Abaddon's Gift

Chapter Two

Graydon Pan stepped into the pub with only one thought in mind: finding a good ale and settling in the corner to watch his cousins go to work. They were younger than he; they did outings like that every few months, gathering up young men to take to Amos University to be trained as a mage.

A rogue wildling was new for the cousins.

That was why he was there.

Graydon was almost certain his cousins could handle a rogue wildling. The mage was only labelled as rogue because he evaded capture, but most wildlings were grateful to be taken to Amos. Being a mage meant a life better than that which they were born into. Depending on their skill and how hard they studied, a wildling could do verywell for themselves.

Few of them were rogue on purpose.

They just didn't know better.

Graydon motioned to the man behind the bar as he slipped past tables. He found his way to the back of the pub and settled into a booth. A small candle flickered in the middle of the table.

He looked up as his cousins slipped in, garbed as members of the Seven usually were. Their family crests adorning their cloaks, hair cut close to prevent anyone from using it to get the upper hand, shoes polished to a shine.

Then there was Graydon, in trousers and a linen shirt. The only mark of his heritage the physical features he shared with his father, the flare for the dramatic he shared with his mother—or so his father said.

The barmaid brought over an ale and set it on the table before him. He slipped her a small coin, a token of his appreciation.

The Seven never had to pay.

The smart ones still did, however.

Graydon paid when and how he could, depending on the situation. Some days he needed to make a point, making that point sometimes meant not paying a bill. The barmaid took his coin and smiled, even winked before she turned and slipped off to another table.

As he raised the mug of ale to his lips, a woman slipped into the booth.

She was rough around the edges, handsome but not the beautiful Graydon was used to seeing. Her brown hair was thin and pulled back, tied into a hasty bun which the hair was already escaping. There were dark rings under her eyes and a bruise along her jaw.

"I need some help," she said.

A street rat looking to rob him.

Graydon glanced at her brown eyes, over her curves, and then over her face. Fear danced over her features. He followed her gaze, to his cousins. Then he glanced over the other tables and realized she hadn't chosen him as a mark, so much as the only man not sitting with a woman.

His cousins scared her. Rumours abounded among street rats as to what the Seven did with an orphan. He could understand where her fear came from, even if it was unfounded.

"Why are you running from the Seven?"he asked, hoping his accent didn't give him away.

"I'm not," she said hastily. "Every time they show up, they scoop one of my friends. When that happens, they go questioning. When they question, people disappear."

Graydon raised an eyebrow and slid his ale toward her. The woman picked it up and took a gulp, then thumped the mug on the table.

She had a right to be afraid.

The report he read mentioned a woman running with the street rats. She had been new when the first one, Maeno, was picked up. Young, but not young enough to pass as a girl any longer. Each successive report mentioned the woman. Lenfer had been dancing with her. Dor drawing something, explaining something as they picked him up.