The Dragon Rogues, page 4
Jonathan ducked into an alley and looked behind him. This unfamiliar street was lined with shops. A blacksmith, a silversmith, and even a locksmith, among other craftspeople. He smelled the enticing aromas of fresh bread and didn’t know if they were coming from a tavern or bakery. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to afford food in his current state.
He waited but didn’t see anything suspicious. The only evidence was what he felt.
Jonathan stepped out of the alley’s shadows and continued on, but the sense of somebody following him began to build again. It was a sense he had honed during his time on the streets long ago, and an instinct that had served him in prison. At least in those early days. He had become comfortable and complacent, and he’d started to lose some of the confidence he once had.
This time, though, he was certain he hadn’t imagined it, so he took a meandering course. Zigzagging around and doubling back, he kept trying to see if anyone was trailing him.
After a while, he had to slow. Again he couldn’t tell whether he had imagined the feeling or whether there really was somebody there. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anyone, but the feeling remained.
He spun and saw a figure across the street from him, slight of build and wearing a pale-blue cloak. Jonathan marched toward them, and the person turned and ran. He raced after them, but he tired quickly. During his time in prison, he had gotten out of shape, but worse than that, he had gotten out of practice with avoiding people following him.
His skills were rusty. He would need to work on that.
He would need to work on quite a few things.
He focused on the person running ahead of him and managed to stay with them. Finally, he forced the person who’d been following him into an alley. Jonathan chased them down, blocking the person as they attempted to leave.
“Why are you following me?” he asked.
The person stopped moving.
“You were, weren’t you?”
No response.
Jonathan stepped forward, grabbed them, and pulled back the cloak’s hood.
It was a boy. He couldn’t be any older than ten or twelve.
“What are you doing?” Jonathan asked.
The boy grabbed something from his pocket and held it out. Jonathan took it and examined what was a circular piece of dark, stained wood with a pattern that looked like an enchantment etched into it. The disk was like the one he’d been given before leaving the prison.
His heart hammered and he cursed his luck.
The person from the prison. They were here. Somewhere.
“I was told to give that to you,” the boy said.
“Told by who?” Jonathan waved his hand. “I need to know who gave this to you.”
“I didn’t see them. They just said that you needed to have this.”
“Why?”
“They said you would understand.”
“Let’s just say I don’t.”
“I don’t know what it is. They just wanted me to get this to you. They didn’t tell me why. Please…”
He recognized the false note of fear in the boy’s voice, but there was no point in holding him here. He probably didn’t know anything.
Jonathan let him go, and the boy raced past him out of the alley. He looked down at the circular piece of wood that he’d been given, and his heart hammered. When he had first looked at it, he hadn’t known what it was. But as he studied the symbol closer, he realized it was all too familiar. It was the reason he had ended up in prison. A crystal shape.
The meaning behind the disk he’d been given at his parole hearing hadn’t been clear, but this one was. The wooden coin was a message. A job. One he’d thought about during his entire prison sentence.
That was what this benefactor wanted?
Why come at him like this?
Because they don’t want to be caught.
And why him?
Because I almost succeeded.
And why now?
He had no answer for that question.
He stuffed the marker into his pocket.
Noise filled the street as he moved, a cacophony of sound almost too loud for Jonathan. In prison, he had learned to understand the silence and solitude that surrounded him most of the time. There were the voices of the others trapped in cells around him, familiar ones he had come to know as something almost as friends, along with the sounds of the prison itself. The occasional thumping of the jailors’ boots on the ground. The jingle of keys as they opened a cell. The scrape of a tray across the stone. All of those sounds were predictable. They were all comforting.
This was anything but that.
Jonathan breathed it all in, and despite the chaos around him, he smiled to himself. He had intentionally come to the market, a place where he thought he might be able to find familiar excitement.
He followed his nose through the market, letting it be his guide from stall to stall. He paused every so often to scan the street vendors for anything that might signal there was something here for him to find. Every so often, he heard a voice that sounded familiar, though he never found the source of it. He breathed in the aromas of different vendors. Some had smoked meats, others had sweet breads, and others had items he had never seen before.
Unfortunately, his pockets were empty. The warden had provided him with clothing, though it was simple and not at all what he preferred. Jonathan didn’t mind, especially if it meant he would be released back out into the wild. He didn’t care one bit that anyone who recognized the chocolate-brown jacket and pants would know where he had been and what he had done.
Eventually, Jonathan was going to have to find a place to stay and come up with a plan. For now, he wanted to wander.
Jonathan caught sight of a man making his way through the crowd. He was surrounded by three soldiers and tracked by another hooded figure, likely a sorcerer. There was no doubt in his mind who the man was. He had seen him only a handful of times, and always fleetingly. He was the reason Jonathan had stayed in jail.
