The Gully Snipe

By JF Smith

"A very many trickster moons ago," said Tony's grandfather, "and very, very far away... way past where our real world ends and your imagination begins, things were different than here. There was a proud kingdom that had fallen on darker days."

"The kingdom was known as Iisen, or the Iisendom as it was sometimes called. It was a prosperous and peaceful kingdom, but for years, a cloud had been forming over the land and was worrying the people that lived there."

"People were disappearing... not many, but when they did, it made the people afraid. There were rumors, of course. Rumors of gypsies and monsters in the woods, but no one seemed to know what was happening for sure. And the people of Iisen, the merchants and hostlers and iron mongers and farmers, couldn't very well hide in their homes and farmhouses. They still had to earn a living. All they could do was hope they weren't the next to vanish one day."

"But the tale doesn't really start with that. The tale starts with a thief. A thief who had just been caught and was about to be in very deep trouble..."

• Language: English
• Publisher: JF Smith
• Release date: Jun 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311426208

Book preview

Chapter 1 — But For The Grace Of The Stars At Night

Stop that infernal fidgeting, now! It’ll go worse for you if you keep with all this fighting!

The guard pulled his arms tighter around his prisoner, trying to keep his hold on him secure.

He focused on his fellow guard again and grunted at him, Come, Pollon, hurry up searching him and help me hold the wiggling piglet! And where are the others with the blasted irons? Wish I had known what a pot o’ honey and thorns this one would be!

Pollon continued trying to search the pockets and pouches of the thief as his fellow guard held him, arms wrapped around his chest to keep him from running. There was an absurd number of hiding spots in the thief’s belt, tunic, and breeches, and every one he searched seemed to reveal two more to try to check while the thief continued to thrash about.

Aye! I am as fast as I can! huffed Pollon as he tried to search the prisoner’s legs. The filthy bugger has more hiding places than a banker’s vault!

Pollon had already recovered the small moneybag the thief, the Gully Snipe himself, had stolen not ten minutes earlier, but he still had more to examine. Even within the thief’s boots were nooks and crannies to be checked.

You heard him! Be still, Gully Snipe! commanded Pollon, and which immediately fell on deaf ears as the thief continued to resist. He groped again and complained to his fellow swordsman, Probably a filthy knocker anyway! Then, to the thief as he tried to hold his foot still so he could search it, Maybe I should just knee you in your beggar’s jewels to put you down for an hour or so, eh?

Pollon pulled a lethal but scabrous throwing knife out of a leather sheath inside the Snipe’s boot. He held it up triumphantly and admonished him, Aha! Don’t want to leave this where you can get to it, now do we? He slipped the small knife into his own belt so he could continue looking.

The Gully Snipe continued his resistance and almost wormed his way out of the thick guard’s arms a couple of times. His eyes repeatedly glanced over the crowd pressing close; he had limited time before the other guards arrived with irons to slap on his wrists and feet, and then he’d truly have to start worrying.

He struggled more, trying to goad his captor, and thought to himself, come now, you sodden fool, stop letting me squirm!

There was quite a crowd gathered at the edge of the Swordsman Market, having been drawn from their hawking of wares, errands and work so they could watch. The flower stalls, carts laden with pannyfruit and apples and plums, crates with chickens and ducks for sale, all were mostly forgotten and abandoned for the moment; the sight of a criminal caught in the brazen light of early afternoon was far more interesting to those in earshot. Most wondered what foolish thief would attempt something in the middle of the day in the market closest to Lohrdanwuld’s largest garrison of the Kingdom Guard. But then rumors that this was perhaps the Gully Snipe spread like agitated squirrels through the crowd, which drew the curious attention, and the crowd, even tighter.

In the distance, at the far end of the market, the Snipe could see a disturbance in the crowd. It could only be the expected additional guards pushing their way through and he knew his time was already short and diminishing rapidly. He wiggled and pulled and fought even harder.

The guard holding him bellowed, Finish your search or make him stop, Pollon! I can’t hold him like this!

I’m doing my right best, Bekellor! rejoined Pollon, frustrated with both his fellow guard and their captive. He stood up straight and looked the thief in the eye. That’s enough, you! Stop all this! he yelled.

Pollon pulled back his fist and hit the thief squarely in the jaw, drawing an audible gasp from the gathered crowd of both peasants and merchants alike. It had the desired effect, though, and the Gully Snipe stopped fighting. His tongue felt around inside the back of his mouth for a moment, then he spat a wad of blood and saliva at the feet of Pollon in front of him, his dark hazel eyes glaring at the guard the whole time. Pollon glanced down and saw a tooth mixed in with the bloody spittle and dirt.

Bekellor began to relax slightly as the thief’s resistance died, but the Snipe picked up struggling in his arms again, this time even more stridently than before.

Bekellor pulled his prisoner tighter to his chest, and leaned back to lift him and give the Snipe’s feet less traction on the packed dirt of the streetside.

Finally, thought the Gully Snipe in relief, it took the wretch long enough!

The instant the guard behind him pulled back, lifting him off the ground, the Snipe balled his legs up to his chest and kicked out at the other guard as hard as he could, knocking Pollon off of his boots and flat onto his back. The force of the kick, and the fact that Bekellor’s center of gravity was already off from leaning back with the Snipe, caused them both to fall back into the roadway with the Snipe still held in the guard’s arms.

