24 – I’m not a dog

  UHRUK – Lethanas

  The city of Lethanas was ancient.

  Not as old as Mornholme perhaps, or the lost city of Linas, but definitely older than Damakus—which had been fought over in the First Holy War—and pre-dated the Korazail Empire by thousands of years.

  The Misk’Imas Institution in the northeast of the city, recently built compared to the city’s age, was where any carded with ideas of grandeur and thoughts of glory and wealth beyond their wildest dreams congregated to study, progress, tier up, and socialize and make connections. By all accounts, it was the most successful institution in the Empire, bolstered by the ever-growing numbers of wealthy carded, and the less wealthy and their sponsors.

  But despite its stellar reputation as a place of higher learning and access to the apexes, for carded of advanced tier, the noble houses, those with obscene wealth, or initiated into the greater mysteries of the sorcerers, it was little more than a stepping stone.

  The true importance of Lethanas and the Misk’Imas Institution lay beneath the musky maze of the Chamaizi Catacombs, the great tomb of ancient dead—the greater dungeon of Dzibilakal.

  She took her bowl of food and thick slice of bread and skirted around the queue of workers, toward a long trestle table with benches on either side. One end of the table was pushed up against a wall in the corner, and that was how she liked it. This was her favorite spot to eat, and in the week she’d been here only a few people had bothered her while she’d finished her meal.

  The bowl was filled with a mixture of brown rice with peas and corn, smothered with a thick stew in which floated chunks of unidentifiable meat. The other servants belittled the simplicity of the food, but to her it tasted divine. Her stomach no longer gnawed at her insides with hunger, and she could have a second helping if she wanted, which she always did. She could have done with more meat, though. Uhruks weren’t meant to eat so many vegetables.

  After she’d scraped her second bowl almost clean with her bread, and licked remaining smears of sauce from the glazed pottery—ignoring the condescending sneers of disgust from the other servants eating nearby—she made her way to the massive kitchen at the back of the hall, and placed her bowl and metal spoon with the rest of the dirty cutlery and earthenware. There were already three scullery maids working their way through the enormous pile, all of who became tight-lipped when they saw her. But the Head of Scullery gave her a nod as she turned and left.

  “Be back as quick as possible,” the woman said.

  The Head of Scullery was a large woman who always wore a stained apron that could have been a bedsheet. A few random whiskers sprouted from her chin, her hands were meaty and red, and she smelled of rancid food.

  She nodded and kept walking, but not fast enough to avoid hearing the three girls gossip about her—loud enough that she was meant to hear.

  “Stupid goblin,” one said.

  “She ain’t a goblin, she’s an ork or something, ain’t she.”

  “Thinks she’s better than us, but she washes dishes too.”

  “I heard they’re violent. Just attack people out of nowhere.”

  “I wouldn’t trust her.”

  “It’s not safe with her here.”

  She held her tongue because she didn’t want to start something that would end up with the girls dead or injured. They were soft but didn’t know it. Down by the docks, the foolish girls would be someone’s meat before the day was out.

  “You girls shut your mouths and get back to work,” the Head of Scullery shouted. “We’ve got the breakfast rush coming, and if you fall behind then we’ll be behind all day. And I’ll take the time out of your hides, see if I don’t!”

  The scullery maids, frequently the subject of the Head’s verbal chastisement, got the idea and stopped talking.

  She grinned and held in a chuckle, as she knew that if the scullery maids saw her reaction, they’d make her job even harder than it already was. Prejudice and jealousy drove them, she knew, along with a lack of smarts. And they hadn’t even figured out she was carded yet, despite her daily meeting with Magister Eldrin. Well, it wasn’t so much a meeting as her badgering him. The Head of Scullery knew, that she was sure of, otherwise she wouldn’t have been given leave every day. Still, she made sure to make up the time at the end of her shift. After all, it kept her in the good graces of the Head of Scullery, and she always paid her debts no matter how distasteful she found some of them. If she hadn’t paid the Black Knives for the fingers she’d bitten off, she might have afforded a few months tuition at the Institution, instead of having to work until she could, but then she’d be in the gang’s debt or someone’s meat, or dead.

  In the mornings, Magister Eldrin was always in the Chamber of Assessment, which was a fancy name for the large room where walk-in prospective students came to pitch their case. Let me in, they said, for I have gold, or talent, or intellect, or a class card, or a combination of all four.

  Few were accepted.

  Most with enough gold were.

  She knew this because once inside the Institution she’d spent a day watching from the benches situated against the walls of the Chamber of Assessment. As she spent more time there, observing and learning, her mood changed from desperate elation to wary pessimism. But, she kept telling herself she was inside and safe. At least for the time being.

