Dagger - The Light at the End of the World by Walt Popester

his chin,
covered with sticky stubble, twirling between his fingers the round
earrings that dangled from his left ear, the only one he still
had.
    “ That’s totally wrong.
Totally wrong again!” he said, tearing up the paper and throwing it
into the brazier. “Bah! Incomes from the sale of the boys, little,
only twenty Dragoons. Who buys them thin as they are? Incomes from
theft, still less, no more than twelve Dragoons. They are good only
at getting caught, the little bastards. Begging, Uhm . one hundred and
forty Dragoons. The specialty of these damn wankers. Total… a
hundred and ninety Dragoons.”
    He scratched his head. He
hated it when on the paper he found more Dragoons than he could
find in his chest. He hated above all not to understand how much of
that money had been spent on alcohol and in some kind of mushrooms,
or what might have been stolen by his Spiders. The first one was
more likely. Spiders knew all too well what they were getting if
they were caught stealing in there. Death would only be the final
consolation. No, the mistake had to be his, since every time he
repeated the addition the result changed. ‘You never miss a thing, huh?’ said a
voice inside that he decided to ignore. The old man knew he did not
get a particularly long education. He had been educated at the game
of sword and war in a place and a time far from those. For a
moment, he let his mind wander to the high towers of the Fortress,
the desolate landscape on the ruins of Adramelech, the bloodstained
faces of his companions after a long day of war. The Glade. Yes,
the Glade: a pure diamond embedded in that damn desert where people
fought and died.
    Uhm, let me write this
down. I can write a poem on it, he
thought.
Then every questionable inspiration was swept away by the confused
clamor from the other side of the door.
    “ You can’t get in!” the
voice of a young boy shrieked. “He doesn’t want to be interrupted
when he tries to settle the score!”
He did not understand the answer, but he
did recognize the voice that answered. The voice of a woman he had
not heard in a long, long time.
The studio door was thrown open with a
kick, but Sannah did not jump up and grab the dagger he kept stuck
on the desk, ready for use. He always tried not to sound surprised,
especially when, like that time, he really was. He kept his hands
crossed in front of his lips and looked at the woman as she came
in, wearing a pair of boots soaked with fetid water as well as the
worn amaranth tunic she wore. Over her shoulders rose the handle of
a two handed sword, in addition, of course, to the daggers on her
belly and, he was sure, the knife on her calf. All this would leave
very little doubt about her identity, at least to who could
recognize a Guardian of Golconda even from miles away, a Delta, to
be precise, their damned chosen squad, of which he had once been
the Dracon. The only thing that Sannah just couldn’t make out was
what the fuck that woman was doing right there. Only afterward he
noticed the bundle clutched to her breast as if it was the most
important thing in the world to her, and he knew that in one way or
another, big trouble was coming.
A skinny boy, whose ribs were about to pop
out from the skin thin as he was, burst into the room. “I’m sorry
great Mama!” he screamed. “We could not stop her! I tried to—”
Sannah raised a hand and the boy fell
silent. “Get out,” he just said.
The Spider bowed and obeyed, fearfully
closing the door behind him. The old man and the woman remained in
silence, deep silence, in which suddenly emerged the moan of a
newborn. Sannah raised an eyebrow.
    “ The trip was long, I
suppose,” he said. “And, just to know, what brought you to the
world Beyond, Aniah? You haven’t come to bring back your old
father, I hope.”
Aniah walked slowly forward, looking
around. “Nice little place you’ve pulled up, Dad. Exactly, what do
you do now for a living? And why do they call you