Smoke and Iron

Chapter 9-The Power in a Name

                                        Tara

I watch him enter the ring, his boots scuffing in the sand. The coppery tone of his skin glows from the flickering candles. Divested of his shirt, I see that my last night's presumption was correct. Ropes of lean muscle arc up his arms, his chest sleek and trim appears as solid as marble. He stalks towards the middle and patiently waits, arms crossed for his opponent. 

My fingers clench into soft cotton, as a tall hulking brute enters the ring. Stripped down to his pants and boots, the large man walks across the sand. His skin, pale and covered in ropey scars. A chuckle turns my attention from the man. Mark stares at me with unbridled amusement.

"What," I ask him.

"You do realize you're still holding his shirt right," he grins.

A flush of heat fills my cheeks, and I chuck the shirt at his head.

"Oh shut up you!" I yell, "I wouldn't be holding it if you hadn't screwed up."

"Oh come on, can you really blame me I am just as much a victim of it as you are," Mark exclaims.

"Yes I do blame you, because every time I have to save your ass it's either because of money or a girl."

Mark just smiles as he slings his arm around my shoulders. 

"You know I can't help it, beautiful things are just attracted to me."

"Yea right," I grunt, elbowing him in the ribs.

 A loud gong grabs our attention, and the room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My eyes go to the center of the ring, where the prince and the pale brute stand across from each other. A skinny reed of a man stands between them, wearing a heavily starched shirt and black suspenders. A dull sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead as he reads off a slip of paper, for the now silent audience.

"Ladies and gents, scoundrels and the like, let me present your first fighters of the night!"

An explosion of cheers and stomping feet, shatters the illusion of silence. The floor trembles from the many pounding feet. Slowly the crowd settles down as the man continues.

"In this corner, we have our reigning champ and local bruiser, Torres the Bull!"

Torres raises his fist, as the crowd cheers with abandon. My palms start to sweat, as the announcer continues his speech.

"And in this corner, a strapping new face to the ring, Andreas Kane!"

Andreas, the word sinks into my brain against my will. When he had given me the name, I tried in vain to keep my head straight. He is just a means to an end, I can't afford to become attached because attachments can get you killed. By knowing his name, it will only make it harder to forget when the time comes. But the damage is done, I can't forget now that he has put himself in harm's way to save Mark and me. 

Boos and shouts pull me from my thoughts, the sound sending my ears ringing. My gaze goes to Andreas, his arms still crossed as he stares at the announcer with malice etched on his face. 

Something glints in my eye, and I trace the source to his chest. Squinting, I make out the lines of a silver star tracing over his heart. The star seems to glow with an unearthly luminescence. How strange, the words whisper through my mind. No ordinary tattoo would glow like that, unless it's something else.

Another gong sounds interrupting my thoughts, as Andreas and Torres square up, fists raised in defense. Torres strikes first, going for Andreas's head in a blur. Andreas ducks and delivers a swift uppercut to Torres's ribs. He moves out of Torres's reach, and slowly circles him waiting for his next move. Like a battering ram, Torres punches him in the side and stomach in quick succession. Andreas falls to the side, but stops himself from planting in the sand. Rolling his shoulders he brings up his fists, knuckles turning pale from his hard grip. 

Returning the favor Andreas charges and socks Torres in the jaw and delivers a hefty punch to his ribs. As he backs away, Torres hurls a blow to his face. Andreas is sent reeling onto the ground, the impact sending a plume of sand into the air. The sound of his back hitting the sand makes my teeth clench. Cheers erupt as Torres raises a fist, a smug smile on his face for the roaring crowd.

But my eyes are fixed on Andreas as he pulls himself up from the sand, Torres oblivious to his recovery. A trickle of blood flows from his nose, while his back is covered in sand coating his hair and pants in a sheath of white. 

"Hey ugly," Andreas yells, his voice piercing through the din.

Like a whip, Torres turns around with a face red with fury.

"What did you say gutter trash," he bellows.

Andreas spits onto the sand, leaving a small red stain on the powdered ground.

"You heard me, now let's finish this. I have better things to do than be a punching bag for a half brained dog."

The crowd hoots with laughter at his words. Making Torres' face turn an even darker shade red. He bellows a roar of sheer rage as he rushes toward Andreas, head bent like his namesake. I feel Mark grab ahold of my arm as we watch Torres draw closer to Andreas, who continues to stand still as a statue. My heart beats faster and faster as Torres runs across the sand.

