Wothlondia Rising: The Anthology

Wothlondia Rising

  The Anthology

  Beginnings

  Book 1

  By Gary Vanucci

  Wothlondia Rising

  Gary F. Vanucci

  Copyright 2013 Gary F. Vanucci

  Acknowledgements:

  I would like to thank the many people who helped me get these short stories to print, all of my fellow authors who have offered support, and peers, family, friends and fans who follow me on twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, and my blog—Eye on Ashenclaw. You guys are extraordinary! I would also like to thank the authors at the Independent Author Network who continue to aid, promote and support me without me having to ask. You people give me inspiration to carry on.  I would like to give credit to those who helped me publish these books, including Jason Russell; my editor, Stephanie Dagg, who’s editing services can be found here: https://www.booksarecool.com/tag/stephanie-dagg/; the folks who make up Ashenclaw Studios—Nick & Liz Titano, Tom Sullustio; and the entire Saturday night gaming group at the Titano’s for so many reasons! And kudos to my artist and fellow author, William Kenney, whose site is here: https://wkenney.deviantart.com/. Also, I would also like to thank Mr. Bob S. for giving me the encouragement and extremely practical writing advice along the way and who helped me maintain the confidence that I needed to persevere.

  This series of short stories is dedicated to my mother

   Geraldine M. Vanucci

    who was a glaring and unforgivable oversight in my first novel

  Covenant of the Faceless Knights

   

  Mom, I love you and you are always right…what can I say.

   

  Please visit my home page @ https://eyeonashenclaw.blogspot.com/ for an extended reading experience and to observe all of my social media. All characters, maps, logos and content in these stories are copyright Ashenclaw Studios, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by

  any means without the written permission of the author.

   

   

   

   

   

  An

  Production

  NOTE:

  All Wothlondia Rising short stories can be read in any order. They are a series in that they represent prequels to my debut novel, Covenant of the Faceless Knights.

  Distant Familiarity specifically details the events that happen just prior to the Prologue of Covenant of the Faceless Knights while the rest of the series take place approximately twelve years prior to the novel.

  Chapter 1

  A Rose in Bloom

   

  Rose padded softly down the alley, keeping to the shadows until she entered the busy streets of the Entertainment District. Remaining completely unseen, she approached a merchant’s stand teeming with potential buyers. The morning was warm as she felt the sun’s rays upon her. The masses were pushing and shoving at the front of this particular kiosk that sold breads, fruits and other delightful foods, looking for the best and freshest of the bunch. She sidled up to the stand and snatched an apple and a piece of bread faster than the eye could follow, placing them into a pocket she’d sewn into her shirt. She did this as a morning ritual, choosing a different stand each day.

  She took note of how the streets had become choked with a growing number of Watchmen with each day that passed. This was because Oakhaven proper was growing—especially the Trade District—and why not? The calendar year was 54 P.A. and it was beginning to take on the appearance of what it had been prior to the attacks of Ashenclaw and her dragon kin—a thriving city for trade and a suitable place to make a living, no matter what your profession. As a matter of fact, some of the local historians believed that this current variation of Oakhaven was perhaps even grander and more prosperous than any of its former manifestations.

  Reports were beginning to spread around Wothlondia about the volume of people coming in and out of Oakhaven each week, purchasing homes, buildings, warehouses and the like in the Manufacturing and Trade Districts where they could buy and sell on a daily basis. A recent influx of guards, laborers, business owners and longshoreman made the rumors ring with an air of truth.

  Yes, Rose thought, Oakhaven is a fine city!

  She silently stalked away from the Entertainment District and through the Commons, which was where the homes and smaller businesses that could not afford space in the Manufacturing District were situated. It was also the seedy underbelly of Oakhaven with streets and alleyways full of beggars, thieves and muggers. Some streets were better than others, especially during the hours the sun shone down upon them, but all bets were off at night, unless the Watch happened to be passing by. Even so, the Watchmen walked in packs in the Commons and patrolled this district less often than any of the others.

