Smoke and Iron

Never a Dull Moment

                                   Andreas 

The clash of my sword rings through the chamber, as Ren and I spar across the stone floor. Our chests and backs drip with sweat, as we circle each other, weapons raised in steeled defense. 

Ren lunges, sweeping his sword towards my feet with ease. I jump into the air and across the floor, landing in a crouch, I quickly turn and raise my sword as Ren brings his weapon down with a clang of metal. The impact jars my arms, sending sparks through muscle and bone.

Grunting with effort, I twist my sword around Ren's and wrench it out of his grasp. The sword falls onto the stone with a clang. Before he can reach for it, I press the tip of my weapon on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Ren glances at the bit of metal pressed against him, his mouth twisting in irritation. 

"You know Andreas, I'm getting kind of tired of losing to you," he sighs.

A small laugh escapes me before I can squash it. Taking my sword from his chest, I head over to the rack of weapons on the wall and place the sword back onto the rack.

"I can't help it Ren," I say, "maybe if you trained more you wouldn't have that problem."

Ren rolls his eyes and fetches his sword off the ground.

"You know what I mean, cause it won't matter how much I train because you will still be able to beat me and everyone else in the squad."

"I'm not able to beat everyone," I say, as I watch as he puts his sword on the rack as well.

"There are a few in the squad who would beat me in a fight."

Ren barks a laugh and turns to me.

"Really, and who might they be." 

"Well for one Lars has a fist like steel, and Ivan is a demon with a staff."

"And your point is," he grunts, while raising a brow at me.

"My point is, you are not the only one who gets his ass handed to him."

"Sure, and I'm one of the Shifter Queen's pirates."

Cracking a wide grin, Ren pats me on the shoulder and heads to the shelves filled with coats, shirts, and gear. I stay next to the weapons rack taking in the sight of the underground chamber. 

Spanning at least two hundred feet in length on each side and holding racks of weapons along the walls. With a floor of aged stone worn smooth by the many boots that have walked across the surface. Torches in iron holdings, shine like embers in the chamber.

 A chamber filled with other young men training and honing their skills, before heading out into the dark night. On the hunt for wanted criminals and patrolling the desolate streets of the city. All hand picked for this dangerous vocation. Our ages span from young Orion aged fourteen, to Lars who recently turned twenty. Our backgrounds are kept secret from the soldiers and each other. The only things we know are each other's faces, names, and ages. The only people who know the rest are Talber, General Ardon, and the king.

Which is fine with us, as it is only for six years of our lives that we will spend in almost complete isolation from the world. The only times we go out in uniform or civilian dress, is at night where we can disappear into the dark at will. A skill that I will utilize tonight to wrap up an unsavory errand. 

For now I watch in silence as Isaac and Ivan, the other two remaining in the room besides me, duel with lethal metal staffs strong enough to c***k skulls and break bones.

They move swift and sure across the floor, their boots skidding and scuffing the stones. Their hands holding their staffs in white knuckled grips, while their arms and legs move like water. Muscles fluid but tense, as they block and attack in quick succession. They have been at it since I got here nearly four hours ago. Sparring for twenty minutes and resting for ten, they have repeated this pattern, which shows their tremendous improvement in the use of the staffs.

Unfortunately I can only spare a few moments watching them, as I have a thief who is owed payment. A payment that I must grudgingly deliver tonight. Moving away from the rack, I head over to my clothes and gear hanging on the wall. Shucking back on my shirt, cloak, and belt, I head to the other side of the chamber and push through the brass door, and into the dark hall. 

Heading back up the steps, I reach the hidden door leading to the main floor of the building beyond. I pull on the iron holder set into the stone wall, the hidden door swinging open as I step into the candlelit room.

With quiet steps I head back up to my room, ears strained for the noises of others. Thankfully all I hear are soft snores of Reapers who are not assigned for patrol tonight. Even better is that Ren is assigned for patrol and is probably already out, scouring the streets for perpetrators. 

Tonight is my last day of the week off from patrol, and my only chance to keep my identity from being discovered. Then I will have to use the rest of the night to find the Ghost, or my hopes of freedom will be dashed and Talber will end up swinging by his neck. A fact that does not escape me as I dress in a simple gray shirt and black pants. 

