Children of the Winter

By Thomas Tipton

With writing as harsh and brutal as the
landscape in which the story is set, Children of the Winter chronicles the
lives and times of the Wolf Pack as told by one of their own, a "Street
Rat" turned soldier.  Follow Bulldog's adventures as he and his
motley crew battle as those that would be gods roll the dice in the eternal
struggle.  Will Darkness engulf Kronus
or will the Children of the Winter cast off their cloaks and walk into the
spring time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 30, 2003
• ISBN: 9781410737830

Thomas Tipton

Tip was born in 1975 and lives in Texas with his incredible children. He teaches high school art, watches too much kung fu, and dreams in infrared. He is the notorious author of Into the Breach Once More, To Catch a Tiger by the Tail, Archangel, Shadows Wait to Play, Wolves' Blood Rising, Ashes in the Fall, and Shattered Skies in my Eyes.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Her sleep was troubled.

The Blind Elf tossed and turned with more fury than her small frame should have been able to bear. Sweat beaded on her pale skin. Tangled in her silk sheets, the ancient Elf struggled against dreams and visions only she could dream.

A scribe sat nearby, watching the Elf in uneasy silence. He was also Elven, though of a different tribe. He had not left her side in decades, for this was the Oracle and her words were sacred. He had been chosen as scribe to the Oracle for his inherent Elven ability to live without the need of sleep, handpicked by Syrus the Sagacious. It had been the greatest honor of his long life, for Syrus was beloved and respected by all the peoples of Koda. The scribe’s life was dedicated to recording every word she uttered, even down to the ramblings usually directed at no one but herself.

He looked away for only a moment, his eyes darting toward the window. The Oracle liked them open during these warm summer months. A hot wind blew into the room, bringing with it the sounds of war. The Dragon Princes grow bolder, he thought.

Sweat ran in rivulets from his brow as he anticipated the Oracle’s awakening and divining of her dreams. Quill and ink prepared, parchment nearby, the Elven scribe sat poised as the Oracle woke with a sharp cry and bolted upright. With vacant eyes, she spoke.

I say that the way shall be made open for those from days of future past by dark bargaining and sinister alliance. The new world shall be covered in blood and death shall fill the land as those who would be gods roll the dice in the eternal struggle. The shining ones shall fall, though the Chosen One appears as a burning light in the darkness. His eyes will shine as diamonds in the hour of need, as those that would stand are scattered to the wind in the face of those that destroy …

The Oracle’s eyes widened in horror and a blood-freezing scream rent the night air. Rising quickly, the scribe rushed to her side. She seemed lost in the vision. He touched her arm and spoke her name, but she did not recognize him.

He comes, she cried. Even across the Great Nothing, he comes.

Then, she grabbed the scribe and pulled him to her. He noticed her lips tremble as her face hovered mere inches from his own.

Beware the Despoiler.

Knights in full armor burst into the room, drawn by the scream of the Oracle. Swords drawn, they rushed the empty space, finding the Oracle and scribe.

What is it, Elf? one of them asked. He was a grim figure with white hair and fiery eyes.

We must find the Chosen One, Syrus, the Oracle whispered. The Forsaken comes.

Chapter 2

New Blood

I ran as hard as I could, legs pumping, sucking ragged breaths as I moved beyond the crowds in the streets. It was a testament to the incompetence of my pursuers that I had not been captured. I was not built for sprinting. With no idea if or when I had lost my pursuers, I kept running until I found myself beyond the markets where I was known to commit petty theft. Here, in the industrial complex, I could eat in peace and maybe, if luck was with me, I could get a decent night’s sleep. I was hungry and thoughts of the fresh loaf of bread and large wedge of cheese I had just liberated from a street vendor were making my stomach cramp. It took me three tries to find a building where someone had forgotten to lock a window before they left for the day. I climbed inside a warehouse full of wooden crates containing nothing I cared to steal, thankful I’d be bedding down on a full stomach for once.

My day had been mostly routine. Wake up early, scavenge through Low Town for a few scraps, avoid getting picked up in a magistrate street sweep, and strive to live to see the next day. Within the warehouse I found a worker’s lounge of some sort, complete with tables and a small well worn couch I planned to take full advantage of. I sat and ate and considered myself blessed to have found this place.

This warehouse could be a safe place to spend my nights. Those were rare, but I felt confident this place could be a further blessing. Every great hero has a base of operations after all, and I entertained myself with thoughts of heroism as I ate and then settled on the couch as the last rays of light faded.

