No More Than Pen and Ink

Underfoot woke up quickly to find Lightfinger tugging on her shoulder. It was still dark. “It is time to go, little one.” He said, he had the bag already over his shoulder and had whisked the blanket off of her as soon as she was awake. He had it folded and tucked away before she was on her feet. Underfoot could hear the sounds of workers on the far end of the Warehouse, Lightfinger tapped his mouth and made a sign indicating that she should keep quiet and follow him. She looked up at him, surprised. And then followed him back out the hole in the back wall and under the fence.

“Today,” he said. “I will try to make some friends and maybe pick up a few necessities. We’ll be sleeping here again tonight. See if you can find something to do.” He sized her up. “I might look in to getting you some better clothes so you will be somewhat more presentable.” And he whirled off, he had vanished before she could even protest.

She had never had free time before, and here she found herself in the middle of a strange city by herself, without anything she was supposed to be doing or anything that she knew she wanted to be doing. She stood there for a while, just looking around, wondering what to do with herself. She was a little worried that if she wandered too far she would get lost. But her innate curiosity and the growing sense of restlessness and boredom caught up with that fear and surpassed it. She wandered off into the city.

Apparently they had ended up in a more trade-oriented part of the city, most of the buildings were warehouses and manufacturing plants. Smoke rolled out of tall chimneys in some of the huge buildings, and large carts rolled down the street. Often she found herself jostled from side to side by the people bustling to get too and from their places of work in various plants. The prominent smells were those of burning wood, melting metal and rushing people. The streets were crowded and she had to dodge around the traffic. She was a little hassled, and found herself resting with her back against a stone wall where she wouldn’t be in danger of getting run over for a while.

As she was standing there a hand touched her shoulder. She turned and saw that the hand belonged to a dirty boy who looked to be about the same age as she was though he was a good six inches taller. “Watcha up to?” He said, flashing a smoothly friendly grin.

She jumped a little backing away from him. “Staying out of the way.” She said, her voice tense with surprise.

“You’re new to the city, aintcha?” The boy said, cocking his head and looking at her funny.

“Yes,” she said biting her lip..

“So ya need som’ne to show ya the ropes,” he said, taking her hand and starting to pull her along. “Y’ll need to know how to make it in the city.”

“But I need to be back here tonight.” she said. “Well back there”. She pointed.

The boy smiled. “Don’t you worry about that, mate. We’ll take care of ya. You’ll be better off fer knowin how things work.” He pulled her away.

Underfoot wasn’t sure if she really could trust him, but he offered to help her and he seemed to know what he was doing. Even if he didn’t seem capable of talking properly. And it seemed he would keep hounding her until she went with him. “Okay.” she said

The boy dragged her out into the stream of traffic, pulling her along through the crowd, ducking under horses. He was almost run over by a couple wagons. He accidentally bumped into one of the more richly dressed people and stumbled on, calling curses after him as if it was the other man’s fault. Afterwards Underfoot noticed that he was tossing a bag of coins from hand to hand feeling its weight before he tucked it into his jacket.

“You just stole from that man.” Underfoot said, a touch of horror in her voice.

The boy looked back at her. “There ain’t much else we can do round here to survive.” He said with a shrug. “don’t worry. you’ll get the hang of things after a while.”

She kept her mouth closed. She had never seen someone steal before, but the books in Sternbrow’s house had spoken a lot about ethics and what was right and wrong. She had thought that the ideals in the books were good. And Sternbrow had railed on about thieves who stole things in the village. And she had heard about the punishments that they faced. But she was just now starting to think of things differently. There really wasn’t much of a reason not too. And here she was in the middle of a city that wouldn’t give her a second thought. And with her stomach grumbling, no where to stay, and no idea of how to get a better job, she found that she didn’t really have much objection to the idea of stealing. But the concept of money was merely theoretical to her. She didn’t understand why people handed each other pieces of copper, silver or gold and expected the other person to be willing to part with goods or services to earn them. But since it did work. . . she thought she could figure it out. “So you don’t have a job?” She asked.

“I has a job,” he said. “I per-suade people to part with their hard-earned cash to care fer us poor chillen. Even ifen they doesn’t want to” he said, flashing a charming grin which was missing a front tooth. “I outgrew begging a while back, it was too easy and less rewarding.”

“And less dangerous.” Underfoot added.

“Well, your’re just as likely to get beaten or robbed either way. Its just if you’re a thief you might get beaten by the guards, but you’ll also get better at getting away from those that would do you harm. You’ll soon learn the difference if you’re gonna live down here on the streets.” He said. “The whole world is against us, but we do our best to get by.” He said. “An ifen you stick with me, I’ll give you all the help I can.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because thas the way it works, I help you get started. I teach you how it works and then you help the rest of us ta keep from starvin.” he said. “And because you look like you wouldn’t last a day without help.”

She pulled away, stopping in the middle of the alley where she was. “I can take care of myself.” She crossed her arms and turned away. “And its not like I need your help, Lig. . . ” she hesitated for a moment. “My brother is taking care of me.”

“And he lives on the streets too?” the boy asked, coming over to her and putting an arm over her shoulder as she tried to shy away.

“He’s trying to find work.” She said softly.

“Ya wanna learn how to survive here?” He asked, looking her in the eyes. “When yer. . .Brother cuts you loose?” He asked, keenly cutting through her attempt at lying. “First lesson: you’re gonna have to learn how to lie better. The key is confidence, commit to whatever you say and other people will be more likely to believe you. Show the slightest hesitation or change your tone a little and you’ll be found out.”

She lowered her eyes and thought about it for a while. “I’m not sure I can do it.” She said at last.

The boy gave her a quick grin. “Ain’t no-one can’t lie good without some practice.” He patted her on the back and then pulled her down the street. His pace picking up. “Second lesson, and ya ain’t gonna need much teachin’ on this one: lookin’ sad an’ dirty earns money ifn you know how to do it right. Now I need ya to jus sit where I show ya and look poor an dirty. A lil cryin’ or beggin’ can get enough to make the difference between liven and dien.” He pulled her out into a brightly lit street that was wider and cleaner than any of the others that Underfoot had ever seen. There were people in fine, colorful clothing making their way towards a large building at the far end of the street. He led her to the foot of the wide staircase leading up into the building. “This’ere.” He said. “Is church. Rich people go here to make themselves feel better ’bout themselves. When they leave they’re more like to give money. But they only go twice a week. So ya gotta get it while ya can. So sit here and look sad. Hold this out when someone comes close.” And with that he pushed her down at the foot of the stairs and disappeared in the crowd before she could ask any questions. How was she supposed to get people to give her anything. She was worthless. No-one would want to give her anything.

Underfoot had read about church in Sternbrow’s library. It had always seemed like a far-away concept. The Outsider’s had no sway out beyond edge. Sure they were still worshiped. But that was so far from the hub that no-one ever saw any benefit to it. She wondered how it worked. Supposedly one gave money to the priests who used their magics to make requests of the outsiders on your behalf. And sometimes the things you asked for happened. She looked up at the front of the church. The massive stone structure was decorated with ornate sculptures and runic inscriptions glowed around the edges. It was certainly an impressive building. And something about it made her feel uneasy. But she was supposed to stay. So she did. She watched the people as they entered the building. None of them seemed to pay her any attention. Some were richly dressed, others only well dressed. But none of the people who approached the temple wore tatters or dirty clothing. Which made perfect sense to her. If the outsiders were going to help anyone it wouldn’t be a dirt-poor peasant.

It only took a few moments before the first coin fell into her hands. Surprised she looked up to find a old lady smiling down at her. “Buy yourself a new dress.” The old lady said, cupping Underfoot’s hand. “You look like you could use it.”

Underfoot didn’t know what to do, she looked down at the shining silver piece. Coin was as wide as her wrist. She sat there staring at it for a while. When a hand reached down and grabbed it from her.

“Good job.” The boy who had brought her here said. “Now don’t go showin’ it to everyone. They’ll see you have money so they won’t want to give you any more. When ya get some tuck it away. Also keeps other beggers from stealing it from you or beating you for it.”

He disappeared with the money, again leaving Underfoot with questions she wanted to ask.

There were indeed other beggers around. A few dirty souls lingered in ally-ways. None of them seemed brave enough to come as close as she was. But Underfoot didn’t really consider that. She was just happy that they left her alone. The trickle into the building slowed to a stop. The wrong feeling that Underfoot had grew stronger. She looked up at the building again. The bright runes on the side of the building pulsed with a shadowed light. Her heart began to race. She felt cold run down her veins, chilling her fingers, toes and spreading tendrils towards her chest. She wanted to run away from the building, but she couldn’t. She felt herself locked in place. Unable to move out of pure fear. The runes continued to pulse with inner light.

She didn’t know how long it lasted, but it seemed to last forever. When at last it was over she just collapsed at the foot of the stairs, gasping, still unable to move. The doors of the church swung open and people began to leave the building. Mostly they looked a little concerned by the fact that there was a sickly dirt-covered girl lying at the bottom of the steps and moved to walk as far away from her as they could. But a number of them tossed coins at her. But she still couldn’t pick them up. Everyone who came out of that building felt wrong, they all had an undefinable greyness around their edges.

One of the richly dressed men came up to her, in contrast to the greyness of the others he burned with a brilliant light. He helped her to sit up and offered her something to drink. The sip brought her back completely. It burned on it’s way down. “There you go.” He said. “We can’t have a poor girl dieing in front of the church.” He said this with an ironic smile as he helped her into a sitting position.

Some in the crowd came close, and with deference to the man supporting her pressed a large coin into her hand. And then there was a clattering as coins fell near her.

The shining man smiled down at her. His hair was medium length and sandy blond, he wore a neatly trimmed beard and light golden robes. But those were nothing to the golden shine of his skin and the bright blue light of his eyes. He smiled at her. “Are you all right?” He asked.

