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 47
Tibs moved through the crowd of what was becoming known as Merchant's Row; the long street that intersected Travel Road, but wasn't paying attention to the tempting pockets. His attention was divided between not letting the chafing of his new armor drive him crazy and studying the way his essence showed within the people around him.
He wanted to get out of the armor, but Darran had reminded him he needed to move in it for it to become more comfortable. The shopkeeper had been happy to see him; he'd heard Tibs had gotten seriously hurt and had been worried one of his favorite customers wouldn't come back.
Losing Tibs armor had hurt Darran as much as it had Tibs, or it had seemed to. Tibs knew the merchant well enough now to know much of the interactions between the man and his customers was an act, but he was good enough Tibs couldn't always tell when he did it, and even if Darran told Tibs he never bothered with him, the level of friendliness the merchant showed was so much more than other merchants did, Tibs forced himself to remain cautious.
When Tibs had told him he needed a new armor, Darran had explained that he had to pay what he owed first. As much as he wanted to help Tibs, he couldn't let him add debt on top of debt.
The man had been surprised when Tibs handed him the coins to cover what he owed, and a little of the act slipped. Tibs called him out on it and Darran admitted he'd expected Tibs to ask for special treatment, which he would have granted for a little more interest.
The merchant had seemed embarrassed to make the admission. But Tibs was simply pleased with himself for not having been entirely taken in by the merchant's acting. The next morning he'd returned and left an hour later wearing his new armor and owing forty silvers to the merchant. Which, this time, included a set of twelve throwing knives.
He looked at a Runner he passed, the essence inside her body a pale golden. Void essence, like Tammy. Every runner had a tint to how he sensed their essence—and how something he sensed had a color, utterly escaped him, but he accepted it. It was easier to do than accepting essence was and wasn't at the same time.
They weren't all pale either. From observing the trainers, which he knew to be high rank, he'd decided that the stronger the color, the further along with their training they were. Harry nearly blinded him when Tibs saw him in a discussion with a group of his guards. In reaction, Tibs had discovered he could dampen his sense of others without affecting his sense of the other essences.
The nobles varied. Those he knew were going into the dungeon had tinted essence going through them, same as the Runners. Tibs couldn't bring himself to call them Runners. Runners were him and the others who had been forced into it; who had proven they had what it took to survive the dungeon. The nobles were just wealthy people who had paid to come here. Why they did, Tibs didn't understand, they had wealth, what did they care for essence.
The townsfolk and nobles who didn't go into the dungeon were different. Even his sense of the essence in them was weak; as if they had only a little of it. And for most of them, the faintness had no sense of color. The new blacksmith, a man with skin almost as dark as the soot on the side of the forge, had the bare hint of red. And a woman who baked amazing bread hints of green.
He wanted to ask them, or anyone, what it meant. But his ability was part of something no one knew about, and Khumdar wasn't the only one to believe the guild would use Tibs, instead of helping him understand. Alistair was the one person Tibs wasn't sure of. His teacher wanted to help him, he knew that much, but his allegiance to the guild was strong, maybe stronger than his desire to help Tibs.
Tibs entered the shop and let his nose guide him to the boxes of sweets. He didn't come to the Caravan Garden often. Anytime the girl that had been here that first time worked, she smiled at him in that way that Tibs didn't like. A few times she'd offered for him to come upstairs where she could show him some of the goods she had. Tibs knew what she meant, even if she seemed to think he didn't, giggling like she had.