It had been terrifying to feel that much power
flowing through him, out of his control. "That's never happened before,
Kit. Why this time?"
Her dainty shoulders lifted in a shrug. "How should I know?"
"You're supposed to know about this kind of stuff, but you never tell
me anything useful."
"Well then, since I'm not useful ..." With a mighty huff, she disappeared in a shower of silver and green sparkles.
Caim sighed and continued on his trek.
Three streets later, he turned a corner and stopped before a monolithic structure. The dark mass of the city workhouse eclipsed the skyline like a colossal black glacier. The building had been closed years ago,
but the specter of its presence hung over Low Town like a bad dream.
Among the Church's first creations in the chaotic years following its rise
to power, the workhouse had been heralded as an opportunity for the
unlawful to repay their crimes against society. Thousands of convicts
had entered its iron doors. Most of them died before their sentences
were complete, killed by either sadistic guards or the miserable conditions. A mournful wail rose from behind the weather-stripped walls. It
was the wind, no doubt, blowing through a broken window, but it was
unnerving nonetheless.
Caim picked up his pace to put the unpleasant edifice behind him. He
wished now he'd been smart enough to turn down Mathias's offer. With
the city in such a state of turmoil, the last thing he wanted was to risk his
neck doing Ral's secondhand work. This job had better be the easiest he'd
ever done or someone was going to regret it. Hell, he regretted it already.
A pair of painted slatterns called out to Caim with promises of earthly
delight from the mouth of a cramped alley and flicked their chins at him
as he walked past. The street branched ahead of him, both lanes crowded
with street-level shops and sprawling tenement houses above. Murmurs of
life filtered through their faded, whitewashed walls, sounds of laughter and tears, talking voices and wordless moans. The city was a living creature, hungry and untamed beneath its thin veneer of civilization.
In the kaleidoscopic days and weeks after the attack on his family's
home, he and Kit had trekked across the countryside like hunted animals,
moving at night, holing up during the daylight hours under whatever
cover they could find. He ate whatever came his way-wild berries and
nuts, the few animals he was able to catch or knock down with well-aimed
stones, stolen goods from the occasional farmstead. Chicken coops were
his favorite. He became adept at pilfering eggs without disturbing the
sleeping hens.
The towering gray walls of Liovard, the first real city they encountered on their flight south, amazed him. They stretched up to the sky several times the height of a grown man. Beyond those mighty stone ramparts protruded the peaks and turrets of more buildings than he had ever
seen in one place. His father's estate, including the fields and bordering
woods, would have been lost inside the walls, and Liovard, as he would
learn later, was petite compared to the great cities of the south: Mecantia,
Navarre, and Othir were all larger and more diverse. Yet, walking
through the iron-shod gates was like passing into another world, a realm
of noise and commotion where everyone hustled on vital business. Business was a new word he'd learned in Liovard. Just the sound of it quickened his pulse. That's what he wanted to be reckoned: a man of business.
It didn't take him long to learn about the messy underside of city life.
For a young boy with no family and no prospects, the city was a frightening place. He slept in alleyways and inside piles of garbage. A stack of
discarded shipping crates provided shelter for almost a month until the
street cleaners took them away. He moved from place to place, always
hungry, always searching for his next meal. If he thought he was safe from
harm amid the bustle of the city, he learned
flowing through him, out of his control. "That's never happened before,
Kit. Why this time?"
Her dainty shoulders lifted in a shrug. "How should I know?"
"You're supposed to know about this kind of stuff, but you never tell
me anything useful."
"Well then, since I'm not useful ..." With a mighty huff, she disappeared in a shower of silver and green sparkles.
Caim sighed and continued on his trek.
Three streets later, he turned a corner and stopped before a monolithic structure. The dark mass of the city workhouse eclipsed the skyline like a colossal black glacier. The building had been closed years ago,
but the specter of its presence hung over Low Town like a bad dream.
Among the Church's first creations in the chaotic years following its rise
to power, the workhouse had been heralded as an opportunity for the
unlawful to repay their crimes against society. Thousands of convicts
had entered its iron doors. Most of them died before their sentences
were complete, killed by either sadistic guards or the miserable conditions. A mournful wail rose from behind the weather-stripped walls. It
was the wind, no doubt, blowing through a broken window, but it was
unnerving nonetheless.
Caim picked up his pace to put the unpleasant edifice behind him. He
wished now he'd been smart enough to turn down Mathias's offer. With
the city in such a state of turmoil, the last thing he wanted was to risk his
neck doing Ral's secondhand work. This job had better be the easiest he'd
ever done or someone was going to regret it. Hell, he regretted it already.
A pair of painted slatterns called out to Caim with promises of earthly
delight from the mouth of a cramped alley and flicked their chins at him
as he walked past. The street branched ahead of him, both lanes crowded
with street-level shops and sprawling tenement houses above. Murmurs of
life filtered through their faded, whitewashed walls, sounds of laughter and tears, talking voices and wordless moans. The city was a living creature, hungry and untamed beneath its thin veneer of civilization.
In the kaleidoscopic days and weeks after the attack on his family's
home, he and Kit had trekked across the countryside like hunted animals,
moving at night, holing up during the daylight hours under whatever
cover they could find. He ate whatever came his way-wild berries and
nuts, the few animals he was able to catch or knock down with well-aimed
stones, stolen goods from the occasional farmstead. Chicken coops were
his favorite. He became adept at pilfering eggs without disturbing the
sleeping hens.
The towering gray walls of Liovard, the first real city they encountered on their flight south, amazed him. They stretched up to the sky several times the height of a grown man. Beyond those mighty stone ramparts protruded the peaks and turrets of more buildings than he had ever
seen in one place. His father's estate, including the fields and bordering
woods, would have been lost inside the walls, and Liovard, as he would
learn later, was petite compared to the great cities of the south: Mecantia,
Navarre, and Othir were all larger and more diverse. Yet, walking
through the iron-shod gates was like passing into another world, a realm
of noise and commotion where everyone hustled on vital business. Business was a new word he'd learned in Liovard. Just the sound of it quickened his pulse. That's what he wanted to be reckoned: a man of business.
It didn't take him long to learn about the messy underside of city life.
For a young boy with no family and no prospects, the city was a frightening place. He slept in alleyways and inside piles of garbage. A stack of
discarded shipping crates provided shelter for almost a month until the
street cleaners took them away. He moved from place to place, always
hungry, always searching for his next meal. If he thought he was safe from
harm amid the bustle of the city, he learned
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