Stepping Up, Draft 1, CH 29 (Patreon)

The Dark Night, Khumdar explained, was the night when both Claria and Torus vanished from the night sky together to get away from their children for a few hours. Tibs had experienced such nights. They were the one night where running the roofs was dangerous because the stars alone didn’t provide enough light for him to see by. He didn’t know it had been called that, or when the last one had been.

Carina hadn’t known; that night had no significance for her. Mez knew of it, but had never kept track, and Jackal wasn’t around to ask. He asked Darran, as well as a few of the merchants, but Darran hadn’t known, and the others had been in a dark mood and not particularly willing to talk with him.

So, he had to go to the guild and seek the one other person Tibs expected to know, Alistair. He only hoped his teacher was still around after their morning training.

“Do you have any idea what the plan is if they can’t get any conscript to run the dungeon?” a guild worker said to the other walking with him as Tibs passed them, and he turned around to follow them and listen in. It was rare for anyone to talk about the dungeon in town; since the Runners weren’t allowed to do it. And the people working at the guild rarely discussed it outside the building.

“Can we ever run out of conscripts?” the woman asked. “They’re criminals, after all, there are a lot of kingdoms out there.”

“Criminals who were caught,” the man said. “And we brought in nearly five thousand when the dungeon was found, then another three so it would rebuild its strength, not to say of the roughly two thousand since then, because it’s going through Runners like it’s famished. That’s ten thousand in only over six months. Joffrey said there’s never been that high of a demand for conscript before.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with it? I heard that even the Runners who survived the first rank are having trouble making it through since the attack. We’re losing what, half the experienced Runners each cycle?”

“Something like that. I heard someone say it might be turning feral.”

“That’s not a thing,” she scoffed. “Just bard stories.”

“Really? Then how do you explain the number of Runners it’s eating? Normally, after this amount, a dungeon would be at least Lambda. I get it almost died, but still, why isn’t it graduating? Where’s it all going?”

“You think they’re going to abandon it?”

Now he scoffed. “And allow one of the kings to grab it? Not a chance. But there’s got to be a point where the guild decides it’s no longer worth investing in it. Dungeons are supposed to be training grounds, not places where we send people to just die.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to tell you I’m happy not to be at the level where I have to deal with those decisions.” She indicated the approaching intersection. “Anyway, I have to head to my office and inventory the latest equipment find, as measly as they are.”

“Have fun with that. I’m off to look into finding a kingdom with criminals they can send us.”

Tibs continued along the corridor until another intersection and he turned, walking aimlessly while going over what they’d said. Could Sto be sick? Would Sto know if he was? Tibs could, but he didn’t know if a dungeon was like a person in that regard.

What he didn’t entirely understand was how so many died. Their last run hadn’t felt that difficult.

“Are you lost?” someone asked. And Tibs stopped to look up and around. He was in a large room. “Oh, you’re Light Fingers,” the man said. He had essence, wood, but he didn’t look like a Runner or an adventurer, and Tibs guessed the man was no more powerful than Jackal was, Zeta at most. “Do you have a meeting?”

“I’m looking for Alistair, my teacher,” Tibs replied, no bothering pointing out that his name was not Light Fingers. What was the point, it wasn’t like he’d see this clerk again.

“I’m afraid I don’t know him, but I doubt you’ll find him here.”

Tibs noticed the multitude of desks had papers and the men, and women, were writing. Most also had wood as their essence. Did wood help with writing, he wondered absently before deciding he didn’t want to know. If Carina found out it did, she might demand he gain that essence as part of her teaching him his letters.

Could he get wood essence? It wasn’t part of the four core essences water had told him about, but then she hadn’t said anything about the four he had to get now when she told him about the first ones. Maybe there was an order to it?

“Mister Light Fingers?” the man asked, still smiling. “I really have to ask that you leave.”

“Sorry, yeah.” He turned and stepped out. He needed to be more careful when walking. It wasn’t good for him to get so deep in his thoughts he lost track of where he went.

He made his way back to where the training rooms were and found Alistair in an argument with Harry. He resisted the temptation to get close enough to hear them. Harry might ask why Tibs was there, and he’d have to answer and Tibs couldn’t think of a way to give a satisfactory answer without lying.

The guard leader noticed him and used his presence to end the discussion. Alistair didn’t seem pleased, but he’d put a smile on by the time he reached Tibs. “This is a surprise. When we ended the training this morning, you didn’t seem interested in continuing.”

Tibs shrugged. “What was that about?” in pointed to Harry’s retreating back.

Alistair sighed. “Just Harry being Harry. Crime grows as a town grows and he isn’t happy about it. He seems to think it’s part of my responsibilities to keep the thieves that managed to sneak in from causing trouble.”

