The Red Dagger

The thief stared out of the shadows at the group of bounty hunters gathered around the large, circular table. A few of them were drunk and raucous, having taken a bit too keenly to the tavern's ale, but the rest were silent with grim faces and restless eyes. Ignoring the drunks, a dark-skinned hunter with a rippling mass of muscle jabbed a finger at one of the bounty notes laid out on the table and read it aloud for the benefit of the coalition. After dark-skin finished going over it, the hunters, arguing in sharp whispers, decided who would pursue that target. From his shadowy corner the thief listened with one ear and let his thoughts wander. 

Most of the bounty hunters looked like they were good at breaking things. Breaking  necks, the thief thought, breaking necks and breaking mothers’ hearts. Why his acquaintance of all people had wanted to meet in a tavern for bounty hunters was beyond him. Acquaintance, the thief mulled. I need to cut him off soon . . . before he gets too close. 

With a sour feeling in his stomach, the thief pulled his cloak closer and shrank farther back into the shadows. He stared across the room at the hearth, where the fire burned low. His gaze shifted to the tavern door. Then dark-skin's finger jabbed at the next piece of parchment. The thief gave up watching the door. 

“This one”—dark-skin smirked—“came across the war border”—the thief frowned— “Whoever wrote it must be daft, but judge yourselves. 'Wanted: bounty hunter to steal the Red  Dagger from the castle and bring it to the seaport. Reward: lucrative.'” 

The thief stopped breathing. The Red Dagger? he thought. What in the—He anxiously checked the tavern door again, looking to escape the ghosts of his mind. The door was still  undisturbed, his acquaintance still absent. Muttering a curse, the thief returned to watching the bounty hunters. They were snickering. One of them suggested that the writer was not daft, but tipsy, and the snickers turned into a chorus of laughter—throaty chuckles, high-pitched shrieks, pig-snorts, and one long train of inane giggling. The thief smirked. Tipsy, eh? he thought, and he crept closer to the group. 

The dark-skinned bounty hunter—who had not released more than one short, scornful laugh—took up the unwanted parchment and turned away from the table. After he rolled his neck, which cracked loudly, his gaze snapped to a hunter who was slumped, drooling, and staring  blankly into an empty tin mug. 

“You should have waited to drink until after you collected bounty,” dark-skin purred. Slowly, the drunk's gaze pulled away from his mug. “Bouounty,” he slurred and released a loose cackle. “Bounty for aaall when KING cooms forth”—he flung out his arms grandly and rocked precariously forward—“Little fool told me day—tu-day—dat king would be a comin' agin—AGIIIN!” 

Dark-skin reached out a massive hand and clamped it on the drunk's shoulder to keep him from toppling. He held up the note about the Red Dagger in his other hand. Black eyes gleaming, dark-skin quipped, “Find the Red Dagger and you shall have a tipsy friend to keep you company.” 

The thief stared as dark-skin stuck the parchment in the drunk's mug. The chorus of laughter rose again as the drunk brought the mug to his lips and tilted his head back. With a smirk dark-skin returned to the table and jabbed his finger at the next item of interest. 

While the hunters refocused on their business, the drunk wobbled backward to the edge of the wavering light cast by the candles on the table. Finally, he brought the mug down and gazed around with bleary, confused eyes. Like a ghost the thief sidled up to the drunk's side. He reached a black-gloved hand with slender fingers into the drunk's mug and quickly withdrew the parchment.

Before slipping away, however, the thief hesitated, staring at the drunk. The intoxicated bounty hunter's hair was grimy, ragged, and stone gray with a dull streak of white. He was old, old enough to remember better times. 

“Hopeless,” the thief whispered dolefully. “Am I right, gray-head? . . . There is no hope because the absent king will not rise up and take his own—not a chance.”

“Hoopless,” the drunk agreed, swiping awkwardly at the trail of drool on his chin.

