of organization Jackal had described his family as being. None of them controlled every aspect of the crimes that happened the way his father had. But there was always someone trying to get there, it seemed.

"We've got rules. You don't work by them. You get broken."

"Fine." He could play along enough to appease them. "Where do I find this Master?"

The young man snorted. "You don't find him. He finds you." The man gripped the knife as if he contemplated using it, and Tibs etched metal over his skin. "We'll pass the word. You'll be summoned when he's ready."

He didn't let the etching go. "I'll stay out of trouble until then. Can I go?"

They exchanged looks, and Tibs readied himself.

"We catch you working our neighborhood again, and you're not going to have to worry about meeting him." They moved out of the way of the exit.

He headed in that direction and stopped. "Oh, you should add someone to your team."

"Why?" the leader asked, suspicious.

Tibs shrugged. "Think of it as safety in numbers." He walked again, and was exiting it when he realized his suggestion could have come across as a threat. It might come back to cause him trouble, but it would demonstrate what he'd meant.

He headed to his lodging, since they'd pass the word along to be on the lookout for him. He'd hoped this would be a time of simple robberies and too much reading. But if he was right about what was coming, he'd need to put a team together.

There had to be other people in this city who didn't care to work under that nameless Master.