When he is only inches away, Andreas leaps into the air and soars over Torres. He lands in a roll just as Torres slams right into the ropes, and comes to a grinding halt. He falls onto his back with a deafening thunk, his eyes rolling back in his head as he seems to fall into unconsciousness.

Andreas rises onto his feet, chest heaving and streaked with sweat. He marches over to his opponent's prone form, placing his boot firmly onto Torres' chest. The crowd goes wild, the ensuing noise sending the hair on my arms on end. Even Mark yells with glee at the sight of Torres out cold on the sandy floor.

But an uneasy feeling washes over me as I stare at his downed body. His muscles seem too still, and as I look closer I see his fingers twitch towards Andreas' ankle. Just as I notice it his arm reaches out like a whip, his fingers snaking around Andreas' ankle. 

"Andreas, look out!" I scream, just before Torres throws him onto his back sending sand flying in all directions. Torres lunges onto Andreas, pinning him to the floor with his bulk. His hands wrap around Andreas' throat, making his face slowly turn a dark purple. 

Shouts of glee erupt from behind me, as I watch in horror as Andreas has the life squeezed out of him. Just as I think all is lost, I see Torres' face go white. His eyes bug out of his head as he rolls off of Andreas, hands cupping his crotch in agonizing pain.

Leaping off the ground, Andreas reels back his arm and delivers a bone crunching punch to Torres' face. The impact makes his form go limp, the brute now officially sent to dreamland. A sigh of relief escapes me as the announcer brings up Andreas' arm in victory. 

Mark screams in my ear with triumph, and then jumps over the ropes to give Andreas a hefty slap on the back. Andreas barely reacts beyond a small wince on his face. Only to then ruffle Mark's hair, causing him to shriek as his locks are put into disarray. A bubble of laughter escapes me, and then is quickly stopped when my eyes meet Andreas' icy stare. 

A stare that doesn't have the spark of anger that he has leveled at me since we met. This one is filled with a smug satisfaction, one that sends my body still. I can feel the weight of his stare fix on me, as if I'm the only one here. As if all of this was for him to prove something to me, that there is more to him than meets the eye. Mark and Andreas make their way over to me, the rope barely a hindrance as they go over the knotted coils. 

"May I present to you my friend," Mark proclaims, as I feel my eyes roll in annoyance.

"The new champion of Flint's Boxing House."

Mark finishes with a bow as Andreas shakes his head, while putting back on his shirt, jacket, and belt.

"A champion," Andreas drawls, "a man lucky to be alive I think is what you mean."

"You're joking," Mark exclaims in feigned shock.

"You just single handedly took down Flint's main man."

"Where is your sense of victory, of triumph."

Quick as a snake Andreas grabs Mark by the shirt and pulls him up off the ground, then pulls him towards his face. Mark's eyes go wide as Andreas' lips peel back in a snarl. My feet suddenly feel stuck to the ground as I watch them.

"My sense of victory is not made for insignificant fights that I'm forced into. This is no triumph for me, but for you I can see it as being one."

Andreas hisses with unrestrained venom.

"Yes, yes of course," Mark blubbers, "I was just impressed by your skills is all."

Andreas' eyes go stony at that, but he lowers Mark back down with surprising ease. Brushing off his shirt Mark gives him an assessing look, as if being lifted off the ground and threatend was normal, which it was.

"We really need to work on your people skills my friend, you can only get so far with that grim look and threats of violence."

"Am I right Tara," he says with a sly wink at me.

I roll my eyes and glance over to Andreas, now silently leaning against the wall. His eyes now fixed on my face, their icy depths watching me with a curious gaze.

"I think with time we can soften his edges, but for now I'll enjoy seeing him straighten you out."

A small gasp of shock escapes Mark, while a low rumble of laughter emanates from Andreas. What can I say, having someone who uses his head will keep me from having to deal with airheaded decisions like Mark's.

"Oh don't be so shocked Mark, you know how much your choices always get us into trouble."

"Oh yea," he yells, as he makes his way over to me till we are inches apart. 

"Give me three good reasons why."

A laugh escapes my throat, one filled with mockery and a hint of buried humor.

"Three reasons, okay I can think of more than that but I'll give you three for the sake of time."

Bringing up one hand I slowly tick them off one by one.

"One, the time you stole Calco's cat."

"The poor thing was starving, I couldn't let it suffer," Mark interjects.

Unfazed, I continue with growing annoyance.

"Two, you got me thrown down a well."