I replace my black cloak for a jacket of brown leather, and my sword for a simple dagger. I also tuck my set of daggers into my boots and under my sleeves, the bag with the obsidian blade I tie into a hard knot onto my belt. Lastly I place my Reaper gear in a sack, carefully placing each weapon in with great care. That done I head back down to the main floor with quiet steps. 

With a quick glance around the room, I walk over to another shelf of books across from the one leading to the hidden chamber.

This time I pull a simple brown cloth covered book on the shelf, and a door opens to another set of hidden stairs. The stairs lead down to a large corridor with three passages carved into the stone. Torches light the room with an eerie glow casting shadows onto the wall and floor. My feet take me into the passage on my right, a passage filled with cracks and moss dripping with water. The journey through the passage takes almost an hour, an hour filled with the sound of dripping water and the squeak of mice and rats.

The passage curves and twists in the darkness, while the roar of the river filters through the layers of rock and stone. A passage connected to an intricate web of tunnels that I and the rest of the Reapers use to quickly go from one part of the city to the other. This passage just so happens to lead into the dangerous streets of the Iron Quarter. The passage to a hidden courtyard. Reaching the end of the tunnel, I go up a set of spiral stairs that stop at a solid stone wall. 

Pushing my hand on one of the stones, it moves deeper into the wall and the wall moves to the side. Revealing a small ivy covered courtyard surrounded by thick stone. 

Stepping into the courtyard, I breathe in the scent of wet moss and wood smoke. The door closes behind me, leaving a small bronze gate as the only apparent entrance. 

Long strands of ivy curve over the stone walls, while a dark bronze fountain stands in the middle of the courtyard. Water trickles into the basin from the cupped hands of a figure draped in a cloak of bronze. A hood covers the figure's face while a raven perches on their shoulder. This subdued depiction of the Raven King is a far cry from the mural in the Reaper quarters. 

Moving through the courtyard, I hear the sound of the beginnings of the night's revelries to come. The distant voices of tavern goers and the merry tunes of pipes and lyres fill the air. Before I leave the courtyard, I place my sack of gear inside a hidden niche in the wall for safekeeping. Opening the gate, I step into a dimly lit alley so narrow, that only two people could walk abreast through it. The old bell towers signal the hour, the groans of clanging bronze filling the air. Then the large clock overlooking the canal in the distance, joins in the cacophony as the hands strike the third hour of the evening. Gazing at the sky, I see the clouds beginning to darken blocking out the sun in a veil of black and gray.

As the sound of the ringing bells fade, I suddenly realize that I have know way of finding the girl who holds my life in her hands. Besides the Coal Inn, I have know way of knowing where I might find her and I'd rather not test my luck by asking Miss Cole. With the added bit of difficulty to an increasingly aggravating task, I start down the alley toward an open square filled with a gathering crowd of people. 

As soon as I start walking though, the thump of hurried steps sounds from behind me. Just as I turn around to find the source of the commotion, I'm thrown on my back for the second night in a row. 

Once again I find myself staring into a set of haunting sea green eyes. Thick locks of black hair brush across my face, and the scent of salt water greets my nose. The hem of her jacket fans out behind her, covering my legs and brushing the ground. The material damp and cold, with flecks of salt falling onto the stone. Her hands press against my chest, their warmth reaching me through my shirt. A feeling that I wish to ignore.

"Get off me," I growl, "or you won't be getting your payment."

Her lips twist into a crafty smile and she tilts her head down towards my face.

"Don't worry princeling," she says, "I'll be off you as soon as the men chasing me catch up."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Wait, did you say there are men chasing you?"

As her mouth parts to answer, a shout rings out through the alley.

"Over here boys, I found the tricky wench!"

The shout alone jolts her off me, the force of her coming off jarring my chest and legs. Jumping to my feet I start to brush myself off, but then she grabs my hand and hauls me full tilt into the crowded square. We wind through groups of drunken revelers, who watch in rapt attention of the two men that are boxing within a makeshift ring of rope and crates. The hurried route that we take goes by five other rings like it, forming a strip of rowdy crowds watching as the fights unfold. The festivities in Boxer's Alley have begun, and I have been dragged into the middle of them.

The large square is surrounded by two-story buildings, made from solid stone and dark wood, and all of them are taverns or boxing houses. Their darkened rooms filled with tough looking characters that watch the rambunctious crowd from their chairs and benches. Everywhere I look, I see men and women dressed in tattered leather jackets, plain cotton shirts and pants, heavily worn boots, and lots of hidden blades and other weapons. Tattoos of birds, skulls, and daggers, are printed on arms and chests. Faces marked by broken noses and scars, show the hard reality under the thin surface of excitement and celebration.