I didn’t know any heroes and I suspected the stories were all ill remembered garbage anyway. I’d be lying if I said I cared nothing for them, though. I was as fascinated by tales of old heroes as the next guy. Even I had to admit, in my day to day life, those stories meant very little. They certainly meant nothing as I lay down and let the day slide from me. All that mattered was that the following day was the Sabbath, so no one would be at work early enough to get the jump on me and I could catch up on some neglected rest.

My mind wandered from tales of heroes as sleep closed in. I thought of the young rich girl who had invited me to her family’s estate earlier in the day. I was no fool. I knew she had only taken up with the likes of me as a way to give her father grief, but I had no problem playing my part. After she and I spent the day together, he threatened to have me killed and I slipped over the property’s wall before things got entirely out of hand. She had been a pretty little thing, obviously well practiced in the more intimate past times of the young and restless. I remembered her touch, her lips, and her big blue eyes. What was her name again?

Sleep, that tireless hunter, caught up with me before I could pull it from my memory. I dreamed.

I awoke to explosions. They rocked the warehouse, dumping books and other assorted business items from the shelf above my head. Rubbing my bruised temple, I rolled into the floor of the lounge and crawled to the door. There I peeked carefully around the door frame. I could only see silhouettes, but they were locked in combat.

The sounds of shouted orders and steel on steel echoed throughout the warehouse. Lights of all colors followed by rumbling explosions and the sizzle of electricity told me that more than a few Corilium were mixed up in this little rumble. I had no intention of hanging around long enough to become one of them. Gathering my tattered cloak, long knife, and other meager belongings, I made my way slowly back toward the window through which I had entered, considering that my best escape route. Too concerned with sneaking around the fighting in my vicinity, I realized, too late, that was the direction from which most of the fighting was coming.

I was large for a young man of seventeen winters, so stealth, like sprinting, wasn’t exactly my strong suit. I decided sitting still might just be my best option. Peeking around the edge of a stack of crates, I had a great view of the battle. I recognized some of the combatants as those polite society had dubbed street rats. Outcasts, orphans, thieves, and other undesirables who had taken to living in the streets, yes, I knew my own even if their ragged clothing hadn’t marked them as poor and under privileged.

This group had run afoul of the local police in a major way. I’d never seen this sort of open warfare perpetrated by either side. There were skirmishes, sure, but the fighting I witnessed in the warehouse was akin to what I imagined of military combat.

The street rats were severely outnumbered by grey and blue clad city magistrates, who were, much to my dismay, moving toward me as they chased the street rats. There would be no way to convince them I was not part of the group they were fighting. Hero that I was, I ducked behind the crates as two Corilium youngsters ran by, followed by several magistrates. One of the thieves suddenly stopped and turned, surprising the magistrate who was probably not used to this level of resistance. The street rat stabbed the magistrate in the thigh, and then tackled the man to the ground. The other street rat let loose his natural inborn power, which in this case took the form of crackling green bolts of energy from his outstretched hands. The magistrate’s armor, though designed to absorb and negate bioelectric energy, wasn't up to the task. It exploded. The pieces tore into the magistrate’s legs, shredding clothing and muscle alike.

My mouth went dry. I didn’t want to be there and I started to do something about it, deciding to make a run for an exit. I did so, though the fighting forced me to move slower and take a less direct route than I desired. Before I could even determine an exit, my world went white and I found myself flying across the room as the stack of crates I had been using for cover went up in a ball of fire. I landed head first in a tangle of shattered wood and steel, which knocked me senseless and crushed the wind from my lungs. I tried desperately to rise, but my head felt as if it had been bolted to the floor and the rest of my body refused to obey my commands. Blackness closed in on the edges of my consciousness and I thought happily, hell can't be any worse than this.

Falcon used his broadsword to block aside a magistrate’s sword thrust, and then hammered his left fist into the smaller man's nose before moving to his next opponent. Everywhere he looked, he could see that crates were on fire and it would not be long before the whole warehouse was nothing more than a fiery grave. Magistrates were taught to keep the use of their inborn powers to a minimum, but they were generally little more than hired thugs. In most cases, they were no better than those they were trying to catch. Whatever restraint they had been trained was gone. These men were no longer trying to capture the street rats. They were fighting with intent to kill. The truth was, Falcon’s gang was simply overmatched by the more numerous and better equipped magistrates.

I've enjoyed about all of this I can for one night, boys. Let's get outta here, he shouted.

