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 40
"Alistair," Tibs began as they exited the room. "If I want to get better with other Rogue skills than fighting, and you won't be here to help me, How do I improve?"
"That's a good question," his teacher said, then called. "Harry! Your timing's impeccable, as always."
Tibs's looked in the direction and down the hall, Harry stood, glaring at Alistair, hand on a door as he closed it. He kept glaring as Tibs followed his teacher, stopping when they reached the fighter who settled his face into something less reprimanding.
"Alistair," Harry greeted his teacher. "Mister Light-Finger."
"I hate him," Tibs grumbled under his breath. No matter how well-behaved he was here, that nickname Bardik gave him so long ago just wouldn't leave him. The man gave nicknames to everyone then, why was his the only everyone still used.
Harry's gaze lingered on Tibs after the comment, as if he expected more, then looked at Alistair. "What can I do for you?"
"Tibs has a concern that I think you are better placed than I to answer."
The fighter narrowed his eyes at his teacher. "What concern could a Rogue have that I can answer better than you?"
Alistair smiled and looked at Tibs, which caused Harry to look at him again, this time with something of a scowl. Tibs swallowed.
"He can't help you if you don't explain the issue," Alistair encouraged.
Tibs wanted to glare at his teacher. Harry was the law. Rogues didn't talk with guards. He immediately thought of Bardik, who had been a guard before Harry arrived, but Tibs didn't count him. Bardik had been different even then.
But Harry was also part of the guild, just like Tibs kept being told he was.
"I was wondering how I can continue improving my skills if there's no one who will teach me now that I'm Upsilon."
"And you don't mean with essence, do you?" Harry asked. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do you Rogues have to make everything so difficult? Do what the others do, go on a field, bash one another, leave me out of all of it. But no, you just have to go any make me work for the peace I have." He glared at Alistair.
"Well?" his teacher asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry shifted the glare from Alistair to Tibs, who had trouble not just turning and running under it. "Do not get caught," the fighter said through gritted teeth. "If I don't know what you're up to, I can't stop you, can I?" His glare lightened as a smile formed. "If I do catch you, I will throw you in a cell so fast your entire team will feel it." He looked Tibs over. "And you want to be extra careful, I'm already fighting the urge to throw you in one on account you know that Jackie-boy."
"Harry, if you have a problem with someone, do not take—"
"I'm fighting it," the fighter replied, glowing eyes fixed on Alistair. "I keep my personal problems personal. But a little fear in a Rogue is never a bad thing, is it, Alistair?"
His teacher snorted. "You are confusing me with someone who is afraid of you, Harry."
"So I can steal?" Tibs asked, surprised at how much the news excited him, in spite of the threat.
Harry glared at him, and the excitement burned away under the glow in those eyes. He closed them, let out a breath, and when he opened them again, they were only bright, but not glowing, and seemed kinder.
"You're a Rogue, can you even stop yourself from doing it?"
"I haven't stolen anything here," Tibs stated, chest puffed.