He deserved that sentence, he knew, but there was malevolence to Vileforn that Jonathan had not seen from anyone else. He had taken dozens upon dozens of jobs, but he had never encountered anyone with the same vengeful mindset as Vileforn. The beatings Vileforn had arranged for him had proven that.
And Jonathan had nothing but time to consider how he’d repay that favor. The answer had been simple, though the execution would be challenging. Now it seemed as if he wasn’t the only one who wanted Vileforn dealt with.
Jonathan followed him. He patted his pocket, which held the markers he’d been given. Someone wanted him to deal with Vileforn—maybe even the very same person who had hired him in the beginning. Though if that were the case, why go through intermediaries? His employer hadn’t done so before.
He trailed the group until Vileforn faded into a crowd. What were the chances that he’d see the man so soon?
Jonathan pushed his thoughts and suspicions away.
The crowd had formed around a dancing troupe nearby, and the performers danced in a rhythmic movement, circling the drummer and the other instrumentalists. The spectators clapped along, some shouting and others singing, all adding their voices to the noise around them.
Jonathan paused for a moment, smiling as he watched, then moved on. A singer belted out a bawdy tune. They strummed a lute, playing rapidly and tapping their foot as they incited the crowd to dance along with them. Some people nearby joined in, though not all. Some merely passed by and gave the musician a wide berth.
Not him. He stopped and listened, enjoying the sound of the musician. Something about the song struck a chord. The musician met his gaze and nodded to him, and Jonathan sang the familiar words of the chorus before continuing on.
Further along the street, a game of cordon was taking place. Jonathan approached slowly, watching as the game played out. There were two players, one on either side of a massive checkered board, and they moved their pieces quickly.
Cordon was an easy game to learn, but it was a difficult game to master. It was one of skill and strategy, the kind where those who understood its complexities would be able to identify others who had a similar skill set. Those who didn’t know would only see it as a game of chance.
As he watched, he realized that people around were placing wagers on the game. A dark-haired man stood next to the board, encouraging the wagering. He called out to the crowd and waved his hand to draw more onlookers over. He had an amused glint in his eye, a loud and commanding voice, and a fluid grace with his movements.
“Who will be the victor? Will it be the young challenger, the student who’s studied the game only for the last year? Or will it be his instructor, a man not much older who has been playing the game for the better part of three years?”
“That’s easy,” someone in the crowd called out. “The master will win.”
The hawker turned toward him. “If it’s so easy, then perhaps we make it a bit more challenging. Perhaps I don’t tell you which one of them is the master and which one of them is the student. We play a game, you guess who it is, and then we will collect our wagers.”
Jonathan smiled to himself. Not only a game of skill, but a skillful game. The people who were watching laughed at the idea, but the hawker nodded to the two cordon players.
Once the game started, it became apparent that both players were gifted. As the game progressed, Jonathan gained an understanding of what he watched. To anyone else, they would see the game playing out in an even match. But he saw something else.
The man who looked older quickly gained an upper hand, and the game ended.
The hawker strode forward. “Do you see?”
“I see the younger boy losing,” one of the voices from the crowd cried out.
“He did. Unfortunate that he did,” the hawker said. “Only, I would make a wager that he is the more skillful of the two.”
“We just saw him lose,” another person called.
“You did, but dropping one game does not make someone a loser. Perhaps all he needs is more time. Would you like to watch them play again?”
The crowd laughed.
The hawker set the game board back up, and the two played again. The strategy looked similar to what it had been the last time. As the game played out, it became obvious that the younger of the two would lose again. When the game ended, he leaned back, frustration evident on his face.
“What can I say? The student still has much to learn,” the hawker said. “I suppose none of you want to take the wager I offered.” Laughter rippled throughout the crowd. “What if I told you I could pick any one of you and guide you through a game, and you would win?”
“Why would we take that bet?”
“Who do you think taught the master?”
Jonathan raised his hand and stepped forward. “I’ll take that bet.”
The hawker frowned, looking at him. “You will?”
“I will. I figure I could use a little extra coin. What’s the wager?”
“Why don’t we make this interesting? I will wager ten silver coins that the student will win.”
Jonathan nodded. “I’ll take it.”
The crowd murmured around him, and Jonathan grinned. He took the master’s side and arranged the pieces.
“You look as if you have some experience playing cordon,” the hawker said.
“I might have played it a time or two.”
“Now, I can provide some guidance or no guidance. If you agree to no guidance, then I will double the wager.”
“And the wager is that I will win?”
“It is.”
Jonathan looked across at the student, knowing that he played a skillful game, but there was more to this than just the game between him and the student. It was the game with the crowd that really mattered.
“Actually, I think I would prefer to challenge your master,” Jonathan said.
The whispers through the crowd grew louder. The hawker, skillful as he was, let the murmurs build.
“You would challenge the master?”
Some of the spectators laughed, but Jonathan ignored them as he stood and took a seat across from the master. The hawker finally raised his hand, and silence fell over the crowd.
