The Dark Ability (10 page)

Rsiran felt a little nervous about seeing the others. How long had it been since he last diced with them? How long had he been working the mines, toiling away like the other criminals for the crime of being given the ability to Slide? Would they ask him to explain? Or would they—like Jessa—simply be glad he was unharmed and welcome him back?

“You coming?” Jessa asked.

“I’m coming.” He glanced up at the sky, noting the position of the moon. Another hour, possibly two, before he would have to Slide back and try to get whatever sleep he could before the morning whistle blew and he had to return to the mines.

Outside the tavern, a hint of nerves rolled his stomach as Jessa pulled open the door and slipped inside. Rsiran paused, again debating whether he should return to the mines, but decided that he did not want to leave Jessa feeling abandoned again. He understood all too well the hurt look on her face when she asked him why he left. It was the way Alyse made him feel about returning home.

T
aking a deep breath
, Rsiran stepped nervously into the tavern. Flickering light from the fire in the hearth at the back of the room gave a warm glow. The tavern was busier than the last time he visited. A steady chatter of voices hung over the room, punctuated occasionally by a loud laugh or, once, a fist slamming onto the top of a table. A flutist played softly in one corner, giving the room a lively feel. The smell of roasting meat wafted out of the kitchens mixed with the spice of the ale. Both smelled inviting.

When Rsiran entered, Brusus looked over from talking quietly at a table. Tonight he wore a shirt of deep green embroidered with strips of blue that matched the stone of his ring. Jessa slipped the long box over to him, and he stuffed it under the table, trapping it between his legs. When Brusus saw him, he stood and hurried over, leaving the box unguarded by the table, an unexpected expression drawing tight lines around his wrinkled eyes—concern.

Had he really misread him? Rsiran wasn’t accustomed to anyone worrying about him, not even his family. Were he simply to disappear, leave the city like one of the Forgotten, he suspected they wouldn’t spend even a moment thinking about him. So for this man, essentially a stranger, to worry about him…

He swallowed back a strange lump in his throat.

“What happened to you? Della said you were pretty badly hurt. Some sort of poison? Who would try to poison you? Are you mixed up in some kind of trouble?” His words all ran together. “I tried to see you, but by the time I got to Della’s place, you had already left!”

“I’m sorry, Brusus.” Seeing the mixture of relief and anger that crossed Brusus’s face as he spoke made Rsiran feel even worse. He didn’t really have any answers for him, either. It was not like he really understood what happened to him, only that someone had wanted the lorcith he mined for himself. “I…”

Brusus sighed and clapped him on the shoulder, his pale eyes flashing a dull green, barely deepening any at all. Again Rsiran wondered about Brusus’s ability but such things were not polite questions. Almost as bad to comment on someone’s relative strength—a mistake Rsiran had already made with Brusus.

His mind crawled with the sense of someone trying to Read him but it passed quickly. Rsiran glanced at Jessa, but she seemed more interested in the cup of dice.

“Say no more, Rsiran. I’m pleased Della could heal you. Maybe later we’ll get you relaxed enough to tell us what happened. The way Jessa explained it, you damn near died from some sort of knife wound to your back. You have to anger a man pretty badly for him to want to stab you in the back! Even Haern hasn’t managed that.”

Haern looked up, a serious look on his scarred face. He idly spun a fork on the table. “What haven’t I managed?” His deep brow furrowed as he looked from Brusus to Rsiran. He spoke slowly and deliberately, his half empty glass of ale sitting in front of hands steepled together on the table.

“To get stabbed in the back,” Brusus said, sliding back onto his seat near Haern. His feet cupped the box under the table again.

Another man sat at the table next to Haern and smiled at the comment. Rsiran didn’t recognize him.

“As far as you know,” Haern said. “Of course, I know better than to come to you for help with something like that. Poor Rsiran has much to learn.”

Rsiran smiled and sat in the free chair Brusus offered. Jessa watched him, a satisfied look on her face.

Brusus motioned to the other man. “This is Firell.”

Firell nodded. He had long black hair, pulled back behind his head. Unlike most others in the city, he had a small patch of hair on his chin. His eyes were a moderate green and stared at Rsiran intently.

“Hear you let Jessa save your life,” Firell said. His voice was soft and lilted with a deep musical quality.

Jessa flashed him a smile. “Worst mistake of his life.”