A reality that I have to see almost every night, hidden from their watchful eyes deep in the shadows. Assassinations, muggings, drug deals, kidnappings, and muder, are just a few of the crimes that I have seen and stopped in just this section of the Quarter alone. But right now I don't have a dark alley to hide in, I am out in the open where hundreds of eyes can see me. They can see my nervousness and confusion. They can see my face, a face that does not belong here amidst the dealings and secrets of a criminal underworld hidden in plain sight.

But there are signs of this world, signs that you can see if you only look hard enough. In each corner and alley of the square, a man or woman stands guard. Each wearing a black scarf on their person. Each silent and watchful, as they lean against walls or sit on benches while their eyes never leave the boisterous crowd. Small symbols of knives marked in soot, paint, or carved into the stone, mark the territory of the Blades. 

A dangerous group embezzling in illegal weapon trades, kidnappings, and mercenary work. But their most lucrative job is in illegal betting on fights, fights that end up in severe injury or worse. Even now as I'm dragged through the throng by a girl who could blackmail me within an inch of my life, I feel safe knowing that I'm not in the ring waiting to die.

Men and women cheer around us for the fighters, while money passes hands as bets are shouted amidst the cacophony. Abruptly, the girl turns right with my hand still in her grip, and we leave the crowded square just as three silver uniformed men barrel their way through the crowd. I grind to a halt at the entrance to an arched pathway, and with my hand still locked in the girl's grasp I rush behind the arch. 

I press myself into the corner where the arch meets the adjacent building's wall. In the corner of my eye I see the girl plaster herself against the arch next to me. Her eyes watchful and wary as the guardsmen rush by, leaving the sound of metal clinking in their wake.

When their thumping footsteps fade away, I hear her blow a sigh of relief. Stepping away from the wall she starts to head back through the arch, but I grab her arm before she can. There is no way I am letting her out of my sight, not with the knowledge of my identity and the risk of her being caught and whisked from my reach. 

As I pull her towards me, she pulls out a dagger and aims for my neck. Letting go of her arm, I duck and twist out of her reach coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around hers. The sudden move makes her drop the dagger to the ground, the metal ringing out through the alley. Immediately she starts to struggle against me, her head swings back and forth while her legs try to kick mine out from under me.

"Hey let go you big oaf," she says, as she digs her nails into my jacket.

I tighten my grip on her arms, until she withdraws her nails.

"Not until you tell me why you have the guards after you."

She huffs a laugh, "and why should I, it's not any of your business you pompous piece of-"

"Finish that sentence and I will drag you to the nearest guardhouse and leave you there," I growl.

She goes still in my grasp, silence now permeates the air as she contemplates my words. 

"If you let me go," she says relenting, "I'll tell you but I will need my payment as well."

"Fine, but no tricks you hear," I say as I release her.

Free from my hold she turns around to face me, cold calculation etched in her eyes as she looks me up and down. The assessment makes my skin crawl with nervousness. 

"So, what do you wish to know," she drawls.

"First, why were those men chasing you?"

"Well it seems that I'm wanted for assaulting some lieutenant with a flower pot, but they're probably using it as an excuse to take the money that I need to deliver. Nothing major I promise you."

Nothing major my ass, wait did she say a flower pot. I feel my eyes widen in shock. So this is the girl Arven is hunting for. Damn, I'm such a fool how did I not connect her to his description. Hopefully sleep deprivation is the cause.

"I find that hard to believe you don't look that innocent."

"Hmph, well for your information I can be very convincing," she says as she draws closer to me, leaving only a small gap between us.

"Anything else you want to ask before I go, with my payment of course."

Crossing my arms I return her assessing gaze, this time I won't let her get too close to me. Her tricks will not work on me this time. I realize now that I don't even know this girl's name, even after her saving me and my friends from the brawl last night. 

Though I'm still ticked off after she stole my pendant, and then later threatened me with blackmail. This girl has proven to be quite resourceful, in fact it's what makes her dangerous to me, and knowing who she is might help me find some leverage of my own.

"What do they call you by the way, just so I know who I'm dealing with."

A sly grin spreads across her face, as she brushes a stray lock behind her ear.