The Gully Snipe allowed a brief smile for himself as he landed softly on top of Bekellor and heard the wind get knocked out of the guard, even with his hard leather cuirass to protect him. The thief jumped up, throwing his chaperon hood back over his head, and began to dash. He stopped short, though, before either of the guards knew what had happened. While Bekellor was still fighting to get air back into his lungs, the Snipe pressed a foot down on Pollon’s chest, grabbed his throwing knife from where Pollon had stowed it on his belt, and then deftly picked the small moneybag jangling full of swallowstamps and belders out of the guard’s pocket again. It wasn’t much money, but he had worked for it and wasn’t going to let it go easily.

I’ll be needing these, sir, but I’ll leave my tooth with you! said the thief to Pollon, and then he was off running again.

The Gully Snipe had to think quickly as there were multiple ways he could run to escape. Luckily, he knew the streets, alleys, and footpaths of Lohrdanwuld very well. Unluckily, after weighing his options, his best one now was to plow straight ahead and through the crowd, which also meant straight ahead and through the three guards he could see rushing to help Bekellor and Pollon. And this time, they had irons for him.

Behind him were Bekellor and Pollon, now recovering from his escape, as well as the full garrison house teeming with Kingdom Guards. To his left, through the market, was a poorer neighborhood with too many dead ends to get caught in, and to his right was a solid line of merchant houses, apartments, inns, and a few meadhouses.

Oh well, thought the Snipe as he pushed forward and the crowd magically parted for him as if he were the pox itself running loose, when did a few armed guards ever frighten me from my path?

He spit another mouthful of blood into the road and stormed ahead, feeling more confident now that he had the hood covering his head and face again. The three guards running towards him were in a standard formation for capturing him, the formation that worked to his advantage — the guards on the left and right a foot or two ahead of the one in the middle so they could flank him.

He ignored the two on the sides and fixed his eyes instead on the one in the middle, whose own eyes were getting close enough now that he could see the glint in them as they all made right towards each other. The crowd closest to them tried to push back for what was surely going to be a bad run in, and the rest of the crowd behind those in front pushed in harder trying to see better.

The Snipe hit his top speed, and in advance of the middle guard reaching him, he jumped up, leaned back, and landed hard on his feet, letting them slide out from under him with perfect timing. He landed hard on his back right as the two guards wound up on either side of him and the middle guard was leaning forward, expecting to tackle him directly. But with the Snipe now on the ground, practically under the off-balance guard, he kicked up with both feet into the groin of the guard and pushed back up over his head, in effect using the guard’s momentum to send him flying overhead, flailing enough to strike the other two guards in the process.

He had used this move enough times that he was now genuinely disappointed that the guards still hadn’t seemed to learn from it and not make the same mistake over and over again. But on the other hand, he had gotten quite good at it.

He heard the guard land behind his head, hard, and take the other two guards down with him in a heap as he landed. Without a thought, the thief jumped back up onto his feet and sprinted off again, only now he had a path free of guards and leg-irons and gallows nooses in front of him.

He didn’t stop running because he knew the guards would still give chase, but now he could get into the warren of streets and alleys in the other peasant neighborhood to his right and lose them there. Behind him, the pointless shouts of Halt! and the thundering boots of the Kingdom Guards could be heard. He ignored the commands and set his mind instead to actively dodging the throngs of the crowd that were unaware of the arrest that had so recently been thwarted and were still going about their business in the streets of the capital.

The Gully Snipe felt close to free and victory, and so he ventured a quick glance behind him to gauge the distance of the guards, with almost fatal results. As he turned back forward, his eye caught on something familiar to his left. He spotted the soft, brown and auburn curls and the emerald eyes of the girl locked with his own for a split second, and he cursed how easily he was distracted under the circumstances. But then, she was watching him, too, so he decided that maybe he could be forgiven for being distracted this time. He wondered briefly what had caught her eye, other than someone running the streets so hard it was like the gypsies themselves were hard on his feet to boil his bones for soup.

Just as he forced his face forward and his mind back onto the more pressing matter of his escape, a carriage being pulled by a large Belder horse, of the kind so prevalent in the Iisendom, had crossed his path and stopped right in front of him. He would have careened right into the beast’s barrel if it weren’t for the fact that Belders were so large and tall. The Snipe managed to duck under the horse’s belly and to the other side, startling it as he did so. The resulting nervous stepping of the large beast caused the guards to decide it was less risky to go around the horse and carriage, even if it gave their prey a small extra amount of a lead.

The Snipe peeled off to the right, down a side street, and with the market behind him and consequently fewer people to thread through, was able to sprint ahead even faster, dodging right and left down more streets and alleys until he was sure he had lost the guards. He even entered the front door of an inn that he knew had a convenient back door that let out into a hidden alley not too far from the Chalk Market. Inside the inn, he slowed to a casual walk and tried to pace his breath and heart. He nodded politely to the pretty young girl that worked it and took the time to remove his chaperon and flip it inside out. The guards that were looking for someone in a black hood would pay no attention to someone wearing a light brown one instead.

He placed his throwing knife back where it belonged in his boot. The knife was one of his dearest possessions and he felt oddly naked without the hilt of it against his ankle; so precious was it that he would have given up the money before losing the knife. With an extra deep breath, he walked casually out the back of the inn, checking the side of his belt to ensure he still had his moneybag. He exited the alley and melted into the teeming crowd of much poorer people that frequented the Chalk Market.

Not a bad day’s work, after all.

Except for the sore back from landing on it and throwing the guard overhead.

