Thaigmaal, also known as Mount Thaig, was the capital city of Haral. Landlocked on all sides by three different empires, the tiny kingdom was considered neutral ground and had enjoyed an unprecedented peace for more than a century.
From a distance, the city looked like a jewel placed neatly at the intersection of the Tuyahn Desert and the Thaig Mountain Range. White spires rose above a sea of two- and three-story buildings. Its five-meter walls were warded against the heat by the Mage Warriors of Tempre. Without question, it was a city worth visiting.
But midnight in Thaigmaal brought cooler air and an unnerving stillness, like some dangerous predator waiting to pounce. Tonight, that predator stalked a small group of street urchins sprinting through the back alleys in single file, moving like shadows.
Though beautiful like a desert flower, Thaigmaal had a seedy underbelly, like any city where thousands dwelled. Night brought out the vermin—both literal and human—along with dozens of unpleasant smells that dared not appear in the light of day.
The leader turned down a narrow alley and motioned for the others to continue. He knelt on the cobbled stones, keeping an eye on their trail. "Keep going. It's all clear."
Just like that, the four became three. They sprinted down the alley. At the dead end, the gangly twins knelt and clasped hands.
"Up you go, Rat," one whispered.
The smallest of the group—Rat—had stopped a few meters back. Something wasn't right. He crouched low, scanning the alley. They had reached the merchant district. Three-story buildings surrounded them, common in this part of town where shopkeepers lived above their stores.
"Something's wrong," Rat muttered.
Instead of approaching the twins, he studied the route up. First, they would boost him to the balcony. From there, he would climb another story to reach an open window.
"Hurry!" the twins hissed together, loud enough to alert their lookout.
Rat scowled and glanced over his shoulder at Brim, the group's de facto leader. "Shit..."
He bolted toward the twins and sprang onto their clasped hands. A moment later, he shot upward into the darkness.
Two bony but strong hands gripped the edge of the balcony. With practiced ease, Rat pulled himself up. His fingers found hold in the gaps between bricks where the filler had eroded. Without using his feet, he scaled the wall spider-like until he reached the window frame.
"Welcome!"
Strong hands gripped his wrists and yanked him through the open window—then tossed him to the floor.
Rat pushed off the wood with one hand and kicked off the wall, landing in a crouch. His street weapons, long nails, were already in hand.
"What is this? I haven't broken any laws."
Three men faced him. Two stood between Rat and the window. The third blocked the doorway to the next room.
"Breaking into a shopkeeper's home to rob it is against the law," said the man at the door. He wore strange black leathers embroidered with a gold design on the right shoulder.
Rat shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. "Of course it is! I was just climbing to the roof for a nap. They pulled me in."
He gave a pleasant smile.
Then darted between the two guards.
In one step, he was through the window, diving into the night air.
The railing of the balcony below slammed into his ribs with a sickening crack. His breath fled in a gasp, nausea rising in his throat.
But that faded instantly when he saw the alley below.
A figure in black handed a leather pouch to Brim.
"Brim? BRIM!"
Rat forced himself to move. Bracing a foot on the railing, he leapt for the adjacent balcony.
The shouts of alarm rose behind him as he clambered toward the rooftop. Three figures appeared at the same time.
Rat crouched, weapons low. "My mates turned me in for the bounty?"
The leader of the men nodded. "You must've been careless, cast-off."
Rat noted their positioning. Two were already flanking. His only escape was a three-story drop to the street below.
"Cast-off? I'm no cast-off."
"No? Then roll up your sleeve. If you check out, I'll let you go."
Rat nodded and pocketed one of the nails. He rolled up his left sleeve and stopped a few steps short. "See? No fur patches."
The man leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Those little bastards conned us. Round them up!"
"Wait." A woman's voice interrupted, soft and smooth like a cat's purr.
Rat stiffened. His instincts screamed.
She stood at the roof's edge, dressed in black like the others, her hooded mask hiding everything but bright green eyes.
"Roll up the other sleeve," she said.
"Matrea?" the guard muttered. Everyone knew the corruption was always on the left forearm.
Rat flinched as the guard gripped his shoulder. "What's next, my pants? You some kind of degenerate?"
"Watch your mouth, street-rat!" The man slapped the back of his head.
Rat slammed his skull backward. The crunch of a broken nose was loud in the night.
He sprinted for the edge. He might've made it—but his injury slowed him.
Matrea was faster.
She cut him off, twin daggers appearing in her hands. Her tone was amused. "You're being troublesome."
The black-steel blades danced an intricate pattern.
"Sybasi fighter?" Rat muttered. Just when it couldn't get worse...
"Surrender peacefully and I promise you won't die on this roof. Sound fair?"
"Fair enough," Rat said. "Toss me over and I won't."
Matrea grinned behind her mask. Under different circumstances, she might've liked him.
"Be smart, y—"
Rat surged forward, striking for her abdomen. With the edge at her back, Matrea was forced to block.
He faked another stab, stomped her foot, and ducked a swift counter. His forward step teetered him at the edge.
Pivoting on one foot, he clutched her wrist and leaned back.
Matrea's eyes widened. She dropped the dagger and tried to twist free. He released her, then stabbed at her face with the nail he still held.
Only a quick turn saved her from losing an eye. The nail dug into the flesh beside it.
Six strikes, four counters, and Rat fell backward off the edge.
Matrea caught her balance and stepped away from the roofline.
She stared at the empty space. "I didn't want this to happen."
"Little bastard had it coming," the guard muttered, sword drawn.
"We should bring the body back. Just in case."
"No."
Matrea surprised him by pulling back her hood and mask. Blood ran freely down her face, but she only searched the rooftop for her dagger.
"The two of us got our asses kicked by a street rat. I'm going to forget it happened."
"I didn't get my ass kicked."
She shook her head and headed for the stairs. "Your broken nose says otherwise."
She didn't voice the question turning over in her mind:
Where did a street rat learn Sybasi knife fighting?