“Probably doesn’t even know what a mistake that is,” Haern said.

“She’s already promised to get me back,” Rsiran said.

Firell’s eyes widened. “Careful with this one,” he said, nodding toward Jessa. “Even Brusus don’t want to tangle with her. That’s why I prefer to keep out on my ship, away from dangerous girls like her. At least there you see them coming.”

Brusus nodded seriously. “Nearly slit my throat the first time I met her.”

“On accident!”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. The Great Watcher knows that another finger more, and I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“But you are. Unfortunately for us,” she said.

A small smile pulled on Rsiran’s lips, listening to the quiet banter. The teasing felt different from the criticism he usually experienced, all good-natured instead of hurtful. He looked around the table: at Jessa who had saved his life though he had only met her a few times, at Brusus who was making a joke with Firell and had been so concerned about him, and at Haern who watched him closely, a faraway look on his face, his eyes flaring deeper green. Rsiran realized he felt comfortable.

Yet, should he be comfortable? They accepted his injury without too many questions. Brusus dressed like one of the Elvraeth but hung out in Lower Town. He wanted lorcith knives, so maybe feigning concern was his way to convince Rsiran to help. And from what he could tell, Jessa had stolen that box for Brusus. As far as he knew, they were criminals, the kind his father warned he would become with his ability.

Why, then, did he feel at ease?

“Now that we have the boy back, should you tell him your news?” Haern asked, the distant look to his face now gone.

Brusus shrugged, a laugh trailing off as he motioned to one of the servers to come to their table. “Not so much news, but a possibility. And only if our Rsiran here were so inclined.”

“What possibility?” he asked.

Brusus pointed toward his glass of ale when the server approached the table, motioning to everyone at the table. The server was thin and with a round face, her black hair curling around her shoulders looking much like Alyse. She smiled fondly at Brusus before turning toward the kitchen.

“Ah,” Brusus started. “Well… it has to do with that knife of yours.”

Rsiran shook his head. “Not mine. You bought it.”

Brusus smiled, twisting the ring on his finger. “And then sold it. Got a fair price, I might add.”

Haern snorted.

Jessa punched him in the shoulder.

He looked at her, feigning a hurt expression. “What? He got triple what he paid!”

Brusus’s smile deepened. “Two talen! Could probably get more once the quality is known. As of now, Rsiran’s mark isn’t well known. But with enough time and a few more blades like that, I’m sure that will change.”

“Wait,” Rsiran said, understanding where this was leading. “I’ve already told you that I can’t make any more like that.”

Brusus nodded, taking a long drink of ale. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you keep your cut of the profits.” Firell snorted, and Brusus turned to glare at him. “Not like I can cheat him now that he knows what I got, right?”

Firell shrugged. “Not like you wouldn’t try.”

Rsiran shook his head. “You don’t understand—”

If his father learned of that, he would lose his apprenticeship for sure. And he would never be a smith.

“Hold on before you answer. Think on it. You make a dozen of those knives, and we can sell them for ten each. Let’s say you keep half. I figure for a longer blade we might be able to get that to five talen. Possibly even a guilden. That kind of money adds up. How long it take you to make one of those knives? Couple of days?”

Rsiran shook his head, realizing now which of the two men he’d overheard that night Brusus was. He owed someone money. “No more than a few hours.” Even that was probably a long estimate. With enough focus and the right lorcith, he could probably make one of the knives in less than an hour. And pocket a talen each. That was more money than his father made for some of his most intricate work, but what Brusus asked was forbidden by the smith guild. Too many knives and he would surely be discovered.

“A few hours!” Brusus said too loudly. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Damn, Rsiran, if you can make them that quickly we could turn out a couple dozen a week!”

“I can’t, Brusus.”

“I think if we can make a few longer blades, we can drive up the value even more,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard Rsiran.

“I can’t,” Rsiran repeated.

Haern watched with deeply green eyes, still spinning the fork. Jessa chewed her lip, head tilted forward as she softly inhaled the smell of the flower. Rsiran wondered if he was the only one to notice.

Brusus kept talking for another moment before what Rsiran said seemed to register. “What do you mean you can’t? That knife was simple. Elegant.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that is made anymore!”

