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Ezair leaped out the window onto the paved path with a thud. There was no grass to dampen the sound, only some ornate roses and salt-tolerant plants placed with great care next to the house, which he always hated.
‘This is all yours, Ezair. We built this all for you to inherit someday, my son.’
The dust and sand creaked under his feet as he turned around a corner with a tread stronger than necessary. His thoughts were uncertain, but his actions were not: he was heading straight down the street towards the harbor district.
‘Is it all mine, Father?’
‘Yours.’
‘And Karuna will get the same from her father?’
‘No, my son. Her parents own nothing, so she shall receive nothing.’
He didn’t even notice when he went from fast footsteps to jogging, and then running. The soles of his sandals battered hard against the edge of the road and he staggered for a moment, bruising his palm on the rough sandstone walls.
‘Doesn’t she deserve it? She’s smarter than me, faster, she can climb higher.’
‘It has nothing to do with merit. That’s the fate she got.’
“Nonsense!” he growled. His voice wandered octaves as his throat constricted from the rising anger. It wasn’t the first time he’d run away from home, so he was familiar with the sight of piers overlooking the sea, mounds of boxes, the simple facade of the warehouses. The two faces approaching him, however, were not familiar.
“Nonsense?” one asked. He was a tall boy with unusually white hair, grinning at him menacingly. “You shouldn’t shout in the harbor at night. It attracts all sorts.”
“Like you?” Ezair asked. A small, skinny girl next to the white-haired boy pulled out a dagger from under her coat and pointed it towards him.
“Do you know what this is, young master?”
“I know. But I’m not a master.”
“Aren’t you the son of that merchant, Arun Hazra? You’re from his house.”
Ezair took a deep breath and clenched his fists to hide his trembling fingers. He turned his heel inwards, bent his knees, and jumped. His fingers clung to the girl’s wrist and pulled her towards himself, turning sideways to shoulder bump her. As they collided, the blade fell out of the girl’s fingers. Ezair picked it up and held it out. The boy was already standing in front of him, less than an inch from the tip of the dagger. He was fast, too, but not faster than Ezair.
“His house, not mine. I’m Ezair, nobody’s son,” he said defiantly. The white-haired one smiled – then ducked down and kicked him off his feet.
Ezair clenched his teeth when his back slammed against the hard wooden planks, then pushed himself up with his elbows, looking up to the boy towering above him. He even snatched the dagger, pointing it straight at Ezair’s nose.
“I’m Hain, but you can call me chief. It’s an honor to meet you, Ezair, nobody’s son,” he said. “You jumped fast, took even Nari by surprise. Like a snake.”
“A snake took you by surprise?” Ezair asked, standing up while keeping an arm’s length from Hain.
“If you wander the desert a lot, it happens.” Nari shrugged. “Sand serpents, rattlesnakes... Vipers. But none of them bit me. You’re the first.”
“I’m not a snake.”
“Not yet,” Hain said. Before Ezair could ask anything more, the noise of marching steps interrupted the quiet conversation.
Nari looked at Hain in alarm. “Chief, we’ve got to go. If the soldiers catch us again, Irshan will be furious.”
“I know,” Hain said, throwing the dagger into the planks, almost hitting Ezair’s foot. “Let’s play again sometimes, Ezair. Now, run!” Hain grinned and turned around.
Ezair looked at the dagger for a moment, then pulled it out and ran in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t have been fortunate for him either, if the prince’s soldiers caught him.
***
Rashad, a young city officer, was expecting a quiet day. It was the warmest time of the year. Thieves got lazy, trouble-making mercenaries were busy drinking fruit wines in local pubs, and the street brats stuck to the shadowy alleys. Except for one.
A boy cut through the high street like a bewildered horse, hopping through stalls and cargo supplies packed with trade goods, holding a white leather purse. He neatly avoided the arms of the two soldiers chasing him, but a few steps away from Rashad’s observation post, he miscalculated the uneven stones, twisted his ankle and fell on his stomach with a painful wail.