She nodded dumbly, still unable to talk from the twin shocks of the clenching darkness and now this burning light. She looked away to let her eyes clear. She had never seen anyone so. . . full of energy. And he was touching her. She twisted out of his grasp. He didn’t move, but still, despite her desire to run she found herself locked in place by the shear radiance that projected itself from this man. At last she managed to get ahold of her voice. “Thank you.” She kind of squeaked, and bowed. Again trying to move away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The man said, holding out a hand which now inexplicably held all the coins that had scattered as his feet. “Go on. Take it.” He said.

She felt a force compelling her to come forward and take the offering. She had not seen the man move an inch, had not seen the coins leave their places on the ground, but suddenly they were in his hand and no longer laying all over the smooth cobblestones. The other church-goers were dispersing. Without any word, the nobility all gave intrigued glances at her but they didn’t linger. As if there were some force driving them away in opposition to their natural curiosity. She reached out and took the coins. As she did so her hand touched the warm skin of the man in front of her. She felt a spark leap from his hand into her and shoot down her arm. And then the world exploded in a wash of light.

<-Previous Next->

The city of edge. the farthest outpost of civilization out from the hub. Sintra was the only nation of any power in the known world anymore. Edge was the farthest recognized outpost of Sintra out from that center of power. Nobody really knew what was beyond Edge though occasionally people came out from beyond, and if they did, they often settled in Edge or sometimes worked their way closer to the hub, but no one closer than Edge cared about anything farther out. It was just barbaric out there as far as they were concerned. They told tales of tribal warfare, cannibalistic peoples and sun-worshipers that happened past Edge. While those things might happen in some far remote part of the world, the cities a ways from the edge had taken their cue from Sintran ideals. They strove to be civilized, for the most part. Some of them trying their hardest to catch the attention of the inner cities, if they could do that they would have more power in the outer area. It was hard to imagine anything different happening to the cities. They wanted to be like the shining light that was Sintra, they wanted the power, the glory. . . and some of them even worshiped the people from the hub as deities. Most of the villages payed allegiance to one of the inner lords, claiming them as defenders and suppliers, and almost all of them sent tribute in the form of materials or mages in to the center. The lords were glad to take the tribute, but never lifted a hand to defend their cities. Every once in a while one of the lords would decide to take a tour of his holdings past the edge, but usually they didn’t care. It was not like there was much worth doing. The only interference from the inner part of the country into the outer, beyond the edge, was that of the academies, who would hunt down anyone powerful in magic, they would search everywhere, within their holdings, sometimes straying beyond the holdings of their lords, traveling to the farther. And they all hunted past edge. Anyone out there was fair game fro any of the great house academies, if you were found and tried and had enough power, that is if you were not killed, you would be accepted into the service of one of the lords and you would have it good. But the training was hard, torturous and difficult.

All of these things Underfoot had learned from Farstrider. He apparently knew more about the world beyond the edge than anyone else from Sintra. The hub cared little about the outside world., but he thought that it was worth some effort. he told them stories of places beyond the edge, they were charming stories for the most part, tales of every day life lived in adverse situations. Apparently he was trying to get people from the inside to travel out and help those less fortunate than them. But his mission was somewhat undermined by the fact that he was carrying goods, crafts, art, and works of engineering that did not rely on magic in to the hub, while it may be that these would be of good service in proving that the inhabitants of beyond the edge were not barbarian savages as they were thought, it also made him quite a pile of gold. Particularly the machinery. There apparently was quite the market on mechanical toys. They were a novelty in the magic-soaked environment around the hub. And therefor valuable. He had taken one of the little toys out and showed it to Underfoot while lightfinger held the reigns. It had been a little wind up bird, with a little key in its back, he had taken it, turned it a few times and placed it in her had, the little brass bird had painted wings that showed vibrant green, blue and red feathers. After sitting in her hand for a moment, just as she was leaning forward to examine the contraption more closely the bird had gave a startlingly realistic chirp, cocked its head and looked up at her. She had almost dropped the creature in her startlement, but just managed to keep it in her hand. She was very happy about that, for it began strutting about, tickling her fingers with its little clawed feet, it flapped its wings a few times and seemed like it was trying to fly, bt it could not, because it was too heavy, being made as it was out of copper, bronze and other heavy metals. After a moment it froze as it was, still sitting in her hand, frozen midway in motion. She stared at it sadly, as if somehow that would make it begin moving again. Farstrider went to wind it again. She shook her head. Even after he had showed her the creature moving again to the trun of the little wheels in its body she could not bring back that feeling of beauty. The brief semblance of life had been amusing, but after it had passed away it was gone. For a moment the brilliant bright bird had been alive in her had, humming with life, dancing, it had been alive in her eyes, and when it stopped she felt it die. She could not, would not continue to put herself through that merely for the sake of perceived beauty. It was marvelous, perfect, beautiful even, but it was too painful to keep doing. It hurt her every time.

Her thoughts were on the vibrant bird when the city of Edge itself finally came into view. The walls rose sternly out of the surrounding countryside. Reaching up towards the clouds with granite gray slabs. The outside of the wall was unadorned, no carvings, no pictures, just plain grey rock. But as they came closer she saw that the towers jutted out of the walls, breaking the monotony of the wall with strength and hight. As they came closer the walls began to tower over the travelers in their little cart, Underfoot crouched low, curling in on herself in the back of the wagon, brining her knees up to her chest and trying to make herself as small as possible. As they entered the shadow of the wall she closed her eyes. It was too much, imagining something that much bigger than herself was nothing, she could do it without being threatened because until now she had not been able to fully comprehend it. But now, faced with the massive reality of the wall her mind was struck again. It was hard to wrap her mind around the reality of such height.

She heard the sound of other people around them. They weren’t the only people coming through the gate. For a moment her curiosity got the better of her and she opened her eyes, taking a look around, they were in a short line of people waiting before the gate. Ahead she could see the city guards checking the carts and asking for information on everyone that entered the city. They seemed laid back, they did not seem particularly concerned about the travelers entering the city, they merely made a cursory check of the carts coming in and waved them on.

When at last it was Farstrider’s turn to be inspected he pulled a rolled up parchment out from somewhere under the bench. On it was a seal and fancy writing. The guard glanced at it, looked up at the man and waved him on with a grunt and the words. “Go on in.”

After they had gone only a little way Littlefinger asked the man to stop the cart. “Here is where we part ways,” he said. “We need to find our own way now. I wish you luck in your endeavors.” He climbed down, touching the brim of his hat and bowing respectfully.

Farstrider nodded. “Luck to you as well my friends,” he said, waving.

Underfoot made to start climbing down, but the old man grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her. She tried to squirm out of his arms, but he was too strong. Then the old man released her. Giving her a strange look. “Relax Chipmouse, it was only a hug, I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

She looked a little awkward. So that was what a hug was? She wasn’t sure she liked it very much. But she looked up at him. He was trying to be nice. She tried to relax a little. Her voice started hesitantly. “. . . can we try that again?” She asked.

The old man gave her a sad look, his eyes told her that he hurt for her. He thought it was sad that someone could live for so long without ever being hugged. He was more gentle this time, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She felt a warm splash on her shoulder and realized that Farstrider had let a tear fall. “I’m so sorry that your life has been so bad.” Farstrider said. “I’m sorry, and I hope that it will get better.” He pulled back and looked her in the eye, his eyes were thick with tears. He wiped them with one hand. And kissed her on one cheek and climbed back up onto the bench and started to drive off.

She really didn’t know what to think now. She had been able to accept the hug this time. And it had been nice to be held, protected, safe. She trusted Farstrider, but it was completely outside of anything she had ever experienced. Someone cared for her. She touched her cheek where the kiss had been placed. She looked after him and stood watching the cart get smaller. “What is this?” she asked herself, watching the cart go. She would probably never see that man ever again, but she would remember him. But it was sad that she would probably never see him again.

“Come on Chipmouse.” Lightfinger called. “We need to find someplace to stay the night.”

By ‘we need to’ he meant that he would leave her out of the way, standing on the corner of one of the city streets while he wandered off to find something. She found herself kicking her feet on a short stone wall next to a statue of some great leader in a square not far from the gate they had come through. Lots of people passed through the square. She amused herself by watching the people come and go. there were other children running about, some of them with parents, others unattended like herself. No-one really paid her any attention where she was, they just went about their business and let her do her thing.

It was almost dark by the time Lightfinger returned to get her, “Come little one.” He said, he seemed rather content with himself and had a bag slung over his shoulder. He whistled as he led her through the night-dark streets. They traveled through several darkened alleys until they came to a somewhat run-down warehouse. Lightfinger bowed slightly and gestured for Underfoot to follow him. He ducked low underneath a crumbling fence that looked like it had not been maintained in years. He then led her closer to the building and in through a hole, low to the ground that had been caused by the collapse of part of the wall.

Underfoot looked around. “This is where we are going to live?” She asked.

Lightfinger nodded, tossing her a blanket.

“You didn’t find anywhere nicer we could stay?” She asked.

“When you don’t have any money, you make do with what you can.” He snapped. “Be glad I found these blankets.” He said. “And that I’m sharing.” He paused for a moment and his tone changed, becoming softer. “After we manage to find some better work we’ll see about getting a better place to stay.”

“Okay.” She said, not really thinking to question where he had got the blanket, or what other things he might have in the bag. And how easy it had been for him to find someplace to stay that was not occupied by other vagrants. She snuggled in to the blanket, it was warmer than she was used to. But it was a strange place, full of strange noises. It was hard for her to get to sleep that night, she didn’t have the exhaustion of excitement and the full day of work to draw on when falling asleep, she lay there awake, listening to Lightfinger sleeping. Her mind began to turn, starting to process everything that had happened.

In the process of doing that she fell asleep, slipping from imagination to dream. In her dream she was running from something in the depths of the darkened warehouse.