The thief turned away from the old hunter and crept toward the tavern door. It was late, and his acquaintance still had not arrived. The thief stopped in front of the door and rested his hand on the handle. In his mind's eye he still saw the haggard and dirty face of the drunk. Drink  tonight and forget your sorrows, he thought. Tomorrow you will wake to a headache and the real  world. . . . Or perhaps, you drank too much, and you will never wake again.

The thief sighed and let his hand slip from the door. He would wait the rest of the night for his acquaintance. The thief turned and took a step from the door when it suddenly crashed open. 

“DAX!” a voice shouted, and the thief whirled around, jumping out of his skin.

The thief squinted at the shadowy figure in the doorway. It was tall and scrawny, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. The thief thought he could make out the thin-lipped, crooked smirk. Although the lighting was bad, he knew what his acquaintance looked like. He imagined the  pale, watery blue eyes behind the oval-lensed spectacles. Then there was the faint sprinkling of freckles on the nose, the cheeks, and even the overly large, roundish ears. The thief watched the figure raise a spidery hand to pull back his hood and comb back his wavy, shoulder-length locks—pale locks, white-blond to match the pale eyes. 

“You jumped, Dax.” 

Dax slowly looked over his shoulder, met the deadly, surprised glares of the bounty  hunters, and hissed, “Yes, I am certain everyone noticed, and I do not find it amusing, Luca.”

He brushed past Luca into the moonlit street. He heard and felt pale-gaze rush after him. Dax ran lightly through some twisting alleyways before stopping and facing his acquaintance.

“Make for the old inn,” Luca panted. “I rented a room there. It will be safe to talk.”

“Oh, really?” Dax seethed. 

Pale-gaze squirmed. “I did not suppose that you would mind waiting with the bounty hunters,” he added hurriedly. “You were a bounty hunter yourself.” 

“Once,” Dax replied. “I hunted once. And I ended up befriending my target.”

Luca smiled and began leading the way to the inn.

“You know,” Dax continued, his gaze restlessly assessing the shadows around them,“they never told me, and I never asked you: why was there a bounty on your head?”

“Oh”—pale-gaze hesitated—“I ran a black market for some time.” 

“How quaint,” Dax breathed. 

Then, they fell into silence until they came upon the old inn. From its open door there came a warm and cheery golden glow, making the shadows outside seem deeper than ever. Pale-gaze took a step toward the door. Lightning quick, Dax reached out a hand to stop him.

“Which window goes into your room?” Dax hissed. 

Luca raised his eyebrows and pointed out one of the windows on the second floor.

“Good,” Dax said. “Go through the common room if you wish, but I have already risked my head’s attachment enough for one night.”

“But my window is locked.” Luca frowned. 

“Locked?” Dax returned. “What is that?” 

Pale-gaze watched as Dax slipped away. Pursing his lips, Luca entered the inn through the front door. When he reached his room, he found the thief waiting for him. Dax had already managed to build a bright, crackling fire. Under the dark-eyed scrutiny of the thief, Luca went to the thick curtain that was drawn to cover the window. A spidery hand shot out and pulled back the curtain, allowing the watery blue eyes to examine the window. Luca’s thin lips twisted into a frown. It was locked as though it had never been touched by Dax. With a grunt pale-gaze let the curtain fall back into place and turned to the thief. 

“There was a good reason I wanted you to wait in that tavern,” Luca began, adjusting his spectacles. “Did you hear about the Red Dagger?” 

The thief sighed. Before he answered, he reached up and pulled down his black hood and the black mask that had covered his lower face. Dax's face was young with smooth, ivory skin and commonplace features. Sighing again, Dax pulled off a glove and absently arranged his  uneven, dark-brown hair. 

Finally, he answered, “I did more than hear about it.” 

Pale-gaze grinned as Dax withdrew a piece of parchment and set it on a table. For a moment, they both studied it. Luca slipped into a chair at the table. Tugging his glove back on, Dax reluctantly took the other chair, half-expecting the rickety thing to snap under his weight. 