“What would you wager?”
“I thought the wager was ten silvers,” Jonathan said.
“It was ten silvers if my student won. What if my master wins?”
“How about we make it twenty silvers?”
Mumbles around them again.
The hawker chuckled. “We have a confident one here, don’t we?” He regarded Jonathan for a few moments before turning to the crowd and raising his hands. “Is there anyone here who would like to take that wager? Or perhaps you would like to wager on my master?”
Gradually, bets came in, most of them on the master. One chose Jonathan, though as he looked across the crowd, he wasn’t able to see who it was.
“It seems as if we have a wager.”
Jonathan met the hawker’s gaze and let it linger, and then he made his first move. He hadn’t played cordon in a while, though it was a game of strategy. Strategy was something he had spent considerable time thinking about.
As the game played out, he could see the skill the so-called master possessed. He wasn’t exactly sure if the man in front of him was truly the master or if he was actually the student. Or maybe they were both masters. It was difficult for him to know which way this game had been designed, but it was a scam regardless. Perhaps neither was skilled.
Jonathan played quickly, and when he gained the upper hand, he didn’t hesitate to end the game. There was no benefit in delaying any longer than necessary. He wanted to win, and to finish the game as quickly as he could.
The hawker fell into a dumbfounded silence. “Someone has beaten my master,” he finally said. The crowd dispersed; the wagers unfulfilled. The hawker hurried and lifted his hands. He cleared his throat and raised his voice as he cried out, “At least give me an opportunity to redeem myself. If my master was unable to prove his prowess, then let me attempt to do so.”
Jonathan shrugged. “What will my prize be?”
“You believe you will win?”
“I don’t see how I can’t. I just defeated your master easily. How could you be that much more skilled?”
The hawker glared at him. It lasted only a moment, but then he turned to the few left in the crowd. “Who would like to wager on our new friend to defeat me?”
Those who remained began to call out their wagers, and more than a few put money down on Jonathan to win. Several chose the hawker, though not as many as Jonathan would have expected only a few moments ago. When the sound died down, the hawker sat across from Jonathan and made the first move.
It was obvious that he was skilled. Much more than the so-called master.
The game his students had been playing had been basic. Jonathan had seen that right away, though they had made a few moves that didn’t seem basic. Their strategy had been to look as if they played a more complicated game than they actually did.
Now that the hawker was playing, the game shifted, and the strategy changed. The match began to intensify. Jonathan was a good cordon player, but the hawker was incredibly skilled.
The game went quickly. Too quickly.
When it was over, Jonathan was well and truly beaten. Grumbles worked through the crowd.
“Perhaps somebody else would like to try their hand?”
Nobody did, and the rest of the spectators turned away, disappearing into the market. Only Jonathan, the hawker, and his two students were left.
Jonathan got to his feet and looked across the game board at the hawker. “It’s good to see you, Matthew.”
Matthew watched him for a moment, then shifted his cloak so the sword he always wore was visible beneath it. “Where have you been?”
“Prison. And it seems I was granted parole.”
Matthew let out a sigh, as if he’d been worried about Jonathan’s disappearance. “I didn’t realize they granted prisoners like you a parole.”
Jonathan glanced at the two students. “What were you planning on doing if I hadn’t come along?”
“Tandel was prepared to play. At least, this time. Later it would’ve been someone else.”
Jonathan shook his head. Tandel had been new to pulling jobs before Jonathan went to prison. He must be skilled now. “Can we talk?”
Matthew looked around for a few seconds before turning his attention back to him. “I suppose you intend to claim your share of the winnings?”
“It might be helpful. This is all I have,” he said, motioning to the jacket and pants. “Sticks out a little bit, especially so close to the prison.”
“You’d be surprised by how few people know what prisoners wear.”
“There are probably more who are aware of it than you know. Care for a drink?”
Matthew glanced over at the two co-conspirators, and he waved them away. They disappeared into the crowd, leaving Matthew and Jonathan to look at each other. Jonathan strode forward and stretched out his hand, and his friend clasped it.
Matthew pulled him close. “It’s good to see you, old friend. I didn’t know what happened. I’d heard a job didn’t go quite right, but there were other rumors as well…” He met Jonathan’s gaze. “I’ve been listening for word of you, but never heard anything consistent.”
Jonathan breathed out a heavy sigh and realized that he had no idea what kinds of rumors were out there about him, only that he knew they would exist. They always did.
And it wasn’t only Matthew hearing the rumors that worried him. It was his sister. What must Jayna have thought? What might she have done?
“You said you wanted to drink?” Matthew asked.
Jonathan followed him through the streets. Matthew wound through the throngs of people, seemingly unconcerned and unbothered by the size of the crowd. Jonathan, on the other hand, struggled. He had been away for long enough that fighting through a crowd was no longer something he was skilled at doing.