He wasn’t on the ground for long. After two heartbeats, he jumped up and rushed on – at least he would have if Rashad hadn’t stepped in front of him, grabbing the neck of the dirty shirt with one hand and an arm with the other. Rashad turned him around, slid his hands to his wrist and twisted his arms back.
“I’ll admit, if you were a little faster, you could have gotten away,” he said as he forced the thief to the ground.
“Corporal Rashad, so you caught him. He’s a dexterous little fox. We chased him halfway around the world,” a soldier said, panting. Rashad took the purse from the boy’s fingers and handed it to the soldier.
“Would you please return this to its rightful owner?”
“Of course, Corporal. What about the boy?”
“I’ll take him to the station, where he can think about what fate awaits thieves,” he replied, then twisted the thief’s wrist to make him straighten up.
Rashad took his prisoner in a stride toward the guard outpost, opening the creaking door and shoving him inside. He ignored the half-full glass of liquor left on the table, and instead walked to the cell door in the back, opening it with a rattling keyring. He noticed his prisoner shaking his wrist a couple of times, trying the strength of his grip, but the man did not give him a chance to escape. He pushed the thief firmly in, then slammed the door shut and locked it. He sat down at his desk, finished the drink with a quick gulp, then searched for tobacco in his pockets to roll up a cigarette, ignoring the contemptuous look he got from the prisoner.
“You don’t have to look at me so hurt,” he said. “Do your parents know you’ve taken to stealing?”
There was no response, not even a grunt. Rashad sighed and walked to the bars.
“Ezair, if you don’t say anything, you’re making things worse.”
Ezair growled and threw himself down on the bed.
“It’s not getting any better either way, is it? Why do you care?”
Rashad raised an eyebrow. “We’re blood, Ezair, even if you’re not happy about it. Shouldn’t I care about my own family? How long was it since you left your home?”
Ezair’s eyes gazed at the uneven cracks in the ceiling, reluctant to say anything.
“Three years,” he replied finally.
“I see. Your right to your father’s fortune is about to expire. You’re going to lose everything you could have.”
“I don’t care,” Ezair shouted. “It’s his fortune, not mine. Leave it to someone who wants it. I’m not going to spend what I didn’t earn.”
“Then what do you intend to spend? Other people’s hard-earned gold that you steal from them without being offered? Because you earned that?”
“That was a one-time thing! And besides, it wasn’t hard-earned gold: he stole it just like I did.”
“Because you don’t think that money ever had an original owner?” Rashad sat back in his chair, giving up the fight against Ezair’s logic. In the few years he hadn’t seen him, his nephew lost common sense somewhere along his way. “If you don’t steal, what do you want to do for a living?”
“I don’t know. Pick up a sword. Make use of your childhood fencing lessons.”
Rashad raised his head in surprise. “You remember what I taught you?”
“Well, you wouldn’t stop pestering me for years with them.”
“You were talented. It would have been a waste not to teach you.”
“I still am,” Ezair lashed out. “Just out of practice.”
“And where do you intend to practice?”
Ezair caught a glimpse of Rashad’s tricky question, and frowned suspiciously. “What do you mean, where?”
Rashad’s smile didn’t waver as he refilled his glass. He had expected a quiet day, but the Great Divine seemed to have other plans.
“You know that. You will make an excellent soldier.”
***
Hain was bored out of his mind, leaning his shoulders against the pub wall and listening to the noises coming from inside. His father usually did things fast, but the owner of Desert Wind didn’t want to give in easily.
The quiet sound of shattering glass signaled that something had already been broken in there, and from the roaring that followed, he assumed it was someone’s head. The door slammed open unexpectedly, and a huge body staggered out through it backward, barely keeping its balance.
Irshan’s hair was soaked in cheap beer and shards of glass covered his shoulders. The missing handle of the jug was in the hands of the woman who stepped out right after him.
“That’s my opinion of your credibility. I’ll believe you’ll hold your end of the deal when I see money!” she shouted, then noticed the boy leaning against the wall and froze mid-step. “Hain.”