  As Rose made her way to the brothel, she avoided one particular place—an orphanage that harbored awful memories. She was as yet unable to face up to what that particular span had done to her over the relatively few years she’d spent upon the face of Wothlondia. She had not yet reached her sixteenth name-day, but she had many recollections from her early teens. Those memories did not elicit pleasant thoughts, nor did they bring into being a joyful childhood. Far from it, Rose thought bitterly.

  She had been faced with a constant stream of cruelty from potential guardians in those years. Her maidenhead had been taken from her at a young age, before her thirteenth name-day if she recalled correctly, and as well she had been physically and verbally assaulted and otherwise abused. Many a step-parent, step-sibling or other keeper had mistreated her, or worse, when she’d been in their care, including the proprietor of the orphanage to whom she owed a special kind of payback.

  Augustus by name, he was a well-connected man. He had frequently sent her off to a ‘guardian’ who was unfit to mother or father her properly. More than a few times, when accosted by people who should have been protecting her, Rose had had to defend herself, especially when help from the Watch or city officials did not arrive in a timely manner…or at all. Afterwards, they simply sent her back to the orphanage, too young to face any real charges, and never did they find any evidence of the ill-treatment she claimed—and this despite her obvious bruises. She had hated her time there.

  She recalled partially a time when she was preparing to run away from the orphanage when the half-elven and beautiful Marielle had stepped in, coaxing the young woman from Augustus, citing her looks and offering a favorable return on investment if Rose remained unscathed.

  Marielle had taken her away from Augustus that summer and Rose began her life at the bordello. It was much improved when compared to the abuse she’d endured at the orphanage, and her figure began to fill out into shapely proportions. Marielle, her Madam, assigned her a position after her fourteenth name-day as an errand girl. She would allot chores to Rose, having her handle everyday jobs, mostly involving washing and cleaning for the first half year of her stay as she was acclimatized to their ways and dealings. Rose was both athletically built and pleasing to the eye for men who enjoyed the company of a female counterpart. This was a blessing in disguise to Marielle, she’d often complimented, as Rose was a comely lass—more so than many of the other girls—and that fact lent itself well to her approaching profession. 

  Of course, those others couldn’t help noticing her burgeoning features and she was often shunned or otherwise mistreated.

  Rose had an uncanny sleight of hand, as well as a silver tongue—both of which were a benediction and a curse. She could talk her way into, and then out of trouble, though wise cracks were bountiful and often spoken at inopportune times. She was frequently scolded by her Madam for this particular habit, though Marie
lle had already guessed that the lectures would not arrest Rose’s loose lips.

  Rose was also discovering a certain penchant and aptitude for thievery. The thrill of pilfering goods or coin made her heart race, and she could not stop. Theft was fast becoming her drug of choice. She showed a dual acuity of both mind and body that allowed her to accomplish the deeds without being detected a single time—at least by the Watch. She was particularly well accomplished at the art of thievery, and that had attracted some unwanted attention from a certain group of organized crime persons in Oakhaven.

  She’d been warned more than once about pilfering goods—including the food she stole—and that if she continued, there would be consequences. But being the brash young soul Rose was, she did not take it seriously, nor did she believe that they would catch her. So, she continued to steal, food mostly, whenever she desired. She did not have much in the way of coin and certainly could not afford the prices of the merchants here in Oakhaven, who sold their goods at inflated cost. But that wasn’t the issue. Rose filched because she could, and because she was good at it. And it didn’t hurt to have a full belly when going to the brothel in the morning, as Marielle soon had her toiling, putting her to task to complete many chores.