"But I came back for you didn't I," he replies.

"And three," I say as I grab him by the chin and force his eyes to face my own.

"You got us both dragged into the heart of Blade territory, all because you couldn't keep it in your pants." 

Letting go of him I drag my hand through my hair, the strands still tangled and encrusted in salt.

"Is that reason enough for you?"

Mark lets out a nervous chuckle, calmly placing his hands in his pockets as he heads for the steps to the main floor. 

"Reason enough to get out of here before Flint decides to throw us to the sharks."

I huff a sigh as I tilt my head towards Andreas. 

"He's right we better go, especially you O' Mighty Champ."

"What makes you think that," he replies.

Still leaning against the wall with that same calculating silence.

"You filthy bastard I'll make sure that you never see the light of day again!" 

I hear Rex say from across the pit. Turning my gaze to him, I watch as his cronies make their way into the pit behind him.

"Reason enough for you," I say with my gaze still glued to the sight in front of me.

"Definitely," I hear him say before I feel my arm yanked out of its socket.

In a blur, Andreas drags me up the stairs after Mark. We weave and duck through the crowd, his grip on my hand never ceasing till we reach the doors. Andreas stops so suddenly that I run into his back with a thump. I growl in irritation and peer around his arm to see what the hold up is.

A line of Blades guards the doors, hands holding wooden clubs and knives. Their faces flickering with feral sneers and smiles. My ears catch the approaching sound of heavy metal boots, Rex's trademark footwear. With our options of escape dwindling fast, Mark turns his head to me with a conniving look on his face.

Nodding my head I draw my lips together and let out a sound that brings the growing tension to a fever pitch. The sound of a gunshot that brings an almost unnerving light to Mark's eyes. He thrusts his hand out in a fist, and like magic a strong gust of wind knocks down the line of Blades. The double doors flying open with a bang of wood and metal.

My feet move like fire has engulfed my heels, with my hand gripped to Andreas' as we run out the doors. Mark leads the way through the now darkening streets, shouts ringing out behind us in fury. We follow him through a small alley leading to the canal that divides the territory between the Blades and Sparrows.

Skidding to a stop, I let go of Andreas' hand and scan the darkening streets, churning water, and flickering oil lamps. I glance toward Mark and give a nod. He winks at me in turn, and without a word he flicks his wrist and douses the lanterns. Plunging the streets on both sides into darkness.

Quickly I unwind my rope and hook, placing a part of it in each of their hands. Andreas gives me a questioning glance as Mark and I put the rope behind us. Concealing it behind our leather coats.

"Trust me I know what I'm doing," I say.

"I'm not so sure, your the one who dragged me into this remember," he drawls.

His eyes now the color of blue fire, gaze warily at the rope.

"Fine then," I snort.

"I'm not the one who knocked out Flint's best fighter."

"Which means I won't be the one who he skins alive," I utter with a menacing grin.

Anger clouds his eyes and contorts his face into a sneer. He grabs hold of the rope and tugs it behind his back with a yank. Not a moment too soon Rex charges out of the alley, cronies hot on his heels with torches and weapons raised high.

"Nowhere to run now is there Starling," he jeers.

"Looks like your little trick was a waste."

He chuckles with venom.

"How perfect will it be when I bring you back screaming, until we cut out your vocal cords that is."

Mark growls with rage, and starts to lunge for Rex before I fling my arm in front of him. His eyes plead at me to let him tear Rex limb from limb, but that won't help matters.

I cant my head at Rex, playing ever the bored trouble maker they think I am.

"Oh really," I drawl.

"Now how will you do that if you can't catch me."

"Oh I will catch you," Rex says as he draws out a knife.

"Cause there's nowhere for you to run."

As he begins to stalk over I whisper to Mark and Andreas.

"Hold on tight," I say as I fall back into the water below.

Water splashes against my body, but only for a moment. Focusing on the hook I make it soar into the air, Mark dangling below me with Andreas clinging above. We soar to the other side of the canal, landing on the cold stone without a moment to spare. I drop to the ground, arms shaking as they struggle to hold me up. Magic always has a cost, for me it leaves me drained almost to the point of exhaustion. But only after I use great quantities of it, fortunately.

"Ha! now that is how you make an exit," Mark yells.

"For you maybe," I answer with a shaky breath.

"You still with us champ," I ask Andreas.

He glances at me as he gets up from the ground. His eyes are the size of saucers, shock evident in their depths.

"You did magic, in front of all those people," he says.