“Hello, mother,” he nodded and looked at his father again.
“Is this really necessary, Adna?” Irshan said straightening up, while the silver bracelet clanked against the numerous other jewels on his arm. “A month. That’s all I ask. Then we’ll leave, I promise.”
“Sure. Next month it will be two, and then another one.”
Hain rarely saw his father so courteous and gentle, but Vanadna was a special woman. First, she could smash a glass jug on a man’s head without causing half the city to sway at such an insult, and second, she did it so hard it staggered him. Hain was about to give up the convenience of the pub when he heard the shuffling of someone walking up to him.
“Looks like I’ve come at a bad time.”
Hain measured the tanned face and the golden irises swirling around the dark pupils. “Well, if it isn’t Ezair, nobody’s son. It’s been a while.”
“Hain... Chief. What’s going on?”
Hain glanced back at Irshan. “My father wants to make this pub the Two-headed Viper’s quarters for a while. But my mother... She doesn’t think it’s a very good idea.”
“Your own mother would throw you out?” Ezair asked.
“Well, she did once, fourteen years ago. I don’t think it’s any different now.”
“I see. Then why would you even try?”
“Trying never hurt anyone. The old man promised her six hundred sungold for this month, but he’s got barely a quarter of that in his pocket right now, and my mother, understandably, doesn’t think he can pay for it. No one accommodates a whole guild of mercenaries for free.”
“Mercenaries? Is that what you are?”
“You haven’t heard of us?”
Ezair shook his head. Hain pushed himself away from the wall and signaled him to follow.
“Come, the old man can explain better. Never mind my mother, my father always gets what he wants somehow. Eventually.”
Irshan’s shoulders sagged, and even his eyes seemed contrite as the two boys approached him. He reached for Vanadna’s waist to pull her close, but she was faster. She danced out of his arm’s reach and shook the mug’s broken handle at him menacingly.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed.
“Can we at least have a beer then, Mother?” Hain asked.
Vanadna turned towards them and shrugged.
“If you promise not to break anything,” she said, and marched inside.
Given that negotiations came to a halt, Irshan wiped his face and rubbed his temple.
“If I understand correctly, she didn’t believe you,” Hain said.
“I’ll convince her. I always do.”
“I don’t think we have time to wait until mother calms down. It could take a week, and I’m already tired of sleeping in at the docks. Luckily, I may have found a solution.” Hain patted Ezair’s back. “Dad, this is Ezair. He was once the son of Arun Hazra, now he belongs to no one. And he wants to know more about the Vipers.”
“I never said any—," Ezair tried to object, but Irshan interrupted him by grabbing his shoulder and dragging him towards the inn.
The Desert Wind was fairly empty, at least for a pub that was so far on the outskirts of the city, exposed to the sandstorms and the quickly deteriorating living conditions compared to the market. Irshan tried to steer clear of the still furious Vanadna, so he sat down at a far table, dragging the two boys with him. He thrust his arms forward, pulling back the silver bracelet to reveal two, tiny dots on his wrist.
“Do you know why a viper strikes, Ezair Hazra?” he asked.
Ezair grimaced. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard my father’s name shame my own.”
“It’s your name, too,” Irshan replied, banging his enormous fist on the table. “If you don’t like what your father did with the name, make sure people will remember it because of you. Answer me. Do you know why does a viper bite?”
“Never to kill an enemy. Only to kill prey,” Hain intervened, tiring of the tense pause.
“Exactly. This one only bit me because I grabbed it. There was one bite, my arm went flaccid, my fingers felt weak, so I let go of the snake and it immediately fled. He didn’t mean to kill me, he just wanted me not to hurt him. As long as a warrior... no, a man is not like a viper, he has no honor.”
“I don’t get it.” Ezair shook his head, looking thoughtfully at the two white dots on Irshan’s wrist. He grunted and slipped the bracelet back into place, then looked deep into Ezair’s eyes.
