Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia Page 5

  Lyra slowed as she entered the shadowed woods. Gar’s voice came from her right.

  “Over here.”

  Lyra ducked beneath hanging branches and found Gar on the other side of the tree.

  “Got ‘em,” Lyra whispered. “An entire bag full.”

  Her heart was racing, but she found herself unable to stop grinning. She felt energized from the thrill of her little heist. Gar accepted the bag, taking it with both hands.

  “Good job,” he whispered. “You made sure to relock the door, right?”

  Lyra froze, the grin sliding off her face.

  “Oh no. I’ll be right back.”

  Over the next month, the Tantarri methodically matriculated south, stopping for days or weeks at a time, depending on the grass available for the cattle to feed on. At some point, they passed beyond the unmarked border of Vinacci and entered Kalimar.

  Each morning and evening, Gar would spend time teaching Lyra the arts of thievery – ranging from the subtleties of picking someone’s pocket, to the knack of picking a lock, to the stealthy nature of burglary. Blessed with a lithe build, natural quickness, and almost supernatural dexterity, Lyra found herself an apt pupil and discovered a passion besides those of music and knucklebones.

  Eventually, they happened upon an expansive rolling field with long grass stretching for miles to the west and south. Rather than staying for days or even a week, Lyra discovered that the Tantarri planned to remain in the area for months, as they had done every winter for countless years.

  Without the burden of travel looming, Gar increased the hours spent with Lyra to hone her skills. Two weeks after arriving at the winter fields, he declared her ready for her first burglary of an occupied home.

  Shortly after breakfast, the two of them took a stroll out into the fields, far beyond where the herd feasted on the long grass. They walked for more than an hour before they spotted the first dwelling.

  “Look there,” Gar pointed toward the tree line at the north edge of the field. “That house must surely hold great wealth.”

  Lyra spotted the peaked roof of a house, poking up from beyond a tall brick wall and she nodded, agreeing that the house likely had items of wealth hidden behind such a barrier.

  “Let’s get a closer look,” she suggested.

  The two of them turned toward the tree line and melted into the woods, circling until they were able to approach the house from the opposite side.

  Now able to get a closer look, Lyra found the home surrounded by a wall built of stones held together with hardened clay, standing perhaps ten feet in height. Other than the heavy wooden gate at the front, there appeared to be no way into the yard. While it represented a slight challenge, Lyra was positive that she could scale the wall and get inside. Gar tapped her shoulder and waved, indicating that they should leave. As they walked back to their campsite, Lyra assembled her plan.

  The breeze rustled the leaves above as Lyra listened from the shadowed forest. She forced herself to maintain patience: listening, watching, and waiting. A glance toward the clear night sky allowed her to note the position of the stars as Gar had instructed. It appeared to be past midnight, making it highly unlikely for anyone inside to be awake.

  Her lips flattened into a line of determination, followed by a nod to herself. Emerging from the shadows, she crept toward the wall, happy to be wearing her breeches rather than the loose skirts of her dress.

  Reaching up, her hands ran across the cool stones until she found ridges that provided sufficient grip. Careful to move quietly, she pulled herself up, her toes gaining purchase on the slight protrusions of rock. With one hand extended upward, she gripped the top edge and pulled until she was able to flip her leg over and straddle the wall. She lay there with her chest pressed against the ledge as she surveyed the interior.

  Although it contained only a single house in the middle and a storage building at the back, the yard inside was bigger than it appeared, large enough for six such houses. There was no movement within – not in the open space, nor in the windows of the house at the center.

  Lyra slipped over the wall until she was hanging by her fingertips, her toes dangling three feet above the ground. She let go and landed softly in the long grass.

  As she crept toward the quiet house, her eyes flicked about for signs of movement. She sidled along the wall and found the front entrance open, her brow furrowing at the discovery, not trusting her luck.

