Ricko Daggerheart's Arc

Chapter 3 of 18

The next morning, T'Zaro led Ricko out behind the tavern to a wide, level field of raked sand. The panther had agreed to hide Ricko among his crew and smuggle him into the sultan's palace. But first he wanted proof the hyena could fight. "You want the crown jewel," T'Zaro said. "You'll need to earn a place beside my killers. Show me you won't get us all gutted." Torin leaned on a palm at the field's edge, arms crossed, ears twitching. "He's fast," the elephant offered. "I've seen him run." "Running isn't fighting," T'Zaro said. He drew two knives and tossed one to Ricko. "Blunt edges. Draw blood anyway and I'll respect it." Ricko caught the knife and set his feet. He knew combat. He had scrapped with raiders and cut his way out of an ambush. But the panther moved before he finished the thought. T'Zaro closed the gap in one blur and rapped the flat of his blade against Ricko's ribs. "Dead," T'Zaro said, already circling back. Ricko grunted and pressed forward. He swung low, then high, driving hard. Each strike met empty air. T'Zaro slid around every attack like water around a stone. He tapped Ricko's shoulder, his thigh, the back of his neck. "Dead. Dead. Dead." Sand sprayed with each miss. Ricko's lungs burned. Then he stopped chasing. He remembered the hunt, how his pack once drove prey by patience. He gave ground. He let T'Zaro come. When the panther lunged, Ricko dropped and swept his leg. T'Zaro stumbled. Ricko rolled up and pressed his blunt knife to the panther's throat. The field went still. Torin's breath caught. T'Zaro looked down at the blade at his neck. Then he laughed, low and real. He knocked the knife aside and stood. "You learn mid-fight. That's worth more than speed." He clapped a hand on Ricko's shoulder. "Sloppy. But you'll live long enough to be useful." Ricko wiped sweat from his brow. "So I'm in." "You're in." T'Zaro sheathed his knives. His green eyes narrowed. "But hear this. My crew has run the palace grounds before. There's a rotation of guards that changes at the next full moon. Miss that window and the inner vault seals for a season." He turned toward the tavern. "Three days, ghost. We ride at dusk to meet the others. After that, there's no slipping back out." Ricko's chest tightened. He had proven himself. But the door he'd pried open now had a lock behind it, and the key was time. Torin caught his eye and said nothing. Both of them understood. The waiting was over. In three days, Ricko would walk into the sultan's house masked as an assassin, with only a full moon between him and the crown he came to steal.