The Alabaster Staff - Edward Bolme [30]
Toward the back, she found a reasonable place, a side door with a couple of wooden steps leading up to it. The small stair step was of utilitarian design, with open sides and close-fit planking. There was enough room underneath for a destitute young woman to crawl in and at the least have a roof of sorts over her head. Kehrsyn spent a few moments trying to gather whatever detritus might be around to provide protection against the wind, then settled in for the night.
She paused and prayed to whatever god might hear her, not that she really expected any of them to pay attention to a miserable little creature like her. Then she tried to find a way to lie down that was comfortable in the limited space beneath the stair and yet wouldn't irritate her burned left arm. Finally she found a reasonable compromise, laid her head on her lumpy bag, and tried to relax.
It was in that moment of quiet that she heard the sniffling.
It was a persistent, weak, whining sniffle, the moan of a small voice that knows no hope. Kehrsyn sagged as she heard the sound. It was one she was all too familiar with, having made it far too many times herself in her childhood. She pushed herself back out of her makeshift den, turned her head to one side and the other, and began to move down one of the side streets.
Three quarters of a block away, she found a man holding his young girl, wedged between a slop barrel and a wagon. Even in the gathering dark, Kehrsyn could clearly see that they were hungry, haggard, and cold. The little girl cried in a quiet monotone of misery punctuated by wet snuffles, a droning, hopeless lullaby of despair. How they'd remained in the streets Kehrsyn didn't know. Perhaps a guard had actually taken pity on them.
Kehrsyn sucked in her lips and sighed. Setting her jaw, she pulled out her half-eaten pear and gave it to the man. His hand trembled as he accepted it. He gave it to his daughter, taking none for himself. Kehrsyn started to step away, then stopped. She pulled out her two coins, separated the copper, and was about to hand it over as well, then she paused.
She stared at the man, only partially aware of his hopeful look, barely registering that the empty cry of the young girl had been replaced by the sound of crunching fruit. Finally Kehrsyn shook her head, slung the silver to the ground at the man's feet, and stomped off, frustration, compassion, guilt, charity, hunger, and pity all warring in her heart.
The heavy strike of her footsteps drowned out the man's hoarse blessings.
Two reptilian eyes the color of emerald watched the cloaked figure stomp back down the deserted street. The tiny dragon wyrmling scuttled along the four-inch ledge that demarked the second story of the building, keeping pace with the strange human.
The wyrmling's sharp eyes saw the tears run down her face, saw the chin that quivered despite its defiant, proud set. Around the corner, it craned its serpentine neck to watch as the slender human crawled back under the stairs like a fox into a den.
These were all very interesting things, for it knew the smell of food, knew the glitter of precious metals, and knew that its mistress would want to know that someone was lairing under her stoop.
Spreading its fragile wings, the wyrmling took off with a faint flutter. It circled up, then landed on the windowsill of its mistress. It tapped the window with its beaklike muzzle.
Tiglath opened the window, picked up the wyrmling, and set it on her shoulders.
The wyrmling placed its muzzle next to her ear and began to speak.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kehrsyn rose with the sun, though not enthusiastically.
Her teeth chattered with the cold until