<-Previous Next->

Raven walked smoothly through the twisted tunnels of magic that he built around himself. He was in no hurry to leave his travel-plane. The creatures that clustered at the edge of the silver pathway of light surrounding him had learned long ago not to disturb his voyages. The wild-space was a dangerous place to most. Even high ranking wyrds worried about spending too much time in the wild-space. Some of them entered and never came back. There were things out there that should be feared. And Raven did fear them, a little; though he knew that they also feared him, which kept them away—usually. Over the years he had built up an arsenal of knowledge, he knew the weaknesses of all the creatures that were any threat, and he knew the secret names of some of the more powerful ones. They would not trouble him. Even on the journey from beyond the hub to Eldale. He smiled thinly to himself, and the creatures on the edge of the light backed farther away. They knew better than to mess with him when he was in a mood like this. They had seen what happened to creatures that got in his way when he was like this. It was not pretty.

He didn’t know if they felt pain, but he knew that they feared death.

He felt the countryside around him, he was near Edge now, it would only be a few more steps before he would be in reach of. . . there is was. He slipped back into the world. He appeared in the village square. Suddenly and with no announcement, just slipping out of a blue-black hole that opened itself and spat him out. He looked around. The headman would be in one of the larger houses. Probably near the center of the village. He looked around. Letting his eyes see into the shadow-world. He could see the shadows of people devoid of magic power, gray, wispy creatures, ephemeral in the land he was looking at, a few had just a touch of the power, but this far from the hub they would not be able to manifest it properly. If they ever traveled closer to the hub, and why would they, they would find themselves gifted with a small amount of magic. There weren’t even any here that would meet the academy standards. Their tribute of magic was obviously being paid.

All he sensed were two somewhat powerful mages in the village. Probably locals kept here as magical police. It was a legitimate concern, and would allow for the better paying of the tribute. After all, mundane forces weren’t always well equipped to deal with a manifester. With a few mages on payroll the local government would be able to bring in a larger number of useful candidates for the academy. Raven appreciated the level of thought that would go into such an action. After a moments scrutiny he found what he was looking for, the house that was marked with mage-power. The walls glowed slightly in the shadow-realm and runes spelled out the names of the simple spells that were used and the planes to which they owed their power. Raven shook his head, a little disappointed. Though really, it was just as well that there were not more powerful spells, or he might have to report the village to the Academy. And no-one would like the outcome of that.

Though it would have been fun.

The villagers who had seen him appear hurried quickly to get out of the way, most going indoors and bolting the doors after them. They spread the word. Something dangerous was here. They didn’t know much, but apparently they knew enough to be afraid. That worried Raven a little. Who would have been out here that could walk the wild all the way from the hub? He didn’t really think take into account the fact that he wore a curved black sword strapped to his back along with a quiver of arrows and a curved bow. He wasn’t used to people fearing physical power near as much as he was used to magical power.

He approached the house that must be the headman’s whether he called himself mayor, chieftain, or king. It didn’t really matter to Raven, he would know the man’s true name in a second and he would have whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was the name of a girl called Underfoot.

The house was large, but not horribly so. Raven dismissed the details, looking only at the doorway and checking the other possible routs of escape. It would be easy to get in, and easy to get out. But it didn’t need to be that difficult. All he had to do was to knock on the door. He rapped once, letting the metal plate on the back of his gauntlet send the wood shivering. It was mere moments before the housekeeper came to the door. She seemed frightened to see him standing there in his loose black clothing, but she did not slam the door, rather getting out of the way very quickly and holding the door open for him. “You are here to see the master?” She asked. Backing up as he stepped into the entryway.

“Yes,” he said curtly. Pushing past her. “Is he here?”

“Just in the parlor. I’ll just go get him.” But he didn’t follow her orders pushing past her and on up the hall. “It is down the stairs, the second door on the right.” She called after him.

Sternbrow was seated behind a small table with the evening meal laid out in front of him. He looked up, rather frightened, when Raven entered. Though the frights was not near as bad as it would have been had he known exactly what Raven was and what he why he was there. It was easy for Raven to see that he was a soft man, easily manipulated by force. But he seemed to know what he was doing. He was the type of person that would sit there behind the scenes and manipulate everyone around him. Raven knew the type very well, he had often worked for the likes. After all who needed names more than someone who manipulated. He struck Raven as exactly the kind of man who would have all the names.

Sternbrow puffed up, making himself look bigger and more intimidating, though Raven knew he didn’t have any leverage. He didn’t have any chance of knowing Raven’s name. No-one knew raven’s name and lived. He grinned a little. The predatory light in his eyes flickering hotter. Sternbrow melted a little, seeming to shrink back into himself. But the bluster in his voice was still there. “What do you want!?” he asked, seemingly outraged at the interruption. “I’m trying to eat here.”

“I just want a small thing.” He said. Looking around. “You have a servant girl called Underfoot.” He said.

Sternbrow seemed flustered. Many thoughts could be seen flying across his mind, but Raven’s request was obviously not what he had expected. In the shadow realm Raven could see that Sternbrow had no magical power, though he saw the mark of many names, layered on top of each other so densely he could not read them. This was a trick that—as far as he knew—he alone had been far enough past the hub to learn. He could see the names that a person knew, it was one of his sources: the easiest, but not the best. There were other secrets past the hub, some of them so dark that even he did not want them. He had paid for this privilege, but it was well wroth it in his line of trade.

“Underfoot.” Sternbrow spat, trying to bolster himself. “Yes, she was here.” He smelled of fear. “What did you want of her?”

“I want her name,” Raven said, circling around the chair. “Her secret name. I’m sure you would know it. Being her master, you wouldn’t have bought her if you hadn’t”

“I didn’t buy her,” Sternbrow said, looking terrified. Raven was concerned. He wasn’t sure why the man was so afraid, but whatever the reason it couldn’t be good for him.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is her name.” Raven bowed close, lowering his voice. “I will give you one chance to give me her name, and I will not kill you. In fact, I will give you 30,000 gold pieces. But if you do not give it to me right now I will kill you where you stand and pull the name out of your rotting corpse.”

“You can do that?” Sternbrow said, a look of shear terror on his face.

“Yes.” Raven said, leaning closer. “His hand moved towards the hilt of his sword. “If you do not tell me the name I will have to.” he said. Calmly and slowly. “I will kill you.”

“I don’t know her name,” Sternbrow practically screamed in his attempt to get it out before the sword found his flesh. “That was why I had her here. She was the only person in the village whose name I couldn’t find. We found them all under the system. The way it was set up they had to register their secret names to be allowed to live in the village. They were set to protect the people. To keep them from killing each other, the council kept very good records, when I supplanted them and took all the names for myself to control the village, I wanted to make sure I had everyone, so I had the census retaken. She was the only person in the entire village that didn’t have a name. Her parents were gone, dead or what I don’t know. But she didn’t have a name, and no manner of the usual divinations brought it to us. She was brought here so she would be safe and so I could keep an eye on her.”

Raven backed up. He could see the truth in the man’s eyes. He usually knew when someone was lying to him. He knew what terror smelt like, and this man reeked of it. “Very well.” He said. “Bring me to the girl.” He said. Releasing his grip on the sword.

Sternbrown stood quickly, moving behind his chair as if that would protect him from Raven’s sword. “I don’t know where she is. . .” he said “She ran off this morning, taken by a wyrd on the run; he stole my book of names and kidnapped her. They are on the run.”

Raven bowed his head for a moment. This man had better not be wasting his time. He had better be lying. “If you are lying to me.” He looked at him through the shadow realm. Sternbrow trembled. Raven had no doubts of the truth. “Very well then.”

Raven’s gaze lanced out, his eyes searching to the very depths of Sternbrow’s mind, he felt around, he felt the names, he took them all and he cut with his mind, lashing out in the shadow realm. Sternbrow fell, collapsing to the floor. The mental motion had been accompanied by a physical movement, so quick you could barely see it he had unsheathed the dagger at his waist, darted forward in a powerful thrust and struck Sternbrow through the heart, taking his life and all his power at the same time. Sternbrown didn’t make a noise, he just slumped. Raven removed the dagger from his chest, wiped in with a cloth he produced from his pocket and re-sheathed the blade. And he turned to leave the room. Raven touched the door post with two fingers as he left the room. Bowing his head slightly. The magic wards on the house shattered, no-one would notice except those who could see into the shadow-world. The glimmering shards of light hung in the air, drifting slowly away from their old place unaffected by gravity or winds. It would only be a matter of minutes before they would be entirely absorbed by the other planes.

Raven hadn’t killed the man out of anger or spite. Sternbrow was the scum of the earth, the very worst kind of person that could ever be made. He was a name collector. And he was beyond the edge of Sintra, he was alone out here: the only man trying to control people by the power of their names. At least the only person who made it as far as he did. He didn’t know of any other villages out beyond the edge that ran their country that required their inhabitants to give up their secret names. . . he didn’t even know of any other villages that had the necessary skill in divination to even attempt it. It was true the the true-name was easier to divine at the moment of birth. When a child was brought in to the world it was assigned a name, a phrase that defined its very existence, indicating who it was, who it would be and how it would grow. Some said the name decided the fate of the person, others claimed that it was the fates who chose the name. Raven knew better. He knew exactly how it worked. But it didn’t really matter to him. To him names were just a means to an end, power in his hands and in the hands of others. He merely found them and gave them to others. It was hard to see how he could do anything else after coming so far. Once past the hub he had found that things on this side of the veil didn’t matter very much at all. There were powers on the other side so great and terrible that nothing could stop them. But he shuddered a little every time he thought about what happened to people who went deeper into the hub to grasp at power.

Even he was afraid of what the humans who called themselves the Council of Dancing Shadows had become. And he sometimes worked for them.