With gleaming eyes Luca looked up from the parchment and regarded Dax. Every inch of clothing Dax wore was dark—a worn-out, dusky sort of ebony. Dax shifted his hands underneath the loose folds of his cloak. His fingers fiddled with knife hilts. Then he withdrew his arms from obscurity and clenched his fists against the table. The tension made his muscles bulge. Luca smiled at the thief’s strength. 

“Well?” Dax waited. “Did no one ever teach you that staring is rude?” 

“Your face is ludicrously forgettable,” pale-gaze explained, “and this time I want to  remember it.” 

“Quaint,” Dax returned curtly. “What else do you want? Shall I steal the moon for you? Or do you actually wish to talk about something? I dislike lingering in one town for so long, Luca.” 

Pale-gaze shrugged and gestured carelessly toward the parchment. “You shall go to steal the dagger and get the reward, I suppose.” 

“Not a chance.” Dax scowled. “A child could see that there is a trap in it.”

Luca gapped. “But—but the Red Dagger!” he stammered. “It could be—I mean what if it is the”—he dropped his voice to a breath—“the Ruby Dagger?” 

“What do you know of that?” the thief demanded, stiffening. 

Luca sat rigidly upright as though giving a speech and answered, “The Ruby Dagger was an heirloom of the royal family, I understand. It was to be the bride price given for the princess betrothed to the young king, our runaway king. . . . The blade itself was the finest ruby, I understand. Some say that it was magical.” 

“And some say the king will rise up again,” Dax spat, and his face went crimson. “Some say that there will be an end to the filthy anarchy and an end to the rebellions rebelling against  rebellions. . . . What use is a pretty heirloom?! And what an asinine thing—to make a blade out  of ruby!” 

Pale-gaze regarded Dax like puzzle. “Have you any heirlooms yourself, Dax?” he asked. “Did your family leave you anything, or do you have any family yet alive?”

“No family,” Dax muttered. “No family. No duty. No—” he cut off, stiffened, and met the watery eyes and lopsided smile of his acquaintance. 

“No friends,” Luca finished. “An ancient creed of thieves, I understand. You cannot actually claim that it is your creed, though, Dax. You are not that breed of man. Why, the two of  us are friends!” 

“Are we?” Dax breathed. 

Pale-gaze dropped his eyes to the parchment on the table. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you, Dax. You—you saved my life. . . . You are the first friend I ever had.”

Dax grit his teeth. I hope you mean that, Luca. . . . I want to believe in you.

Luca jabbed a bony finger at the parchment. “You had the Ruby Dagger in your  possession once.” 

Never mind how in the castle you knew that, the thief thought, but out loud he grunted, “I  sold it.” 

Luca tilted his head. “Who did you steal it from? Where did you get it?”

“My mother gave it to me,” Dax whispered. 

Luca frowned. “Who did she steal it from?”  

Dax stood abruptly and snatched up the parchment. “The bait is the Ruby Dagger, is it not?” he asked. 

Luca blinked up at the thief. “I just thought you would want the knife back. Not every thief has a chance to steal a royal heirloom.” 

After a long pause, Dax stated, “I suppose you have already arranged some charming way of secreting me across the war border and into the castle?” 

The lopsided smile emerged. “A healing wagon leaves town within a few hours. You can use that to get across the border. The castle you shall have to manage yourself, but that should not prove vexing. I hear the castle will be taken over by the rebellion on this side of the border within a month. I doubt it will have more than a handful of soldiers and a handful of rebel leaders.” 

“How quaint,” Dax replied, pulling up his hood and mask. Only a handful of people  engrossed in their failing rebellion, the thief thought. Except one. One will be waiting for me—Dax stared at Luca—and you will be waiting for your reward—under his mask Dax smiled bitterly—a reward that cannot be half the bounty on my head, but maybe you do not know quite that much, Luca. 

Pale-gaze watched Dax go to the window. Suddenly, he stood from his chair and reached out a spidery hand to place on the thief's shoulder. The thief tensed and looked back at Luca. Luca smiled and patted his shoulder. 

“Dax, take care. Please do.” 

Studying the faded blue eyes, Dax whispered, “I would do it again, you know—even now. I would not change my decision to save and spare your life.” Dax hesitated. “Just make sure  you do not get the worse end of the deal.” 