And the tooth.

~~~~~

The Gully Snipe walked through the unused gate in the old city wall. This was one of the original city walls of Lohrdanwuld, back when the city was much smaller than its current size. The gates and barbicans in the old, original walls were still in place, but never used. The newer city walls were further out, to the west of where the city backed up against Kitemount, and were the ones actively used to defend the capital now.

As he passed through the gate along with a stream of others moving from one part of the city to another, he spotted a familiar face. Seated on the paving stones at the foot of the gate was Almonee, what was left of her frazzled white hair sticking out from under her skewed cap as she gnawed on a tough parsnip. The Snipe wondered if he’d wind up in her place one day, with only a few teeth left in his mouth and slightly touched in the head, like her. She made no notice of the hooded, young man standing and watching her from only a few feet away. The busy people of the city avoided her and veered around the Snipe in the meantime.

He reached into his moneybag and pulled out a handful of the coins he had stolen earlier and walked over to hand them to the craggy old woman.

He proffered the coins to her, holding them out in his hand for her to take. She stopped her teething on the vegetable root and eyed him suspiciously. She frowned when she recognized him.

Don’t need yer charity, Bayle. I do fine, I do. Got me a good meal right here! she said, holding up the parsnip for him to see, as if it were a gilded treasure.

He knelt down beside her and took her hand to put the money in it. Take the coins, Almonee. It’s just a few swallowstamps and maybe a belder. You can have something more to eat than just a dirty root.

Do I look a beggar to you, boy? she said, almost insulted.

Bayle hesitated, not wanting to answer honestly. He tried a different tactic, instead. No one said anything about begging, my lady. It’s a gift to you, nothing else. Take them... please.

She allowed him to open her spotted and scabbed hand and place the coins of the realm into it, still watching him with her nose wrinkled up like he smelled offensive. She finally set the parsnip down on the paving stone and dug around in her frayed, brown cloak looking for a free pocket in which to place the coins. Bayle hoped she found one without holes in it.

She said as she rummaged for a pocket, Yeh tell yer mother, Astrehd, I asked after her.

Bayle said, Rest easy. I will. He was used to the fact that she couldn’t quite grasp that his foster mother was dead for a year now. Some things poor Almonee picked up on right away, and others never took hold in her mind.

Once she had stored her coins away, Almonee picked up her lunch and stuck it in her mouth again, off to the side like a pipe. She said, May the stars watch for yeh, good boy Bayle.

Bayle stood back up and tugged at the top of his hood in acknowledgement, a smile on his lips for the woman. He had turned to continue on his way when the old woman called after him again loudly, Ho there! Boy!

Bayle turned back to her and noticed she had put the parsnip back down on the roadway and was now biting on one of the coins, testing it to see if it would make a better lunch. She took the coin out of her mouth and yelled at him, Don’t need yer money, yeh hear?! Just holding onto it so’s yer not spendin’ it on mead ’n frivoles, yeh hear me?

Bayle had no idea what frivoles were. He nodded at her and called, Of course, Almonee. Better than a banker, you are! And far more trustworthy!

As he walked off, he shook his head in amusement. She still insisted on calling him boy most every chance she got, even though he would very soon reach twenty years of age. A few years ago, it bothered him, but now he accepted it with a grin and a casual resignation.

Bayle rounded the public oratory tower, the nicest one in town, and came upon Bonedown Square. The north end of the square was home to a large, splashing fountain honoring the royal family of veLohrdan. There were a few rabble children playing in it, and a few others divided into teams and playing an informal game of oxen dart with a worn leather ball in the wide open space of the square.

Looming over the Bonedown, on its low promontory and brilliantly lit in the afternoon sun, the Folly itself stood watch over its city, over its entire realm, really, as it nestled up to the mountain of Kitemount behind it. Leading up to the barbican, a queue of a few fine carriages and mounted horsemen waited to pass through into the castle grounds of the Folly, perhaps to meet with the state treasurer or some other administrator. Bayle cynically thought to himself that those waiting were most likely representatives of other noble families of Iisen, come to petition the administrator of the crown to be allowed to raise taxes yet again.

He didn’t dwell on those with business in the royal castle, though. If he had to choose with whom he had more in common, it would be the gentleman he spied at the far end of the Bonedown. The one swinging from a noose out over the crevasse along the southern edge of the square. My own future, but for the grace of the stars at night, thought Bayle, letting slip through his mind the old maxim that the religious folk of Iisen liked to repeat.

He wondered if the executed man was a thief like he was. Then he wondered how many crimes he had been found guilty of to warrant a public execution. The crown, or rather the Domo Regent since the throne was empty until the prince came of age, wasn’t quick to execute, so Goodsir Danglefoot hanging there must have been a bad one. Most egregious criminals were left to wither away in the deep recesses of the king’s gaol. Bayle couldn’t decide which would be worse — the slow, lonely death while practically buried under the city, or a painfully public hanging. He decided the hanging would be better. A quick snap, a moment of spasms, and then it was all finished. Besides, he had never liked being cooped up inside for too long.

The hanged criminal turned in the early summer breeze coming around Kitemount and a sudden fear gripped its cold hand around Bayle’s heart. His feet slowly made their way, of their own accord, closer towards the noose and its grim passenger. The man’s face... if Bayle pictured the face he so easily brought to mind, and added ten years to the memory, it could possibly be what he saw in the man’s face dangling there, at least from a distance. The chilled grip on his heart grew tighter as he got closer until the hung thief spun again and Bayle finally got a clear view of his face. He exhaled, scarcely aware he had been holding the breath captive in his lungs, when he saw the man. Yes, the age was probably about right, but it definitely wasn’t him. Bayle wiped his hand over his face in relief.