The power that was on the other side of the hub: the colors, the stretching of the mind and body. Anything was possible in the vortex, you could go anywhere, know anything, do anything. That is why all the nobles strove to cross over and fought to control access to the hub. Even the king had only stepped into the vortex once thanks to the mechanations of the lesser lords, and some of them had gone more often. But he had gone through many times—no one held his name, and someone held the names of every single noble. Raven and a few others like him had seen to that. Though he suspected the council of dancing shadows had its hand in that. He wondered at times what the council was up to, and how much they controlled his own life. He knew that there was nothing he could do to stop them. . . yet, and if they really saw him as a threat they would already have their claws in him. He knew that he had a secret name, but he had killed everyone who had known it, and anyone who went looking for it would either have to go very deep into the vortex or break his will and work the divination. As it he would have to do for Underfoot apparently.

He grimaced a little at the thought of having to go into the hub to find the name of Underfoot. That was the final measure, the hardest and most reliable way to get a name. . . if you came out at all. You could enter the hub and walk deep into the other side. There was a place where any name you needed came to you, but it was not without a price. And hard price. Raven had paid it several times in the course of his career. But a nobody like this Underfoot should not require that kind of sacrifice.

But was she really a nobody? She didn’t have a name in a village of names, that made her more of a nobody than normal, perhaps even enough to be a someone. Raven didn’t think too hard about it. He was used to some names being harder to come by, but to miss a name at birth. . . that would be difficult. The divination was simple then. If his workers were even halfway proficient in the art they should be able to name every child that came into the village. And most of the adults that traveled in, if they were co-operative. They would never be able to touch him though. His name was hidden even deeper than any name he knew existed. Save for those of the council. Knowing the powers that guarded the well of names. . . he shuddered to think what would be required to bury his name as far as they had. . . He rubbed his arm unconsciously, as if it were hurting him.

But he had a job to do. He focused and went into the kitchen, where he found the cook, she looked up from kneading a thick dough-paste on the counter. She backed away, and he saw her hand move towards the handle of a broad bladed knife that sat on the counter. Raven held his hands out, not threatening. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, and it was true, he had not intention of killing her. He was not a murder who went about killing people randomly. Killing Sternbrow had been a service to this village, though he doubted that this cook would be as willing to talk to him if she knew that her master’s body was cooling slowly in a pool of his own blood not twenty feet away. It would not be at all constructive to tell her. “I just want to ask a few questions.” He pulled a chair over and sat on it, leaning on the chair-back facing the cook. She backed away a little, sensing something wrong with him, and eying the hilt of the sword across his back.

“I’ll tell you what I can.” She said, her hand moving back to the dough and kneading it vigorously, almost nervously. “But I’m not sure I can help.”

“Oh, you should be able to.” raven said. “It is about the servant girl Underfoot.”

“She was taken the other day, poor girl.” The cook said, stopping as if to think, looking towards the ceiling and kneading the dough in a more relaxed way. Then she looked back down sharply at him. “She isn’t in trouble, is she? I always liked her.”

“No, she is not in trouble.” Raven said. “I just need to find her.”

The cook looked him over. “Are you the girl’s father?” She asked. “We never knew aught about her father here in the village.”

“No.” Raven said, though he thought about pretending for a moment. “I was hired to find her.” This was indeed the truth, and non-specific enough to be reasonably unquestionable. “I need to know about how she was taken.” He said.

The cook looked a little surprised, but shrugged. “A new wyrd broke into the house and took the Master’s book of names and the girl and disappeared right above the house.” she said. “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before, all the shouting, the guards running everywhere and the master shouting like no-ones business.” she shuddered. “and there they were, the thief and Underfoot, hovering in the sky above the house, there was magic all around them, you could see it arcing between the city watch-wyrds and the two of them. The sky crackling with dark energy, powers washing over everything, you could feel it against your very soul, washing over you, pressing you down. And then they vanished, completely, it was almost like the sky opened up and swallowed them where they stood. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen and I’ll not forget it for my entire life.” She said, an oddly happy look on her face. Apparently she was happy to have seen the mundane order of life broken.

Raven delighted. A wyrd. It was perfect. The quaint use of the ancient word often applied to fate was amusing to him. But he knew he could follow a manifester. But such power to open a skyway this far from the hub. His nerves tingled with the excitement of it. This was why he loved the hunt. The feeling of adrenaline from following a dangerous quarry, or merely of outsmarting a fellow human and maneuvering into a position of power. He could follow a skyway. He relaxed. And leaned back a little. “Now tell me what you know of the girl’s parentage.”

“Nobody knows who her father was.” the woman said. “But her mother was here as long as anyone can remember. A pretty woman, who had aged remarkably well. She was something of a recluse, keeping mostly to herself. But everyone that knew her liked her. It was hard not to with her winning smile and easy grace. She didn’t seem quite like one of us, holding to herself and not needing our approval. But oftentimes we sought hers. She had a healing hand, she could bring a man out of a deadly fever when all others though he was without hope. We soon became indebted to her and brought our problems to her even if we did not bother much to see to her during the rest of our lives. Underfoot was born in the summer,

She was a beautiful baby, something completely different seemed to be about her. She looked different that other babies, more elegant more graceful, more beautiful. It was hard not to comment, hard not to see that she was special. At times she seemed to glow with an inner light, but it was a different light, like you could not really see it but it was coming at you at an angle and it made you think of different things that you usually thought of. She was born tiny, and her mother disappeared shortly afterwards. Nobody knows what happened to her, but it was during the time when Sternbrow replaced the council, some say she was murdered because she stood in his way, some say that she was killed because she was magical or because she did not give her name in the census. Others thinks that she was a witch. I don’t know what she was but that she was pretty and that I liked her. She healed me once when I was a child, touched me right on the cheek and whispered to me that I would get better. I was terribly sick: my breathing was hard and I was coughing blood. She fed me a warm draft and wrapped me in blankets, she touched me and told me I would get better and then I did.

And then she disappeared. No one knows where she went. No one was told what she had done. No one even really knew who she was or where she came from. Everyone felt that she had been in the village forever, but nobody could remember when she had appeared, and no one could remember her as a child. It was as if her childhood did not exist, as if there was nothing there to happen. I remember her always, when I was a child until when she died, as a tall beautiful woman with long black hair and caring blue eyes. She seemed to be looking through you and she almost glowed as if with an inner peace. Nobody knows who the father was. Though there were rumors at the time. They are mostly completely forgotten. With the woman long gone and Underfoot lost from sight they stopped thinking about it. They lost the little sunshine that she provided.”

“Did you know that Sternbrow could not find Underfoot’s true name.” Raven asked.

“No.” She said. “Though it makes sense. He always did mistreat her. And we never gave her much thought.”

Raven thanked the woman, touching her hand and rising. “I will find her. I will keep her safe.” He did not add the final words that he thought, for now.

He would find her all right, he would travel through the sky-way opened by the manifesting mage. He would be able to find them from there. He could trace the scent of the mage. The touch of his magic. “show me where the girl was caught.” He said.

The woman led him up the hall and into the study. The ceiling was collapsed, debris all around and the cabinet on the other side of the room was singed with unnatural fire. Raven could taste the tang of the other plane in the room. He could feel the magic that had been pulled into this world. It was somewhat powerful. For this far from the hub. But nothing extraordinary. Nothing to show that the user could punch holes into the travel-plane. He looked around and dismissed the cook who was already backing away as if to flee from his presence. “Go.” he said. “And thank you for the help.”

He could see the fragments of magic in the shadow-realm, he could see the magic pulled out, the caster had smashed through the roof, which showed that he did not have any finesse or understanding of what he could do. He was new at this. Hopefully he would be a little better by the time that Raven caught him. Else it wouldn’t be much fun. He grinned a little. The cabinet was a little more interesting, it had been melted by elemental fire. The caster had destructive potential, but he didn’t know how to use it very well. The whole wall was washed with fire, no precision. Raven thought. No precision at all. He ran his finger along the singed edge of the cabinet and then looked up. The caster had fled back the way he came. And from the cook’s description this was where he had grabbed the girl and made off with her. He stepped, and he was on the roof, standing next to the hole. He didn’t so much as propel himself there as step sideways, a moment in the shadow plane and onto the roof. He could see the magic that the mages had used, still hanging there, spent. He could see the powers at work, the magic reaching out to bind the manifester and the powers that had been flung about. It was like a map to the struggle that had ensued. He looked closer. Something was different. Something was wrong. “No.” he said, looking deeper. He shifted his vision. There was no wyrd-gate, no passage to the travel plane that he could find. Nothing. But somethiong was wrong. The magic felt odd here. He looked into the other planes he could see. And there it was. A puncture scar, dark and swollen against the grey sky. Something he had never thought to see, certainly not this far from the Hub.

A hole to a plane far deeper than the usual surface travel plane. The plane of words. . . At least that was what it felt like. The plane that bordered the well of words, where even he dared tread only lightly. No mage would be able to open that plane on their first try. He began to fear. What was this mage? Then he thought about it for a moment. What was this girl? He was fascinated. The hunt had grown far more interesting than he had expected. It would not be easy if she was what he suspected. “Power to shape the destiny of the entire world. Indeed.” he said to himself. “She could destroy this world or remake it however she wanted.”

This could get interesting. A new power loose in the world. A creature from beyond the hub. What would it do. And why had it fled with the manifester? Or had Sternbrow had it’s name? Or another that was important? He searched through he names in that Sternbrow had known, looking at them in his mind’s eye. He had sucked them out of the man, he saw them all, searching them. Most of them were ordinary, there was nothing all that unusual. But it was hard to tell. . . But he let it pass, none of the names would be enough to cover a person of that power. But still, there was something else.

He crouched, readying himself. A predatory smile curling his lips. He touched the scar with one finger and he allowed to take him in.

The other side was dark, and he could feel the creatures ready to tear at him, the first swipe came as he entered. He dodged and then he was ripped out of the plane and into the real world again. He had followed the trace. That was good, she had not gone far in that plane. He would not have wanted to endure it much longer. But if she had only gone that far, maybe it had been the manifester, and an accident that had brought them there rather than the surface plane. A manifester who didn’t know such a distinction wouldn’t last very long.

<-Previous Next->

The man sat up, holding his stomach, retching and heaving until he expelled a stream of vomit. Underfoot caught her bearing and kept a firm grip on the few scraps of food she had actually eaten that morning. “What just happened?” She asked.