Luca's hand slipped off Dax's shoulder. Taking a springy step back, he slowly nodded, keeping an easy smile. Dax left through the window with a sinking feeling. He thought he had seen Luca's eyes widen. If I get caught in this little trap, Dax thought, at least let the bait actually be the Ruby Dagger. 

Dax found the healing wagon Luca had told him about. A couple of guards watched over it, but they were outside the wagon. Dax snuck inside the back and found an empty coffin. More than some people have, the thief allowed, climbing into the uncomfortable hiding place. The wealthy sometimes paid for the retrieval of deceased loved ones. Dax doubted anyone would pay  to retrieve him, not anymore. 

The healing wagon carried him over the war border. Within a week he stood before the castle. The castle, Dax sniffed. My old haunt has turned into quite the disgraceful mess.

From the congested main road, he frowned at the walls that encircled the castle grounds. They were crumbling and in multiple places, leveled. Each gap was plugged by a group of  sloppily armored men, who looked like they were commoners trying to make money as mercenaries. Beyond what was left of the walls, lay the castle with all its towers and ramparts  and courtyards. It too was now almost a ruin. 

Dax felt tears rush into his eyes. Hastily, he turned away from the castle and wiped them away. He would wait until nightfall to burglarize. There was a way, Dax knew, to enter the tired old castle without bothering the crumbling walls and the pitiful soldiers. I of all people am going  to break into the castle and steal a royal heirloom, Dax thought, smirking at the irony, but the  smirk was gone with his next heartbeat, replaced by a miserable sob that the thief could no longer hold back. 

When night came, it was dark and moonless as Dax had expected it to be. Like a cat, he crept unseen to the wall surrounding the castle. He walked beside it until he reached a sunken, square execution yard, twenty feet below street level. The yard was open to the sky so that those on the street could press against the metal fence surrounding it and peer down. In the center of the yard rested the chief attraction, a small scaffold for beheadings. 

Dax approached and placed a black-gloved hand on the dull metal. The fencing was of  evenly-spaced rods with savage spikes at the top. It ran around three sides of the sunken yard. The fourth side was flush with the wall that surrounded the castle. Dax squinted and brought his face close to the fence, looking between two of the rods. He thought he could just make out the  door that led under the castle wall into the dungeons.

After scanning the tranquil night around him, Dax climbed the metal fence. His strong hands seized the crossbar that connected the rods underneath the spikes, and he pulled his body upward. Dax set his feet against the bars and edged higher. Then, with a smooth thrust he cleared the spikes and landed lightly on the other side of the fence.

Dax crouched on the narrow strip of ground between the fence and the twenty-foot drop off. His hands grasped the edge, and he swung his body down to hang below him. In the next breath he released his grip and fell quickly, pushing off at the last moment to roll to his feet on the sandy ground.

Rather than staying in the open, Dax leaped back to the wall and moved along it to the  door. He found the door's lock pitifully easy to pick and was soon in a long, gloomy passage. Some distance ahead he saw a flickering torch. It illuminated the first of the cells, formed of floor-to-ceiling metal bars.

Dax drew a knife, but he kept it under his cloak lest the light of the torch glint off the blade. All was quiet, but the presence of the torch made him uneasy. Although he knew the way forward was dangerous, Dax did not allow himself to consider turning back.

When he came to the first cell, his heart skipped a beat, and his eyes widened. Blood, he thought. A bloody corpse is staring at me. His next heartbeats pounded harder, but his mind suddenly realized that his eyes had lied. From behind the bars of the first cell, the girl who stared at him with a tired, amber gaze was not dead. Nay, even now she was pulling herself to her bare  feet and brushing her thick, blood-red hair out of her face.

“Hail, thief,” she called softly. “What brings you here?”