He turned back and was about to find a bench so he could sit and rest after his exhausting escape earlier. He was anxious to count his money and see if his jaw would stop throbbing where the void was that had been a tooth that morning. He glanced up at Kelber Peak to the north of the city, and then behind both Kelber Peak and Kitemount, to the northeast, was the impressive Thayhold. Even behind the other two mountains, Thayhold was huge and bare of all but rock and sediment; it was so tall and steep that it was named thus because legend had it that the top of the mountain, rarely seen due to constant clouds around it, supported the very sky and stars themselves. The three mountains together formed the Trine Range, the royal symbol of the ruling veLohrdan family and the whole of the Iisendom itself.

He spotted a free bench to rest on from his earlier adventure, but he never got the chance to even sit upon it. Instead, he turned away from it and discreetly pulled his hood closer around his face. The bench wasn’t the only thing he had spotted; there were also two separate squads of Kingdom Guards making their way through the square, and Bayle wasn’t in the mood for any more attention from anyone.

He doubled back, passed back out the old city gate he had come through a few minutes earlier and turned down a side street in the wealthy part of town that was near the square. He never ceased to be amazed at the size and perfect upkeep of the townhouses the wealthy merchants owned in this section of town. A few streets over and he would have passed in front of the grand townhouse that belonged to the merchant family of a certain girl with red curls and emerald eyes, in fact.

Mariealle... even the name was as impressive as her father’s wealth. Mariealle.

He had allowed himself to be distracted again by her as he walked and took an unfamiliar turn, rare for him, and found it to be a dead-end. But it was quiet and there were no people there looking down their noses at him because he didn’t belong in such a wealthy enclave. Even for no more than an alley, the backs of the houses here and courtyard walls were made of stone and brick, another sign of the wealth of the neighborhood in which he was lurking.

Bayle sat on some steps next to a planter bursting forth with the tiny yellow flowers of foxblush. He’d seen fields wild with foxblush before, the breeze lifting the leaves and exposing the pale pink tips of their undersides in fanciful waves of color across the small meadow. If he had known how limited and precious those memories would turn out to be, even as a nothing more than a child, he would have paid more attention.

He freed his pilfered moneybag and slowly counted out the coins, careful to add correctly. The swallowstamps and belders added up to about three half-crowns in total, with a few swallowstamps in excess, if he had summed correctly. Not a great amount, but not bad, either.

He replaced the coins in the bag and made sure it was secure in one of his pockets. Only then did he look up, and his shoulders sagged at what his eyes landed upon.

The first thing he saw was the vivid violet of the tabard with the panny-colored design of the Trine Range constellation — the livery of the Kingdom Guard. His brow furrowed and he said aloud to the lieutenant of the Guard leaning on the corner of the only exit from the otherwise pleasant alleyway, Oh, now I truly am being hounded beyond reason!

The lieutenant said, You’ve cornered yourself, Gully Snipe. Honestly, I expected more from you than this.

The lieutenant’s casual attitude irritated Bayle. He had been in a tight spot or two with this one before, and this guard was too big to stand against or fight directly. The lieutenant may have had only a half finger-length in height over him, but he was substantially broader, and knew how to use his weight advantage well. The swordsman eyeing him warily was still fresh-eared in the Guard, but advanced enough to already be a lieutenant.

The lieutenant’s hand went to the sword at his hip and he commanded, Yield, Snipe! Your luck has ended! You have nowhere to run this time, and my squad is right behind me!

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, each judging the situation. In the tension of the pause between them, Bayle scratched absent-mindedly at his left palm, which had chosen the moment to begin itching.

Bayle finally bent down and picked up a small pebble and threw it at the guard. It bounced off the thick breastplate of the guard’s cuirass and tabard harmlessly.

The Snipe said triumphantly, Take that!

The lieutenant’s shoulders squared even more, but his face seemed disappointed. We’ll see who thinks this is a merry joke!

The Gully Snipe abandoned his ready stance and frowned at the guard instead. He pointed at him and began, Your...

The lieutenant waited, then prompted, What?

Your tabard has come disoriented, goodsir!

As soon as the lieutenant glanced down, Bayle darted as fast as he could. He didn’t run for the alley exit, though, because that would have meant instant capture. Instead he ran for a cart that had been left untended near a courtyard wall between two townhouses. He ran and leaped up from the edge of the little cart, narrowly grabbing and catching a rope hanging down from a hoist beam at the top of the townhouse’s gable. His momentum swung him up to where his leg could grab the top of the courtyard wall and he climbed up on it.

The lieutenant realized his split-second mistake and was after the thief instantly. He climbed on the cart, but the Snipe threw the rope onto the roof of the building where the guard couldn’t get to it.

The Snipe ran along the wall even as the lieutenant was attempting to grab the top of it to lift himself up, but was unable to do so. The Snipe called in amusement as he ran to the far end of the wall, "For shame! Have you become that easily distracted?! Have you become this fat and lazy since joining the Guard of the Iisendom that it takes no more than this to get past you?"

The lieutenant made a few more futile jumps, trying to grab the top of the wall but still always a few fingertips short, while he cursed at the Gully Snipe the entire time.

Before he clambered onto the clay tiles of the roof at the end of the wall, Bayle turned and bowed politely to the swordsman below him. And in a flash after that, the Gully Snipe disappeared across the roofs to any part of the city that was without pesky guards who would recognize him.

Chapter 2 — More Piss Than Vinegar