Rsiran swallowed. His father would argue that knives were no longer made of lorcith for good reason, though Rsiran never really understood the reasoning. Iron or steel were fine but only for eating or decoration. Never for weapons. If the guild discovered, he wouldn’t have only his father to fear—he would be forbidden from working in a smithy by the guild.

“I’m not exactly in good standing in my apprenticeship.”

Brusus’s eyes widened. “Still can’t believe you’re just an apprentice. Damn, Rsiran, that knife was…” He trailed off. “How did you manage to make the others?”

“At the end of the day. My role is to keep the shop clean, manage the forge, run supplies.” He shrugged. “I don’t really get much actual time working at the forge. That’s more for the journeymen.”

“Life of an apprentice,” Firell said and smiled.

Haern nodded as well.

“So we go a little slower,” Brusus said, his enthusiasm not waning. “You make one blade a night. Even that production is more than has been seen in several centuries.”

“Brusus… I can’t.” Rsiran didn’t even have access to a forge, at least not until his father allowed him to return from the mines. Even were he to risk his apprenticeship then by making knives, there was the small issue of whether the lorcith would even choose to become a weapon. As much as his father wanted him to learn to command the lorcith, to ignore the way it called to him, demanding he draw out the desired form, Rsiran had barely been able to ignore the soft murmuring music while working in the mines. And when he listened, it nearly killed him.

Brusus blinked, excitement finally fading. The others around the table sat still, as if waiting to see how he would react. Finally, he clapped Rsiran on the shoulder. “Well, think on it, at least. You have a gift that we can use. Not many opportunities to make this kind of profit.” He waited until Rsiran met his eyes that flashed a soft green. “Please, think on it.”

There was a desperation to Brusus’s voice that Rsiran hadn’t noted before. How much did he owe? And to who?

Rsiran suddenly wished he could help Brusus. The man had helped make ensure he was healed.
Shouldn’t
he help him if he could?

“Can we dice now?” Jessa asked.

Haern laughed, and Brusus shot him a look. Haern ignored him and pulled a stack of dronr and set it on the table. “If Rsiran won’t help Brusus, looks like he’ll have to earn his coin another way. Too bad he never has much luck!”

Jessa stifled a laugh.

Brusus set a similar stack of coins atop the table before pulling out his leather pouch and dumping the carved dice out in a clatter. He scooped them up and waited for Firell until he set coins on the table.

Jessa shook her head. “No money tonight. Though I think you owe me, Brusus.”

“Do I? Ow!” he yelled as Jessa kicked him under the table. Brusus’s eyes looked down, considering the box he held between his legs, before he turned and smiled. “Maybe I can cover you for a hand. I’ll be earning my own money back anyway.”

She kicked him again, and Brusus slid back to avoid her feet.

“You in?” Jessa asked Rsiran.

He shook his head. “No money, either.”

Brusus turned and gave him a sly smile. “I think I heard of a way you could make some pretty good money. I’ll even let you keep the full price for the next one.”

“Let it drop, Brusus,” Firell said. “I think Rsiran fears losing his apprenticeship if he accepts your offer.”

Brusus eyed Rsiran for a moment before raising his hands. “All right! Besides, I couldn’t let him keep the two talens anyway. He owes Della two dronr for his healing.”

“As if Della charged you two dronr!” Jessa said. Rsiran suspected that she tried to kick Brusus again but he was out of range.

“One?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never been charged by her once!”

“Well, damn. Guess I will have to let him keep the two talens.”

“Here.” Haern slid a handful of coins toward Rsiran. “You can play with my coin. I keep whatever you win.”

“I wouldn’t want to lose your coin.”

“Who said anything about you losing?”

“That’s not right!” Jessa argued, looking from Brusus to Haern. “None of the rest of us are Seers!”

Brusus frowned and shook his head. Firell simply watched Haern.

Haern only shrugged. “Not Seeing anything. Watched him dice before. Kid’s lucky.”

A smile spread across Brusus’s face. “You’d better hope so, otherwise you’ll lose twice as much tonight!”

As they began dicing, sitting around a table comfortably with others who actually wanted him there, Rsiran smiled. Maybe Haern was right. Tonight he did feel lucky. How else to explain that Jessa found him twice—first to save him and the second time to bring him back to the tavern with her. Lucky.

He smiled. It was the first time in his life he’d felt that way. But he couldn’t help but worry: how long would it last?