The Last Pearl

Martain shifted, crouched on a narrow rafter overlooking a small, well-adorned office and dabbed away the sweat from his brow with the cloth-wrap on his left wrist. Luck had gotten him this far - and it would hopefully see him through to the end. But this wasn't the kind of every-day luck that someone experiences when a good trade comes their way or they find one of the Emperor's gold coins stepped into the muck. No, no, this was Luck with a capital 'L.' 

This was magic. 

And he only had one pearl of Luck left. Worming his fingers down into the wide leather belt encircling his waist, he pulled out his last bit of Luck, holding it between two splayed fingers. A perfect little sphere of gold, tiny motes of light drifted off its form and vanished into the stale, muggy air. Summers in Port Ciadre were always insufferable. Martain closed his eyes and made a fist, trapping the little pearl of Luck in the center. With only a little bit of pressure, he could shatter the pearl and release its magic. 

Which was always the tricky thing with Luck. After using a pearl, one had to be alert, so they could see the opportunity. Luck didn’t tend to last long – sometimes its effects were obvious, like stumbling across a coinpurse immediately. Other times it was subtler, like hearing a snatch of distant conversation about how an Imperial Navy vessel had just returned to port in bad shape – and knowing that they would be coming to your shop for repairs. In this particular instance, Martain had leveraged that knowledge to hike up the price of his goods. When a representative of the Navy came by demanding his stock for urgent repairs – she got what she needed. And paid a hefty price for it. Those had been the good days. Before Martain had lost everything. 

Muffled conversation drifted up from below Martain pushed all thoughts of the past from his mind, and dropped to a crouch. Quietly, he slid his sword free of its sheath just as the hefty wooden door below him opened with a quiet creak. A man entered the room, obscured from view from Martain’s perspective by a black, wide-brimmed hat slick with rain. Martain shifted quietly, adrenaline spiking within him. He had to be sure. 

The man below shrugged off his jacket and hung it on an ivory peg hanging from the wall. His hat come next, revealing long, red hair tied back into a ponytail. Martain’s heartbeat spiked. It was him. Luck hadn’t led him astray! This was indeed, Vormad the Red’s business office. Martain closed his eyes and exhaled quietly. He’d used two pearls of Luck to find out where Vormad’s business office was – and another two getting inside. Down to his last Pearl of Luck, there was but one thing left to do: kill Vormad the Red. 

As the large, well-built man settled down behind his desk, Martain licked his lips, quashed his fears, and dropped down from his place within the rafters. Before the startled Vormad could react, Martain slid the bolt on the door into place, locking-out the guards on the other side.

“Who in blazes are you?” Vormad demanded, standing up from his desk. 

Martain turned to face his enemy and narrowed his eyes, feeling a bitter swell of hatred. The smart thing would’ve been to drop down and kill Vormad immediately. But Martain had Luck on his side. And in this moment, he didn’t want to do the smart thing. He wanted to do what felt right. 

“You remember me, don’t you?” Martain asked, voice lethal-quiet. 

Vormad’s eyes narrowed. “You…” His eyes widened. “Ah, yes! I think I recall your face. You’re that poor sap who’s shop we burnt down.” Vormad smiled. “Come back for revenge, I take it?” 

“That wasn’t just a shop.” Martain seethed. “That was my home. My family home! A home you burnt down with my mother still inside.”

Vormad pursed his lips. “A pity.” 

“I want you to know that her grandson shall avenge her. I want you to know how we collect debts, here in Port Ciadre.” Martain snarled. “Arm yourself, Vormad! Then, die.” 

“Enough!” Vormad snapped, before hurling a paper-weight at Martain – who just barely managed to duck out of the way. “Guards! Assassin!” Vormad hollered, before producing a rapier and a knife. 

Martain ignored the pounding on the door and squared-off against Vormad. He held his saber at the ready in his right hand, pearl of luck held at the ready. The right moment would come. He slashed at Vormad, who danced to the left, and thrust at Martain, who ducked out of the way. But Vormad was clearly the more experienced swordsman and within a few short seconds, began pushing Martain towards the far wall of his office, rapier constantly swishing through the air, knife waiting for a killing-blow. 

Martain crushed the pearl of Luck with a faint swirl of golden light as his back hit the wall. A victorious smile on his face, Vormad lunged forward – and tripped, as the sole of his boot gave out. With every ounce of strength he could muster, Martain swung his blade down in a vicious blow that rent Vormad asunder from shoulder to navel. With an expression of shock, the Vormad the Red stagged to one side, before tumbling to the wooden floorboards. Breathing heavily, Martain stepped forth and raised his sword, intending to drive it through Vormad’s heart – which was when he noticed a faint golden glow emanating from Vormad’s mouth. 

Had he just – 

Vormad seized the moment of hesitation to sink his dagger into Martain’s leg, grinning up at him with gold-stained teeth – having just crushed a pearl of Luck within his mouth. Martain drove his saber through Vormad’s heart with a cry of anger, ending the life of the brutal gangster that’d taken everything from him. With a shudder, Vormad died – and Martain stumbled to one side, catching himself on Vormad’s desk and staring at the knife stuck in his thigh in disbelief. The pain was intense, and he could tell that if he removed the knife, he’d bleed to death within minutes. 

He’d killed Vormad – but Vormad may have killed him. 

There was a splintering crack from the door – it wouldn’t last much longer. Martain’s eyes darted to the window. With his leg like this, there was no way he could climb out the same way he got in. Not without maiming himself. No. No. There was only one way out. Gritting his teeth furiously, he braced himself against the wooden desk and turned to face the door, readying his saber. The latch rattled as the guards hit it outside. 

His blade trembled. He clamped a hand down over his wrist, steadying his sword-arm. Martain’s Luck had run out. Death was all but certain. His only hope of escape, injured as he was, was to dispatch Vormad’s guards. A feat that would be next-to-impossible. He closed his eyes and thought of his mother’s face. At least he could die knowing he avenged his family.

The door burst open. 

The guards rushed in. 

And Martain steeled himself for his last fight.