"Do you realize what will happen when they tell the Silver Guard?"

I look across the canal, Rex now the only one still there glaring at me across the water. His scar now glowing with an erie green light. 

"Even though the King has outlawed all magic, making it so that those in his employ use it only for him. The people around here let us be ourselves, their own form of rebellion against him. Though the gangs fight, kill, and blackmail each other. We will protect those of us who possess the gifts of the Gods. I trust that the Blades will not send the guards after us. Especially when their second in command is a mage as well."

As I tell him this, we watch as Rex gives a stiff nod and heads into the dark pathway. Small strands of mist curling behind him and above. Drenching the moss covered archway in small droplets of water.

I peer up at Andreas between my ever tangled strands of hair. 

"Sorry for not telling you before you saw, priorities you know," I say.

"Of course," he replies.

"So what now, I assume you will be going into that den of trouble you call a tavern."

"Precisely what I had in mind," Mark says while draping an arm across Andreas' shoulders.

"Why don't you join us, last time was a blast."

"Unfortunately I can't," Andreas says.

"I have another engagement tonight."

Slipping out of Mark's hold he unties a bag from his belt and throws it towards me.

"Your payment as promised," he says.

Without another word he walks off into the night, taking the bridge across to the other side. His jacket flapping in the wind like a banner, snapping with the sound of leather.

Standing up, I quickly check the contents of the bag. Black obsidian shines in the weak moonlight. Pure glee fills me with warmth, as if I had just drunk a mug of warm ale.

"Ready to go," I say, glancing at Mark.

"As I'll ever be, but I bet that I'll get there first."

I release a hearty laugh, "you're on."

Like twin bullets we're off, racing through the streets and crowds surrounding the lantern lit buildings. We pass by taverns filled with boisterous sounds of violins, trumpets, and drums. Hastily put together market stalls selling midnight treats of meat pies and fragrant fruit tarts. The sounds and smells fill the air, along with the bright colors of the dresses worn by the many ladies of the night peering down from the windows above.

I reach the wooden side of the Coal Inn a second before Mark. With a groan, he tosses me a coin as we head inside. 

The inn is quiet tonight, the patrons enjoying leisurely games of cards and the soft melody of Lark's violin. Yawning, I bid Mark a goodnight as he heads into the kitchen for a well deserved meal. I head into the hallway, giving Lark a small wave as I close the door behind me. Slowly, I head up the stairs with quiet steps.

Instead of heading straight for my bed, I go to the far end of the hall. Checking to make sure no one is coming, I pull on the old brass candle holder on the wall. A small door opens up, leading to a set of stairs shrouded in darkness. Ducking my head, I head up the stairwell into a hidden room holding a single small chest and tall mirror. The only light coming from the tall window on my left. 

Opening the trunk I pull out a cloak, vest, shirt, and pants. All made of gray waterproof silk, the material enforced to stop bullets from penetrating flesh. I continue to remove the contents of the box, extracting tall gray boots, a belt, and a dozen small knives.

I replace my clothes and tools with these items. Carefully placing each knife into the loops and sheaths sewn onto the belt and shirt. Turning to the mirror, I gaze at my reflection. The gray silk wrapping me like thin gauze, silver clasps and buckles shining. Closing my eyes I let out a breath and let my thoughts take hold, as I put my magic to work. My body shifting slowly like the tide against a calm sandy shore.

I feel my hair grow heavy, and my bones snap and pop. A sudden surge of energy and power grips my muscles, stealing my breath away and making me gasp. Opening my eyes I look at the figure before me. 

Long strands of silver hair run down my shirt. My face is now lined with sharp cheekbones and ghastly pale skin. A thin nose lies between eyes the color of pure silver. The most striking change though is the series of silver stars and moons on my arms. My shirt cut short at the shoulders, reveals the silvery patterns on my lightly muscled limbs.

All I have is one more thing to do. Reaching back into the chest, I retrieve a single strip of gray silk with holes cut into the cloth. Tying it behind my head, I then adjust the simple mask against my face. That done, I head over to the window and step out onto the roof, closing the window behind me.

The dark of night has come to Talvos, the lights barely shining through the growing mist. With a shakey breath, I run across the shingled roof and leap to the building across. Never breaking stride I head east across the Quarter, my boots making no sound as I run. 

Beneath me the people move through the streets, and in and out of taverns, brothels, and homes. Never realizing that above them someone is soaring across their heads. Movement more akin to a bird or a ghost.