  Her source of income had recently started to change in a favorable manner ever since a well-to-do man had begun asking for her—and her specifically—on a regular basis. Rose had spent a full year as one of Marielle’s girls now and she’d only had a few repeat customers before, but this man would request only her. The man had an affinity for redheads, she supposed at first, and he was more than kind to her, tipping her generously and never laying a hand on her unless it was to caress. He was a strikingly handsome man to boot, with eyes the color of the deepest blue sky, a neatly trimmed goatee and long, dark hair that he often wore tied back. He also boasted to her in confidence that he was in consideration for a high ranking official’s position, which, if he acquired it, she was sure would make his visits less frequent. At least publicly, she considered. There were plenty of high-profile customers who entered Marielle’s brothel, but they were treated with the utmost care and discreetness.

  She knew that she should separate her personal feelings when it came to her clients, but this man was different. He stirred feelings deep inside her, especially when he looked into her eyes as no other had ever done before. His tone and words were generally soft and inviting, but they also betrayed a hidden side that was more forceful whenever the conversation turned the slightest bit quarrelsome. Mostly, he treated Rose as if she were not a prostitute, but was instead simply a woman deserving of a man’s touch and attention. He was persuasive and intelligent, knowledgeable and charming, and appeared to be smitten with the young seducer.

  Her Madam, Marielle, was a very kind woman as well, especially to Rose, but was savvy and harsh when she needed to be. Marielle knew how to handle herself amongst the drunken and boorish sort that often visited her brothel. The beautiful half-elven woman favored Rose and personally took to mentoring the young lass, which the other girls observed and teased her about on a daily basis.

  All these thoughts receded once she hit the short row of wooden steps leading up to the brothel’s entrance. Rose bit into the apple as she opened the door wide and then stopped as two girls moved to impede her progress.

  “I’ll take that,” remarked a raven haired girl named Felicity, as she plucked the half-eaten apple from Rose’s grasp. Felicity had once been a very beautiful girl, but had not taken care of herself over the past few years, and had allowed her inward ugliness to spread outside.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” remarked the other, slightly stout woman named Sabrina, her blonde hair pulled back tightly in a pony-tail. She was a striking girl with a good amount of curves, but she lacked confidence about her figure, believing herself to be overweight and unattractive. Rose had heard these admissions whispered often enough in the night, when Sabrina would cry on the shoulder of Felicity or one of the other girls, confiding in them. But Rose knew that Sabrina was naturally beautiful, with her voluptuous form and an intrinsic comeliness that needed no make-up. She was in demand at the brothel, a simple fact that contradicted her very own self-doubts.

  “So nice of you to help me watch my figure,” Rose quipped slyly, emphasizing her words and tugging lightly at the threads of Sabrina’s deepest insecurity.

  I can be cruel, too, Rose thought as she turned and let her eyes fall directly onto Sabrina for a moment, before landing harshly on Felicity.

  “You are certainly under The Watcher’s eye this day, my pretty, knowing I can’t rearrange that sweet little face o’ yours,” Sabrina hissed at her, throwing up a façade of bravado to mask her own diffidence.

  Rose simply rolled her eyes incredulously at the comment, pushed past the both of them, and carried on down the hallway to Marielle’s quarters. Once there, she rapped on the door and waited, deciphering a shuffling in the room beyond accompanied by muffled voices.

  After a moment, she heard a voice from behind the door. Rose turned the handle, opened the door ever so slightly and peered into the dimly lit room. A rather stout and now-flustered man pulled a loose sheet from the bed in an attempt to cover himself, blushing with embarrassment that began to reshape itself into anger.

  The half-elven Madam was sprawled out on her bed shamelessly uncovered, her shapely body catching the minimal light that peeked in through the slight gaps of the drapes. She smiled at Rose and stretched, exuding an audacious confidence and basking in her own state of undress. Her body was smooth and the symmetry of her half-elven frame was plentiful. Marielle was more than comfortable in her natural state as she sat up and lit a candle. Her light green eyes sparkled intermittently as she blinked, and her long, dark hair framed her face perfectly. It appeared to Rose that she had been painted on the wall of the room instead of occupying its space.

