Game of Souls (The Quintessence Cycle Book 1)

Chapter 4

What Cannot Be Seen

The two boys didn’t belong to the Smear. As Keedar watched them from his favorite spot on the rooftop, that much was clear. They stuck out like a pair of unwashed urchins among royalty at a ball. To an untrained eye, their simple shirt and trousers matched most commoners, not unlike his own garb, but he knew what to look for. Their attire’s elbows and knees lacked the correct amount of wear; their shoes had a little too much shine; they walked with their backs a bit too straight. Only guild members or nobles would carry themselves with any hint of pride or swagger near the Smear’s streets. These two were definitely not the former. Not with the way they cast an occasional furtive glance around them. Also, the grime on their faces was not natural. What gave them away more than anything else was their hair: well-oiled, combed, too clean.

With a groan, Keedar washed his gloved hand through his tangled, sandy locks. Damn you nobles and your silly challenges. Why does this have to happen on my watch?

He found it hard to comprehend why anyone of stature wanted to venture near the Smear.  If he had a choice, he would wade in piss before he set foot within a mile of its streets. All the district had to offer was dilapidated buildings, sewage, dirty streets, and a reek that made shit smell like perfume. That is if one didn’t count disease, robbery, or death. Still the young nobles came. It was either an act of bravery or stupidity. Such folly reminded him of a dog chasing its tail. The mutt could never catch the thing but it ran in circles after it anyway.

Perhaps their insistence was a case of peer pressure. Not that Keedar could relate. He had no close friends. Long ago, the Smear had taught him the harsh lesson of attachment. It left him betrayed and bloody, and his best friend, Raishaar, dead. He blamed himself for being too trusting, for believing that guild life could not change people the way it did. No longer did he suffer from such misconceptions. 

Sometimes, the guilt of his own escape wormed its way into his belly. He had done the one thing he was good at: he hid. Whenever he looked back on that night, he knew if he hadn’t he would have been fodder for the maggots. Since then, he’d learned quite a few tricks. Those and his present existence gave him a small measure of solace.

He continued to study the two boys, wondering if someone among the crowded streets would eventually direct them away from the Smear. No one did. For the most part, the Smear’s residents steered clear of the inquisitive nobility unless they crossed Deadman’s Gap, which marked the Smear’s northern border.

Sixteen years ago, when a robbery led to a noblewoman’s death, the King’s Blades had left a sea of blood and bodies as retribution. The Night of Blades. It was the last night he recalled Mother’s face … her anguish, her mad cackles … he shut the memories away.

Yet, with such a past and the risk of a thrashing or worse, every so often, usually at summer’s end, these well-to-do children played this game where they snuck close to the Smear. In his short lifetime, Keedar hadn’t seen any brave the maze of lanes and alleys caressed by shadows.

Except these two young noblemen did just that.

My luck be damned. If he believed in the Gods, he might have sworn they conspired against him.

Mortified by the boys’ stupidity, the potential danger they placed themselves in, and the repercussions, Keedar shook his head in disbelief. It wasn’t as if the nobility didn’t know the risks. Anyone who lived more than a few weeks in Kasandar did. The Smear’s denizens were as likely to kiss you as they were to kill you. They would brandish a dagger and fight to death for something as simple as a sidelong glance. If you ventured into the Smear unprepared and unwelcome, chances were you ended up with empty pockets and a stomach full of steel for your trouble. Hell, a man might slide his blade into you while giving you a friendly embrace. Keedar touched the patch in his old shirt that hid his scars.