“The roof runner,” Tibs said. “He asked me to stop them too.”

“I thought that was you,” he said with a chuckle.

“There’s another one now.”

Alistair sobered. “You don’t have to do it. You aren’t part of the guard.”

“But I’m a rogue, so I’m better than they are at finding a thief. And the roofs are mine,” he added. “I’m not going to let someone use them to cause trouble.”

Alistair shook his head and chuckled. “This need you have to look after the town isn’t very rogue-like. We’re supposed to only think about ourselves, you know.”

Tibs shrugged. “I had to do that all my life until I came here. My Street was filled with trouble, everyone there suffered. I don’t want that for my town.”

“Just remember that you are a Runner, not a guard. When the night comes, it isn’t your responsibility to keep the town safe. Now, what brought you to me? Your curiosity, or a desire for more training?”

“Do you know when the Dark Night’s going to be?”

“Why do you want to know that?” his teacher asked, surprised.

“Just curious.”

Alistair let out a breath while looking up. “Let’s see, this is the twentieth of Sarbon, Claira will wink in three days, but Torus isn’t due for to ensconced himself until eighth of Marmel, and… huh, yeah, that’s going to the night. The eighth of Marmel, I can’t tell you the exact time, but there should be someone here more used to local time.” He grinned. “I travel too much to bother keeping track of that.”

Sarbon and Marmel were months, and each was four and five days long. “Is Marmel next month?” He still had difficulties keeping track. Alistair nodded.

So, there was—he counted on his fingers—two and five days until Marmel started, then it was eight days so. He so needed more fingers for those large numbers. Three and three days.

“You are working at it quite hard for something that’s merely curiosity.”

“I have to practice my numbers too,” Tibs said, not having to act the annoyance. “That means I have to figure out how to add and remove numbers.”

“And what have you come up with?”

“Three and three days.”

“Thirty-three, that’s right.”

“Thanks.” At nine days in a week… could he borrow Alistair’s hands? Three weeks and six days. Hopefully, that was enough time for him to practice not eating. “When is the next Dark Night?”

Alistair stared at him. “I am not an astrologer. I can tell you that Claria winks every thirtieth day, and that Torus ensconces himself every fiftieth.” He smiled, “why don’t you use it as an exercise to practice your numbers. You know the eighth of Marmel they will leave together, you can figure out when it will happen again.”

Tibs looked at his hands. How in the abyss was anyone supposed to do that?

Three and three. He had to get it right, or it wasn’t happening at all.

* * * * *

Tibs stood on the roof, looking at the sky. Claria was in the process of closing. Three nights, Alistair said, and it would be fully closed. And the next time would be the Dark Night. He’d start paying more attention to it and Torus from now on. Learn how they lived.

But tonight it was about something else.

He brought his attention to the roofs. He wouldn’t find his thief here, not enough wealth. He shook his head in amusement. When had a pouch full of silver become ‘not a lot of wealth’ for him? Not so long ago, he’d have taken risks that could have gotten him killed for the chance to touch a whole copper. Now, he didn’t even count them anymore.

Life was strange at times.

He ran. He ran hard. He jumped from roof to roof, knowing which to take to reach the noble area of the town. Those roofs took more skills to jump because the houses were further apart, but they still had that one shorter space. It was simply a question of finding it, making sure he had the proper running start, and didn’t hesitate.

He stopped on a high roof and crouch to reduce the chances he’d be seen. With as many Runners as they’d lost to the dungeon, Tibs didn’t think there were any roof runners left other than him and the thief, but why risk it. If someone saw him on a noble’s roof and there was trouble in this area, Harry would come asking questions. He’d tell the truth about why he was here, but all it would take is for the guard to ask about something else, and Tibs might be in trouble, so he did all he could to avoid Harry.

Motion attracted his attention. A moving shadow. Too small. One of the cats that now called the town their home. He had no idea how they’d made it here, just like the dogs that roamed the alleys. Had they sneaked in through the platform? Would the attendants let that happen? Or had they been in the wild and joined the town when they found it?

Was there someone out there like Serba, but who tamed cats?

Another shadow, another cat who—no, someone trying to appear as the shadow of a cat. Their round head broke the roofline and lacked the ears. Tibs Watched them, jumping to a closer roof as they moved.

They paused, looking over the peak of the house they were on and Tibs moved to see them and the house they were studying.

Sebastian’s house.

Should he let them attempt to break in so he could see what the defenses were like? Were they targeting the house because of who lived there, or because it was a noble’s house? Well, a house in the noble section of the town. Sebastian was a pretender to the position. Tibs expected every noble living here could tell that at a glance.