  “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Rose wryly stated, standing within the threshold of the room, her words further mortifying and infuriating the man. He continued to cover himself as Rose looked to the floor, then to her Madam, and then to the floor again. Marielle gave Rose a disapproving stare and shook her head in annoyance as Rose stared up at her again. The man was a distinguished merchant in Oakhaven—Bronn was his name—and he was quite well known. He was rumored to be involved in some scandalous activities about town and also happened to be very married. Rose knew all of this, so she assumed that it was also common knowledge amongst the folk in Oakhaven, who blathered of such things nightly at the local taverns.

  “This situation had best go no further!” whispered the man in a heated tone, trying to keep his voice down.

  Marielle motioned her to come inside so as to avoid further discomfiture to the man. Rose rolled her eyes in reluctance but entered and shut the door as was directed.

  “Whatever happens within the walls of my establishment remains within and goes no further. You know our policy, Bronn,” Marielle insisted. “We have… insurance policies against such things,” she added cryptically.

  Rose understood what that meant, as did Bronn, judging by the change in his expression. Marielle was well-connected in the Commons and could call upon certain undesirables, to whom she offered favors of the flesh, in return for a strong arm and a silent tongue.

  “Rose, do go about completing your chores and clean up after,” Marielle ordered sternly as she pulled on a thin nightgown. “You have an important guest to entertain shortly, too.”

  Rose turned in a huff and exited the room, closing the door gently on her way out.

  She did not like doing chores.

   

   

  The streets are quiet tonight, thought Ganthorpe as he proceeded toward his destination under cover of the moonlight. He did not worry one moment about being accosted, even here in the Commons.

  Oakhaven was fast becoming his town.

  He arrived very late in the evening, striding confidently up to the door of Marielle’s estab
lishment and knocked firmly upon its oaken surface. A moment later, he recognized the familiar sound of a fairly dependable lock relinquishing its grasp on the knob. As the door opened, a beautiful half-elven woman stood before him, smiling a forced smile and looking radiant, despite the late hour.

  “I did not expect to see you at this time of night, especially answering your own door,” remarked Ganthorpe cynically, tugging at the lower portion of his goatee as he smiled in a deflecting manner. “I’d have thought that the lovely Marielle would be sharing someone’s bed by now, or counting her coin from the night’s fruitful bounty.”

  “You are late,” she said curtly. “She will not like that,” the Madam added, ignoring his comments. Just then a bell tolled in the distance, reflecting the time of day—or night in this case—which happened to be midnight. The timekeeper, Brogan, had begun using a series of markedly different-pitched tolling bells to signify the passing of the hours in Oakhaven, with each unique chime signifying a particular time. Ganthorpe grimaced at the sound of the chime, soft though it was, as it startled him. The bells were something new that had been implemented recently and Ganthorpe, being a disciple of the darkness, did not take too kindly to the change.

   “He will get it right, and soon,” Marielle offered in an attempt to quell his irritation, easily sensing his disturbance and uneasiness at hearing the bells. She, of course, wanted her patrons to be unperturbed when they were within her walls, though Ganthorpe noted she couldn’t help a wry smile at his reaction as she closed the door behind him.

  He strode respectfully past the women gathered in the antechamber of the brothel, who were all gawking at him, and he smiled back at them with his charming grin. Then he suddenly turned to Marielle, who was escorting him to the room.

  “Sorry for my delay,” he apologized as he tossed a golden coin toward her. She caught it and smiled, never even looking at it.

  “A peace offering?” she asked him derisively, rolling the coin over with her fingers and locking eyes with him.

  “Of course,” he answered, bowing before her. “My Rose is a delicate flower and is not to be plucked by any but me, as per our agreement.”

  “I have my own stream of coins. Save this one for your girl,” she answered flippantly, lobbing the gold coin back to him. He caught it deftly, his hand navigating the space quickly and accurately. Then he shrugged, never really getting used to the boldness and candor of this woman. He certainly admired her business sense and merely nodded in response at her impertinence.

