Breaking Step, Draft 1, CH 44 (Patreon)

“So,” Jackal said, nodding toward the sorcerer speaking with Mez at the counter as Tibs sat at the table, “you don’t hate his guts anymore?”

“We talked,” Tibs started, and immediately, that didn’t feel adequate. “I listened. He didn’t lie when he said he was scared we’d refuse to let him on the team.”

“He was correct,” Khumdar said. “Without Tirania forcing it, you would not have allowed him to join.”

“I know.” Tibs looked at the archer and sorcerer. The conversation was heated enough people were moving away. Mostly Mez talking and gesturing and Don looking penitent. “I couldn’t see past how he’d been.” He shrugged. “But believe him when he says he wants to be better.”

“Believe, or know?” the cleric asked.

“He believes he wants to change,” Tibs said, “and that’s what Light sees. It doesn’t know if he will.”

“You’d need void for that,” Jackal said between bites.

“I’d rather not.” Tibs shuddered. “They all seem to turn strange.”

Kroseph placed a plate with spicy smelling meats and vegetables before Tibs. “I’m proud of you,” he said, squeezing his shoulder and adding a tankard.

Tibs didn’t feel like what he’d done was anything that should engender pride. He’d just done the right thing.

The server nodded to Don as they crossed path, then he and the archer sat at the table.

“You two going to be okay?” Jackal asked.

“We’ll see,” Mez replied, going back to eating. He paused. “But you don’t have to worry about me shooting him in the back anymore.”

“He made he clear he’d look me in the eye if he was going to do plant an arrow into me,” Don added.

“Good,” Jackal said, “it’s alway good to know it’s coming. That way, you can think about what you did to deserve it.”

“Thank you for the advice,” the sorcerer said. “I’ll make sure to face you the next time you deserve to be hit.”

Mez rolled his eyes as Jackal grinned. “Better shoot him with corruption. You’ll just break your hand if you punch him.”

“And I do not believe that is an action warranting the use of a healing potion,” Khumdar said.

“We know clerics, don’t we?” Don asked.

The cleric grinned. “But how many of them like you.”

Don opened his mouth, closed it, then narrowed his eyes at Tibs. “You know, I’m starting to regret this ‘being better’ thing.” The words glowed. “It was a lot easier to get stuff when I just went around scaring people into giving it to me.”

“Poor little sorcerer,” Mez said, “however shall you survive it.”

“You are so lucky I promised to be nicer to you, Mezano.”

The archer beamed. “Why do you think I’m taking advantage of the situation?”

“Jackal, can I get your permission to punch the archer?”

“Not unless he does something to deserve it,” the fighter replied, barely pausing his eating.

“He’s—” Don sighed. “You know, you guys are supposed to be the nice ones.”

“But this is us being nice,” Jackal replied in an offended tone. “We let you back into the team, didn’t we?”

“Just so I could suffer,” Don muttered.

“You’re simply not seeing the way they torture each other,” Kroseph said as he placed food and drink before the sorcerer. “Don’t worry, once the novelty passes, you’ll see they aren’t treating you any different than they treat each other.” He paused. “Other than Tibs. He has this way of never ending up on the receiving end of other’s barbs.”

“I’m a rogue,” Tibs said. “We’re good about avoiding blame.”

* * * * *

Tibs stepped through the booths strewed about the area before the mountain. It seemed that each time he came by, there were more of them, with merchants screaming the Runners their wares were better for their survival through the runs.

Tibs’s immediate reaction annoyance. Like any Runner had the coins to spend at this point, but then he looked at the assembled teams and lone Runners. More than the schedule called for, and better dressed than he expected. No one wore the rags they’d arrived in anymore, and while some were dressed hardly better, most of the Runners looked they were serious about their survival, instead of getting by on what they could salvage off the dead.

Was Sto more generous with the first floor, or had Tibs simply been too focused on everything else to notice?

He found the team easily enough. Palden arguing with a guard at the bottom of the stairs. 

They were better equipped than the other teams, Palden and the metal user both garbed in chain mail. Palden had a mace at his belt and a shield on his back, while the other a sword on each hip. The archer—Karl-something?—had on a heavy leather armor and held an intricately carved bow, while Lamberto wore something lighter and had knives at his belt. Gabrielle wore the usual sorcerer’s robes, although hers were decorated with symbols embroidered in black threads throughout the light blue material.

“Tibs!” Lamberto yelled, waving at him. “We’re here!”