He jumped onto their roof. If they tried to break in, Sebastian would redouble the security, and Tibs doubted he could work out how to get through those any easier than the ones currently on.

He landed and froze. The thief had noticed something; their posture shifted. They looked around and stopped when they were looking in his direction. Well, it wasn’t like he needed to remain hidden from them. If he could convince them to stop with a discussion, he’d do that.

He waved and approached. Sensing for their essence once he was close enough. They had none, but what they wore had plenty.

“You—” he started, and they were running away. Tibs sighed. There wouldn’t be any talking. He ran after them.

They were good jumpers, maybe better than he was as they made it to a roof he didn’t think he’d managed. But he was running on the one alongside theirs. He was a faster runner, and he suspected the essence on their boots might be how they were so sure-footed, rather than his years of practice.

They suddenly turned and jumped to another roof, becoming harder to see. Cursing, Tibs looked for the shortest path to reach them and it was far too long. They were still among the nobles’ roofs. If he let them get out of the area first, he would lose them.

“Oh well,” he whispered. “I’d been wanting to try this now that I have more air essence.” He turned and ran down the slope of the roof, gaining speed. He jumped as he reached the end and threw air where he’d reached the height of his leap. He threw a lot of air there. Now was not the time to be short. And he tightened the etching as much as he could.

He felt it give as soon as his weight landed on it, but it lasted long enough he could propel himself the rest of the way.

He grinned. He could air jump!

He drew air back in to refill his reserves as he ran; he was catching up. Now that they couldn’t outdistance him by jumping, he just had to work out how to catch them.

They crossed into a normal neighborhood, and Tibs closed the distance faster. He considered throwing water at their feet, but he didn’t want them to fall off the roof and break their neck.

He realized he had no idea how to stop them. On the ground, he’d simply tackle them, but up here, it would cause them to fall. Tibs had survived a five-story fall. It had hurt, and he’d broken an arm—that hadn’t been fun. But that was before he had so much earth essence to harden his body with.

But that still left them to fall. He didn’t know how experienced with falls they were.

Still, if he timed it right. He could take them off the roof and stop both their fall… how would they react to falling on him while he was hardened?

He cursed. He was overthinking this. He tackled them, and as they reached the end of the sloped roof, he grabbed onto their collar hard and locked his hand in position with earth. Then, as they were tipping off the roof, he grabbed onto the edge, locking his hand in that position too.

He groaned in pain as they came to a stop, but stop they did.

He smiled down at them. “How about we have a talk?” He noticed their face was covered by a black cloth, which made sense since, unlike him, if someone could identify them, it would land them in a heap of trouble, not to say a cell. He also realized that instead of grabbing their collar, they were holding them by the black jacket they wore. Essence woven through it stretched. He made out water, which would be how it stayed supple, he guessed. Metal was probably part of it, considering it hadn’t ripped as they stopped.

They pulled a knife and Tibs hardened his arm to his elbow, then realized they could stab his chest and hardened that. He still had essence left, so he hardened his whole body. Why take chances?

“Look, believe it or not,” he said, “I’m not interested in forcing you to stop. I’m a rogue myself, so I get the appeal of breaking into buildings, and you’ve been picking on nobles, which I’m all for. We just have to talk about how much you’re taking. They’ve been complaining to Harry, and there’s going to be a point where he’s either going to have to round up all of us, which includes me, or the nobles are going to take matters into their own hands and bring in people to capture you. I don’t think those people are going to care who else gets hurt in the process.”

They hadn’t used the knife on him yet, so Tibs took it as a good sign. Maybe they’d run because they hadn’t realized all he wanted was to talk.

“My only interest is keeping the town safe. That means no noble mercenaries here to kill you and anyone else who gets in their way. So, how about we go down, find a tavern with drinkable ale, and talk over your options?”

They slashed.

Instead of feeling the blade slide against his hardened skin, it cut through the fabric of the jacket and they fell. Before Tibs would register the act, they kick off the wall and tumbled up, kicked off the other wall, and went up again and they landed on the roof he was holding on.

All Tibs could do was watch in amazement, then look up as they looked down on him. He expected gloating, which, after this performance, they were entitled to, but all they did was shake their head, then run off.

Tibs pulled himself up enough to watch them run up the roof and vanish on the other side. This chase was lost.

He looked down; he was four stories up, and at the piece of fabric in his hand. The weave was coming undone. The knife slash had cut it as it cut the cloth. But there was more essence there. Looking over what he held, he realized it was a pocket, and there was something magical in it.

Posted using PostyBirb