Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (classic reads .txt) 📖

pair of tan breeches. After slipping them on, she grunted as she forced her feet into a pair of black riding boots that stopped just below the knee, covering the bottom of her breeches. A black tunic emerged from the chest, sliding over Lyra’s head - the shirt covering her arms to the wrists, laces tightened past her collarbone. An old brown leather coat came next, covering the tunic and adding some bulk to her frame.

Using both hands, Lyra gathered her hair behind her head and tied a black ribbon around the tail. She dug into the chest and grabbed her wide-brimmed hat. With a couple thrusts of her fingers into the collapsed bowl, she unflattened the hat, slipped it into her head, and turned toward the mirror. With a satisfied nod, she watched the boyish image in the looking glass mimic the action.

Lyra bent and dug deep into the chest until her fingers found a leather pouch. The weight in her palm brought a satisfied grin to her face. She slid the pouch into her coat pocket and ran back downstairs, taking two steps at a time.

A click sounded when she unlocked the deadbolt. She opened the door and glanced up the street. Although her father was long gone, she remained on edge – leery that he might return for some odd reason. Fishing her key from her pocket, she locked the door and stepped off the brick stoop to inspect the house. A dark interior lay beyond the closed windows, while the weathered gray wood siding and worn shutters made the narrow building seem no different from those surrounding it. Non-descript. Boring. Perfect.

Lyra strolled down the dirt road, taking a deep breath of the salty ocean air, enjoying the smell of freedom.

Local citizens passed her as they trudged up the steep grade, returning to their homes on the hillside. Most moved with heavy steps, their faces appearing weary. She wondered if it was the result of the climb or a long day at work. Perhaps it was just a side effect of their dreary lives. A few others, like her, were heading toward the Vingarri business district, nestled in an arc that encircled the capital city’s harbor.

As Lyra neared the bottom of the hill, the traffic thickened. She passed shops and street vendors who were closing for the day, many boasting last-minute deals in hope of ridding themselves of perishable inventory. A stab of panic emerged, her pulse racing when she noticed a man with a lute on his back. The scare was brief, ending when she determined that he was just a stranger with a build similar to her father. With her father safely away at the queen’s castle, there was little chance she might run into him.

Continuing on, she turned at the next corner and descended the stairs the led toward the docks, the damp air thickening as it grew cooler. She emerged from a narrow, torchlit alley and approached her evening destination. As she stepped inside, the loud buzz of conversation greeted her, along with the smell of stale ale, undoubtedly spilled days or weeks earlier.

Lyra weaved her way across the busy room, knowing exactly where to find the game. A cluster of men in the corner would have been a clue if not for her previous visits to the tavern. The Striped Dog had become among her favorite evening haunts since she and her father moved to Vingarri.

The crowd before her erupted with a collective sigh, “Aww”.

As men clapped each other’s backs and exchanged coins, Lyra wiggled her way through them, into the heart of the action. To one side of an open circle stood a young man with wavy black hair, the look of frustration on his face. Across the circle stood a sailor – tall and sinewy with a brown goatee, a shaved head, and a ring in one ear. The sailor laughed heartily and clapped the young man on the shoulder.

“’Twas a good try, Roland. However, you have to do better than that to beat Sully at a game of Tali.” The sailor lifted his tankard toward the younger man with a nod before taking a long swig.

Roland glanced at Lyra, and he gave a subtle nod when their eyes met.

Lyra stepped into the circle and said with a deep voice, “I have some coin for a match.”

Sully wiped the foam from his lips as he stared down at Lyra. The sailor’s gaze swept her from head to toe, his brow furrowing in the process.

“Ain’t you a bit young for gambling, laddie?” Sully asked.

Lyra shrugged. “My silver is as good as anyone else’s.”

Lyra pulled a silver coin from her pocket and tossed it into the circle. The sailor’s eyes followed the coin, watching it as it settled on the dirt floor.

“This is Aryl,” Roland said. “He’s been here before, and he’s a fine player. He’s even beat me a time or two, although I find myself winning often when playing him.”

