Rysykk's Rise

By the time he was deemed well enough to get out of the bed, Alarin wanted nothing more than to get out of the pampered prison he’d found himself in. He’d eaten more food in the weeks he’d been awake than he had in his whole seventeen years. He would thank his host for the rescue and generosity, and find out what was required in return. Then get out as soon as he was able, beat it back to his own level. Back to the dark and grunge of bottomside.

“How long have I been here, Rose?” Alarin asked as he dropped sweating and breathless onto the bed after only a short walk, leaning heavily on the cane she’d brought.

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. “Do you have somewhere better to be?”

He laughed and lifted his splinted leg up onto the bed while she poured him some water and set his little cup of pills beside the bed. “Yeah; ‘cause my flop hole and trash bed’s so much better ... and I gots stuff what needs doing.” He snorted and tossed the pills back, slamming down the water. He figured he should get as much of the good stuff as he could while he was there. Soon enough he’d be back down in the gutter.

“It will be a month tomorrow,” Rose said finally.

Alarin shook his head. “Long time.”

“Mr. Bryant will be home from his trip in a few days. By then we should have your strength up. He’ll want to see you. He’s been pleased with your progress.”

That made Alarin more nervous than he wanted to admit. He had nothing to offer this man. He couldn’t imagine what a man like Maleus Bryant could possibly want with a gutter-born bottom feeder like him. Well, he could imagine, but none of the things that came to him were pleasant.

A week later Alarin was given clothing – simple, but new, and better than anything he’d ever worn. He was led out of his room, into a bright, white hallway and over to an elevator that took them up ten floors. A whole level. As the doors opened, the servant escorting him gestured into the room. "Mr. Bryant is waiting for you, sir."

Alarin actually snorted at that. He'd never been called a "sir" before. He limped his way into the room, which was a stark contrast to everything he'd seen before. The walls were lined in rich wood paneling, dark and well polished. The back wall was filled, floor to ceiling, with books. The carpeting was nearly ankle thick as he stepped hesitantly onto it. A few steps further into the room, and he eyed the lush furniture-- black leather. It was more than a few moments before his eyes adjusted enough to see the eyes regarding him with cool amusement from the depths of one of the chairs.

"Forgive the lack of light. I'm afraid my eyes are sensitive." The voice was slightly accented, gentle, compelling.

"No problem. I come from the dark levels." Alarin responded reflexively, and he sensed, rather than saw, the smile.

"I recall. I trust you are feeling better?”

"Yeah ... you know ... thank you. I can’t pay you for this."

The shadows seemed to shift as Maleus moved forward in his chair. "There is nothing to repay. It was my pleasure."