A nervous girl slipped into the empty alleyway, black cloak wraped tightly and hood thrown up to hide her hair and shade her face. With half the city at the festival, Zaksburg’s streets were without their crowds. Absent her usual cover, Kerra felt as though she’d been followed ever since crossing into Northriver. She glanced over her shoulder and held her breath, but the only thing that moved was her and the only sound was windy silence.

  Kerra shivered. It was too quiet to be a city. She kept down the narrow alleyway, right hand traced lightly along the wall feeling for the crack in the grey pouredstone that marked the Den’s hidden door. She found it, placed her shoulder against the wall, and pushed the door-wide cracked section in, but it refused to give.

  That’s unusual.

  It sounded like furniture moving inside, and a man grumbling. Then the stonework sunk inwards and slid to the side. Sal’s boarish frame loomed in the new doorway. The big man looked cross until he realized it was Kerra standing in front of him.

  She didn’t wait for an invitation, and brushed past Sal. “Good to see you again.”

  Sal heaved the loose stonework back into place, shutting out most of the evening sun, save what made it in through the dirty little pane of glass in the corner.

  “It’s quiet,” said Kerra. “Where is everyone?”

  “Gone,” said Sal. He bent, and lit a candle from the small corner stove and set it on the table. “Didn’t expect to be seeing you again neither.”

  In the candlelight, she could finally see the little storeroom clearly, and was shocked to see the cellar hatch blatantly uncovered.

  “What happened?” asked Kerra.

  Sal sighed and sat himself at the table in the room’s single chair. “I’m not so sure of that myself. Allen died and everyone started fighting.”

  “Allen’s dead? How?”

  Allen liked to call himself a merchant, but in truth he was a low class thug with a few good connections. His ‘business’ was buying stolen goods and selling them to an Azrini outlaw called the Crow, who in turn sold them to princes and collectors in the east.

  “The Watch did him in,” said Sal. “Bastard managed to take two of them with him though.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Allen.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But that’s what happened.”

  Allen had been dangerous enough with a blade, but he wasn’t one to fight with Watchmen. He wasn’t that brave.

  “Damn it,” Kerra said, thinking about the ornate dagger hidden in the pockets of her cloak. The Crow had asked for it specifically, and he was not someone she was willing to upset again. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

  “Guess you weren’t looking for work then,” said Sal. “Well I can’t help ya little lady. Some of the others maybe can, but I don’t want nothin’ to do with them no more and they don’t want nothin’ from me.”

  The big man was avoiding her gaze, instead staring off into a dark corner. “What are you still doing here Sal? There’s nothing downstairs is there?”

  He shook his head. “Bastards took everything, so this place is all I got left. It’s a good enough place to lay low now that everyone who knows about it knows nothing’s left.”

  “Then why’d you open the door?” Kerra asked.

  Sal sat there, silently. He’d been keeping peace at the Den for years while Allen smuggled any damn thing out of the city’s waterways which ran right below the basement. He’d always been friendly with her every time she’d come by, and even come to hear her sing once or twice. Without Allen, it seemed Sal really didn’t have anything.

  “You should go,” Sal said.

  Kerra nodded. “I will.”

  With a huff, the big man picked himself off the creaky wooden chair and made for the door.

  “How long are you staying?” he asked. “In the city I mean.”

  A small smile found its way to Kerra’s lips.

  “A few days,” she said.

  “Good,” Sal grinned. “I wanted to hear ya sing again, and I was afraid I’d missed my chance.”

  “I’m at the Maned Mare, Sal,” said Kerra. “Come by sometime, I’ll sing for you.”

  “I’d like that.” Sal pulled the door back, and slid it open.

  Kerra nodded to him as she stepped out into the quickly darkening spring night. “Why don’t you come with me? I’m heading there now?”

  Sal shook his head. “Not now. I have to wait here. But I will, before you go.”

  Without another word, he slid the door shut and pushed it back into place, and crow’s call echoed through the quiet cobbled streets.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The sun had already set, the Little Sister chased behind painting the western sky a bright indigo. The little moon always chased close to the sun after she’d been caught by the other moon, Big Sister, just now rising in the east. It was late enough Niles was likely back at the Mare. He might know what to do.

  Northriver’s streets were still far too empty for her tastes. Kerra took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. The less conspicuous she looked, the less she’d have to worry about. Right?

  Her footsteps against the cobble rang in her ears, but something wasn’t right. There were extra steps she wasn’t taking. Kerra stopped and spun, looking for someone else on the street but found it empty. Across from her was another alleyway, and she darted for it, hoping anyone following behind her would chase.

  Kerra’s heart pumped in her chest as she turned a left corner, heading deeper into the block of homes and shops. She held back to catch a glimpse of her pursuer, and fought the urge to run when she saw a kid come chasing after her.

  The boy couldn’t have been older than ten, and his dirty brown hair was slicked back and away from his face. He wore an old, too large shirt, trousers that looked like they’d been made from a burlap sack, and was lucky enough to have a pair of worn shoes. And he was running right at her.