  Reaching the iron gates barring the Chamber of Assessment—she had no idea why there were iron gates inside the Institution—she took in the crowd of a few dozen prospective students as they entered the first of the squat towers that made up the Institution, milled around for a bit, and attempted to form an orderly queue.

  There was some shouting and shoving from overly-excitable young men, which was swiftly broken up by stern-faced guards wearing short-swords and wands. Most of the women stayed clear of the disturbance, with one or two shouting imprecations at both the trouble-makers and the guards.

  Stupid, she thought. There would be plenty of time to be assessed, so there was no need to jostle for position in the queue. But maybe they didn’t know that. Maybe, like she had been, they were ignorant.

  Ignorance could be fixed if you were humble and willing. But it looked to her that many of these prospective students could do with a few harsh lessons on manners, which didn’t bode well for their humbleness or willingness to learn.

  While the prospective students were causing chaos and taking their sweet time to organize, she strolled up to the guards. The crowd, shuffling into a disorderly queue, ignored her—no doubt due to her race and the servants’ clothes she wore. She almost laughed at them; they certainly had no idea she had a knife concealed at the small of her back and a paring knife hidden her boot.

  “Uhruk,” said the tallest guard, who had a nose slightly flattened and bent to the side, likely from being broken a few times in the past.

  She gave him a shallow bow, more of a ducking of her head and lowering of her shoulders.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I wish you a good day.”

  Her hand and fingers traced the traditional morning greeting, and as usual the guards frowned and exchanged glances. They had always been polite to her, and she owed them as much in return. The gods above and below looked benevolently on the polite, so when they didn’t return her gesture, she didn’t hold their inadvertent rudeness against them.

  Nose and his companion were used to seeing her here in the morning, and while the shorter of the two stepped in front of the chaotically forming queue to quell an argument, Nose unlocked the gate and tugged it open, just wide enough for her to slip through.

  She bobbed her head in thanks as she brushed past him, and made a courteous gesture indicating she was thankful. The gates were as wide as a dozen people standing shoulder to shoulder, and high above in the center of the doorway, the head of a fantastical dragon carved in stone scowled down at anyone who passed through. The rest of the stone doorway was carved with scores of small birds and octopus-like creatures, with human heads.

  “Good luck,” Nose said, and the oddness of his words stopped her in her tracks. “We’ve a bet on whether you’ll succeed or give up. I wagered you’d succeed one day, but I like long odds.”

  He had actually said something kind to her. She turned to the guard, heat suffusing her cheeks, and was so flustered that she could only half-smile and bob her head again a few times, before turning back to the Chamber of Assessment. She thought about giving Nose some coin and asking him to bet on her, for her, but it didn’t make any sense to do so. If she were accepted and had enough gold to pay the Institution’s fees, then anything she would win on a wager of a few copper drabs would be insignificant.

  Every day for a week she’d come here to the Chamber of Assessment, in order to try to persuade Magister Eldrin to accept her into the Institution as a student.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  And every day she had failed.

  There were other options open to her, she knew, such as the Military Orders, but she had an intense dislike of the thought of strangers ordering her around. On top of that, she wasn’t sure she should leave the grounds of the Institution, as she would be leaving the protection it offered. Out there, she would be vulnerable to anyone who could tell she was carded. And it wouldn’t be long before she was someone’s meat and her corpse would be dumped in the harbor along with all the others, or dragged to a piggery as food, or sold to necrotic alchemists who experimented on the dead and used body parts in their potions… she wasn’t sure about that last one but she’d heard rumors.

  The Chamber of Assessment was a large hall with dark wood-paneled walls, a chequered black and white marbled floor, and a domed ceiling with a striking glass atrium that flooded the space with light. Not natural light, she was almost certain, since the chamber was on the bottom floor of the squat tower. Perhaps there was magic at work, or mirrors, or alchemy. One day she would find out.

  A row of heavy wooden desks was positioned close to the opposite wall to the entry gate, each one bearing a brass plaque on the front denoting the specialty of the Magisters sitting behind them. This early, only a few were present, which was one of the reasons she came at this time.

  She quickly strode across the marble floor toward Magister Eldrin, her head down to avoid the contemptuous stare of the stunningly beautiful and golden-haired Magister Naja, who assessed Mages, and the disinterested glance of the bear-like Magister Soren, who assessed Warriors.

  In front of Magister Eldrin, the black letters on his brass plaque read: Unaligned. Eldrin was old and wizened, with a scraggly gray beard and splotchy skin, but his eyes were clear and his movements spritely. Possessing a class card had many advantages, and she was looking forward to both experiencing them and finding out about them all once she had access to the Great Library and Institution lessons.