"People around here call me Starling, but my real name is-"

"Tara! I'm in deep s**t, so stop flirting and help!" someone yells. 

The shout makes me look down the alley to see a skinny young man, swathed in a long brown coat, running at full speed toward us. Skidding to a stop, he bends over to catch his breath. His pale skin is streaked with sweat and his short gold locks of hair are plastered to his forehead. When he looks up, I see that someone has socked him in the nose, the blood dripping onto his shoes. 

"What did you do Mark, and don't use the mugging excuse this time," Tara says.

"I may have gotten a little too cozy with Rex's girl, but how was I supposed to know he had eyes for her," Mark says, claiming his ignorance.

I hear Tara suck in a breath and watch as she slowly walks towards him.

"Are you saying that somehow you unknowingly flirted with a girl right in front of him? One that he has his sights on!"

She grabs a hold of the guy's shirt front, and brings his face towards hers.

"You better hope Rex doesn't find you, cause what I will do will be a mercy compared to what he will do."

Erie laughter pierces the alley, making us go stalk still.

"How correct you are my dear," a voice says, as three tall figures enter the narrow pathway.

Three men dressed in leather coats, boots, and clothing in shades of brown and gray cotton, stare at us with maniacal glee. All of them tall and muscular, with long daggers strapped to their legs and belts. Leather straps hold the blades on their legs by large metal buckles securing their sheaths in place. 

The one who spoke has an air of violence about him, an air portrayed by his bald scalp riddled with scars and patches of white skin. His sharp face, outlined by the faint mark of a beard, is marred by a long scar spanning from his brow to his chin. The scar cutting a jagged path across his pale cheek.

The man's thin lips are peeled back in a feral snarl, dark eyes roaming across Mark, Tara, and me. They slowly settle on Mark, still clutched in Tara's bone crunching hold.

"As you well know, I can be very unforgiving especially when someone is near what is mine, " the man says, his voice threatening and chilling.

"And what would that be Rex," Tara replies, as she lets go of Mark and moves in front of him like a shield. 

Rex chuckles and settles his eyes on her like a snake watching its prey. My muscles tense up and I'm suddenly wary. I slowly reach for my dagger sheathed in my belt. As I make for it, I watch as Tara walks right up to him, unfazed and eerily calm.

"A lucky shirt, a weapon, or a family heirloom, because as far as I know we don't have anything that reeks of gutter trash."

Rex's eyes flash red and grabs hold of her arm, his hand squeezing so hard his knuckles turn white. Tara cants her head up at him as if only slightly annoyed, but I can see her pain hidden beneath her annoyed expression. A spark of anger ignites in my stomach at the sight, releasing my blade from its sheath I try to make my way over to her. But I'm stopped by a hand on my shoulder, and I turn my head in confusion at its owner. Mark subtly shakes his head in warning.

"She's got this, you jumping in will only make it worse," he quickly whispers.

My eyes return to Tara, my heart clenching at the sight of her in that animal's hold.

"Temper temper," I hear her say, her tone almost scolding. 

"You really need to work on your people skills my friend."

"And you need to tell that friend of yours to stay away from my woman," Rex seethes, "Helva is mine understand."

He lets go of Tara, and signals for his lackeys to come forward. One with hair shorn closed to his scalp, pulls out a wooden baton the same color as his mahogany skin. The other pulls out a short sword, the man's yellow eyes filled with menace, as he draws forward. 

"Now we can settle this in two different ways," Rex drawls, "you can give me the boy and walk away like a nice girl or you can fight for him in the ring, your choice."

My heart hammers as the men draw closer to us, so close in fact that I instinctively push Mark behind me as I stare them down. They give me a curious glance as if just noticing my presence. Rex, noticing his men still forms, turns his menacing gaze in our direction and then settles it on me. 

"Well, well, and who might this be," he says with unnerving interest.

"Don't no boss," one says while pointing the sword at my throat, "Haven't seen this one around before, and he doesn't look like he's from here are you boy."

"Don't bother with him," Tara cuts in, "he's just some lout that owes me a favor."

Rex returns his sights on Tara, and his grin widens even more.

"Interesting, usually you like to boast about how many owe you their service, why is this one different I wonder."

Tara chuckles and glances towards me with a rueful smile.

"Let's just say that this one is not a mere business transaction, it's more," she pauses licking her lips, "personal if you know what I mean."