Pulling at astral energy, energy given off by every living soul, Falcon weaved the energies into a spiritual shield as concrete and solid as any wall. Again and again, the baffled magistrates hammered at the glowing shield, but their swords and axes were of no use. All the magistrates could do was watch in disgust as the street rats retreated into the shadows of the warehouse and out into the night. The spell would fade before long, but it would give Falcon and his boys enough time to make good their escape.

Falcon smiled and mockingly saluted the magistrates. Then he turned to follow his people as they disengaged and made a break for an exit. Before he could take more than a couple of steps, however, he noticed a large youngster lying unconscious in a pile of splintered crates, blood running from his temple.

He cursed under his breath. This one was not one of his, but he was a street rat and Falcon could not leave him to die at the hands of the magistrates or the fire.

Raptor, give me a hand with this.

Another of the street rats sheathed his blade. Together, they managed to carry the unconscious Corilium out into the darkened city streets.

I awoke sometime later, my head ringing like the great cathedral bells on Sabbath. Opening my eyes, I realized almost in a panic, that I had absolutely no idea where I was. I looked around as inconspicuously as possible. All around me were ragged blankets and other items scattered along the walls. Swords and crossbows lined makeshift racks. Personal belongings such as boots and items of clothing seemed to mark an occupant’s area. Several people lay sleeping or lounging throughout the large room. From the moss on the ceiling and the water dribbling through small cracks in the mortar of the walls, I guessed I was in an abandoned section of the sewer. I had spent more than a few nights in similar tunnels. The walls were, or had been at one time, the ageless grey of granite with its swirling designs. Now it was a foul shade of green in the weak candlelight. There were no windows and only one large circular door, so clumps of candles set up strategically throughout the room provided the only illumination.

I realized that a few of those I had seen in the warehouse were in the room going about various activities, seemingly paying no attention to little old me. I tried to sit up several times, finally managing the feat by rolling over and pushing myself to my knees on shaky arms. I was in pain. It seemed to me that even parts of my body I had forgotten I possessed were screaming at me to be still. Yes, Sir, I was a mass of bruised muscles and sore joints and was immediately sorry I had tried to rise.

A pair of very strong hands was suddenly pulling me to my feet, holding me steady. After what seemed several minutes of me trying to get my feet under me, I turned to face whoever it was that had helped me up. I was surprised to see a young man approximately my size standing before me. At six foot four, I was accustomed to being the biggest guy in any given room. This guy stood a good six foot three inches tall and carried a healthy muscle mass to boot.

How ya feeling? he said with a grin.

Despite my head ringing and vertigo threatening to overwhelm me, I managed to say, Who are you? Where am I? as my legs gave way.

He grabbed me by the shoulder to keep me from toppling over.

Just relax, big fella, he said, leading me over to a table where I sat down gingerly in an old wooden chair.

We found you unconscious in some trashed crates and decided we couldn't let the magistrates find you amongst all that unexplained property damage. You've got a slight concussion and few more battle scars to brag about, he answered.

Doesn’t tell me who you are, I said. Where are we?

This is the Lair and we are affectionately known as the Wolf Pack, he said, his arms outstretched as if the room was some large kingdom.

I had heard of these guys. Everyone knew of them. A gang of street rats raiding magistrate caravans and strongholds, stealing whatever they could made for good story telling among the inhabitants of Low Town. They had a reputation for being surly and in most cases, rival gangs left them be.

I'm Falcon, the elected leader of this merry little band of cutthroats, he said. He was wearing a pair of black pants made of heavy Corilium denim and a simple cotton shirt that had faded to a dark grey. Despite the clothing, I could see he was heavily muscled. His hair was a dark brown, unkempt strands hanging down into his face. His penetrating blue eyes shone brightly with mischievous glee. I knew immediately he was a plainsman, a Khorinin. It didn’t occur to me at the moment that he was completely out of place in this Corilium city.

Falcon pointed to a large man sitting across the table with his feet propped up.

That's Roach.

Roach was almost as tall as Falcon, not uncommon for Corilium, but he had nowhere near the sheer muscle mass of the Khorinin. Roach looked at me with what one might call indifference, then pulled a boot knife and began cleaning his nails. Call it a hunch, but I did not foresee he and I being fast friends.

Next is Raptor, Falcon continued giving the less than friendly Roach a black glare. Raptor was in what passed for the kitchen just off the room containing the table. I had already begun to think of it as the dining room. Raptor just stared at me, his face an impassive mask. He stood about six foot two, but he was built as solid as an old tree trunk. He wore a pair of pants and soft leather boots and his shirt was a sleeveless mess, little more than a rag at this point. His chest swelled under the movement of muscle as he threw a bloodied rag to another Khorinin who had just entered the dining room from another archway. The newcomer caught the rag with ease, ignored Raptor altogether, and shook my hand in the warrior’s grip, wrist to wrist.