  With a quick peek around the doorframe, she pulled her head back and considered what her eyes remembered. A small courtyard waited inside, open to the sky. Brick walls and a single door at the far end surrounded the stone tiled floor. Lyra took a breath and stepped through the doorway. She crept quietly, taking light steps as she headed toward the door.

  The tiles cracked and lurched downward, dropping her a few inches. Lyra froze in fear and prepared to jump when the floor gave way. Twisting, she tried to grab ahold of the stones, but they crumbled in her grip. Dust filled the darkness as she hit the bottom, the darkness consuming her.

  Barking. Lyra heard the sound of a dog barking. That sound tugged at her, drawing her from the darkness. She opened her eyes and blinked as a blur of white dots coalesced into the starry night sky. A dark shadow emerged from the periphery.

  “Oh, stop your barking, Gilo.”

  It was a young man’s voice.

  Lyra noticed the silhouette of a dog at the edge of the opening above her. The dog barked again.

  “Stop your barking! It might have been helpful before, back when I was sleeping. It doesn’t help much when you bark after we already caught the intruder.”

  She shifted her focus and found a silhouette of a man standing above her, at the edge of a pit whose walls stood as tall as the walls outside the house. With an effort, she rose to her elbows and the world began to spin. Nausea settled in as she sat upright and touched the back of her head. The pain of her contact caused her to wince. When she removed her hand, she found a dark wet smudge on her palm.

  A light appeared, dim and blue, coming from the hand of the person above.

  “Hmm,” the young man’s voice said. “It appears we caught a girl, Gilo. I’ve always wanted one. Thought about it for years, and now here one falls right into my lap. I guess I owe Issal a prayer or two for such a gift.”

  The dog responded with a single bark followed by a low howl, his reply to the man.

  “Exactly,” the man responded.

  Lyra tried to stand, wincing and staggering as she put weight on her ankle. Not again, she thought. The world tilted and spun, her dinner threatening to eject from her stomach.

  “I think she’s hurt, Gilo,” the man said to the dog. “Should we help her or leave her there?”

  The dog barked again.

  “Hmm, you’re right. She did try to rob us.”

  “Is this some sort of cruel torture?” Lyra asked. “If so, just kill me now, because that would be better than listening to you babble on as if I’m not here.”

  “Ooo. The girl has spirit, too.” The man lowered the light and knelt at the edge of the pit. His tone changing, becoming more serious. “I’m sorry my dear, but you’re not in a position for bargaining at the moment. I certainly did not invite you into my home. Yet, here you are, caught in the trap I set for burglars like you – a trap to catch those who seek to take what is not theirs.”

  Lyra frowned, unsure of how to respond.

  “However, I might be persuaded to show mercy if you can offer something of value,” he said.

  Lyra’s frown deepened. “What do you want of me?”

  He laughed. “Nothing but your word.”

  “My word?”

  “Yes. I will get you out of the pit, and I will even heal your wounds, if you give me your word that you will remain here for three months as my assistant.”

  “Your assistant? Assistant for what?”

  He stood and began circling the pit. “I can’t say exactly. Just know that I am conducting research.”
His arms spread out in an open embrace toward the stars. “I plan to change the world, make it a better place.” He stopped walking and lowered his arms. “However, doing everything myself is too time consuming, and my progress has been unsatisfactory – for myself and for The Hand.”

  Lyra gasped, remembering that the man who killed her father had mentioned The Hand. Perhaps she could learn something if she stayed with this man. Perhaps she could avenge her father’s death.

  “Fine,” she said, not sounding pleased about his offer. “I give you my word that I’ll stay here and help you for three months. However, you need to let me tell my family where I am. They are close by, so it will take merely a few hours.”

  A long moment of silence followed and Lyra grew nervous that he might rethink his offer. The man tossed the glowing object into the pit, the orb bouncing and settling near her feet. A rope followed and a hard knot in the rope struck Lyra on its way down. She winced in pain, her palm going to her forehead.

  “Sorry about that. Grab ahold, and I’ll pull you up.”