  She was a surprising one. One of the few, he considered.

  “Besides, you may need it to stem a lashing,” she added with a chuckle, both of them knowing that Rose would be none too pleased at his tardiness.

  “Very well,” he finally managed to say, licking his dried lips before turning the corner of the hall and climbing the staircase to the next floor. Marielle watched him as he paused at Rose’s door before disappearing herself. He removed a red rose from beneath his jacket, and then knocked lightly.

  “It’s about damned time,” he heard from within, and he grinned, recognizing that tone as what he perceived to be playful.

  He opened the door and found the most recent of his infatuations sitting in a chair, drinking a glass of wine, her legs crossed with a good deal of her flesh exposed. She frowned at him as he entered and he offered her the flower.

  “You are rather behind schedule,” Rose interjected, expecting some kind of explanation, but none was forthcoming.

  “A rose for my Rose,” he smiled, bowing low and ignoring her remark. Then he moved in and kissed her. She shoved him away playfully before giving herself over to him. She kissed him deeply for a long moment as they fell to the bed.

   

   

  “I have a proposition for you,” Ganthorpe began, as they lay next to one another a few hours later.

  Rose leaned up on her elbows and stared at him intently with her gray eyes.

  “I’m listening.”

  Then she rolled away to sit in the chair adjacent to the bed, gently scooped up her goblet, and tasted another sip of her fruity wine. A moment passed and she placed the goblet down on the desk, stood and stretched. She turned to stare at him expectantly. Her raised eyebrow instructed him to continue voicing his current notion. He swallowed hard, fighting through an obvious distraction that she presented to him, her supple body shimmering in the dimly lit room, but he appeared up for the challenge as he looked away from her. She was a bit disappointed that he was able to turn away, but did not let on.

  “I know that you have certain skills—”

  “Well, of course I do,” she snapped, cutting him off and responding to what she thought he was referring to. He shook his head dismissively and continued.

  “Not what I mean. You have a certain flair for…thievery. I’ve heard you’ve been pilfering goods in the marketplace,” he remarked simply, drawing a curious look from her as her features screwed up. “The Trade District, my dear,” he clarified.

  She turned that puzzled look his way and frowned, not quite sure what he was talking about. It was clear that he wanted to converse, though. So, she pulled a light silken robe over her elegant frame and sat in the chair facing him, still unsure what he was getting at.

  “You know my meaning,” Ganthorpe said, his eyes turning icy as they regarded her.

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” That offering had her unsettled and then she panicked, sensing something serious about him that she’d never seen before. It was almost threatening…dangerous. His tone was altogether different, too, and more than a little intimidating. Rose tried to remain calm, steadying her breathing, but she could not help shooting a surreptitious glance his way. She slipped a small knife out of the drawer of the table behind her, thinking the man to suddenly be something other than she had originally perceived him to be. She was completely unsure, but had to protect herself in case things got out of hand.

  “Is this some kind of threat?” Rose asked, wondering if she had stolen something from him inadvertently and that now, perhaps, he meant to make her pay. She’d been the recipient of many betrayals from others in her past, who’d promised her one thing or another. But, if this were the case now, it would sting most of all.

  He laughed in response to her question as if to dismiss the absurdity of the accusation. However, her paranoia was mounting and she did not see it as such.

  “Yes,” he answered, half smiling again and moving toward her.

  Rose, now terrified, dove at him clumsily with the tip of her knife extended. He slid to the side, caught her by the arm and forced her slash downwards and into the goose down that filled her bedding beneath the linens. He then twisted her wrist and placed his thumb in an uncomfortable area, forcing her to relinquish the dagger.

  “And no,” he finally added.

  He nodded with admiration, seemingly at the speed at which she had launched the attack. Then he steeled his face again, his mask an expressionless canvas that she could not read. She had no idea if he meant to kill her, rape her, leave her or something altogether different.