This was Avian, Raptor's older brother. With shaggy brown hair and light blue- gray eyes, the brothers could have been twins, though I was assured by both this was not the case.

Two Corilium girls followed Avian into the dining room carrying small baskets covered with cloth. The first stood at least a foot shorter than Falcon or I. Loren had large brown eyes and reddish-brown hair. I could tell by the way Falcon’s eyes softened and his smile grew that they were together. Despite he being so big and her so small, I had no trouble imagining them as a couple. They just fit somehow.

The other young woman set a bowl of assorted fruits and cheeses on the table. If I had believed in that sort of thing, I would have been instantly head over heels in love. Her name was Hope and she had beautiful blonde hair that cascaded down her lean body to the small of her back. She graced me with a smile as Falcon said her name. For a moment, I was drowning in those sparkling green eyes.

And then there's Mojo and Ryder.

Turning my attention back to the room in which I had awoken, I noted that Mojo and Ryder were both Corilium, both had black hair, but that is where the similarities ended. Mojo, dressed in all black, sat quietly on a corner pallet holding a book. I guessed he was of medium height and medium build while Ryder was the exact opposite. The little Corilium had a bird's curved beak for a nose and a skinny, almost spindly frame. His clothing was gaudy and in pretty good repair for a street rat, though. He bowed almost in half when his name was called.

I'm called Bulldog, I said with a self-conscious smile. My father had nicknamed me because I was tenacious, but I had always felt it was childish.

Well, Bulldog, Falcon said as if that thought did not occur to him at all. With names like Falcon and Raptor, maybe it wasn’t so strange after all. Here's the way I see it. You can stay here with us, follow my lead, and live pretty comfortably, or I can have Raven knock you out and dump you in an alley when he gets back. Can’t have you leading any of the good magistrates back to our humble home in the event that you get pinched and entertain ideas of trading us in for your own freedom.

A little trusting aren’t you? I asked.

Maybe, Falcon said. Consider it a job offer, a trade if you like. You don’t have to spend any more time scrounging for a living on your own and we could definitely use some more muscle.

Looks to me like you’ve got plenty of muscle, I said, nodding toward Raptor and Avian. But, I’ll take the job.

Good, Falcon exclaimed, clapping me on the shoulder as he rose and followed Loren back into the kitchen.

Who's Raven? I asked.

Oh, he's another of my little devils. You'll meet him soon enough, he said with a wink. But for now I think you ought to get some more rest. You still look like someone tried to tap dance on your forehead.

I couldn't have agreed more. Grabbing an apple from a bowl on the table, I moved back into the sleeping quarters and settled on the pallet where I had been sleeping before. I took one last look around at those I would be sharing quarters with. An odd group, I thought.

Gotta beat hustling in the streets, I mumbled as I bit into the apple.

The others laugh at me occasionally for keeping these annals, but I thought the true story should be recorded somewhere, even if it’s for no other reason than to remember where we came from.

The next morning, or as near to morning as I could tell, the lair having no windows, I woke to soft conversation. I looked around and noticed that neither Falcon nor Roach were in their pallets, though Loren still slept peacefully in the one she and Falcon shared. Faint light glowed from the kitchen area and I let my curiosity get the better of me. I stood, stretched, and found that I was not nearly as sore as I had been before. Easing my way between pallets so as to not wake anyone else, I peered around the corner into the dining room. Falcon and Roach were sitting with three others. I was startled to see three Kintara staring back at me. I had never seen a Kintara before, but I had heard enough stories about the volatile little warriors to recognize them immediately. They were all male, with dark sun-tanned skin and long hair that varied in color among the three. Of similar height, the three warriors could have been brothers so similar were their features. What startled me most were their eyes, though. The orbs had no irises, or pupils, or anything else that might identify them as eyes. They were simply white, though not the milky white of a blinded eye. Instead, these were the bright glowing eyes of nocturnal predators.

Did you decide you'd get your butt up outta bed today, Sunshine? Roach asked with a sneer. Apparently I had been sleeping for quite a while. Still marveling at the Kintara, I ignored Roach. Falcon gestured toward the warriors.