Sully’s brow shot up, his smile revealing two missing teeth. “Well, then. I guess I could humor the lad with a game.” He stared Lyra in the eye. “Ya’ sure you want to be betting silver, laddie? We can play for a copper or two.”

Lyra shrugged. “Silver is fine by me.”

“Suit yerself,” Sully said as he pulled out a coin purse, digging inside until he withdrew a silver mark, which he tossed to the floor beside Lyra’s coin.

“You have your own knucklebones, then?” Sully asked.

Lyra removed a pouch from her coat pocket, loosened the drawstring, and poured the contents into her palm. When Sully saw how the five knucklebones filled her small palm, he gave a nod.

“To show I’m a good sport, I’ll even let you go first,” the man said.

Lyra nodded. “Um. Thanks.”

As she squatted, she pocketed the empty pouch.

“No sweeps,” Sully blurted. “If a bone you didn’t pick up moves, your turn’s over.”

She glanced at the man and responded with another shrug. Just as well, she thought.

Lyra put one hand firmly on the dirt floor while holding the hand full of bones before her. With a small upward toss, she launched the five bones into the air and flipped her hand over, positioning the back of her hand beneath them as the bones fell. Three bones landed on the back of her hand, while a fourth bounced off to join the last on the dirt floor. She looked up at Sully, who nodded as she picked a bone off the back of her hand.

“This is my taw,” Lyra proclaimed, keeping her tone low.

Lyra set the other two bones aside, planted her left hand on the floor, and analyzed the bones resting in the dirt to memorize their position. She tossed the taw up and scooped one of the bones before catching the taw with the same hand. After setting the bone aside, she repeated the process to capture the final bone. The surrounding crowd cheered, and the men began exchanging bets.

Gripping the taw in her left hand, Lyra tossed the other four bones. They tumbled to the floor, one bouncing sideways to settle three feet from the other three.

Sully shook his head. “Tough toss, laddie.”

Lyra sighed, not hiding her disappointment. “Twos.”

Tossing her taw upward, she quickly scooped two bones from the dirt before catching the taw. After setting those two bones aside, she tossed her taw again, higher this time. Her hand darted out to scoop one bone and then the other, three feet away. However, when she tried to catch her taw, she was too late and it hit the floor.

“Aww,” the crowd groaned in disappointment.

Sully grinned, “Nice try. Now, it’s my turn.”

Lyra collected her knucklebones and stood back as Sully jockeyed, catching three bones on the back of his hand.

“My taw,” he held up one of the bones.

After the sailor completed the first round, collecting a single bone at a time, the other sailors around him cheered in encouragement.

“Twos,” Sully announced before he tossed four bones and received a tight grouping of two pairs resting near each other.

Sully tossed his taw up and scooped a pair of bones before catching the taw. With the last set of bones within inches of each other, Lyra knew she was about to lose. As she expected, Sully easily gathered the bones and caught the taw for a successful turn. The crowd cheered.

Grinning, Sully scooped up the two silvers, pocketed them and stood. “Keep practicing, laddie,” he said. “You’re quick, so there’s hope for you, yet.”

The three sailors surrounding the man patted him on the back, congratulating him as he finished his ale. Lyra did her best to appear dejected as she stared toward the circle in the dirt. While coins were exchanging hands, Lyra reached into her pocket and withdrew her coin purse. After emptying the contents into her palm, she gripped the last coin she possessed, holding it up to catch notice.

“I have one more coin to play.” She tossed the coin to the ground. “I want a rematch.”

Everyone grew quiet. All eyes stared at the gold coin reflecting the torchlight. Someone whistled as Sully rubbed the scruff covering his square chin.

“How did a young lad like yourself happen upon a gold piece?”

Lyra defiantly stared into the man’s eyes before shrugging. “You don’t have to play me if you’re afraid.”

Sully’s expression darkened, his lips flattening into a line. He grabbed the coin purse tied to his belt and began digging through it. After a moment, he removed a gold coin and tossed it into the circle.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s play. I won, so I go first.”

The man knelt and held his knucklebones before him.

“No sweeping, remember.” Lyra said, his frown returning before he nodded in response.

Sully tossed the bones up, his hand shifting beneath them as they tumbled.