  “Did you mean to kill me?” he asked incredulously.

  Rose nodded slightly, then shrugged and winced in pain at the wrist-lock still held in place. He hadn’t even realized he still held her and so released her immediately, moving off the bed to stand away from her.

  “By the gods, girl—calm down! I’m not going to send you to Archinon,” he mentioned strongly, throwing his arms up. He was referring, of course, to the home of the gladiatorial arenas in southwestern Wothlondia, where the law-breakers and other miscreants taken captive by the Watch were sent by caravan monthly to receive judgment for their crimes in one manner or another. King Tallaruk, Archinon’s fierce ruler, was a sadistic but fair king, Rose considered, thinking the man to be a bit like Ganthorpe from the tales she’d heard.

  “What then?” Rose questioned him, flustered and gesturing wildly as she stood and then sat again in fru
stration at the whole scene.

  “Keep your voice down,” he instructed in a commanding, hushed tone. He closed in on her again and stood facing her. Then he sat on the bed, beckoning her to shift and look at him. She did so, reluctantly and vigilant, holding his gaze steadily, a tentative contemplation overwhelming her.

  “I have eyes everywhere in this city,” he began to explain. This confused and surprised Rose at the same time.

  “Who are you?” Rose asked him, whispering now.

  “I am Ganthorpe Randolph—the soon-to-be-Assistant Mayor of Oakhaven,” he announced clearly to her, boasting proudly as if the deed had already happened. Then he modified his tone and spoke words meant to gauge a reaction. “That could mean a much busier schedule and a public image that may add up to less frequent visits on my part,” he went on, watching intently the expression on the young woman’s face. Rose knew that she offered a slight hint of disappointment there, and he reacted as such. She knew him then to be extraordinarily skillful at reading even the slightest change in body language or mannerisms, as well as the most insubstantial of vocal fluctuations. Yet another surprise to this man and yet another of his many gifts, she understood.

  “I am aware of these things,” Rose answered, pursing her lips and then biting the lower one as she turned away from him briefly.

  “Ah, but what you do not know—and what no one but a select few know—is that I run the Thieves’ Guild, an organization of pickpockets and rogues here in Oakhaven called the Shadowhands.”

  “I know who they are…,” she whispered. Rose spun back towards him, letting the information sink in. And then sudden realization crept over her.

  She recalled in the recent past having been approached by thugs and rogues on the street on numerous occasions, threatening her and worse, but she had never suffered any repercussions. She had simply ascribed their words as empty threats from wretched, cowardly men. Now she was beginning to picture a different scenario. One in which a certain lover forbid any actions to be taken against her.

  “I want you to join us… join me,” he went on. She scowled at first and then placed a hand to her chin in a contemplative posture for a moment, followed by a long bout of silence. “I will tutor you personally in the ways of the underworld and you will have riches beyond compare,” he added as outward encouragement. That enticed her more than a little.

  “I—but, what of Marielle?” Rose asked, sincerely concerned with how her Madam might react to the news.

  “I will make it worth her while,” Ganthorpe replied, smiling that wide grin that seemed wolfish to her now, with just a hint of the boyish charm that was more familiar.  “I know what it is like, Rose, to have nothing and to have to steal to survive.”

  “I own enough coin now,” she lied, fending off his accusation, but Ganthorpe recognized the hint of falsehood beneath her words clearly. She knew he’d detected the slight variation in her voice, even though she’d tried to mask it from him.

  “Besides, you can’t help yourself, can you?” He asked rhetorically, seemingly knowing her answer. He gazed upon her as if he knew exactly how she felt, as if he thought them to be truly kindred souls. He was slightly older than she, but the excitement of perpetrating the heist or the pick-pocket was without comparison, and they both knew the thrill and exhilaration it offered.

  “I do have a strange desire to thieve,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

  “Well? What say you?” he asked her, crossing his arms over his chest. Rose simply moved forward, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “I will follow you anywhere,” she admitted, startling even herself with that admission.

