Dungeon Runner
The Tiger Writes
sciencefiction
sciencefiction
31K5
Tibs survived by picking pockets; until he's caught.
Instead of losing a hand, he's sent away and told he must now survive a dungeon.
How is a kid who knew nothing more than his ...Bottom Rung, Chapter 13
The man, Alistair, wore iridescent leather armor with a knife at his belt. His eyes were so blue Tibs had trouble looking away, wondering if they would start glowing. His face was long, thin, but healthy. His gray hair was held with a ribbon that matched his eyes in color, but not intensity.
"You summoned me in the middle of work." His voice was deep and surprised Tibs by how calm and soothing it was. "I couldn't simply leave and reveal I was present. Discretion takes time, but I am here now, as you requested."
"This is Tibs," Tirania indicated him, "Our newest potential water Rogue."
Alistair looked at Tibs as if he just now realized he was there. "Is this a joke?" he asked, frowning.
"Do you recall the last time I joked?"
His face grew somber, jaw tightening. He looked Tibs over again, taking his time. "He's only a child," he finally said. "It's too early for him to get an element; it's going to kill him."
"He's old enough to have been in a cell when the recruitment started."
The man waved that aside. "You know very well some kingdom will put babes in prisons with their mother just because she had the misfortune of catching the wrong noble's fancy."
"He survived the dungeon long enough to sit before me," She replied, fixing the man with her color-shifting eyes.
"Where are you from b—Tibs?" He asked like the answer would settle the point.
"The streets," Tibs answered.
"I mean which kingdom." Alistair's tone took on a hint of annoyance.
"Alistair," Tirania said with an amused shake of the head, "maybe you didn't have the misfortune of growing up on the Street, but for those of us who did, the world doesn't extend past the blocks we could know well enough to hide from the city guards and other dwellers of the street. He won't know the name of the city he lived in, let alone the kingdom."
When Alistair looked at him again, Tibs shrugged. "Then do you know where he's from?" he asked Tirania.
"You know how it goes when a new dungeon opens," She replied with a sigh. "Every kingdom sends us as many people as they can manage in the hopes we'll view them favorably once it's time to assign slots for their nobility after the dungeon graduates. Someone at the main guild probably has the record of where everyone's from, but I doubt they bother with names."
Alistair didn't reply and silence fell over the room. Tibs fidgeted and wondered if he could leave while they resolved whatever this was about.
Alistair turned and headed for the door. "No. I won't be part of what is effectively murder."
"Alistair," she said as his hand reached for the handle. Her voice was hard and cold. "Do you need to be reminded of your duties, again?"
The man turned slowly and Tibs caught him rubbing his left wrist over the sleeve. He stopped it, looking at Tibs, who hurried to face Tirania again.
"I know my duties, Tirania," He replied, "but I am a thief, not an assassin. Get Georard for this. He isn't going to care what happens to Tibs."
"Georard is working for the central guild at the moment, not me. And Tibs doesn't need an assassin at this stage, he's still simply a thief, and that is your department." She raised a hand to silence him. "Before you protest, he passed the first test. He is Upsilon, so he has what is required to gain an audience, despite what you believe."
Alistair returned to stand beside Tibs. He placed a hand on the back of the chair and looked down at him. "Tell her no. Say you aren't ready. I don't care what that crystal of hers says. You don't have to do this, not right now. Wait a few years."