The man tried to stand, looking at her. but found himself doubled over and retching again, this time expelling only bile. His hair was long and dirty blond, it hung lank over his face as he wiped his stubbly chin with his already dirty sleeve. He looked up at her with dark eyes. His nose was sharp, pronounced, though not unpleasantly so, his cheeks were a little hollow. He was not skinny, nor heavily muscular, he was somewhere in between, muscled but not powerfully built. He wore gray pants, a dirty white shirt and a grimy blue jacket, a ratty ruff hung down from the front of his jacket and a floppy oft-abused gray wide-brimmed felt hat sat on his head, shading his eyes slightly. He was probably about 21 or maybe a little less. At last he managed to choke out: “I don’t know. That’s never happened before.”

Underfoot thought about it for a moment and then, dragging her foot in the dirt, asked, “have you gone up against a trained wyrd before?”

But he didn’t pay any attention to her. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Its like we were swallowed and spat out again. What would do that?”

Underfoot looked at the man again, didn’t he know anything about what he was doing? She watched as he felt himself all over. She knew what had happened. They had been sucked into another plane and moved to another place.

“I suppose it’s lucky that thing grabbed us. Wouldn’t do to end up in jail.” He picked up the book and started off towards the tree-line, rubbing his jaw.

As he started walking away from her the reality of her situation began to sink in: she was free of the village. She could leave, maybe. But how would she take care of herself? She could steal to get by, maybe. She looked around: she didn’t think she could scavenge enough to eat in the wild. It had been hard enough in the mayor’s house, much less out here where the food wasn’t cooked for someone else. But Sternbrow was gone, she didn’t have to worry about his fiery wrath at her every mistake. But the library, that was gone too, she would not have books any more.

But maybe that was okay. She remembered well, she knew the stuff she had read, maybe she could tell herself the stories. But wasn’t she in a story of her own now. The thought made her smile. But then she remembered that she didn’t have any idea of how to survive on her own and the only other person around was walking away rapidly. She ran after him quickly. As she ran she took stock of her surroundings. Wondering how far they had been taken, the hills looked similar, but there wasn’t any other distinguishing mark that Underfoot could tell. They had no way of knowing where they were. She looked at the sun. No way to tell at all. “Do you know where we are?”

Her kidnapper turned to look at her. She jumped a little, afraid that he would hurt her or be angry. “Where we are?” He looked around. He shaded his eyes from the sun and looked up. “Not far from the village.” he said after looking around. “Two miles out maybe. And judging from that hill, the village is that direction.” He pointed over her right shoulder. “Just keep walking any you’ll be back in half an hour at most.” He turned and started walking away again.

As he continued to walk away. Fear overcame her. She didn’t want to go back to the village. She turned and looked the direction the man had pointed and even started to walk back along it. But after a few steps she stopped. What was the worst that could happen if she kept following this man? He’d probably beat her and give her little to eat. But even that would be better than going back.

She turned quickly and ran after him again.

He turned around when he heard her footsteps. “Go on back to your village.” He said.

She looked at him, and then looked down. “No.” She said, very softly.

He looked at her, knelt down and honestly looked at her. He sighed. “Why are you following me?”

She jumped a little, startled more by the softness of his words than if he had shouted. After a moment she responded. “What else can I do. I don’t know how to get back to the village, and I’m not sure I would want to go there anyway. I don’t know how to survive in the wilderness, and I certainly don’t know where else to go. What other choice do I have?”

He seemed a little confused, looking at the book and then back at her, still at her level, still talking softly. “Look, I’m sorry you got caught up in all this, but if you follow me you are only going to get into more trouble.”

“So?” she said, looking up at him with bright wide eyes. She pulled her chin in and puffed out her chest as much as she could and then said it to his face as quickly as she could. “You don’t seem to know how your power works. I read a little bit. Maybe I know something you can use, maybe. Maybe we can help each other.”

The man looked at her for a moment, for the first time actually stopping and looking at her. “How do you know anything about magic?” He asked.

She looked down again. “I read Sternbrow’s library,” she said.

He looked her over more closely. As if he were evaluating her. “You won’t take much to feed, you are small, wiry, no-one would think twice about you.” The slow gears behind his forehead were apparently clicking together as he mumbled, addressing himself. He looked at the book that was still in his hands, as if he only just now remembered that he had it. A strange look came over his face and he looked up again, a light in his eyes.

She looked at him, waiting for his rejection.

But it never came. “I’ll give you a hand, yeah.” the man said.

Underfoot froze with amazement. Nobody had ever agreed to help her before. She stood there, unable to move as he turned and started to walk away. Ten yards away he stopped, turned and asked: “are you coming?”

She nodded quickly and ran to catch up. “What are you called?” She asked, timidly.

The man thought for a moment. “Lightfinger.” He said and started walking away again.

“I’m called Underfoot,” she said.

“Quite understandable.” Lightfinger muttered. They walked for a while in silence, Lightfinger striding quickly along on his much longer legs. Underfoot had to trot quickly to even keep up with his land-eating stride. Even at a trot Underfoot had to run a little faster for short bursts to keep up with him. But she didn’t seem to mind. She examinined everything around her, internally amazed and as happy as she had ever been. A stand of trees sent a thrill of freedom through her. Her heart exclaimed at the wonders of a pretty flower. But she stayed always two steps behind Lightfinger, and she never said a word. The colors were so beautiful. The vibrancy of life was amazing. She had thought that she knew what the outside world was like, but she could not remember ever being outside of the village. Most of the time she had never even been outside of the house. All her life, lived in such a small place. Always in the way, always underfoot.

After they had gone for a while Underfoot looked up at Lightfinger. “What are you going to do with the book?” She asked.

Lightfinger grunted. At first it seemed that he wouldn’t say anything at all, but he looked at the book, opened it as he walked, leafing through it. “I might be able to sell it. But I really didn’t think much about it. I just wanted to get it out of their hands. They would be able to use my name to completely ruin my life.”

“Maybe you should destroy it.” She said.

He held the book up and tapped his cheek with it, stopping suddenly and looking quizzically at her. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?” He asked. “Don’t you want to know what your true-name is?”

She stopped. Thinking. She had never thought about that before. She knew that the only name that she really cared to know was not in that book. Even Sternbrow would not be that stupid. But what about her own name? If she knew it she would be able to tell when someone used it against her. But it would open a door. The fewer people who knew her name the better. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know her name. It was scary, thinking about it. There was a name that would force her to do whatever was commanded, that could change her destiny with only a spoken word. She shied away, clutching her arms to her chest, looking warily at the book. “No, Burn it.” She said.

His eyebrows lowered as he looked at her and then at the book. Shaking his head at her vehemence. “I’ll think about it. But I need to know.” He tucked the book under his jacket.

The afternoon passed quickly and without event as they traveled through the countryside. The light woods turned to plains and back again before the sun began to set. As the day dimmed they found themselves within sight of a wide cobbled road leading into the distance.

“We’ll follow the road toward the hub in the morning.” Lightfinger said, starting to gather some wood.

Underfoot lay down and was asleep almost instantly.

When she awoke the fire was dead and the sun had already risen. Lightfinger was sitting across the ashes from her, his back to a tree and looking at her with an interesting light in his eyes. “Good morning, Underfoot.” He said.

She looked around a little blearily. A little stiff from sleeping on the ground. But it was the longest nights sleep she had ever had. She had thought she was exhausted that morning, she had been completely wiped out by the time she had gotten to sleep. Her stomach told her suddenly that she had not eaten at all the previous day. She looked around. Realizing that a stick with a piece of roasted meat was stuck in the ground right next to her. She looked at it closely. Then looked back up and Lightfinger. “For me?”

He nodded. Smiling a little as she grabbed it quickly and stuffed it in her mouth. She was still looking at him over the stick as she gobbled it down protectively. “I’m not going to take it from you.” He said. “I am the one that caught it and cooked it you know.”

She wiped her face with the rags on the back of her arm. “Thank you.” She said before stuffing the rest of the meat into her mouth. She wiped her fingers in the dirt. Looking around. “Where is the book?”

“I destroyed it.” he said. “I decided that it would be best. You are wise beyond your years.”

“You didn’t need to find your own name?” she asked.

“I found my name.” He said. “I looked before I burned it. I decided it would be a bad idea to leave my name out in the open for anyone to read.”

Underfoot felt good. Someone had done as she suggested. It made her feel important. She had made a difference. Convinced someone to agree with her. It was a different feeling from being constantly ignored and trampled over all her life.

Lightfinger seemed to notice the change in her mood and smiled slightly to himself. “We should start moving. It is a fair way to the next city.”

Underfoot sprang to her feet and darted off towards the road. Lightfinger followed, buttoning his jacket tight.

Shortly after they started moving along the road they heard the sound of an approaching cart. Lightfinger pulled Underfoot to a halt, grabbing her shoulder. He leaned down so his head was right next to her ear and whispered. “You are my sister, your name is Chipmouse, I am Grayleg, we are wandering workers traveling to the next city to try out luck there after falling on hard times in Eldale.” He patted her on the back and stood up again and took her hand.

Underfoot was amazed at how quickly his whole manner seemed to change. At one moment he had been walking along with his shoulders slumped and head low, looking lost in thought, yet still moving quickly enough that she had to jog to keep up with him. Now he had her hand in his, a gentle smile on his face and his whole body had relaxed. He also had started walking more slowly, keeping his stride restrained so that she did not have to stretch her legs. It was an odd feeling having someone do something for her, but it awakened a warm glow inside of her, a smile infused her face and her footsteps became a little more springy. She felt almost tempted to laugh.

Lightfinger squeezed her hand lightly as the cart came up behind them. Slowing as it saw them on the road. The driver reigned in the horses as he came near. It was a medium sized wagon loaded with equipment, the shapes were vague beneath the thick canvas covering that lay over the back of the load, but it was piled full and Underfoot thought she could see the outlines of wooden planks, and possibly bags filled with something. The driver came to a stop next to them. He looked genially down at them. “Headed towards Edge?” He asked, taking in their worn clothing and dirty skin.