  Lyra did as he said, bracing her good foot against the wall while he heaved and grunted, pulling her up in jerks and fits. As she crested the edge, she pulled herself forward on her stomach until she lay on the stone tiled floor. A long tongue slurped across her face, forcing her to sputter and push the dog’s head away.

  “Gilo likes you. I’ll take that as a positive sign.” A hand rested on her forehead, still sore from the rope. “Now, hold still and expect a chill.” He laughed. “I rhyme all the time.” He laughed again. “I’m a poet, and I don’t know it.”

  Lyra tried to get a look at his face, but found it too shadowed. His laughter faded and all fell quiet. From nowhere, a frigid chill racked her body, causing her back to arch and making her hair stand on end. The air in her lungs abandoned her and left her gasping. She rolled on her side in an attempt to reclaim it. Her stomach growled, feeling as if she had gone a day without food.

  “There you go.” He stood upright. “You’re good as new, just as promised. My name is Cal. Welcome to Mystic Manor. And your name would be…”

  Rising to her elbows, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at his shadowed face. “I’m…Tali.”

  He nodded. “Tali. Like the game. Beautiful name. Ha! I did it again.” He laughed. “Now that I did as I said, I hope you will keep your promise.”

  Cal turned and crossed the courtyard as Lyra sat up and realized she was no longer dizzy. She felt the back of her head and found the lump gone, the wet spot now dry. Curious, she rotated her ankle and felt no pain.

  “You did it. You healed me,” she said in wonder. “How did you do that?”

  He stopped before the door with his hand on the knob. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. I can do magic.”

  Opening the door, he stepped inside while holding it open for his dog.

  “Now, come inside, and I’ll show you to your room. You should get some rest, Tali. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  7

  Sunlight streaming through the open curtain forced Lyra to squint as she opened her eyes. Rolling over, she took a deep breath as she appreciated the luxurious comfort of the oversized bed. While she had her own bed before the fire consumed her home, it had been much smaller and harder than this one.

  Lyra tossed the covers aside and flipped her legs off the edge, her feet nuzzling into the soft slippers Cal had provided. They were too big for her but still did the job. Standing, she discovered her clothing gone, leaving only the thin shift she now wore and the gray robe hanging from a hook on the wall. She grabbed the robe and wrapped it about herself before opening the door.

  The hallway outside stood empty. She took a few tentative steps and found three other rooms empty as well, with a note pinned to the partially closed door of the fourth room.

  Good morning, Tali.

  Your clothes smelled like you had slept in them for a month, so I gave them a wash and hung them out to dry. I assume your body has similar issues, so I filled the tub and set two pots of hot water beside it. Be sure to use the leather gloves when filling the tub or I’ll be forced to heal your hands, and I’d rather not since I have more pressing things to do. Once you are clean and dry, come out and retrieve your clothing from the line. Don’t soak too long because you have a long walk into the city today.

  Regards,

  Cal

  Lyra finished reading the note and pushed the door fully open to reveal a copper tub in the center of the room. Closing the door behind her, she approached the tub, finding it half filled with water. Upon a stone table rested two black kettles, each marked with odd symbols painted in yellow. Steam rose from the kettles, and Lyra cocked her head in thought. They’re still hot. He must have just put them here.

  With a shrug, Lyra slipped the leather gloves on and poured the water from one of the kettles into the tub. The water only felt warm so she added half of the second kettle before the temperature was to her liking. She grabbed the bar of soap that waited near the kettles and stepped into the tub, not removing her shift until she was in the water.

  Nearly a half-hour had passed by the time she had her shift scrubbed and wrung out, her body cleaned, and her hair washed. Lyra climbed out of the tub, shivering as she ran to the towel hanging from a nearby hook. She wrapped it about her and dried off before swapping the towel for the robe and grabbing her clean, but wet, shift. Turning toward the mirror, Lyra grabbed the brush resting beside it and began to tame her black hair, twisted and matted from months of abuse. When she was done, she gave a satisfied nod to the image in the mirror and exited the room.

