The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) (2 page)

“Rose, do go about completing your chores and clean up after,” Marielle ordered sternly as she pulled on a thin nightgown. “You have an important guest to entertain shortly, too.”

Rose turned in a huff and exited the room, closing the door gently on her way out.

She did not like doing chores.

The streets are quiet tonight
, thought Ganthorpe as he proceeded toward his destination under cover of the moonlight. He did not worry one moment about being accosted, even here in the Commons.

Oakhaven was fast becoming his town.

He arrived very late in the evening, striding confidently up to the door of Marielle’s establishment and knocked firmly upon its oaken surface. A moment later, he recognized the familiar sound of a fairly dependable lock relinquishing its grasp on the knob. As the door opened, a beautiful half-elven woman stood before him, smiling a forced smile and looking radiant, despite the late hour.

“I did not expect to see you at this time of night, especially answering your own door,” remarked Ganthorpe cynically, tugging at the lower portion of his goatee as he smiled in a deflecting manner. “I’d have thought that the lovely Marielle would be sharing someone’s bed by now, or counting her coin from the night’s fruitful bounty.”

“You are late,” she said curtly. “She will not like that,” the Madam added, ignoring his comments. Just then a bell tolled in the distance, reflecting the time of day—or night in this case—which happened to be midnight. The timekeeper, Brogan, had begun using a series of markedly different-pitched tolling bells to signify the passing of the hours in Oakhaven, with each unique chime signifying a particular time. Ganthorpe grimaced at the sound of the chime, soft though it was, as it startled him. The bells were something new that had been implemented recently and Ganthorpe, being a disciple of the darkness, did not take too kindly to the change.

 
“He will get it right, and soon,” Marielle offered in an attempt to quell his irritation, easily sensing his disturbance and uneasiness at hearing the bells. She, of course, wanted her patrons to be unperturbed when they were within her walls, though Ganthorpe noted she couldn’t help a wry smile at his reaction as she closed the door behind him.

He strode respectfully past the women gathered in the antechamber of the brothel, who were all gawking at him, and he smiled back at them with his charming grin. Then he suddenly turned to Marielle, who was escorting him to the room.

“Sorry for my delay,” he apologized as he tossed a golden coin toward her. She caught it and smiled, never even looking at it.

“A peace offering?” she asked him derisively, rolling the coin over with her fingers and locking eyes with him.

“Of course,” he answered, bowing before her. “My Rose is a delicate flower and is not to be plucked by any but me, as per our agreement.”

“I have my own stream of coins. Save this one for your girl,” she answered flippantly, lobbing the gold coin back to him. He caught it deftly, his hand navigating the space quickly and accurately. Then he shrugged, never really getting used to the boldness and candor of this woman. He certainly admired her business sense and merely nodded in response at her impertinence.

She was a surprising one. One of the few, he considered.

“Besides, you may need it to stem a lashing,” she added with a chuckle, both of them knowing that Rose would be none too pleased at his tardiness.

“Very well,” he finally managed to say, licking his dried lips before turning the corner of the hall and climbing the staircase to the next floor. Marielle watched him as he paused at Rose’s door before disappearing herself. He removed a red rose from beneath his jacket, and then knocked lightly.

“It’s about damned time,” he heard from within, and he grinned, recognizing that tone as what he perceived to be playful.

He opened the door and found the most recent of his infatuations sitting in a chair, drinking a glass of wine, her legs crossed with a good deal of her flesh exposed. She frowned at him as he entered and he offered her the flower.

“You are rather behind schedule,” Rose interjected, expecting some kind of explanation, but none was forthcoming.

“A rose for my Rose,” he smiled, bowing low and ignoring her remark. Then he moved in and kissed her. She shoved him away playfully before giving herself over to him. She kissed him deeply for a long moment as they fell to the bed.

“I have a proposition for you,” Ganthorpe began, as they lay next to one another a few hours later.

Rose leaned up on her elbows and stared at him intently with her gray eyes.

“I’m listening.”

Then she rolled away to sit in the chair adjacent to the bed, gently scooped up her goblet, and tasted another sip of her fruity wine. A moment passed and she placed the goblet down on the desk, stood and stretched. She turned to stare at him expectantly. Her raised eyebrow instructed him to continue voicing his current notion. He swallowed hard, fighting through an obvious distraction that she presented to him, her supple body shimmering in the dimly lit room, but he appeared up for the challenge as he looked away from her. She was a bit disappointed that he was able to turn away, but did not let on.