Roald rose up from his knees, trying to not disturb the other supplicants and peniters pressed up against him at the top of the oratory tower. Prayer was one of the times he actually appreciated the greaves he wore as part of his uniform as they made the kneeling easier on his shins. The land may have been closely swaddled in night, but the sky was clear and the stars dazzling, even if a large portion in the west was obscured by Pelaysha, the trickster moon; her fat, dark disk was almost more a spot devoid of stars than an object in the sky of its own right. Pelaysha may have obscured a great many ancestors in the sky with her dark silhouette, but there was still a crowd gathered upon the tower for the other stars in the rest of the sky.

Roald, his own prayers complete, carefully threaded his way through the quiet throng to make his exit from the open top of the tower, making sure the sword at his hip did not strike or disturb the others kneeling all around him. He had spent fifteen minutes or so praying to the small patch of sky where the stars of his own mother and father now resided, visible in the sky along the silhouetted edge of Thayhold.

As always, he had spent his entire time in prayer asking his parents for forgiveness and understanding since they could see his whole life laid bare, having taken their leave of the world below and now watching him from above. He even ventured to ask for some support if they would see fit to send it to him. Mostly he asked this on behalf of his brother, but sometimes, like this night, he asked for a little for himself as well.

It was good to ask, even if he knew he’d likely never have their forgiveness or understanding, much less their support. But he was sincere in asking for it, and it always felt good to be near both of them again for a few minutes.

He made his way down the winding wooden steps of the stone tower, passing others on their way up for their own time at prayer. At the bottom, he nodded at the robed elocutor priest waiting to assist the faithful and making sure they contributed as well. Roald placed a belder coin in the collection box at the entrance to the tower for the church, earning a kindly smile from the elocutor, and then he emerged out onto the road. His duties complete for the day, both to the crown that employed him and to his faith, he was free to go home for a much needed long sleep.

He walked casually along the streets, emptier now since it was well after midnight, as he made his way deeper into the modest neighborhood where his home and bed waited. Most of the wooden and plaster apartments and homes were dark this time of night, but the occasional public torch along the street provided some illumination for those still out.

Roald sighed heavily and looked forward to taking the heavy cuirass off when he got home. The day had been very long, and because of the trickster moon’s position in the sky, it had been an exhausting one. It would still be hours yet before the brilliant light of Vasahle, the laughing moon, would rise rapidly over Kitemount for the second time that day, finally dampening the mischief and nonsense that the disruptive trickster moon invariably brought out in the people. If the laughing moon had only risen hours earlier, while he was still on duty, he would have had a much easier day of it.

There had been three different drunken fights in three different meadhouses that he had to help break up, one of which seemed to involve all ten people in the meadhouse at the time. His whole squad had had to step in to quell that one. He had also chased and run down a pickpocket that had been causing trouble along one of the busier streets near the Chalk Market. Then there was the servant girl that had been beaten by her employer, a well-to-do merchant, over a carelessly broken dinner plate. Finally, there was a dispute between two sellers in the Chalk Market, one a peddler of dubious looking salt meat and the other a poulterer. The two had been arguing over the location of the chalk line dividing their modest stalls. It had come to blows and the seller of salt meat began trying to free the chickens and geese that the poulterer was selling. By the time Roald had arrived to settle the tempers and haul off anyone who had gone too far, several other vendors and peddlers had been dragged into the increasingly violent argument.

And none of this took into account his run-in with the Gully Snipe in the alleyway earlier. Roald was still very frustrated by that encounter.

His occupied mind and tired body stopped in the street in front of his own apartment before he even realized he had arrived. He trudged up the narrow staircase between his apartment and the building next to it and entered the small space that was now his after his mother’s death.

Roald was so tired that it took a moment to realize he didn’t need to light a candle. There was already a small fire burning in the sooty fireplace at the far end, and the room had been tidied up since he had left to go on duty. He had dared not hope to have the company, but was pleased and energized to know he wasn’t alone tonight in spite of all. The sight of the body asleep in his bed made him feel better and his heart give a small leap of joy.

He very quietly removed his belt and sword, then sat down in the simple wooden chair, hoping it wouldn’t creak in protest. He continued removing his violet tabard and the thick leather cuirass, his boots and greaves, and finally his tunic and breeches, until he was stripped down to nothing but the barecloths around his waist. Already he felt a hundred pounds lighter from the weight of the day and duty.

He crossed to the table and poured some water into a glass bowl the color of pale lavender. The bowl would normally be too extravagant for someone like him to own were it not for the fact that his father had made it in his glasswork below the apartment. That was back when his father was alive and before the glasswork had been rented out to an iron monger instead. He took a scrap of cloth, wet it in the bowl and wiped himself down, then dried his back, chest and legs with his own breeches before laying them over the chair to dry again. He dampened his mahogany-colored hair with water from the bowl and then combed it back out with his fingers, feeling more refreshed than he had all day.

Roald stared at the hair, the color of a young fawn, sticking up from under the rough sheet as he cleaned himself, the firelight dancing across the unmoving form in the bed. He warmed and dried himself by the fire for a moment more, then crossed to the bed, lifted the sheet, and climbed into it carefully.

The bed wasn’t large, and even if he tried to keep a modest distance, the two occupants would still have touched, not that this displeased Roald at all. He had spent most of his life sharing this bed with the person already in it, although it was far less frequently lately. Roald lay on his back and relished the simple pleasure of the touch that the warm body next to him generated. The ardor he felt for his unexpected bedmate sent a warm shiver down his spine.