Lightfinger bowed quickly, lowering his eyes as if he felt unworthy of the drivers attention. “Yes sir.” He said, taking off his felt hat and crushing it between his fingers. Underfoot peered out from behind him, somewhat shyly, she looked at the horses, they seemed such marvelous animals, and that four of them could pull such a load!

“Its a fair way to go by foot.” The driver said, touching the brim of his hat. “And boring journey by cart with no company.” He motioned with his whip towards the bench next to him. “Why don’t you jump on,” he said.

Lightfinger bowed again, Underfoot followed him reflexively, her heart jumping in her chest. She felt as if the world were suddenly going her way. She was free of Sternbrow forever, she had made a friend and other people were going out of their way to help her. The world suddenly seemed a much nicer place to live in. Just the other morning she would have never dared dream that anyone would help her ever. She was just brushed aside, ignored or pushed around at Sternbrows house. Even the other servants only treated her with pity. They thought she was incapable of doing anything right, that she was lazy and maybe even not quite right in the head. And the other people in the house had just pushed her around. She had always wondered what it would be like to be a normal person. To walk the world free of such restrictions, to have friends. Maybe she was about to find out what that was like. Underfoot was already moving to climb up the side of the wagon into the bed when Lightfinger held her back by grabbing the back of her dress. “Thank the man first Chipmouse,” he said, gently. Then turning to the driver. “You’ll have to forgive her her exuberance, she is trusting and tends to take things at face value. I’m afraid we have no money to offer you for the ride. And I’m afraid we would make poor company for a tradesman like yourself.” He bowed again.

“Come now.” The man chuckled, smiling down at both of them. “The girl is perfectly welcome, I gave the invitation. I don’t ask for anything in return other than the days company.” He said. “It gets lonely out here on the edge of Sintra. What I wouldn’t give for a little variation from day to day.” He looked out over the land. “Though this untamed wilderness truly is beautiful, in a simple way. Completely different from the vibrant energy near the hub. Not that you would know what that is like.”

“Indeed sir.” Lightfinger said.

“But we’ll talk while we move, come, climb on. I can take you at least as far as Edge.” He said. “No charge.” His face split into a broad smile.

Lightfinger let go of Underfoot’s clothing and let her climb into the bed of the wagon while he himself climbed up onto the bench beside the driver. “Thank you very much.” Lightfinger said, plopping his hat back on his head. “I wasn’t sure if we would make it walking. Chipmouse here is rather weak, she was mistreated back in Eldale. My name is Grayleg, and this is my sister.”

Underfoot found a soft place near the front of the bed, it felt like a pile of cloth. She curled her legs underneath herself and took in her surroundings with a quite joy. The drivers clothes were of nice cloth, well-made and not too warn. Thick brown pants with heavy leather boots, and a dull green jacket over a clean white shirt and a brown vest. His beard was well trimmed and his hair short under a soft leather hat. A heavy gray waxed cloak lay over the back of the bench beside him and a short sword hung from the thick belt at his waist.

The traveling tradesman nodded as he twitched his whip and the horses started moving again. “They call me Farstrider. Or sometimes Wanderleg.” He said. “I travel a lot. What brings you to the wilderness? Trouble where you came from.”

Lightfinger didn’t say anything for a while, shrinking into himself. Underfoot watched Lightfinger closely. She wasn’t sure what he was up to, but it was obvious that he was lying. At last he opened his mouth. “Chipmouse and I were left to fend for ourselves after our mother died and our father ran off towards the hub. We took what work we could, Chipmouse found work as a servant in one of the local houses, doing physical work while I worked at the sawmill with the heavy machinery. We didn’t make much, but we made do with what we had. It wasn’t a bad life, at least I didn’t think it was. Until I found out how badly Chipmouse was being treated. I mean, look at the girl: see how sorry she looks. They didn’t bother to feed her properly or clothe her, and she just sent the money she earned to me because she didn’t know better.” He shook his head in sadness. “When I found out I was furious. More angry than I have ever been before. I went straight to the house where she was working, picked her up and started walking. I knew we wouldn’t be able to find any more good work in Eldale, so I headed down the road for the next city up. I hear there is work to be found in Edge. So We are hoping to make a new life for ourselves there.” He said. “There really isn’t much more to tell.”

Farstrider shook his head. “It is a sad world we live in that children are mistreated so.” He reached back and rumpled Underfoot’s hair. She looked quizzically at him and then her eyes turned upward as if she were trying to see her own head. She wasn’t used to such treatment. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. The man had no reason to like her: Lightfinger’s story was not too far from the truth, even though he had obviously made it up from whole cloth. She wasn’t sure what she thought of pretending to be Lightfinger’s sister. She didn’t know why it was necessary to lie to this man, it seemed wrong to here because she rather liked him. But she also liked Lightfinger’s story. She thought she would like to be his sister. Though she really didn’t have much of a grasp of what that would be like. She never had any examples of what family was. She never was part of one, the servants had never been with their families around her and Sternbrow had no family. He was just a single man living by himself with regular guests. She had read about families, but the idea had never really clicked with her. She could read about being part of a family, but that didn’t mean she understood it.

She was beginning to see that despite all her reading and knowledge, she wasn’t nearly as wise as she had thought. Littlefinger knew how to get on in the world, knew how to move in real life. He didn’t have any knowledge beyond what he could use, but he knew how to make use of what he had. He knew how to interact with people. Underfoot decided that she would do well to learn from him. If he could do this well with the little knowledge he had, she wondered what would be possible with her reading.

“I know,” Lightfinger said, leaning back and shading his face with his hat. “Innocence is not valued anymore. It earns no respect.”

They lapsed into silence as the cart rolled along at a fair clip down the cobbled road. Underfoot looked around, her mind leaping about from idea to idea. She knew that they were headed away from Eldale, moving towards a whole new world. They were moving towards the hub. “What is it like closer to the hub.” She asked, leaning her chin against the backboard of the bench.

The driver looked down at her, chewing on a hunk of dried meat. “The hub?” He said, his eyes showing a hint of surprise at hearing her speak.

Lightfinger frowned slightly as he looked at her. He motioned to her to keep quite.

But Farstrider only grunted and looked back up at the road in front of him. After a moment of gathering his thoughts be began to talk. “Everything is more alive down there. It gets more dangerous—certainly more exciting—the closer you get to the hub. I used to spend my days traveling down there. Selling this and that. But I found that it got too crazy. A man likes a break from madness every once in a while. Out here everything seems so calm, orderly and simple. It really is a refreshing break. I’m surprised that none of the nobles want to come down here on vacation. But I guess that leaving the great game even for a short while is a danger for even the minor lords.” He sighed.

Underfoot was struggling to contain her curiosity. She wanted to do what Lightfinger wanted, but she also wanted to ask more questions. Luckily for her the man continued to talk.

“The lords are a strange breed, always playing their games. vying for power, position and names. Assassinations, magic and all. Sometimes innocents get caught up in the game and even the serfs in the countryside are swallowed in power machinations. But that is all simple in comparison to the magic that goes on. You have heard of wyrds manifesting out here and about how dangerous they are.” He paused for effect. “Down near the hub they are hundreds of times worse, more dangerous, and doubly so if they are trained. The great houses keep their retainers name-bound, but they still cause destruction every now and again. What’s worse: the boundary between here and the other worlds grows thiner the farther you go. The closer you are to the hub the more power there is to be had. And the stranger things get.”

He was warming to his story. It was obvious that he enjoyed talking. He turned to Lightfinger.

“Did you know that there used to be more than one nation?” He asked.

Lightfinger seemed to be caught off-guard. “No,” he said. “There’s just the Protectorate.”

Farstrider laughed. “The Protectorate indeed. It doesn’t protect and damn thing. They call it that because those were the terms that were written down on the treaty. It used to be, in the past, that the countries warred openly over the hub, vying for power. But the machinations for names and control were always very personal. And things on the other side of the hub don’t always want it to be controlled. So it was only natural that the different countries and different brands of nobility settle down where they could do the most harm to each-other. They got close so that they could find each-other’s names more easily, so that they could directly vie for power. And that is why the city of Sintra grew: one central post that all the nations around merged together through power-struggles until there was but one king and under him countless nobles of countless linages striving for power in the hub. Military might proved ineffective and the power of naming and the intrigue that came with it proved far more useful.”

“The closer the friend, the worse the enemy.” Underfoot said, quoting one of the books she had read without really thinking about it.

Farstrider looked down at her in amazement. “Where did you learn to quote Aresarch?”

Underfoot saw Lightfinger wince, but he smiled and reached back to pat her shoulder. “She always was a curious one.” He looked her in the eye intently, as if he wanted to communicate something very important. “Even in her terrible situation she found time to read in her master’s library.”

Underfoot shied away from Lightfinger’s touch. “I like to learn” she said. “And there were so many books.” Her tone was somewhat dreamy as she spoke. “I read a lot.”

Farstrider chuckled. “Maybe you should be telling us of the hub.”

“But the books were so dry. I like the way you make it alive.” Underfoot said innocently.

Farstrider laughed, turning to Lightfinger. “She has a sweet tongue your Chipmouse.”

“That she does,” Lightfinger said, relaxing.

There was silence for a while as the cart rolled on. And then Farstrider started talking again. “The countryside closer to the hub is much like it is here, save that it is more colorful: things are brighter and more intense. The trees don’t seem content with the simple greens and browns that the trees are here. Flowers bloom in all colors, brighter and more colorful than they do here. Sometimes I think that colors exist there that don’t exist here. Everything seems gray and washed out here once you have been closer to the hub. Water sparkles more, showing its own subtle colors that don’t exist in anything else. And the night sky. . . the number of stars. . . the brightness. It is a wonder. Clouds of color wash across the nighttime sky, dancing around the points of lights, the stars themselves sometimes seem to move. It is more alive.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Underfoot said.