Dax stared at her, and his heart ached. No older than me, Dax thought. Her face was  bright and alert, but there was an ugly bruise on her forehead. Clutching the bars of her cell tightly, she stared back at Dax. She stood carefully, Dax thought, and her posture is odd. In  another heartbeat he noticed that she was not putting any weight on her left leg. Eyes narrowing, Dax saw dark streaks on the side of her tunic, and he guessed there were more stains on the back.  The girl must have been whipped and beaten. Clenching his teeth, Dax went to move on, but his gaze snagged on the metal band on her arm, the metal band inscribed with a date. 

Three days, Dax realized. In three days she shall be beheaded. After casting a hesitant  glance down the passage, Dax was at the cell door, picking the lock. The girl gasped in surprise.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dax saw one of her hands slide down from the prison bar and shift to her side. Dax froze. He was fairly sure the girl was not armed, but apparently, she was used to carrying a weapon. Dax thought about her blood-red hair. What is a foreigner doing  in a rebel dungeon? he wondered. 

“Were you searched?” Dax asked carefully, opening the cell door. 

“Oh,” red-hair spat, her face twisting, “they searched me very well.”

Stepping clear of the doorway, Dax held out a dagger. “Take this,” he offered. “Try not to cut yourself.” 

Limping heavily and grimacing with pain, red-hair left her cell and took the weapon.

“Do you know anything about the Red Dagger?” Dax kept his eyes on her.

The girl laughed. “I am the Red Dagger.” 

“You?” Dax blurted. “What in the castle am I supposed to do with you?”

“What were you planning to do?”

“Follow me,” Dax hissed. “There are some secret passages in the castle that I hope are still unknown.”

Slowly, they went along, passing many empty cells lit by torches. All of a sudden, Dax halted. Red-hair was lagging behind and staggering. She grit her teeth and clenched her fists as she stumbled after him. She needed a break. 

Dax’s lips pursed under his mask. “Who are you?” There was something about her that  gave him déjà vu.

Red-hair met his gaze. “I do not fraternize with men whose faces I cannot see.”

Dax pulled down his mask and flung back his hood. “Who are you?” he repeated.

The girl stared and blushed. “My name,” she answered, drawing herself to a rigid posture  despite the pain, “is Aileen Youngblood.” 

Dax's eyes widened, and his face reddened. How many times had he imagined and  wondered about this very girl? He remembered when he was a young boy, he had, after long consideration, told his mother that he did not intend to marry. His mother had smiled and cupped  his face in her soft hands and called him a ‘silly little prince’. She had told him that he was betrothed to be married to a princess from across the sea, a princess by the name of Aileen Youngblood. Surprised and offended, but curious too, Dax had asked what the princess was like.  His mother had described a girl with amber eyes and sanguine hair. 

Now, Dax felt his heart pound, and he was uncomfortably aware that his mask was down. Shall I say, “My name is Phoenix Boldheart, and I am the king”? he thought. Nay, such a title was less true than Dax the thief or any other false name he had gone by. He was the king of nothing.

“I go by Dax,” he finally managed. “. . . I am afraid I have not been as courteous as I  should have been, Your Highness.”

“Well met,” Aileen replied, looking a little startled. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you know of my name. I was promised in marriage to the last king of this land, Phoenix Boldheart.”

“How quaint,” Dax muttered.

“Someone found out that I was traveling in this country, and I was captured,” red-hair continued. “I believe they wanted to get a ransom for me, but of course, my parents scorned their demands. I have too many siblings for them to bother about me, and I am neither the eldest nor the youngest.” Aileen smiled. “My parents told me before I left that they would not save my skin if I got in trouble.” 

“Quaint,” Dax grunted. 

“But you saved me, Sir Dax!” Aileen winked but then hesitated, fingering the dagger Dax had given her. “When they found out that I was no financial use to them, some of the men started considering certain vulgar uses of their captive. I told them that I would kill myself if they started behaving like half-wits. They told me not to waste my strength; they said they would behead me themselves and see if I held my chin so high.” 

Dax stirred and began leading the way down the passage again, but he maintained their conversation. “What brings you across the sea, Your Highness?” 