The head of flaxen hair stirred slightly at the intrusion in the bed, and shifted to make room, and then grunted through a stifled yawn, Mrmphf... once again... I find myself... hounded beyond reason.

On a different day, Roald would have found the comment amusing, but he started to fret over something else instead. So, he asked, do you really think I’ve become fat and lazy?

The young man next to him rolled in the bed to fix his dark hazel eyes on him. His bedmate laughed and said, No. I speak truthfully, Roald, when I say I have to be keener of mind and swifter of body when you give me chase than any of the other guards. You should be more than just a lieutenant.

Despite his promotions and the lauds of his fellow guards, how Roald’s brother saw him far outweighed any other opinions of his strength and prowess he had heard, and the comment in their earlier encounter had prickled at his skin all day. The reassurance felt good to him and he was able to relax more now.

"You were careless today, Bayle. I spied you and followed you with no effort. And my squad was not far behind me, as I said in the alleyway. No matter how much I hate the idea, if I catch you, I will haul you in and throw you in the gaol. Our agreement still stands," said Roald, shifting the smallest bit closer to him in the bed, hoping for their bodies to touch a little more.

I would expect nothing else of you. But... you still have to catch me first, and you see how much sleep I lose worrying about that! said Bayle, yawning again. Roald felt the breath on his shoulder as Bayle spoke and it sent fresh quivers through him. He sorely missed the young man next to him when he vanished on his frequent wanderings, and his presence again made him as lightheaded as a strong wine. And call me Gully, please, Bayle added, almost sadly. I am what I am, Roald.

Roald turned onto his side so he could see his brother better. He said, You were hard on the guards, too, Gully. You mustn’t be so rough with them.

Bayle’s eyes flashed and he said more sternly, "That one punched me hard! I lost a tooth today and my jaw is still aching! Yet you chide me for how I treat them?!"

You hurt Ebenhen today! He had to go home to rest for the remainder of his watch.

Who’s Ebenhen? asked Bayle.

The guard you threw overhead when you slid to the ground! I know you don’t intend to and it’s naught but a game to you, as it often is to me, too, to be honest. But my fellow swordsmen are fiercely determined to catch you, and they fear you at the same time, which makes them dangerous to you, insisted Roald. "When they do catch you, it’s going to go very bad for you and I may not be there to help you. Go easy on them, Gully, for me and for yourself."

I didn’t want to use that move, but they have all learnt nothing from one another. If they still fall for it despite all the other times I’ve used it, it is not my fault!

Just try not to hurt them, please, begged Roald. He paused a moment, then mentioned, I prayed to the stars tonight that I could one day get you to join with the Kingdom Guard.

Gully dismissed the idea with an impatient pssht.

I’m serious, Gully. The Guard could use someone with the talents and skills you have. Let the Snipe disappear for a year; you’re good at that already! Go to stay in Kindern or up north in Coldstone where no one knows you, or even back in the bogs for that matter. Then come back and join up after everyone has forgotten all about you. You could stop all this pointless wandering and searching. Make a real life for yourself!

Roald stopped, fearing he had said words that would sting his brother. He knew that Gully’s searching and wandering was far from pointless, at least to him. He didn’t want to press too hard, either, for fear of insulting him or hurting his brother’s feelings.

Gully, or Bayle, lay quietly, staring up at the roof overhead. Roald felt sure that his words had caused pain now, something that he would never intentionally do. Not to the man next to him. Never.

I’m sorry, Gully. I didn’t mean that the way it came out, said Roald.

He’s my father, Roald, said Gully. "It’s not pointless, you know."

Roald watched Gully’s hand reach unconsciously to his throat, which it often did at the mention of his father. He was relieved to hear that Gully’s voice didn’t sound hurt like he thought it would. He was unsure of doing so, but he reached up from under the sheet and used a finger to run the hair from Gully’s forehead, touching him gently. He expected Gully to pull away, but he didn’t. Roald savored the privilege of the touch as he watched the green and brown play in Gully’s eyes and the pink in his brother’s fair-skinned cheek. Roald said, I know you miss him, but it’s been ten years now.

I can’t give up on him, even this late, said Gully. "You can’t know what it’s like to have your father just disappear one day. Having your father die after the accident in his glassworks was, I’m sure, painful for you. But it’s a kindness compared to having him simply not come home one day. He was the only person in the world that I had, and he vanished! I must find him! Gully sighed and conceded, Or... at least... find out what happened to him."

Roald knew that Gully was right; it was hard for him to fathom what Gully had gone through with his father.

Gully added, Besides, you just want me near so you can keep trying to turn me knockered, climb into bed with me, and have me play the fairer for you!

The spark was back in his brother’s voice now and Roald was glad the room was dark and the firelight hid the blush from Gully’s mention of his secret shame. But his brother was only teasing him. Gully may have kept him at arm’s length for ten years on, but it was never because of Roald’s unnatural attractions. His brother never once made him feel bad or less because of it. It was a secret his brother would never betray, no matter the cost. It made him love the man next to him all the more, even if that love could never be returned the way Roald wished for every day. The longing permeated every bit of him as he lay there.

Listen to you... said Roald, trying to lighten the mood as his brother Bayle had, "always full of piss and vinegar... far more piss than vinegar, as usual. And who says we can’t take turns playing the fairer? Hmm? There’s a variety for you that you’ll never get from the girls you spy upon from a distance and sigh at, to be sure!"

Gully nodded and grinned, Aye... aye, I suppose you speak true!

They rested in an easy silence before Gully spoke again. Do you ever see old Almonee?

On some occasions, I do, said Roald.

I saw her today, near the Bonedown. She looked thin to me. I gave her a few coins. Your mother would want you to give her some, too.