  She pressed her back to the wall and waited for the kid to turn the corner.

  He let out a surprised gasp when he turned the corner and Kerra slammed him against the wall by his shirt.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Demmon,” the boy said. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Kerra looked the boy square in his bright brown eyes. “Why were you following me?”

  “I follow everyone,” Demmon said. “It’s my job.”

  “Your job? For who?”

  “Milyen.”

  “Who?” Kerra didn’t recognize the name, but a lot could change in a year away from somewhere.

  “Milyen,” the boy said incredulous. “He’s in charge of this area now and wants ta know everything going on, so he pays me an’ some of the other kids ta follow people.”

  “Well don’t follow me.”

  Kerra dropped the boy and he landed nimbly on his feet. Demmon met her stern gaze, nodded, and made to run off the way he’d come.

  “Wait,” Kerra called after him. “If your Milyen took up Allen’s turf, did he take up his business?”

  Demmon stopped and turned. “Are you buying or selling?”

  “What if I had something to sell?” asked Kerra.

  “Then you should go to the north docks and ask for Ed.”

  Then he was gone, slipped out of view beyond the corner of the alleyway.

  Kerra pushed open the door to the Maned Mare and her face was stung by the heat and smoke of the firepit inside. She stifled a small cough but still several of the patrons turned to look. The Maned mare was for the Smelters, the working men who operated the Aldrimar’s forges and melted down the raw metals coming into Zaksburg from upriver. Those men were used to smog and smoke all hours of the day, and never coughed.

  The conversation halted for a moment as a chair squeaked across the wooden floor somewhere to her left. Niles stood and waved to her, wearing a blue tunic and that stupid, handsome grin of his.

  “Kerra!” he said. “There you are!”

  Damn him, he’s always got to go shouting my name, she glowered as she made her way to the table, fighting the urge to pull her hood back up over her face. As always, Niles was surrounded by hangers on.

  “Where have you been?” asked Niles with only a hint of mock chastisement. He bent in to embrace her, trying not to spill his beer. She felt the brush of his full brown beard and a peck of his lips on her cheek, and felt herself blushing.

  “Nowhere,” she said, pushing herself away from him. He never seemed to know the right time or place for anything.

  “Good,” said Niles. “Here I was thinking you were getting into trouble again.”

  A buxom older woman, Marva, was setting two more flagons on the table while Niles’ boys drained theirs and oggled Marva.

  “Come, sit,” said Niles. “Drink with us.”

  “Niles,” said Kerra. “I don’t have time-”

  “You gonna drink that or what?” asked the older monk with grey hair and bushy eyebrows. His name was Davit, and had fought with Niles during the last Rebellion. Though he’d used to be a fearsome fighter, today he was a fearsome drunk.

  Kerra shook her head and he snatched it up greedily.

  “Do you guys think I have a chance at the championship?” asked Niles.

  His younger companion slammed his fist into the table. “Yor in for the foight of yor life,” the palehaired man said in a thick Goric accent. “Oi almost had cha though. Tem lords’ gonna eat ya alive.”

  Niles glared at the man, pointing but laughed. “I was goin’ easy on you Varnen. I used to teach the Knight of Zaksburg how to hold onto his sword, I’m not worried about him.”

  “I remember that,” Davit laughed. “You used to beat that kid so bad his arms were bruises. He’ll probably want revenge.”

  “Let him try!” Niles agreed. All three of them laughed.

  “Niles,” said Kerra. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” He waited for her start.

  “Alone.”

  “Ah. If you’ll excuse us gentlemen.”

  The two men nodded absently, their attention caught by the return of the well-endowed Marva.

  Kerra and Niles made their way through the smoky common room and through the door to the private rooms rented out by the night. The Mare rarely had guests, and maintained only three actual rooms for rent. They had rented two of them.

  Hers was the smaller of them, with only enough room for the single bed. Niles removed his sword from his belt and sat down on the bed.

  “So you really did miss me,” he said.

  “Be serious for a minute, Niles,” Kerra said. “I think I really am in trouble.”

  He sat up straight and grabbed for his sword, his playfulness gone.

  “What happened?” Niles demanded.

  “Allen’s dead.”

  “Shit.” Niles ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “And you still have it?”

  She nodded. “Only Sal was left, and he didn’t know where any of the others had gone. He said most of them started looting and killing each other.”

  “Well we’ve got to find someone else to sell it to then,” said Niles. “We can’t keep it.”

  He didn’t need to tell her why. The jeweled dagger she kept hidden in her cloak was a holy relic, looted by the Gors when they raided the ruins of Razen and driven the priests and monks out. Since then the dagger had passed through several hands, until it came to a chieftain who brought it west. Kerra had been sent to retrieve it from him at the Crow’s request, and Allen would have had her pay.

  “I have another buyer,” said Kerra. “But I don’t know him.”

  “I see,” said Niles, grinning. He had a sparkle in his eyes. Eyes colored like pure lakewater, a mix of blue and brown and grey met hers. “You don’t want to go alone.”

  Niles always liked to play hero.