“Anyone can have a weapon, just like any snake can sprout fangs. But anyone who bites into everything he loathes has no honor. Do you understand that?”
“I thought mercenaries did whatever they were paid to.”
“You thought wrong. A mercenary can choose what job he takes. When he feels it’s needed, he strikes. Precisely and cleanly, like a viper’s bite.”
Ezair examined the dagger hanging on his side for a long time, gently caressing the handle’s carvings. Hain had given it to him years ago but he never understood what message he was supposed to read from it.
Now he finally got it.
“How do you become a Two-Headed Viper?”
Hain leaned forward, getting between the two of them with a victorious grin. “Let me tell you what I found to fix our problem.”
***
Ezair was fidgeting, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt several times and checking if his blade was on him. There weren’t many occasions that scared him, but this was definitely one of them.
Basil Sagnik was a highly reputable nobleman, a protégé and the expected heir to the title of admiral – and an enormous douchebag. Lord Basil liked to show what an excellent swordsman and bare-handed fighter he was, so every year he stood in the main square on his name-day and invited all to beat him in a duel for the price of five hundred sungold.
As Ezair squirmed between some bystanders, he saw the nobleman avoid a knife thrust, tipping his attacker off balance and making him fall to the ground.
“Well, the duel’s over.” He smiled confidently, bowing to the applauding crowd.
I don’t have to win... Ezair chanted to himself as he walked through the crowd, avoiding the huge mass of people gathered around the nobleman. I don’t have to beat him, just follow Hain’s instructions.
He couldn’t even guess how Lord Basil’s secret had reached Hain’s ears. Nari only said that he had always been like this. Ezair suspected that every beggar and street wench was a snitch reporting to him, or else he would never have found out about the nobleman’s enchanted canvas.
Even Hain wasn’t sure about its actual function, but he collected several rumors. One theory suggested there was a yann sewn into the threads of the silken belt, another said that Basil himself was a demon, and a third said he was just a well-hidden mejai. The one thing they somewhat agreed on was that the wind itself drove his graceful movements and that’s how he could dance away from every blow and stab.
“Does yet a brave candidate remain?” the lord asked. He wasn’t particularly old, but from the silvery threads dotting his chestnut hair, it seemed he was already past his youth.
Ezair took a last deep breath, before stepping forward. “I accept the challenge, Your Excellency.”
The nobleman looked at the young boy, paying close attention to his barely visible stubble and adolescent features, then put on a suave grin. “Then step inside the circle, my friend.”
Ezair followed the instruction with trembling legs. His heartbeat calmed down a little when he caught the sight of Hain’s white hair among the many faces gathered around them. He had devised an audacious plan, and it was perhaps possible – if the two boys worked in perfect harmony, both playing their own roles in this play.
“Duel with swords, daggers or fists?” Lord Basil asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He stood in a fencer’s stance, keeping his hands calmly on his belt. It looked pretty ordinary, more like a linen shawl than anything.
“With a dagger, my lord. That’s what I do best.”
Ezair was bluffing. He still couldn’t quite grasp the tricks of knife-fighting, even though he’d had it for years. It needed vastly different skills than the saber Rashad used to train him with; skills he definitely lacked. But he had a quick hand, and Hain’s plan relied on that.
The nobleman answered with a nod, then picked up a gilded parrying gauche from the edge of the well behind them.
“Then show me what you’re made of, my friend,” he said, with a predatory smile. Ezair’s fingers clutched at his dagger, and as he observed the lord’s cautious, rhythmic footsteps, it became obvious how little chance he had against this man. Nevertheless, he took a step forward. They began to circle each other, not letting their opponents’ weapon slip out of sight.
“I see you’re not rushing it. Then let me initiate.”
Ezair barely had time to step sideways as the nobleman lunged towards him and slashed his dagger at the height of Ezair’s ribcage. The blade scratched his skin enough to bleed, but he was fast enough to avoid any serious damage. The pain throbbed, and made him swing his blade in return almost unwittingly.