“It is,” Farstrider said whole-heartedly. “But dangerous for all that. the city of Sintra was built to keep the dangers away from the normal people. The great wall that encompasses the very center of the hub. Even the nobles don’t dare build their houses inside the wall.”

“What does the wall look like?” Underfoot asked.

“The wall is built of pure white marble, but in the tides of magic it seems to shimmer: changing color at times, it doesn’t always seem to be as it is. Each of the great houses have their own section of the hub. They make their homes in vast halls inside the stone of the wall itself, between the normal people and the vagaries of the untamed magic of the hub. They live in luxury with only a stone wall and the magic of their wyrd and name between them and the unknown terrors on the other side. They feast on grapes and wine, the finest of meats and bread, killing each other behind closed doors, vying for name and rank, all this petty dance underneath the King of Sintra. But on the other side things get even weirder.”

“Have you ever been there?” Underfoot asked.

“Only once.” Farstrider said. “And I was guided by someone who had been there before. People live there, in the swirling vortex of magic. Subjecting themselves to the vagaries of magic so that they will have even more power. But things come through the hub more terrible and powerful than even the mightiest wyrd. Monsters from beyond the other side. True, some things that come through are beautiful and powerful and helpful. But even those cause much trouble. And even so there are a few men, once human, who have lived inside the hub for countless years. The Council of Dancing Shadows were once men, it is said. Though I am not sure I believe that. They live now on the other side of the hub, but pass between here and there. It is said that even the king of Sintra answers to their power. Men travel through the hub gate all the time. Seeking power or knowledge or death. Many never return, and even those that do return are never the same. But the power it real enough. I saw a man once who had been through the hub, his eyes glowed with inner light, I was afraid, terrified that he would destroy me with a wave of his hand at the slightest whim, and he could have. The hub is a strange place and the other side is even worse.”

Underfoot drank in the description, the cautions and the tales. All of it seemed so vibrant. So alive. She wanted to see what it was like. But at the same time she was afraid. Everything sounded so different. She had enjoyed a sense of security in Sternbrow’s house. She would always be mistreated, but at least she was fed, and didn’t have to worry about finding her own way through life. She wished that it was as easy as saying to herself that she would be more active. More determined. She wished she weren’t afraid of the unknown. But she was afraid. The farther she traveled from Eldale the more afraid she got. She wasn’t sure how anything would turn out. She realized that everything was changing around her, nothing would be the same. True, nothing behind her was worth keeping, nothing there had done her any good. But it was all she knew. And she would never see it again, hopefully.

She thought of the stories she had read. There had not been much fiction in Stenbrow’s library, he wasn’t much for the imagination or creativity. Fancying such tales to be useless bits of entertainment. But the previous mayor had collected some, and Sternbrow didn’t care enough to get rid of them. They had sat there untouched except for by Underfoot. She was at the beginning of an adventure. Where would it go from here? Where would it be? She wanted to go to the hub, but first she had to make the transition one step at a time.

First she would stop at Edge.

“What do you know about Edge?” She asked. Lightfinger perked up, he had grown disinterested through Farstriders description of the hub. But he seemed interested in hearing about Edge.

Farstrider seemed perfectly willing to continue his description. The land was moving along, and the day was progressing. “Edge is the very farthest you can get from the hub and still be considered fully part of Sintra.” He said. “It is a large city, crowded, not the most beautiful, but it has its attractions, There is a sizable garrison of troops in the city. One of the minor lords claims it and maintains it with his wyrd. There is nothing truly remarkable about it. It has the usual attractions, the fountains are pretty. The gardens are nice, though not unusually so. For you the most remarkable thing will be the lights at night. The city is lit at night by the same system that powers the cities farther in. The lights are dim in comparison to those of the cities closer to the hub on account of the way they tap the other planes for power, but they are considered amazing by the standards of the area. It should be easy for you to find work, and easier to find trouble if you go looking for it. As it is far away from the center of power no-one really cares if the laws are bent a little or even outright broken. The city is a dangerous place. And any dealings from outside of Sintra on this side comes straight through it. You would not find many of the nobles out this far. But occasionally they do come. And you want to stay as far away from them as possible. It is dangerous, though I don’t doubt you will be able to do well there.” He said, eying Lightfinger out of the corner of his eye. “Stay away from the trade guilds and certainly don’t mess with the underworld. They do not take well to people intruding on their turf.”

They continued on towards edge all day. The driver continued to chat with Underfoot, her ever-powerful inquisitiveness kept searching for more knowledge. She would ask him a question about somewhere she had read about, or something she had heard of and he would tell her what he knew. Sometimes he would describe the place, and Underfoot enjoyed that a lot, but other times he would tell her stories about an adventure he had had there, or a person he had met. Underfoot liked that even more. He was a vivid story teller, his tales full of colorful description and interesting events. If he truly had lived through half of the things he told them he was a remarkable person. Even if he hadn’t the fact that he had so much knowledge of such a wide range of places was remarkable in and of itself.

They shared the driver’s meal at midday and in the evening when he stopped. Lightfinger helped the man unharness his horses for the night and Underfoot petted them, Farstrider showed her how to approach the horses so they would like her and soon the horses were licking her fingers and face and trying to nibble on her hair. But they settled down after Farstrider gave them their food.

“We should reach Edge by tomorrow late afternoon.” Farstrider said as he tossed Lightfinger a blanket. “I hope you can find someplace to stay before the night. It isn’t pleasant out on the streets for a child her age.” He pointed at Underfoot, who had already curled up where she had spent the rest of the day, in the back of the cart and seemed content to stay there all night.

“Don’t worry about us.” Lightfinger said. “You’ve done more than we could ask you to.” The fire glinted from his eyes in a strange way.

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“Foolish girl! you forgot to douse the candles again last night, didn’t you.” Sternbrow scolded, just like he always did. His forehead folded into creases as he looked at the dirty little girl in front of him. “Why do I even keep you around?”

The girl hung her head in shame. She shouldn’t have stayed up all night reading. It was inappropriate for a servant of such low status as herself. Books and knowledge were the property of the rich, not the poor like her. She was lucky that Sternbrow even let her stay in his house, and here she was stealing knowledge from him behind his back. But she couldn’t help it. She wanted to know so much about the world outside of Eldale. There was so much of interest: flying cities, dragons, elves, faeries, pirates and skyfolk. And all this knowledge was piled up in little words on paper, billions of words in one place, so many places to go and people to see: the temptation was irresistible to her. It’s not like Sternbrow was making any use of the words that were stored up in his library. He spent all his day telling the rest of the villagers what to do and how to do it, he wasn’t about to spend any time reading.

“Are you even listening to me girl?” Sternbrow shook his coffee cup at her over his morning sausage. “Get back to work!”

She mumbled under her breath as she went back to sweeping the floor.

“What was that?” Sternbrow asked her.

“Thank you.” She said, bowing her head again and moving slowly towards another room.

Today was going to be just like any other day. She would do the mundane household chores as long as she could before the exhaustion of staying up all night set in and she would wake up some time later, probably when Sternbrow rang to have her take his coat when he got back from overseeing the village court. He was mayor of the small town by name, but he really was only an authorized busybody, poking his nose into everyone else’s business and telling them how to run their lives. If someone decided to put a vegetable garden in the front of their house it was suddenly his business as he would have to assure the economy and well-being of the village. He was a despot, though he was ostensibly elected by the village people. As far as they were from the hub it was no surprise that the higher governments saw no need to interfere in the affairs of the little people. They paid their tribute to the king and sent the gifted to the academies to be trained in the ways of the wyrd.

Underfoot thought about the village for a while. It was going nowhere: it was beyond the interest of the national powers, it had little in the way of magic, as far as it was from the hub, and it supplied no raw materials worth noting. She lamented the circumstances that had forced her mother into this little village. Of course her mother had died before she could remember. She told herself many stories about her mother: in some her mother was a princess fleeing the fallout of a distant noble feud, in some she was a fallen skyfolk queen or a pirate princess. In others she was a mage of great power. But in the back of her heart Underfoot knew that her mother was just another dirt-poor peasant like herself.

She busied herself with cleaning the kitchen of the morning meal’s garbage. Eating the scraps that were still left-over, the bad ends of sausage and burnt crusts. The cook pretended not to notice that Underfoot stole the scraps that she was supposed to be carting away.

Underfoot was painfully thin, a little over five feet tall, and sixteen years old. Though she looked closer to twelve. Her hair was rough-cut just below her chin, ragged ends scattering every which way. Her eyes were pale, possibly blue or green, though they looked closer to gray most of the time. It was hard to make out her exact complexion underneath the layer of dirt that had accumulated over the years but it was probably pale. Her features were slight, though possibly fine. She wore a long, thin, ragged gray tunic and loose black leggings with no knees. The skin that peeked out from the fabric of her leggings looked more akin to tree-bark than to the skin of a girl. She wore no shoes, and her feet too were tough from years of hard use.

After Sternbrow left she started to dust his study. Every day when her master was gone she found herself drawn to this mysterious room. It was on the list of things that she was supposed to clean, so she was allowed to enter it, but there were several places of particular interest: she was not allowed to open any of the drawers, she was told that they would bite her hand off if she were to try to take anything from them—though she knew otherwise from personal experience; and she was not allowed to even touch the closed glass case behind the desk where the book of names was held. The book of names was kept locked for a good reason. It was where every name in the village was recorded at birth and their parentage was set down. What was more, the court kept the true-names of every person in the village so that they could be bound to truth during any hearings. Anyone who held that book and knew the names within had power over the entire village.