My hands clench as my cheeks grow hot, I glare at her with malice as Rex and his goons chuckle with glee.

"Regardless of your dealings my dear there is still the matter at hand," Rex drawls.

"Now tell me what it will be, handing over the boy or fighting in the ring."

I glance toward Mark, watching his eyes widen in fear. Tara catches my gaze, her face now resigned as she makes the decision.

"The ring it is then," her voice empty of all emotion.

"Excellent, " Rex grins, "boys, let's escort these three to Flint's, and don't let them out of your sight, the little one has a knack for running if you don't watch her."

Rex leads the way out of the alley, Tara and Mark are flanked by his men with me trailing behind as we head out onto the wide street. Discreetly, I slide my dagger back into my belt as we are led down the darkening street, to one of the large buildings that line the road. Among the other passersby, I see more of them wearing the Blade's trademark black scarf. 

As we draw up to the main doors, painted in garish black and red, I can see through the dirty glass a sea of people decked in the same black scarf.

Ascending the steps, I hear Tara hiss into Mark's ear.

"You owe me big time for this, and really you had to flirt with Flint's daughter."

"She didn't say who she was, only that she wanted to have a good time and that I was the guy for the job."

"Honestly," she sighs, "the fact that I haven't thrown you into the sea is surprising."

"Hush up," Rex says, "it's time for you to pay up girly."

With a grunt he pushes open the tall doors, letting out a rush of smoke from inside. Silently we follow him in, the doors creaking closed behind us and shutting us inside. The large room is divided into four platforms filled with tables and chairs, occupied by the large groups of Blades downing mugs of ale and playing games of cards and dice. Four large beams hold up the roof, their wooden sides marking the corners of the carved out center of the floor. Down in the pit, large ropes mark out the fighting area of powdered white sand. Sand speckled with flecks and pools of blood.

The rumble of the gathered voices suddenly dies down, as a man descends one of the four spiral staircases nearest to us. Followed by a bevy of leather clad men, the slim frame of the man walks through the crowd and stops before us. Wearing a simple gray dress suit with a black cravat, the man stands at least a few inches taller than me. Sleek gray hair shadows his black eyes, their inky depths outlined by the small beginnings of wrinkles. This must be Flint, leader of the Blades, and the man who's daughter Mark had been flirting with, wonderful.

"So we meet again Starling," Flint drawls his eyes leveling on her.

"Of course I didn't expect to see you in this circumstance."

"Neither did I," Tara replies, "but your man here didn't give me much choice."

"Semantics my dear, now let's get down to business shall we."

Flint draws close to her, hands behind his back as her surveys our wary expressions.

"Since you are here unscathed I can assume you have taken the offer."

"Yes," Tara hisses, "Rex made it very hard not to refuse."

"Perfect," Flint grins, "now let's see who our competitor will be."

His eyes instantly settle on me and I feel as if I have been plunged into the dark waves of the sea. Oh gods help me, cause the way he is looking at me is not very comforting.

"I see you have found yourself a new friend, tell me how good is he in a fight."

"I have no idea," Tara says, "so let's just stick with our usual arrangement if you don't mind."

"Aw, aw, aw, dear Starling," Flint admonishes, "it is clear to anyone here that he can hold his own."

 My throat goes dry at what his words imply. I feel my body go still as his next words seal my fate.

"Now," he says as he turns towards the ring, "prepare him for the fight and don't take long, or it won't end well for you."

His thugs lead us down the stairs to the benches positioned around the ring. Hungry eyes stare down at us with bared interest and glee.

"Hey," a voice speaks as someone places their hand on my shoulder. Turning, I gaze into Tara's eyes filled with a mixture of worry and regret.

"You don't have to do this, I'm the one who dragged you into this mess."

"I know, but like Flint said I can hold my own." 

Slightly hesitating, I take off my jacket, belt, and shirt. Thankfully the tattoo that has gotten me into this, is hidden by the tight bandage. 

Returning my eyes to her, a thought sparks in my mind, and I feel a smile erupt on my face.

"Think of this as a thank you for helping the other night," I say, tossing my shirt to her.

"Besides, how else do you expect to get us out of here alive?"

I head towards the ropes, but before I jump over I turn around and walk back to her. I dip my head and whisper in her ear.

"Oh, and by the way call me Andreas, we don't want a slip up now do we."

Without looking back, I jump into the ring ready to fight and hopefully survive.