  “So, you don’t want to kill me anymore, I hope?” he asked, pushing her back to witness her reaction.

  “Not at the moment,” she winked. He looked to her as if he could not tell if the threat was truly meant behind the smile that followed.

  He was inwardly happy, she could tell by his expression, and he relaxed again.

  “There is nothing quite like the thrill of employing your skills to relieve a wealthy merchant of his wares, eh?” he asked her again, raising an eyebrow. “Now, all I need is to teach you how to use that dagger of yours,” he added arrogantly.

  “I can use one just fine,” she retorted, producing a hidden blade from somewhere beneath the loose fitting silk robe she wore and holding it to his neck. It was a very thin blade, like that used to skin a piece of fruit, and was small and very lightweight. She had removed the handle, leaving only the sharp steel behind. “You see, I am not without certain skills of my own.”

  She pulled the knife away from his neck and tossed it on the desk.

  “I see that I have underestimated you, Rose,” he smiled, obviously impressed. He spoke as though her actions further supported his decision to approach her on the subject. “It won’t happen again.”

  “A girl’s gotta protect herself, right?” she said, removing her robe, this time genuinely disarming herself. “Would you like to check me further for concealed weapons?”

  “Truly remarkable,” he laughed as he grabbed her by the neck and kissed her hard on the lips. “A Rose with thorns,” he observed, holding her at arm’s length.

  “You have no idea,” she replied. As she shoved him forcefully onto the bed, some of the goose down billowed out from the tear of her failed assault.

  They remained intertwined until the sun appeared from behind distant clouds in the eastern sky.

   

   

   “How was your evening?” Marielle asked Ganthorpe as he made his way out the back door and into the alley. That hidden door was privy to only to a chosen few of her ‘special’ clients.

  “Very… interesting,” he summarized, bowing low. He stood, then came back to the doorway and leaned in close. “We need to speak later, at length,” he added cryptically, then smiled and walked out onto the desolate street.

  Marielle stared after him and wondered what that was about. Then suddenly he spun lightly on his heel and approached her once more.

  “Meet me for breakfast at the Steel Dragon,” he invited. “It will be on me. Make yourself available before Sun’s Peak.”

   The half-elven woman paused briefly in contemplation of the news. She looked around for prying eyes and then closed the door when she saw no one. She knew immediately that this must have something to do with Rose… or at least that the young woman would know something about it.

  Marielle strode off down the hallway to the base of the stairs, climbed them and hurried to the room where she knew Rose slept. She knocked on the door.

  “Are you in there?” she called.

  The sun shone through a window in the hall in front of Rose’s door and it reflected back into Marielle’s eyes, causing her to squint. She rapped on the door once more, waited a moment and then entered. Rose was lying immobile on the bed, still enveloped within shadow.

  Then, to Marielle’s shock and distress, she seemed to literally melt into the bed. Rose simply disappeared, wholly and completely, her eyes wide in apparent astonishment for the brief instant that Marielle’s eyes met her own. The Madam raced to where Rose had been only a second ago and felt around for her, not knowing what to think about what had just happened. Was she imagining the whole thing?

  “By the gods! Rose!” she cried out, again and again, frantically searching for the girl, tearing the covers off the bed and eventually throwing the them to the ground. Then she flung the curtains of the room open and stared incredulously, mouth agape, heart beating furiously, as she drew in a deep breath.

  “What is happening?!”

   

   

  Rose felt like she was falling. That was the only way to explain it.

  The last thing she could remember was hearing the turn of the handle and the creak of the door to her room as it began to open. She instinctively receded into the covers of her bed… then she felt a sudden and distinct chill. And she was blind?


  Was this a dream, she wondered? But it didn’t feel like a dream. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness all around her. She thought she heard something and glanced behind her. Then again, something sounded in the distance and to her right. She began to move forward and her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. She also saw…Marielle. The half-elven woman was below her and to the left, but moving so slowly that Rose could not comprehend what was happening or what she was doing.