“I know that you have certain skills—”

“Well, of course I do,” she snapped, cutting him off and responding to what she thought he was referring to. He shook his head dismissively and continued.

“Not what I mean. You have a certain flair for…thievery. I’ve heard you’ve been pilfering goods in the marketplace,” he remarked simply, drawing a curious look from her as her features screwed up. “The Trade District, my dear,” he clarified.

She turned that puzzled look his way and frowned, not quite sure what he was talking about. It was clear that he wanted to converse, though. So, she pulled a light silken robe over her elegant frame and sat in the chair facing him, still unsure what he was getting at.

“You know my meaning,” Ganthorpe said, his eyes turning icy as they regarded her.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” That offering had her unsettled and then she panicked, sensing something serious about him that she’d never seen before. It was almost threatening…dangerous. His tone was altogether different, too, and more than a little intimidating. Rose tried to remain calm, steadying her breathing, but she could not help shooting a surreptitious glance his way. She slipped a small knife out of the drawer of the table behind her, thinking the man to suddenly be something other than she had originally perceived him to be. She was completely unsure, but had to protect herself in case things got out of hand.

“Is this some kind of threat?” Rose asked, wondering if she had stolen something from him inadvertently and that now, perhaps, he meant to make her pay. She’d been the recipient of many betrayals from others in her past, who’d promised her one thing or another. But, if this were the case now, it would sting most of all.

He laughed in response to her question as if to dismiss the absurdity of the accusation. However, her paranoia was mounting and she did not see it as such.

“Yes,” he answered, half smiling again and moving toward her.

Rose, now terrified, dove at him clumsily with the tip of her knife extended. He slid to the side, caught her by the arm and forced her slash downwards and into the goose down that filled her bedding beneath the linens. He then twisted her wrist and placed his thumb in an uncomfortable area, forcing her to relinquish the dagger.

“And no,” he finally added.

He nodded with admiration, seemingly at the speed at which she had launched the attack. Then he steeled his face again, his mask an expressionless canvas that she could not read. She had no idea if he meant to kill her, rape her, leave her or something altogether different.

“Did you mean to kill me?” he asked incredulously.

Rose nodded slightly, then shrugged and winced in pain at the wrist-lock still held in place. He hadn’t even realized he still held her and so released her immediately, moving off the bed to stand away from her.

“By the gods, girl—calm down! I’m not going to send you to Archinon,” he mentioned strongly, throwing his arms up. He was referring, of course, to the home of the gladiatorial arenas in southwestern Wothlondia, where the law-breakers and other miscreants taken captive by the Watch were sent by caravan monthly to receive judgment for their crimes in one manner or another. King Tallaruk, Archinon’s fierce ruler, was a sadistic but fair king, Rose considered, thinking the man to be a bit like Ganthorpe from the tales she’d heard.

“What then?” Rose questioned him, flustered and gesturing wildly as she stood and then sat again in frustration at the whole scene.

“Keep your voice down,” he instructed in a commanding, hushed tone. He closed in on her again and stood facing her. Then he sat on the bed, beckoning her to shift and look at him. She did so, reluctantly and vigilant, holding his gaze steadily, a tentative contemplation overwhelming her.

“I have eyes everywhere in this city,” he began to explain. This confused and surprised Rose at the same time.

“Who are you?” Rose asked him, whispering now.

“I am Ganthorpe Randolph—the soon-to-be-Assistant Mayor of Oakhaven,” he announced clearly to her, boasting proudly as if the deed had already happened. Then he modified his tone and spoke words meant to gauge a reaction. “That could mean a much busier schedule and a public image that may add up to less frequent visits on my part,” he went on, watching intently the expression on the young woman’s face. Rose knew that she offered a slight hint of disappointment there, and he reacted as such. She knew him then to be extraordinarily skillful at reading even the slightest change in body language or mannerisms, as well as the most insubstantial of vocal fluctuations. Yet another surprise to this man and yet another of his many gifts, she understood.

“I am aware of these things,” Rose answered, pursing her lips and then biting the lower one as she turned away from him briefly.

“Ah, but what you do not know—and what no one but a select few know—is that I run the Thieves’ Guild, an organization of pickpockets and rogues here in Oakhaven called the Shadowhands.”