Lord Basil anticipated the payback and steered clear of it with unnatural flexibility, barely taking a step back before stabbing again. This time, Ezair was prepared and leaped backward, away from the noble’s weapon, but lost his balance for a moment and staggered to the side. Lord Basil followed him, swinging loosely over and over again, until he faced the part of the crowd where Hain was hiding.
Hain took a mirrored glass from his sleeve, bright as the sun itself, and flashed it in the nobleman’s eyes, so he instinctively turned his sight from it. Ezair knew that he could not inflict a wound on him even now. The lord was skilled enough not to let his guard down, even half-blinded.
What he forgot to pay attention to was Ezair’s free hand. It was time for him to contribute to the success of this whole charade.
As quickly as he could, he grabbed one of the knots holding the man’s linen belt and pulled it back, relieving the nobleman of the mystical trinket, then jumped back to avoid a hate-fueled jab towards his stomach.
“Forgive me, my lord, but you never set the rules, only the reward, and the challenge,” Ezair said, and lunged forward, keeping his dagger low at his side.
Lord Basil staggered back gracelessly, swearing like a pirate. Without his magic belt, he lost all ease and elegance, and his natural footwork was far from quick enough to keep up with Ezair, who threw slash after slash at the nobleman.
The duel-ending wound appeared finally on the man’s forearm, spattering the beautiful cashmere robe with blood.
The crowd of people gathered around them erupted with mixed emotions. Some backed away pale, some cheered at Ezair’s victory, and many others mocked the noble.
Ezair was reaching for a heavy bag of money placed on the edge of the well, when he heard Lord Basil’s anger-filled words.
“You... You damned brat,” he growled. “You couldn’t have won. You cheated and fooled me! You have no right to my gold!”
Ezair turned around in surprise, but he couldn’t take a single step because of the sharp sword pointed straight at his chest. It was a wide-bladed navy saber that could knock the dagger out of his hand and cut him to pieces in a flash.
Lord Basil raised the sword to strike. There was a sound of steel biting into flesh, then a soft moan and the repressed sigh of the crowd gathered around them.
Hain pulled his own sword from Lord Basil’s back. The man’s body fell to the ground, leaving an ever-growing pool of blood beneath him.
“That’s how an esteemed nobleman threw away his dignity!” He turned around, catching the eyes of every bystander. “We all heard what he said, didn’t we? Whoever wounds him gets the promised reward. And now that it’s done, not only did he break his promise, but he tried to strike the winner down. What law would allow such a deed?”
Before anyone could respond, the distinctive uniform of the prince’s soldiers appeared in the crowd. Hain looked at Ezair, then took the money bag from the well and grabbed his shoulder.
“I told you it’s going to be fine. But I think it’s time we disappeared, before the people decide who had the right to do what.” He grinned, then skittered towards the edge of the square and the alleys beyond it, pushing the spectators and congratulating passersby aside.
Ezair followed him as quickly as he could, but in the end, the fatigue from the duel slowly took over. The two boys turned around a corner with the soldiers on their tail and ducked behind some barrels, gasping for air.
Hain covered Ezair’s mouth with his palm and only let go when the noise of their pursuers faded in the distance. They both coughed and tried to regain their breath, but there was a contented, victorious grin on Hain’s face.
“Five hundred sungold... Even my mother won’t have a reason to reject us,” he panted, raising the hard-won pouch to his face.
“But—” Ezair tried to interject, but his throat was painfully sore. “But isn’t there a furious navy officer after us... for killing his protégé?”
“That’s the best part,” the white-haired mercenary replied, throwing his head back and letting his grin widen.
Ezair looked down at the linen belt he was still grasping, then wrapped it around his head. At least that would make it harder for people to point him to Lord Basil death.
“You should keep it,” Hain said. “It might bring you luck, Ezair, Nobody’s Son. And you’re going to need it in the Two-Headed Viper.”
Ezair started laughing.
“If my uncle heard this... It’s not exactly what he had in mind for me.”