Tibs pushed the annoyance down. It was like the boy didn’t realize the danger they were getting ready for, that this was a visit to… Mountainsea? Tibs couldn’t think of anything close to the dungeon that might not feel life threatening.

“You,” Palden ordered. “Tell him to let us in.”

“Is it your turn?” Tibs asked.

“We’re early,” the metal user stated.

“The other team isn’t out,” the guard said.

“Then we’re waiting,” Tibs replied.

“It’s only supposed to be five to a team,” the guard said.

Tibs took the folded paper Tirania had given him after informing him today was when he was taking the nobles in and handed it to him. “They are getting… preferential treatment.” He wasn’t sure he managed not to sound disgusted saying that. “As per Tirania’s instructions.”

“Then we can go in now,” Palden said.

“No.” Tibs motioned away from the stairs. “Only one team on a floor at a time. The only exception is if your scheduled time arrives and they aren’t out. Then they’re considered to have died. How often does that happen on the first floor?” he asked the guard.

“It’s never happened since I’ve been here.” He folded the paper and handed it to Tibs.

“Then we wait until they exit.” Tibs motioned them away. “How much training do you have with your weapons?”

“I can give you a demonstration,” the metal user said, running a hand over the pommel of a sword and smiling. Tibs didn’t know if he was eager because Tibs was Street or the noble just enjoyed fighting that much, but he didn’t like it.

“Fighting’s not allowed in Kragle Rock.”

The fighter snorted.

“We’ve had as much training as was possible,” Gabrielle said.

Tibs looked at the knives on Lamberto’s belt. “How good are you with them?”

“I’m okay.”

“You should get a sword.”

“But I’m the team’s rogue. Rogues use knives.”

“Rogues use whatever gives them the best chance to win.” Tibs forms his sword and only Lamberto didn’t step back, looking at the jagged blade in awe. Tibs was starting to suspect anything he did would cause that reaction. “Whatever the rules are, we don’t play by them if we can get away with it.”

“Light Fingers,” the guard called. “You’re up.”

The team coming down the stairs was in bad shape, ripped armor and bloody clothing, but they were smiling, and there were five of them.

Palden hurried up the steps, and the others followed. Tibs trailed behind, not in much of a hurry.

“Should we start expecting this with noble teams?” the guard by the door asked Tibs.

“You need to check with Tirania,” he replied. “This is the only run I was told to be on with them.” For now. He hoped this wouldn’t become normal.

“Tibs?” Sto asked once he was on the other side of the door. “Why are you with them? You’re too strong for this floor.”

“I’m just escorting them,” he whispered. “They’ll be doing the work.”

“So your instructions are not to make sure they survive?”

Tibs snorted. He was pretty sure it had been implied in Tirania’s suggestion that he made sure they had a good impression of the dungeon, but he had no plans on doing more than offering advice. He’d already told her Galdain didn’t have choice in sending his children to train here. If she still felt they needed to impress the nobles, it was on her.

“There you are,” Palden said. “About time.” He motioned to the room. “Lead the way.”

“That isn’t what I’m here for.”

The fighter stepped close to Tibs. “Listen here, street-trash. I’m the leader of this team and you’re fucking going to do what I tell you.”

“Palden,” Lamberto said, trying to interpose himself between them. “Don’t be like that. Tib’s nice enough to—” the fighter shoved him away.

“Don’t get involved, Sheeple, you’ll just get hurt.”

“It’s okay Lamberto,” Tibs said, smiling. Gabrielle helps the boy back to his feet. “I can handle your brother.”

The fighter snorted.

“Just said the word, Palden,” the other fighter said, hands grasping the pommels of the still sheathed sword. “We’re in the dungeon now, kid.”

“We are,” Tibs replied, “in my dungeon. So you need to think about what you’re planning to do carefully. Whatever training you’ve gotten, I got mine surviving three floors. None of your trainers are as merciless as the dungeon. I’ve lost countless friends to him. And I had to get better and stronger not to join them.”

“You think I’m impress someone like you was lucky and cheated his way through all this?” the metal fighter sneered.

“Okay, I don’t like him,” Sto grumbled.

“Luck’s not a thing,” Tibs replied. “And I don’t care if you’re impressed or not. Surviving the dungeon didn’t teach me to go easy on those of attack me. So try it and find out what happens.”

“You can’t kill us,” Palden stated.