“The Ruby Dagger,” Aileen answered freely. “Some months ago I bought it from a thief. I sent it ahead of me across the sea while I lingered here like a half-wit and was captured. . . . You know, you never answered my first question, Sir Dax. What brings you here?”

“There was a bounty note about the Red Dagger.” Dax sighed. “I thought it might refer to the Ruby Dagger. . . . I regretted selling it.”

“You? . . . You were the one who sold it to me? Your voice does sound familiar.” Red-hair shook her head and squinted at him. “It is a small world, Sir Dax.” 

Smaller than you know, Dax thought. He halted, for they had come to the staircase that led out of the dungeons. “Wait here,” Dax ordered, and he glanced at the dagger she held. “And try not to cut yourself.” 

Pulling up his mask and hood, Dax crept onward. After the stairs, he stalked down a long corridor, finding it silent and empty. He went farther, sneaking through a series of spacious, doorless rooms that opened into each other. Where is the trap, Luca? he thought, but everything was still.

Dax let out a relieved breath. For the moment at least, the way to the nearest secret  passage was clear. Dax backtracked. Suddenly, he stopped. Why in the castle do I care about the princess? he thought. Why must I always be the knight in shining armor? Sir Dax, indeed!

Dax thought about Luca. He remembered tracking him and finally catching up to him on an old road. When Dax had found him, Luca was being attacked by a group of ruffians. The world had seemed against pale-gaze like it was against Phoenix Boldheart. Dax grimaced. He had warned the ruffians, warned them to back off. They had laughed, and then, Dax had killed them. After saving Luca's life, Dax could not bring himself to turn the man in for a bounty. Rather, he had helped Luca in every way he knew. Maybe Luca did not deserve freedom, but then, neither did Dax. 

Dax sighed and started creeping forward again. He thought he knew why he was  desperate to help people. He remembered his mother telling him that he must always try to do the right thing. Dax had asked her why. With a loving smile of her own, she had claimed that doing the right thing made the Creator smile. She had told Dax something about the afterworld. The memories made Dax frown. He wished he remembered better, and he wished he knew the truth.

Dax ached for an eternity of peace, but he wondered if that was what he would get. He was terrified that his afterlife might be dark. When Dax thought about the Creator, he doubted that his pitiful efforts at doing the right thing would ever be enough. Can I really give you joy? Dax asked incredulously. Do you really smile over a failure like me? 

Suddenly, Dax was jolted out of his thoughts by a scream of pain. By now he was at the staircase leading down into the dungeons. Swiftly, he descended, stopping in the shadows near the bottom to peer around the corner. His keen eyes saw the dagger he had given Aileen on the floor with its blade glistening with blood. Then there was a dead man sprawled out and his throat cut open. A second man, however, a captain by his garb, had grasped a fistful of Aileen's tunic and slammed her against the stone wall. Aileen whimpered.

“And where is this thief?” the captain was demanding.

Aileen's amber eyes flickered down. Sneering, the captain released her. With a cry she sank to the floor.

“Do you know why I let that whelp take the bounty note you dictated across the war border?” When she remained silent, he continued, “I knew that that note would draw the thief if the right strings were pulled. You see, princess, we traced the possession of the Ruby Dagger to him although he does not have it now.” The captain paused and crouched down to meet Aileen's gaze. “All we want is to ask the thief a few questions. We know he is in the castle, and it is too late for him to escape. At most, he could avoid us for a time like any other rodent.” The captain  clasped a hand under Aileen's chin. “Tell me what you know, princess, and I will see to it”—his voice dropped to a husky whisper—“that you get to go home.” 

Aileen muttered something, and the captain struck her savagely across the face. Spitting out a lewd curse, he leapt to his feet and brought forth a small silver tube. Quickly, he put it to his mouth and blew out a shrieking series of whistles, an alarm.

Well, Dax thought, his heart pounding, time to leave.

He began to creep rapidly back up the stairs but suddenly halted in disgust. Do not  abandon the girl. When will you stop being a coward? Maybe it is time you reclaimed your life, he berated himself. Go back.

“Not a chance,” Dax muttered, but then, he turned back.