  Technically, she thought she should have presented to Magister Soren since her Soul Drinker class card and Ethereal Blades skill card were warrior aligned. However, as Soren had made abundantly clear on her first and only embarrassing interview with him, without another card which provided her with an energy shield, her cards were useless. She couldn’t manifest the Ethereal Blades; therefore, she was ineligible until she could. Soren hadn’t been unkind to her, unlike Naja, but he had looked at her with pity, which had raised her hackles. A sizeable amount of gold florins would have persuaded him, she was sure, but she still only had the one florin—and with what dishwashing paid she would never have enough to afford even a few months at the Institution. But that was a problem she was working on. For now, she was safe, had a roof over her head, and enough food that she never went hungry. It was more than she’d had for years.

  “Uhruk?” Magister Eldrin said.

  She shook herself, realizing she’d come to a stop in front of him. Swallowing nervously, her fingers and hand moved in the traditional morning greeting.

  “I wish you a good day,” she said.

  “Yes, yes. I’m quite busy, Uhruk, let’s get this over with.”

  There was no one else in the Chamber except the three Magisters and her, so he couldn’t be busy. She forced herself to speak in a light tone, and not growl at the Magister.

  “I am presenting myself for assessment.”

  “Do you have the fifty-florin fee for the first term?”

  She tongued one of her canines and wondered what sort of educational institution they were running if they would turn away someone like her with a rare class card and a rare skill card.

  “I do not.”

  “Then your application is rejected. No need to fill out a form.”

  “If any of the Magisters require an apprentice, I am a good worker and—”

  “They do not. Now, you’ve wasted my time all week. I’d suggest, if you plan on coming back here to be assessed, that you bring both the fifty-florins and a skill card that enables you to manifest an ability or spell of any description. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Not able to manifest a skill, no coin, and no political or social connections. Her chances were bleak, but she’d persevered and beaten bleakness many times before. They were old friends.

  She gave the Magister a curt bow and started walking toward one of the smaller doors that peppered the walls of the chamber. Some were for the Magisters, some for the guards, and a few for servants. A titter of amusement came from Magister Naja, which she easily ignored since the woman lacked manners of any sort.

  She was Uhruk, and Uhruk didn’t anger easily—until they did.

  A snigger or eye rolling hardly rated on her scale of annoyances. What did rate highly, in this moment, was a lack of florins. While she worked, and during any downtime she had, she racked her brain to come up with ways of making coin. The problem was that attending the Institution was expensive. And not just a little, but a lot. And added to that was her lack of a skill card she could use. It was all so… aggravating and unsatisfying. Not at all like she’d imagined claiming a class card would be like.

  After a week of thinking and agonizing, she still hadn’t figured out what to do. But it would come to her, she was sure. After all, she was a particularly clever girl.

  No, woman, now.

  Once through a door, she made her way down a narrow corridor dimly lit by fading alchemical lamps. She brushed past other servants carrying trays of food and cleaning implements as she hurried back to the scullery.

  When she turned the last corner before the kitchen, there was a servant leaning against a wall. His waist-length coat and good boots showed that he was someone’s manservant—perhaps a Magister’s, though there were also Researchers and semi-retired Adventurers that made the Institution their home. When the man saw her, he stood up straight and grinned.

  What now? If he tried to ‘romance’ her she’d have her knife at his throat and then she’d see how he performed under stress. As she approached, one of his hands casually brushed aside his coat to reveal a black-handled knife at his belt.

  She stumbled slightly, and the man’s grin widened at her surprise.

  “I don’t owe the Black Knives anything,” she snapped, and then clamped down on her anger before she said or did something stupid. The last thing she needed was to be thrown out of the Institution, even if she was only a lowly dishwasher at the moment.

  “Didn’t say you did.”

  She didn’t give him the traditional morning greeting, and he was too ignorant to know how rude she was being. The thought cheered her up, but only a little.

  “Good. Then we’ve nothing to talk about.”

  “Nogan Seven-Fingers might think differently.”

  “I don’t owe him, either. I paid the price.”

  “That you did, but you know how young people are these days, they can be very touchy and quick to anger. I hope Nogan and his remaining fingers don’t find out where you are.”

  “If he comes after me, his remaining fingers will join the others.”

  “I guess that depends on how many friends he brings, doesn’t it?”

  She knew the Black Knife wouldn’t leave her alone until he’d made whatever offer he was circling around.

  “I don’t owe the Knives or The Sheath anything,” she reiterated slowly and firmly.

  “And yet here you are… at the Institution… getting your fill of rejections from what I’ve heard.”

  “There you go, then. I’m a nobody. An Uhruk. I can’t help you with anything even if I wanted to, and I don’t.”