This is Prowl, Ferel, and Raven, Falcon said. My eyes were drawn to Raven, though I couldn’t say why exactly. He was the shortest of the three, but was stockier in the chest and legs. Something was different about him, though, different even than his two kinfolk who were as exotic as people came in my limited world. Where Ferel and Prowl had black and brown hair respectively, Raven’s was silver, though not the silver of age.

When he turned his eyes on me, I was thankful my bladder was empty. Something in his gaze unnerved me. I found myself battling fear.

This is Bulldog, our new boy, Falcon said, breaking a sudden uncomfortable silence. All three regarded me with unreadable expressions.

As I was saying, not much happened after we set the captives free. Hellfire was plenty pissed, but they had given up the chase. Prowl decided to send an arrow Marshall Hellfire's way, though, Ferel said with a venomous look towards Prowl.

Did you get him? Falcon asked, leaning forward expectantly. Nailing Hellfire would have been grounds for celebration for every street rat in the city. The guy was a hard case, no doubt about it.

Of course he got him. Put an arrow right in his rear, but then it was duck and run for the next six hours. They’re probably still looking for us, Ferel snapped, obviously still unhappy about it.

Falcon laughed and shook his head in disbelief.

That's just great, just perfect. You could have killed the bastard, but, no, you gotta go shoot him in the ass, Roach roared. Well, that bit of humor may cost a bunch of my friends their lives. I know you Kintara don't give a damn about other street rats, but I do and …

Shut your mouth, Roach. It's been a long night and I'm in no mood for your lip, growled Raven, silencing the Corilium. Maybe if you hadn't been such a coward and come with us, you could have done the job right.

I guessed there had been some tension over this particular subject before I came around. Roach's face darkened and he stood drawing a knife from a hip sheath.

You sawed-off runt, I'm gonna enjoy bleeding you.

Before he could finish his threat, Raven had bolted out of his chair and battered Roach's head and midsection with a flurry of kicks and punches. The big Corilium was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Ask him if he enjoyed that when he wakes up, Raven said as he walked past the startled onlookers, into the darkness of the other room.

I stared after the Kintara in amazement, but then looked back to Falcon who was caught in a fit of laughter. Ferel had joined him. The Kintara actually had tears rolling down his grinning face, he was laughing so hard. Prowl watched us all with a mysterious little grin that did not match the danger I saw lurking in his eyes.

Later in the day, having spent some time chatting with some of the others, I sat with Hope and Loren sharing a plate of sliced apples and warm bread, getting to know them a little. They were very sweet, unassuming, and I wondered why they hung around with this rough and tumble bunch. I asked. Loren said she was with Falcon. Where he went, she went. Hope did not seem to want to speak about whatever had driven her to the streets. She said she had nowhere else to go and I decided not to push the matter.

As we were finishing our meal, Avian opened the big round door answering a knock and admitted three young Corilium armed with daggers and short swords into the lair. One of them was the guy I had seen blast one of the magistrates a couple of nights back in the warehouse.

Falcon came up out of the pallet he shared with Loren, wearing a grin and nothing else. Being the modest sort, I was a bit embarrassed at the nudity, but Falcon strolled confidently over to the table, sat down, plucked an apple from the center platter, and took a bite.

Well, well, boys, what brings you two to our neck of the woods? the naked Khorinin asked around a mouthful.

Cut the crap, Falcon. We've been sent to tell you that Piper and Two-Scoops won't be sending any help today, one of the strangers, a man in his early twenties, said.

Why not? Though Falcon kept his voice even, I could see the Khorinin's eyes narrow as he said it.

Grisham's orders, the stranger said. He applied some motivational tactics to make sure those two keep their gangs on the straight and narrow today.

Which meant Grisham had threatened their families or found some other leverage that made Two-Scoops and Piper rethink their involvement with whatever Falcon was planning.

That son of a… began Roach, but Falcon cut him off with a snap of his fingers.

Grisham has called for a meeting, the second stranger said. Seems somebody busted up the arena prisoners caravan last night and shot Marshal Hellfire in the ole rump.

Falcon grinned and Roach rolled his swollen eyes.

You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? the first stranger asked.

We might have had a little something to do with it, Falcon replied, finishing off his apple.

Burn it all, Falcon! stormed the first stranger. Did it ever occur to you that pissing off the good marshal might be a bad idea? Have you been up topside at all today? No, I can see that you haven't. Well, after you screw-ups fled the scene, the marshal had every street rat he could get his hands on locked up in the arena dungeons. They’ll be shipped off to the battle front in the south by week’s end. That's right, Falcon Almighty, you just sentenced some of our friends to death.