You did? Stolen ones? asked Roald.

Of course. Do I have any other kind? chuckled Gully. And my income’s provenance has certainly never stopped you before when I’ve brought food or ale back.

This got to the heart of why Roald didn’t hold Bayle’s criminal vocation against him. His brother stole little to begin with, even though his skill would allow him to steal much larger amounts if he wanted to. And what he did steal, he shared the majority of with those around him, especially those in need of a little help. And the largest bulk of his brother’s time, when he was out wandering and searching, he fended for himself in the woods and bogs, and no one was better at it. Nevertheless, Bayle’s crimes, if even half were discovered, would still be enough for him to hang by a coarse rope noose, but hardly any of the stolen money or goods were missed to begin with. It seemed to Roald that the punishment, if ever administered, would be out of balance with the crimes committed. But even then, his brother never tried to justify what he did, nor did he seek to shirk the label of his choice of careers.

"She’s our mother, not just mine, Gully, groused Roald, repeating a correction he found himself insisting on constantly. And as you know... food will spoil, and ale or mead drunk by others just means more troublemakers for me to deal with. Preventing waste and vice is its own virtue," added Roald, but Gully had started chuckling at his cheeky airs long before he had finished speaking.

Without a doubt! mocked Gully.

I give Almonee a few coins when I can spare them myself, said Roald, made to feel selfish and greedy by a thief in his bed, as had happened on more than one occasion. He shouldn’t feel this way towards him, but he was in a way proud of Bayle, the Gully Snipe, the notorious Thief of Iisen. He was proud of the person his brother was.

All the things Roald felt for the person next to him — the comfort, the pride, the affection, the longing — threatened to overflow. If his brother, Bayle, ever disappeared the way others in the kingdom had, especially when he was out in the woods and bogs, it would be more than Roald could take, he felt. Gully had said that Roald wouldn’t know what it was like to have someone he loved disappear. He didn’t, but he knew the agony of worrying about it, of feeling like it would one day be almost inevitable, and the loss that hadn’t even happened yet was almost crippling. The only consolation was that if there was one thing the Gully Snipe knew to the last detail more than even the city of Lohrdanwuld, it was the very woods and bogs of the Ghellerweald that could so easily claim the lives of others. He had been raised there as a child, after all, and had been taught its ways extraordinarily well by the father that had then disappeared himself.

He had tried many times to get Gully to stop going back to the woods and bogs because of the dangers therein. Gully’s point, and Roald had to concede it was a good one, was that people disappeared from the city as well; it wasn’t anything unique to the woods. If the gypsies wanted to steal away someone new, the city walls seemed to provide no protection to stop them.

Before they fell asleep, and before Roald said something even worse, he told Gully, I know you know this, but I’m glad you’re my brother, Bayle.

"Foster brother..." insisted Gully.

Gully’s recalcitrance towards seeing Roald and his mother, who had found him alone and wandering on the edge of the woods ten years earlier, as real family instead of nothing more than a foster family always broke Roald’s heart.

‘Foster’ is but a word, said Roald, his voice carrying the wound. Even with your distance and your incessant wandering and your complete disregard for authority, I would not be able to choose someone better than you, Bayle, he whispered.

He said it and felt better for having done so, even if Gully would understand what he was really saying and would grow a little uncomfortable at his advances. He waited for Gully to push a little bit further away from him despite the bed offering little recourse.

And as expected, Gully turned and faced away from him. But then his brother gave Roald a gift. Gully shifted back to press up against his brother and would-be suitor slightly. Roald sighed and placed an arm around Bayle and held him comfortably, accepting the small gift of affection from his brother. He even ventured to give Bayle a brief kiss on the back of his head.

Gully warned, As Vasahle is my witness, if I feel your blunted weapon at my backside, I’ll run you through with my knife as you sleep.

Roald smiled to himself and said, It would be well worth it.

He closed his eyes to let himself sink into the sleep he’d waited for all day, but an eye crept back open as Gully said a moment later, his tone now gentler than the threat he had made, If I am ever to be hauled off to justice for my crimes, I would prefer it to be by your hands before any others’, Roald. I would be proud of you. With everything in me, I would be proud for it to be you to do it.

Roald closed his eyes again, but did not let himself fall asleep yet. He waited until he heard the slowly paced breaths of the person he held close, and listened for a while to the most soothing sound he could ever hope to hear. Roald prayed again to his parents now twinkling in the sky above him that he would never be the one to run the Gully Snipe to the ground. He prayed he’d never see the Gully Snipe thrown in the pits of the gaol or hung at dawn on the Bonedown.

Slowly, the peaceful and measured work of Roald’s own chest matched that of his brother’s as he fell asleep with his arm around him.

Chapter 3 — Cheese And Insults

How much for the chicory? asked Gully.

The chicory, ye say? Eh, let ye have a couple o’ scoops fer, I say, oh... well... said the old man. Let me thinks on it... hum... He scratched at a scab on his head while stalling, and Gully could instantly tell he was hoping to see if any other vendors in the South Peddle market were selling it or not. Gully smiled to himself, finding it foolish of the old man not to have checked earlier for competition that might drive his prices down.

Gully helped him out. "Won’t find any other chicory in the South Peddle, old man. No one to undercut your prices. But I could go over to the King’s Market and get a couple of scoops’ worth for four swallowstamps." It would be so easy to lie to the man and trick him into selling it too cheaply, but Gully wasn’t out to take advantage of him. The chicory was a convenient excuse to start a conversation; he was far more interested in talking to the old man than he was in the buying and selling of goods.