  “Not so fast, Uhruk. I’ve been asking around, making casual conversation here and there… and I know that you’re carded.”

  “If I was carded, would I be a dishwasher?”

  “You would be if you couldn’t afford the Institution’s fifty florins. That’s a lot of gold for a dishwasher. Magister gossip says you’re carded, as does a little someone with an Identify card.”

  She remained silent. She didn’t want to accidentally let something slip, though she was confident she wasn’t dealing with someone of importance or intellect. He was a messenger, though it was both annoying and disturbing to think that the Black Knives had gang members inside the Institution. It seemed The Sheath had ambitions above and beyond the gang’s patch of Lethanas. She turned all that over in her mind, along with the fact that this gang messenger was here and wanted something from her. The answers she came up with weren’t good, and wherever the Black Knives stuck their noses and grasping fingers, blood spilled and bodies piled up.

  “As I see it,” he continued, “you had to have found those cards in Black Knives’ territory. Am I right? And what’s in our territory is ours. What’s stolen there is for The Sheath to distribute as they see fit.”

  She considered remaining quiet, but doing so was as good as an admission. “I’ve always had them. Right under your noses, and you didn’t know.”

  “Now, now, you know that’s not true. What sort of future relationship will we have if you keep lying?”

  “A nonexistent one. And it is true, so perhaps you should bugger off?”

  She was irritated with this man and the Black Knives. She was done with them, and they tried to reel her back in like a fish on a hook.

  “We have a job for you, and you’ll do it. You are Uhruk. Like goblins, you dumb greenskins are all raving and—”

  He broke off with a strangled yelp as she shoved a forearm into his neck and grasped his crotch with her other hand, and squeezed. His face drained of color as his fists vainly smashed against the arm crushing his manhood in an attempt to free himself. She squeezed harder, and he let out a strangled scream.

  “Not like goblins. Not greenskin,” she spat at him, and released her grip.

  She needed to be away from here as someone might come to investigate the disturbance. She was lucky the servants were busy with the breakfast rush and most of them would be in the kitchen and scullery and eating halls. She considered drawing her knife and spilling some of his blood, as the only thing gang members respected was violent strength, but there really was no point in angering the man too much. As long as he knew the score, she would be satisfied.

  The Black Knife slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. His trembling hands scrabbled at the stone pavers, and then the wall, as he pulled himself to his feet. That was… interesting. He should have been down for a lot longer. Perhaps he was naturally hardy, or perhaps he was carded himself?

  “We’re done here,” she said.

  “No, we’re fraking not. Not by a long shot. The Sheath’ll have your head for this.”

  “For what? Are you going to tell him that I squeezed your balls? I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “Fraking bitch.”

  She’d been called a lot worse, and threatened by worse people.

  “Say what you came to say, and then piss off.”

  She was almost interested in what the gang member had accosted her for, but her situation and her surprise at being confronted had put her in a bad mood and brought out the rudeness and bad manners in her. The truth was she was out of options, and if she could get a constant trickle of coins from the Black Knives without compromising herself too much, it might be worth the hassle.

  She grimaced in distaste. That was dangerous… But how else was she going to earn enough florins for the Institution’s fee and another card so she could generate an energy shield and use her Ethereal Blades? She had no options, and so far, all her thinking had come up with was nothing.

  “We’ll contact you when we have a job for you to do.” The man winced in pain as he shifted his weight. “And you know what happens if you cross the Black Knives.”

  “Save your threats,” she snapped. “I’ve never crossed anyone, and never will. I’m not part of your gang. If you have a job, then I’ll decide if I want to do it, and like before, if I come across anything interesting, I’ll let you know.”

  “The Sheath isn’t going to be happy.”

  “Then he can take it up with me. But he doesn’t have to be happy; he just needs to accept the reality of the situation.”

  “You’re a fraking bitch, aren’t you? Well, I’ll pass on the message.”

  “You do that, now leave.”

  The Black Knife took small steps as he gingerly made his way down the corridor and out of sight around the corner. When he did, her shoulders slumped in relief, and she let out a long breath. And then she yelped and hurried into the kitchen and then to the scullery, and got to work scraping food off plates and washing them. The other girls ignored her and whispered to themselves, but she was too deep in her own thoughts to notice or care.

  The Black Knives thought she was a starving dog to do with as they pleased, as if offering her meat would buy her loyalty. But she wasn’t a dog anymore, she was carded now… carded! And they could go hang unless she could get some easy coin out of them. The Black Knives would still have their uses, if she could take advantage of them.

  “I’m not a dog!” she growled to herself. “I’m not!”

  The girls nearby shifted uneasily as they kept their heads down and busied themselves with the piles of dirty dishes. She ignored them.