A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (the reading list .txt) 📕

was Rukland, the birthplace of the Ruk, and this was Turns, the kind of seedy establishment we Ruk’s liked to haunt. A slight on me, a local hero, was a slight on us all. We were oppressed sure, conquered, and occupied for two decades now. But here, surrounded by at least a hundred cutthroats thirsty for something to bloody, well, he would be wise to shake my fucking hand.

Ellington looked up at Crylwin, who towered over by nearly a foot and half a hundred pounds.

Crylwin narrowed his eyes and smiled.

Ellington’s hand was as soft as a woman’s breast.

As Ellington left the table and hurried through the crowd towards the exit, I grabbed the purse full of coins and opened it. I counted out one iron star, one gold crown, five silver nobles, and a handful of copper bits.

“As if a Cyllian had any business dealing in bits,” I lamented at the Rukish currency that mixed in with the Cyllian coin. I reached for the silver on the table and added the two coins into the purse he left. I purposely left the copper penny on the table for the drinks. Crylwin leaned in and took the penny in his hands and tossed it my way. I caught it on reflex and shot him a confused look.

“Drinks are on Lord Anus,” he said with a grin.

I cocked my head as he revealed Ellington’s silken purse from within the fold of his arms.

“Melly deserves a bigger tip,” he said as he opened the purse and counted out a silver noble onto the table.

“You damn fool, Crylwin!” I whispered as I stepped forward to chase Ellington down. He grabbed my arm as I passed.

“He signed and sealed already, nothing he could do to change that now. No need to get your worry face on. I nicked it, not you.”

I looked to the door, then back to Crylwin.

“I will get it back to him tomorrow, princess,” he soothed. “I need it. Lord Ellington has a banquet to celebrate our little lord’s upcoming nuptials. I planned to take Decia to apologize; you know how she loves a good wedding. Perhaps taking her will buy me enough time to dodge my own.”

My look of concern turned to one of confusion. “You were invited? How? They hate you.”

His smile grew wider. “I can think of no better way to gain entrance to a party I wasn’t invited to than by returning a lost purse that was stolen at an establishment he would never visit, concluding business that never took place.”

I questioned if he had taken the purse for coin, for spite, or as a pretext to entry as he said. But at that moment, I saw the genius of his plan.

“This better not come back on me, you know how they treat my kind. If he suspects that I had a hand in it, I won’t have a hand to worry about.”

“Keep your dress on; I will make sure he knows it was me.” He winked, then began counting out his bounty.

I sighed as I dabbed a few drops of wax to an open page in my book and affixed the signed document to it. I refolded the other completed commissions and closed the leather cover. I corked the inkwell and unspent wax and tucked them both safely in the pocket of my jacket.

“We will see you later tonight,” Crylwin said as he lifted his glass into the air, “toasting your stars.”

I paused and took a long breath.

“Go!” he said reassuringly. “You’re wasting time.”

I grabbed the sheathed sword, slapped him on the shoulder, and headed for the door. As I pushed through the crowd, I could hear Crylwin shouting behind.

“There he goes lads, the Sword of Belen Hill, off to get his stars!” A cheer erupted as I stepped through the doorway.

As I closed the door, I heard him shout again. “Another round for us all, courtesy of Lord Ellington!” A second cheer erupted—it was louder than the first.

Chapter Two

Summer 1272, Cyllian Imperial Count

A wagon full of grain careened around the corner as I stepped onto Heart Street. I waved the back of my hand angrily at the driver—he didn’t bother looking back. The street was congested with routine. Horse, cart, and people busied east and west along the cobblestones, following Heart Street to the docks or the Sigil House. The crowd today was supplemented by several dozen slack-jawed onlookers with nothing better to do but wait and watch the raid depart.

“Too hot to be standing around,” I grumbled, wiping the sweat from my forehead. I turned east and looked up to mark the sun’s position in the sky. The House didn’t close until after sunset, which meant I had plenty of time, but I was still eager to get off the street. With borrowed iron in my hand, I attracted too much attention.

Usually, I might take the low-roads and avoid such heat and congestion. They were home to all manner of hidden ways and short cuts that ran beneath the city. They were also home to people of questionable moral fiber, the kind that skulked and slinked about. Those weren’t your typical thugs and pickpockets that worked the high streets; they were the kind of folks that knew how to rid themselves of a body.

Any other day I would walk the low roads without a care in the world because any other day, I was as poor as the rest of them. Today I had a small fortune in coin carefully concealed about my person, and a desperate Ruk could smell iron like a wolf smells blood.

Another cart passed, forcing me onto the side of the street. A group of rough-looking men lingered in the shade of a building, doing their best to appear casual. I brought my sheathed sword to my chest and pushed through.

“Hey!” one of them shouted as I brushed by, his voice had that familiar slur of whiskey. “Spare us a copper, Cappy?”

I felt something sharp against my back. I