  “Am I dead?” Rose whispered to herself. She started to see figures in the shadows now—shifting and gliding along, advancing in all directions. Rose remained still, observing the barely moving figure of Marielle below her, clearly in her room at the brothel. She continued watching all the forms in motion around her. The shadow-things were all shapes and sizes. One seemed to notice her as if for the first time. It approached her and she felt the thing touch her—and then move through her!

  Rose sensed a chill creep through her with the shadowy creature, which continued past her. She felt very cold and took a few steps, still seeing the barely-moving Marielle below and behind her. Rose began to run. There were no borders, no walls, no gates, and no structures at all, just nothing but empty blackness in this…realm…for lack of a better word.

  She saw all kinds of happenings beneath her in what she reasoned must be her city, her room, the brothel. But where was she, then? She fought to subdue the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. A few more minutes passed as she continued moving forward. She recognized the layout of the Trade District below her, and a few of the merchants. She noted, puzzled as to how everyone down there was moving in the most sluggish manner imaginable. Rose was truly perplexed. She seemed to be moving faster than anything else that was happening around her…or more specifically, below her.

  Then she saw something else. No, someone else. There was movement approximately a hundred paces ahead of her. The figure turned and faced her, clearly seeing her. All Rose saw was a pair of deep, violet eyes that penetrated the darkness. She turned and fled, as fast and as carefully as she could. But she could feel that the owner of those eyes was still behind her. She whirled round to see the form, its violet eyes still the only thing indicating its presence at all, closing in on her.

  Her muscles propelled her forward at inconceivable speed as she viewed the landscape below, now seeing sectors of Oakhaven and, more specifically, the Commons. On she sprinted, eventually beholding a familiar structure now below her—the brothel! She raced toward it and finally saw the interior. There was Marielle, but she could barely make her out, as if she were partially erased from her reality. Then she too was gone. Rose kept going, sensing the thing, whatever it was, still behind her, closing in on her, and she knew it would overcome her in a few more heartbeats. She dove for the darkness below and felt something on her shoulder—a hand perhaps? She could not make out what it was, but it certainly did not feel like flesh.

  She felt the soft texture of silk and then wool on her fingers. She leaned against something hard—it was a wall, she believed. She used it to push herself up and stand. Then she banged her head on a solid object above her and felt a door handle in front of her. She turned the handle and shoved it open. Sunlight from outside penetrated the shadows and she blinked agasint the sudden burst of bright light. She looked up and recognized the shelf upon which she had hit her head only seconds before.

  “What in all of Pandemonium was that?!” Rose whispered excitedly to herself.

  She was in the brothel’s hallway. More precisely, she realized, she had come through from a closet. At last she recognized her surroundings and regained her bearings.

  Thank the gods! Rose thought, excited and relieved to be back home again.

  She headed to her room. The door was opened a crack and Rose saw Marielle inside, eyes wide, with a hand over her mouth.

  She recognized Rose and her eyes widened yet again.

  “What the—?! Where did you go, child!?” Marielle asked in shock, with a perplexed look upon her face.

  “I was… I don’t really know!” Rose answered honestly. “I felt like I was not here. In reality. I was in another world altogether. And something or someone was chasing me!”

  “You must have been dreaming child,” Marielle declared, but in an unconvincing manner, as if she herself did not believe it either.

  “No,” Rose stated firmly. “Not a dream. It was real, and if not, then I am under the effects of something,” she continued, running a hand through her auburn hair, which was damp with sweat.

  “We will discover the truth soon enough,” the half-elf sated, pulling Rose in and hugging her tightly. “Try to go about your chores for now. I have to meet with… someone.”

  Rose shuddered as she had a feeling of what that meeting was about. She ran off to do as her Madam had asked, all the while trying to understand what exactly had just transpired.