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

As it had for the entire day, the thick forest in the valley floor hugged the dirt roadway, providing little chance to see anything beyond the next bend. Birds sang to the sun, bidding it farewell as it hovered just above the mountains to the west. The tweeting left Lyra torn between enjoying the peaceful sound and dreaming of eating the little buggers. Her food had run out the previous evening, and she had walked the entire day living off nothing but a handful of berries she picked from a roadside bush. At the time, she didn’t know if the berries were safe to eat, but she threw caution to the wind in favor of eating something…anything.

Thankfully, she had crossed a bridge over a river shortly after the road descended into the valley, giving her the chance to fill both water skins. While she might survive for a while without food, water was something else altogether.

She rounded a bend and the trees suddenly terminated, revealing a field of stumps and grass. Across the field, a half-mile away, stood the wooden palisade surrounding a city, the gate standing open.

Lyra stopped and stared, thinking about the gold she had in her pack – enough gold to buy almost anything, enough gold to kill for.

She backed up a few steps and walked into the forest, counting ten trees from the road, ten from the clearing, and found a young maple, noticeable among the gray trunks surrounding it. She knelt and used her dagger to dig up the forest floor. Opening her pack, she removed all but the two smallest gold chunks and buried them, careful to cover the disturbed earth with dead leaves.

Moments later, she was back on the road and heading toward the city, eager for a hot meal and a soft bed.

When she passed through the open gates, she found herself unchallenged. In fact, there were no guards in sight.

The buildings varied in construction, some stone, most wood, most rundown. The streets were all dirt, busy with foot traffic and carts, their owners selling wares.

The people filling the streets appeared rough and unrefined. Many of the men were dressed like sailors, wearing rough, patchwork clothing that rarely matched. The women were sometimes dressed in breeches and tunics, like the men, while others wore dirty and faded dresses, tight at the waist and cut deep at the neckline. A fair number of people appeared homeless, huddled against a wall or in a corner as they begged for coin. Most ignored those people, acting as if they were invisible. Perhaps to them, they were.

“Hiya, missy.” A man with missing teeth gave her a grin. “You be new in Wayport? I got a room for ya. Won’t cost you a thing…well, not a copper at least.” The man chuckled.

Lyra shook her head. “No need.”

He shouted from behind her. “If you change your mind, come back, and I’ll be here.”

Lyra caught sight of a man selling bread, shouting to passers-by that it was half price. She considered buying some, but spotted an inn down the street and decided on a hot meal. Weaving her way through the crowd, she approached a building with a sign of a pig, its eyes bulging as a knife poked through its head. The placard below the sign read The Poked Pig.

The streets outside appeared seedy, but the interior of the inn was perhaps worse. A group of men in one corner held their mugs high as they bellowed a song common to sailors. Lyra winced. They were doing a very poor job of it. In another corner, two men played knucklebones, surrounded by a crowd cheering them on. Lyra considered playing, but she didn’t need the money and didn’t want to invite trouble. It would likely find her without help.

She passed two men harassing a waitress, with one grabbing the woman roughly. Lyra paused and considered helping the woman but smiled and moved on after the woman grabbed the man’s finger and bent it back until his eyes bulged.

Reaching the bar, Lyra flagged the bartender. The man had a bushy black beard and thick black hair that surrounded the bald spot atop his head. He was an obese man, three times Lyra’s weight, yet only a half-head taller.

“What do you need?” the man grumbled.

“I’m looking for the owner. I need a room…and food.”

He snorted. “My name is Darvin, and I own the place. I have both, if you’ve got coin.”

Lyra dug into her bag and held her hand toward the man.

“What will this get me?” Lyra rolled her hand over, revealing a chunk of gold slightly larger than a gold coin.

The man’s bushy brows rose in surprise. “Hmm. Raw gold. A good-sized chunk, too.”

He reached for it, and Lyra yanked her hand away.

“Not until we have a deal.”

Darvin nodded. “Fine. Food and a room for a week.”

“That’s it?” Lyra held the gold chunk up, rolling it in her palm as she examined it. “This is worth far more than that. In addition to food and a room, I need a bath…and food for the road when I leave as well.”

“Deal.” He held out his hand, appearing eager. Lyra set the gold into it as greed reflected in his beady eyes.

Her stomach growled. “I’ll take dinner now, please. Then you can show me to my room and the baths.”

Lyra stepped outside, completely rejuvenated. Dinner, a bath, and sleep, followed by a hearty breakfast, and she was ready for a new day. Before entering the city, she worried that her leather Tantarri garb might make her stick out, but she now realized that the city hosted such a variety of styles, hers was not outside the norm. There was no norm.

Not having any particular agenda, she strolled down the street, toward the harbor. A man with a cart of produce called out to her, but she ignored him. Another man, this one in a wide-brimmed black hat and a white tunic grinned at her, the gaps in his smile spoiling his otherwise handsome appearance. She passed an alley and heard a groan. A glance in that direction revealed a man passed out across two crates. An empty bottle lay in the alley, below his dangling arm. Lyra shook her head and moved on.

A woman in a faded blue dress emerged from a shop, directly into Lyra’s path as she swept dirt out the door.

“Oh. Sorry Miss,” the woman said as she stepped aside. “Do your boots be needin’ any repairs by chance?”

Lyra shook her head as she walked past. “Not today.”

“All shoes wear out. When they need some fixin’, be sure to come back. My husband is the best cobbler in Wayport.”

With a wave to the woman, Lyra emerged from the shadowed street into a large square. A dark stone keep bordered the east end of the square, otherwise surrounded by streets spreading outward, like the spokes of a wagon wheel.

She crossed the square, empty other than the waist-high platform at the center, large enough to fit twenty people. Lyra’s brow furrowed as she passed the platform, curious as to its purpose. Rather than linger, she continued toward the waterfront, seeking cooler air. Despite the early hour, the heat from the sun was intense, made worse by the humidity of mid-summer in a port city.

Beyond the square, Lyra entered another street, covered in shadows cast by a row of two-story buildings blocking the rising sun. A cluster of men walked down the street in front of her, quiet and subdued as they headed toward the harbor. She slowed to match their pace, trailing the men as they headed toward the docks. Stopping when she reached the end of the street, Lyra surveyed the view.

A long dirt incline ran down to a wooden boardwalk that encircled the bay, connecting docks to waterfront warehouses where goods were stored for transit. Beyond the docks, bright blue water shimmered in the morning sun, becoming a darker shade near the breaker line further out in the bay. Ships of varying sizes and types lined the docks, while others sailed out toward open waters. Some of the sails were a bright white, gleaming in the sunlight, while others were darker shades, many worn and tattered.

A slap to Lyra’s backside made her jump. She turned to find a tall man passing by, gaps noticeable amidst the toothy grin stretching across his face.