The old man laughed in relief and said, Four swallowstamps, then, for two fair scoops. Bigger scoops than yeh gets at the fancy King’s Market, I’ll wager! And I saves ye the walk!

And what’s this you’re selling?

Ah, that be lemon balm, and the dried leaves here are ahramanic leaf!

Ahramanic leaf? Don’t often find that for sale here. Do you grow it yourself?

The old man smoothed his white hair back and said, Nay, nay... know where it grows wild. Better’n the farmed variety, ’tis.

The South Peddle market was quieter than usual, even for the early afternoon, probably because the sky was heavy and ready to unburden itself of its raindrops at any moment. No one else was pressing up against the peddler’s small square of ground with its few baskets and leather pouches that displayed his wares.

Gully asked, I don’t recall seeing you peddle here before. Do you pick it near here?

The old man’s face turned nervous and he pursed his lips in a rapid succession a few times as he thought how to answer. He finally replied, Where I pick it ’tis me own business!

Gully laughed out loud and said, No cause for alarm, sir! I’m not looking to pirate your trove of ahramanic! I’m merely curious as to where you’re from...

Ah... live to the south of East End, I do, on the edge of the Ghellerweald. Me wifey and I have a place near to the South Pass Road. We grows the chicory in a patch out back, but the ahramanic I gets down near to the boggy woods, below the South Pass Road.

The man instantly interested Gully even more. He moved in a little closer and checked to make sure no one was nearby or listening to them.

The old man clucked his tongue thoughtfully and continued, Normally sells at the market in East End, buts there’s a want of people parting with their coins lately. I venture throughs the mountain pass to the land of Maqara sometimes to trade and sell, if they lets me in. But theys a strange people to the like o’ me, so I decided to try me luck selling here in the capital this time.

Gully had never ventured into Maqara, but had heard some tales of its people. It was a much larger and more powerful kingdom to the east and the only thing that really protected Iisen from the Maqarans was the all but impassable mountain range called the Sheard Mountains, which separated the two lands. The Maqaran Pass was the one navigable passage between the kingdoms.

He asked the old man, How is that? How are they strange to you?

Looks at me like an animal, they do. And theys enslave their own people. Men, womenfolk, and even the little wee ones! Think naught of it, they don’t, owning their own folk like property! said the peddler with distaste. Wish it was we had nothings to do with the lot of ’em, but when our Prince Thaybrill gets his crown closely nigh and then marries that princess of theirs, we’ll have more of ’em round than we want. It’ll all come to bad, says I!

Gully was barely paying attention to the old man’s rant about the politics of the Iisendom and its neighboring land. His mind was wondering about other things.

When you travel to our fair city here, do you, perchance, take the East End Road, or do you come through the forest itself by way of the South Pass Road? asked Gully.

Oh, takes the South Pass Road. Always have when making me way towards Lohrdanwuld.

Gully decided to ask. As a small child, I grew up not far off of that road. Perhaps you met my father, in the woods of the Ghellerweald or on the road running through it. Even in East End, perchance. He was a broad man... coal black hair, coal black beard, thick but kept short. He had piercing eyes. Never carried a sword, but had a throwing knife near to hand at all times.

The old man rubbed his chin and thought back, but then asked, What be his name?

He is named Ollon. He and I traveled to East End a few times, said Gully. The trips to the city of East End, and the more infrequent ones to Lohrdanwuld itself, always frightened Gully as a child. There were too many people and the cities were too busy and confusing to him. But his father had always sensed his unease and kept him close and made him feel safe. And loved. His father never let him feel unloved for even a single moment. And so now, those times with his father were far more precious than all the money he had ever stolen.

Ollon, eh? Hmm... The old man thought some more.

Gully grew dispirited at the man’s face. He explained to him, ’Twould have been ten years ago now.

The old peddler shook his head sadly, Nay... can’t says I recalls an Ollon. The old man scrunched his face into a pained look. Was he... your father... was he one of the disappeared? he asked quietly, sympathetically.

Gully nodded, his own pained expression now joining the old man’s. Yes, vanished one day, said Gully in a whisper.

The man frowned even more. Me own daughter, me only child... she vanished four years ago now. Not a trace. Barely 14 at the time, and sweet as treacle, she was.

I am sorry to hear that, said Gully.

Took me wife a while to gives me a child. Little Luessa was all we managed to have, replied the man. Now I gots no one with a youthful vigor whats can help me work our bit of land, an’ the bones of old Brohnish Pelkurc don’t hold up to what they used to, he said, holding his hands out from his sides to show his age and failing strength.

You don’t recall seeing anyone on the South Pass Road that might be my father?

The man thought back again, then shook his head. To speak of, never met naught of anyone on the South Pass ’cept the rare cart of his Lordship veBasstrolle carrying apples or pannyfruit to sells to them Maqarans. Ye say ye grew up in the deep of the forest bogs? And ye lived? Never heard of a soul like that me whole life!

I did. Know them as I know my own hands, said Gully.

What be yer name, kind sir?

Gully hesitated. My name is Bayle Delescer, he finally admitted. He was always reluctant to give away anything that tied him too much to Roald for fear it may cause his foster brother harm one day. But that is the name my foster family gave to me. My father, Ollon, called me by the name Di’taro.

Di’taro, eh? repeated Brohnish, scratching at his chin. Queer sort of name. Never heard a boy called such in all me heap o’ days.

My father and I had a pet fox that was named Pe’taro. My father said it meant ‘Big Fox.’ And I was named Di’taro, which means ‘Little Fox.’ Gully loved the name and had sometimes wondered about what old or strange tongue his father knew that was the source of these words. But no one else ever seemed to recognize them. When he was young, and Astrehd took him in, Roald had teased him of his silly name. Gully had defended it to the best of his ability, but Roald was two years older than he and much bigger, so fighting back did little to change things. Astrehd decided on ‘Bayle’ to end the bickering and make him