It was passed on from village ruler to village ruler, intended to be a tool for the elected officials. The village had once been ruled by a council, but that had passed a long time ago when Sternbrow was first elected to the post. Originally the council members had all had their name stricken from the book of names when they were appointed and the book was accessible only to those who were on the council. Restrictions of wyrd were placed on all members of the council, to erase any memory they might have of the other council members true names. This restriction allowed the council to decide as a group how best to rule the village, and when to rule by power of name. Most everyone in the village thought that it had always been this way, but Underfoot knew differently, most villages, cities and powers did not rule openly by power of name. Citizens in most every other place did not have their true names recorded on their birth so that they could be ruled over. In her night-time studies underfoot had found out many glorious things. She had learned how government should be implemented, she had read philosophies, histories and all manner of books. And she was beginning to realize that it was wrong to take away others freedoms int he way that Sternbrow had done.

The village had to do whatever he said. He knew their intimate names, if they disagreed with him all he would have to do is go home to his study, pull out the book and invoke the power of their true name and they would change their minds and agree with him. Today she found herself with her fingers on the glass front of the cabinet. The book was mere inches from her grasp. If she had it in her hands what would she do? Would she destroy it like she knew it should be, or would she be tempted by the promise of power? The great thinkers all seemed to agree that such a choice would always be made in favor of the individual. But still, she thought that she would destroy it, even if it was just to get back at Sternbrow and make him as poor an outcast as she was.

But maybe she would look up his true name before she destroyed it.

And then in the middle of her thoughts she realized, just as she always did, that it would be foolish for him to leave his own name in such a record, out in the open and she went back to cleaning producing a clean rag from one of her pockets and wiping down the surface of the glass case. She stifled a yawn as she went to work. She had to at least get one room looking clean before she dozed off or it would even more trouble for her.

The ceiling above her shattered into shards of wood with an astounding crash. She had no chance to react. She let out a shriek as she was showered in splinters. Her reflexes had thrown her arms in front of her face so she could not see anything more until strong arms were around her and a firm hand was over her mouth.

As her arm fell she saw the room, now with a large hole in the ceiling and wooden debris scattered all over. She could not see the man who held her. It was startling and her reflex was to scream again, but her mouth was covered by a firm hand. So she bit it.

She heard words in her ear. “Quit struggling,” his voice was soft, young, and quick between breaths. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to scream again.”

She quit struggling, standing completely still and throwing a quizzically demeaning look over her shoulder at her captor.

Apparently taking the cessation of her efforts to struggle against his hold as assent to not scream again the man let her go hesitantly, his arms poised to grab her if she made the slightest wrong move. “There we go.”

She rounded on him quickly, almost prompting him to grab her again. “How would my screaming—again—raise any more attention than you have already?” She asked.

He looked a little disconcerted. “I really don’t know. But it seemed like the thing to say.”

“Well, are you breaking and entering or what?” She asked him. “What are you after?”

“Like I would tell you. . .” he said as he began to turn away, apparently discounting the possibility of her being a threat.

“Well, you should probably grab it quickly and get on with it.” She said. “The cook or the maid will have run for the police and Sternbrow by now,” she said.

This jolted the thief into motion, he sprang forward towards the cabinet where the book was held, the wood scorched at his touch and the door swung open. He reached in and grabbed the heavy wooden-bound volume of pages. The book looked like it had been bound and re-bound many times as new pages were added to it, there were pages of paper, pages of animal hide and dried papyrus, each section of the record had it’s own flavor, as if told its own story. The most recent pages were cleanly cut paper manufactured in the most modern fashion. He grabbed the book and made a dash for the door.

Underfoot just stood there, unable to think of a proper reaction. She watched the thief wordlessly as he vanished out the door.

But she didn’t have much chance to think about it as the sound of voices came from the entryway. Moments later the thief reappeared, rushing through the door and slamming it behind him. He was out of breath again. Looking frantically around the room, he saw that Underfoot was still there and ran towards her, grabbing her arm. As he did so she felt the floor drop from beneath her. She felt dizzy as she looked down.

“Don’t do it! If you shoot I will hurt her!” he said, she swung herself around in his grip, realizing that she was now outside of the building and the man was standing on the roof of the building.

An arrow whizzed past, as if determined to prove that they were perfectly fine with the death of a dirty peasant. She began to panic, realizing that she was being suspended in the air, on the roof of the house while the city guards were shooting at her. She flailed her arms wildly, causing the man to unbalance and lose his footing, he slipped and tumbled down the roof a short ways. An arrow passed through the space he had just been occupying. Suddenly the slipping stopped and Underfoot felt herself held as if by an invisible hand. “Oh no!” the man shouted, she felt a conflicting force pushing against her. She looked down, the village wyrd was standing below among the group of guardsmen and the gathering crowd of people. She saw Sternbrow’s face looking up at her, it was livid with anger and his eyes flashed with fire.

She knew then that the man who had stolen the book, and her, must be a wyrd. Sternbrow’s wyrd wouldn’t have come out for a simple theft. And suddenly the crash through the ceiling, the burning cabinet and the incredible jump made sense. But they were in trouble now: the man holding her had to be low-ranking in the power of wyrd, if he hadn’t been found and sent off to the academy by now he must have just manifested, or been unusually subtle about it. It was true the the city only kept one wyrd, but he was the strongest to be found in the city. A newly manifested wyrd wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What are you waiting for! Bring him down!” Sternbrow shouted from the ground, urging the men of the guard, who had hesitated to fire at a hostage..

Suddenly the air around her exploded in light, heat washed over her. A lance of fire struck towards the man. She felt the fear and realization that she was going to die well up in her and then everything twisted in on itself. It felt as if a giant empty hole had opened in the fabric of the world and swallowed them and then spit them back out all in one moment.

Underfoot felt a little queasy, and realized that the house was nowhere in sight.

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Shadow-creatures spiraled around the dancing figures on the raised glowing marble dance-floor and soft music washed over the entire room, filling the inhabitants with a restless energy. The dancers moved with a controlled frenzy, gyrating to the seemingly simple melodies that wove around themselves in ever more complex patterns. The music was disconcerting yet compelling.

Raven stood in the shadows at the edge of the crowd, a smoldering cigarette tucked against his bottom lip. His dull gray eyes watched the dancing pairs in the center of the room. Even he, disinterested as he seemed, tapped his soft-soled leather boot softly against the strangely colorless marble floor of the dimly lit room.

Even distracted as he was, he did not seem the least bit surprised when a clawed hand settled on his shoulder. He turned calmly to face the tall, reptilian-scaled creature that had appeared behind him through the solid gray wall. “What do you want, Gaur-jahn?” Raven asked with disdain, brushing the clawed hand off his shoulder.

The Gaur-jahn grinned; a sinister curling of the lips that added to the creature’s already dangerously predatory appearance. “Raven knows what Giranji wants.” Its voice rose an fell with the music in what would have been a pleasant cadence if it were not for the alien, almost undetectable, sharpness in the inflection of his words—as if it’s mouth were not built to speak words but to shred them.

“Running errands for Rhasti again?” Raven quipped casually, his tone touched with smug assurance, reaching for a glass of silver liquid on the table beside him. The creature flinched slightly, claws sliding together with a dry rasp. Raven hid a satisfied smile in his drink.

“Master should not trust Raven with his hidden-name,” Giranji said. “If Raven were to use it. . .”

Raven’s mouth curled upwards in contempt. “He doesn’t trust me, which is why he keeps sending me on dangerous errands, in the hope that I’ll find my end. However, the fact that I was able to find his name is more than indication of my skills. He can use me. I’m more than willing to take his money and give him names.” Raven’s eyes flicked towards Gianji, his own voice sharpening to match Giranji’s. “I don’t use names. I merely find them for other people. And they pay me—well. I have little interest in the petty power-struggles of the outside. I just deal in knowledge.” He grinned. “And he pays me more than enough to make it worth my while not to give his name to anyone else. It’s wonderful how well it all works out for me.” His teeth glinted in the dim light. “Knowledge is power.” He tossed back what was left of his drink.

The Gaur-jahn’s eyes narrowed into glittering slits, it’s mouth widened to show even more teeth, and it’s body coiled. “Giranji was told that you were good at what you do.”

Raven’s mouth tightened into a predatory smile of his own. “I am.” he said flatly. “If you didn’t have a message for me I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. Don’t think I couldn’t, I know your kind.”

The creature’s green-gold eyes blinked and a narrow purple tongue flicked between it’s teeth as if it were tasting its chances. “Giranji is expendable.” It’s voice lowered, cutting the words to a whisper. “He can come back from the other side.”

Raven chuckled. “There are ways to send even your kind past the point of return, but I only do that to real enemies. Remember; even for your kind the passage through the hub is painful. Kirani is a long way away.”

“These idle threats take us nowhere,” the creature said with a tight grimace, that might have passed for an attempted smile, and an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders.

Raven’s face hardened. “I never make idle threats,” he said, purposefully holding the creature’s gaze. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering near the knife that hung on his belt. When the creature flinched, he relaxed. “What does your master want?” Raven said, leaning casually against the balcony rail, his back to the surging crowd below.

“My master wishes a name.” Giranji’s claws clicked together carefully, and his voice seemed, if not subdued, at least restrained.

“Who does he want? And how much is he willing to pay?” Raven said, nodding.

“He does not ask the name of anyone who is yet important,” Giranji said.

Raven’s face betrayed interest. “Continue.”

“A new power is manifesting in the outer districts. The council does not know of her yet. But Giranji’s master has information. The balance of the planes is in question. The power structure might change forever if she is not controlled before she has fully come into her power.” The creature waved Raven to silence as he was about to interject. “Do not ask for his sources. We know nothing but what we are told. All we can give you is the target.”

“And?”

“She is sixteen years old. She lives as a servant in the house of the mayor of Eldale.”

“Is there anything else?” Raven asked, fingering his collar.

“She is known as Underfoot.” These words ended in a stiff choking noise as a dagger plunged into the creature’s neck. Giranji glared at Raven with a vicious fire in his eyes as his physical form was sucked away by an unseen power.

Raven turned with a suppressed grin on his face. He suspected that Giranji would be back, sometime in the future, with a grudge. When that happened he would be able to send him all the way.

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