“If you mean I’m not capable of it, you’re wrong. If you mean I’m not allowed…” he looked at them. “If no one but me walks out of the dungeon, who’s going to question how you died?”

“Tibs,” Lamberto said, worried.

“Don’t worry, that’s not my plan. I’m just going to hurt whoever attacks me, and then they’ll have to worry about surviving their run while injured.” He looks at the fighter. “If you want that. Tell your brother to attack me. Otherwise, you are wasting time.” He motioned to the shield at the top of the wall. “That’s how long until the next team come in. It’s roughly two hours. The more time you spend trying to convince me you’re so important I have to obey you, the less you have to reach the boss-room. Which one’s more important to you?”

Palden glared at him.

“Fine.” The fighter turned and headed for the room.

“Stop!” Lamberto yelled at Gabrielle said the same in a calmer tone.

“What?” Palden snapped, turning to face the two.

“You really want to walk through that without first making sure it’s safe?” Gabrielle said.

“There’s nothing there.”

“And what did Father say about dungeons?” the archer asked.

Palden ground his teeth. “Nothing’s ever easy,” he finally said. “Sheeple, you’re up.”

Lamberto stepped to the edge of the room and Tibs stood next to him.

The room had changed.

It no longer looked like anything resembling a cavern. The room was hexagonal, with irregular tiles lining the floor, and colored hexagonal tiles on the walls. He easily saw the cache, but studied the colors, finding the pattern in them and matching that to the tiles on the floor that had the same shapes, amidst all the different ones. That was the easy answer, if Lamberto could figure it out.

“Do… do you have any advice?” the boy asked.

Tibs sensed around them, then looked over his shoulder to make sure the others had stepped away and weren’t paying them attention. He lowered his voice.

“First, I want to say I’m sorry for how I treated you during the party. You were nice to me, and all I did was be rude.”

“You don’t have—”

“Don’t excuse bad behavior, Lamberto. Not from anyone, especially not from yourself once you realize what you’ve done. As for the room. How much practice do you have with locks, traps, and triggers?”

“I’ve read a lot about them.”

Tibs stared. “You’ve read about them.”

Lamberto nodded. “Father also paid one of the city’s best thief to show me how to disarm traps, but he wouldn’t let him teach me lock picking.”

“You read about traps.”

The smile formed slowly. Carine had been right. There were books about rogue stuff. He couldn’t believe it. Well, he should, Carina had pretty much always been right.

“What?”

Tibs shook his head. “Just remembering an argument I had with a friend about books and things thieves would share. What did your teacher say about traps?”

“That if I’m not careful, I can trigger it instead of disarming it.”

Tibs nodded and looked the room over, considering what to say. “There is a way through this room, and all the others. It won’t be the same from one to the other and sometimes it won’t be the obvious one. But you need to remember there is a way to get your entire team through. So long as they listen to you. So, the first thing you want to do, usually, is make sure they understand that, so they don’t rush you. If you can’t finish the floor on a run, that’s fine, you’ll get other runs. Figuring out how to get through is more important than getting through it quickly. The more you practice this, the easier it’ll get and the further you’ll go.” Tibs looked at the others. Palden was glaring impatiently.

He lowered his voice again. “I know they’re your family, but if they can’t respect what your role is in the team, you need to find another one, otherwise they’ll get you killed.”

“They aren’t that bad,” Lamberto said, unrolling a leather pouch containing multiple fine tools. “Palden’s angry because Father wouldn’t let him stay behind. He’s not this nasty usually.” He stretched down at the edge and used two thin metal bars to test the space between the tiles. “You’ll see. Once you know them better, they’re nice people.”

To other nobles, maybe, Tibs thought. He didn’t expect any of them would acknowledge his existence once this rub was over. Just like every noble out— 

He stopped the thought. Not every noble was like that. Lamberto wasn’t. Amelia wasn’t. A handful of others weren’t. He had to stop putting everyone in the same barrel.

It would be easier to do if the nice nobles weren’t so rare.

But that didn’t mean he could excuse his bad behavior.

The click made him look down at Lamberto as Palden pulled him away. The stone spear was well over where his head had been, but Tibs was impressed at how fast the fighter was.

“Are you okay, Sheeple?”

And that was concern in his tone.

“I’m fine,” Lamberto complained.

The metal fighter stepped to Tibs. “I think I need to make one thing clear. If you allow Lamb to be hurt, there will be nothing left of you for the dungeon to eat.”

Tibs raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the entire team.