The Dragon Games

Heist

The divine has two rules. One, see the object. Two, make a hand gesture. But when someone is unconscious, the divine can slip out in unforeseen ways, without any regard for the rules. That was how, on the morning of the job, I awoke to the divine equivalent of wetting the bed. 

Every object not bolted down floated through the air, like my chamber was underwater. My hairbrush hung over my head, my dirty laundry drifted past my window, and my bed, with me in it, was halfway to the ceiling. I yelped. The bubble popped, and everything fell, crashing with a huge boom.

"Good gods!" my landlady shrieked, her voice piercing from three floors down.

I paused, then slammed my fist into the wall. 

"Who did that?" I yelled. "It's the crack of dawn, you cur! I'll have your head!" 

As the bottom floors dissolved into accusations and yelling, I surveyed the damage. My room lay in destruction, my furniture cracked and strewn across the floor. Good. Better to screw up now, before the stakes become fatal.

I used my divine to levitate a broken mirror shard in front of my face, then tied my hair back with a bandana. Drax's divine left a faint rash on my neck, angry pink bumps in the shape of fingerprints. Good thing I had divine. If I didn't, Drax could have burned clean through my body, bones and all.

Once I was dressed, I took two stairs at a time, slipping past my landlady and another tenant's screaming match unnoticed. The raiders met deep in the woods, as the first rays of sun pierced through the pines. 

All were dressed identically, head to toe in black, except for their weapon and mask. Each mask had something to do with their alias. Chick' mask was white. Viper's had fangs. Mine had nine dots.

They gathered in a circle, talking in low tones as they waited for the captain to arrive. When Drax got here, there would be no grand speeches or final run-throughs. He would confirm the presence of each crew member, hand them a horse, and send them on their way. 

At this point, if anyone didn't know the plan like the back of their hand, it would get branded onto the back of their hand. Which was all swell and good with me. Having no desire to listen to Drax or talk with the group, I hung back in the shadows of the pines, hoping to go unnoticed. 

No such luck. Twitch nudged Viper in my direction, and the conversation stopped. Viper's mouth curved. "I know a better alias than Nine. How about Coward?"

"Traitor," Clawhand said.

"Worm," Slicer said.

"I bet your third escape attempt will work," Viper said. "But you won't be free of Drax. Drax will free you of life."

I ignored the taunts. I expected as much from this lot – the bottom of the barrel left behind after Drax took over. His first act as captain was to cut anyone he suspected had lingering loyalty to Sammy. I was the only exception because Drax refused to lose my skill with the divine. I'm not as strong as Drax or Sammy, but I'm still worlds ahead of the other raiders.

"What's it like?" Viper continued. "Praying to a dead man each night?"

"Sammy is not dead," I snapped before I could think better of it.

He tilted his head, his eyes glittering. "Is that how you fall asleep at night? Chant it like a prayer ten times before bed?"

The raiders snickered. One laugh was more familiar than the rest, the slightly higher pitch easy to pick out from the crowd. Chick. A new sword glinted from his belt, its hilt encrusted with rubies and sapphires. 

Well if it wasn't clear before, it was now. He was no friend of mine. Chick stopped laughing, and the group went quiet, anticipating a fight.

"Nice sword," I said.