  Lyra passed through the hallway and emerged into an expansive kitchen with pots and pans dangling from the ceiling over a large brick oven. Shelves and cabinets surrounded the room, many of them empty and dusty. Beyond a rectangular table and four chairs, was an open entrance to the neighboring room.

  Circling the table, Lyra discovered a sitting room with a sofa, two chairs, and a small table arranged in an arc around a dormant fireplace. Again, not finding anyone in the room, Lyra pressed onward and passed through the door that led outside.

  The courtyard she had discovered the night before was also empty other than a gaping hole. She walked to the edge and stared down, finding it three strides wide, four strides deep, and nearly twice the length. The debris revealed a broken wooden beam structure and an impressive amount of shattered stone blocks. She circled around the hole and passed through the open doorway into the yard.

  Her breeches and tunic rippled in the morning breeze as they dangled from a rope strung from the building to the outer wall. When she rubbed the fabric of her breeches between her finger and thumb, she found them already dry. She freed the clothing from the wooden pins holding them captive and turned toward the house, noticing Cal far across the yard.

  The young man sat on a stool while Gilo lay beside him, sprawled on his side as he basked in the morning sunlight. Cal’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he held a fist-sized rock in his hands. He had smooth, pale skin, a strong nose, and scruffy brown hair. Lyra frowned, wishing she could see his eyes. He wasn’t unattractive, but he certainly lacked the swarthy good looks that Gar possessed.

  Thinking of Gar reminded Lyra that she needed to talk to him, needed to let him know she was safe. After heading back inside, she retreated to her room to change.

  Cleaned and dressed, she exited the room and walked down the hallway. As she entered the kitchen, she found Cal waiting. The laces of his tunic were loose, exposing the pale skin of his neck and upper chest. Standing a half-head taller than Lyra, he was of average height. He had a lean build, not overly thin, nor obviously muscular.

  “I assume you’re hungry.” He smiled.

  Lyra shrugged. “Yeah.”

  His grin widened, his blue eyes lighting up.

  “Good. Because we need food.” He held his hand out toward her as a slip of paper dangled from his fingers. “I made a list.”

  Lyra stared at h
is extended arm for a moment before reacting. She reached out and snatched the paper, glancing at it to find a list of groceries and other miscellaneous items.

  “What am I to do with this?”

  He smiled again and Lyra found herself thinking he had an engaging smile.

  “The city is nearby, beyond the rise to the west.” He pointed toward the front door. “It should only take you an hour to walk there.”

  “Before I do that, I need to go tell my family that I’m going to stay here for a while.” She glanced at the note again, shaking her head as she chuckled. “How am I going to carry all this stuff anyway?”

  He flashed another grin. “I have that covered.”

  Turning about, Cal crossed the kitchen and reached toward the ceiling. His fingers grabbed a strap hanging from an oversized canvas sack that appeared to be stuck in the corner. Lyra’s brow furrowed he pulled the bag down and gathered it in his arms, as if he were collecting lost breaths.

  Cal crossed the room with the pack in his arms. “Take this, but be sure to keep a tight grip on it.” He held it toward her and she accepted it in curiosity. “Until the pack is loaded, it will float away if you let it.”

  As he released his grip, Lyra found herself scrambling to draw the pack in as it pulled toward the ceiling. The effect felt like an invisible fishing line were reeling it upward. She gathered it in and wrapped her arms about it, blinking in awe as it pulled upward, attempting to lift her off the ground.

  “There you go.” He nodded. “With the floating pack, you should have no trouble carrying the items on the list.”

  “But…how is it floating? How does it work?”

  “I already told you,” He smiled. “I can do magic.”

  Lyra crested the rise, getting her first view of what lay to the west. She stopped at the top, holding her hand up to shade her eyes from the mid-day sun.