Falcon had the man by the throat faster than I could blink. I was quickly coming to the conclusion that I was running with a more violent lot than I was used to.

First, he roared, "don't tell me you or Grisham gives a damn what happens topside. As far as I can tell, you are all happy as pigs in filth to sit down in Sub-City and let everybody up here rot. Second, you tell that drunken bum that I don't take orders from him or anybody. I'll hit that payroll wagon with or without Piper and Two-Scoops.

Yeah, whatever, just make sure you're at the meeting, three hours past mid-day at the Hall of Thieves, the first stranger said, rubbing his throat when Falcon let him loose.

If you're still alive, the second stranger sneered, as he strode though the round doorway. Raptor closed it behind them. Falcon sat with the third of the newcomers, the one I recognized from the warehouse.

Dimples, he said quietly, I'm sorry you had to spend the night with those jerk-offs.

Not a problem, Dimples replied. I could see where the grinning Dimples had gotten his name. We street rats were usually in some sort of trouble with the law, so we took aliases or were given names by our associates. After a while, the names stuck. Most of us were more than happy to leave our old lives behind anyway. I guess we thought by changing our names we could create new lives for ourselves.

The two sat in silence while the little man ate some of the bread left on someone's dinner plate.

Roach, Falcon said, looking at me, get the new guy some new clothes and a couple of weapons. Then tell the others to get themselves together. We hit the money wagon in two hours.

I took that as my cue to leave as well, sensing Falcon wanted to talk to Dimples alone. Roach handed me a broad sword, a crossbow, and a quiver of arrows from a foot locker along one of the walls in the sleeping chamber with his usual surliness. Ignoring him, I returned to my pallet, sat, oiled the weapons, and began rhythmically sharpening the blade just like my father had taught me. I tried to pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping on Dimples and Falcon who remained in the dining room speaking in low tones.

I'm not sure what those two old men are up to, Falcon, but there is definitely something up. People are disappearing left and right up topside, but nobody will tell me anything, Dimples said, throwing his hands up as if to surrender.

Did you try following them? Falcon asked, still sitting butt-naked.

Going to take someone better than me. Maybe Prowl could do it. That guy could track a snowflake in a blizzard, Dimples said, spearing an apple slice with his boot knife.

Not today. We got other business to take care of. I want you to go find the Kintara and get back here quick. I'm feeling good and there's magistrate money to be taken, Falcon exclaimed cheerfully as he walked Dimples to the door. Raven and Ferel are probably terrorizing some of the tourists. Ask them to see if there’s anything we can do about the people Hellfire is sending south.

I sat alone, losing myself in the rhythm of my sharpening. So many of the things I had learned over the last few days had me wondering just what I had managed to get myself into. War was raging in the south. Some of the guys I had known had joined up when things got particularly lean for us street rats. An empty belly can make even a soldier’s life look pretty good. Prisoners were also sent to the front lines. I wanted nothing to do with the war. I didn’t understand who we were fighting or why. I suspected the old men Dimples had mentioned and the disappearances probably had something to do with that.

Grisham was the self-proclaimed King of the Street Rats. I had heard rumors that the old man actually worked for Marshal Hellfire, the commander of Imperial City’s magistrate forces, but I didn’t want to believe it. If he had, I thought, even those afraid of him wouldn’t support him. Hatred over powered fear every time in my experience.

Grisham had his throne deep in Sub-City where thousands of the street rats made their homes. The old Corilium was literally an underground kingpin. He had his greedy hands in everything that went on in Low Town, the poor quarter of Imperial City. He also had a serious problem with free-lancers cutting in on his operations. Falcon, Piper, and Two-Scoops were some of the handful of gang leaders with enough guts to keep their gangs close to topside and to continue to act outside Grisham’s umbrella of protection. Hellfire made life near the surface hard on street rats. Grisham made life hard on anyone not willing to take his word as street law.

Sub-City was literally a city beneath the city. There, street rats could live in relative comfort without fear of magistrate sweeps, the king’s way of keeping the city free of undesirables. It was a maze built deep in the sewer system of the first Imperial City. It was so elaborate that without a guide, or an intimate knowledge of the many passages and tunnels, one could conceivably get lost and wander for weeks. Sub-City was ours and the Magistrates never tried to fight us on our own turf. I didn’t blame them. Why lose men when you’ve got most of the trouble makers in one place and the guy running the show possibly on the payroll?

The sewage system had been built into the foundations, and was the only thing that survived when the Kintara had punished the