Bestat, the city in three parts. Part one, the mountain, the stronghold of the Crag where all the other species were forbidden from entrance. Part two, the road, the mystical element of the city that turned it into the thoroughfare of the world. Part three, the city. A shithole carved in marble.

  Skel probably should have been more cautious when he took his usual shortcut home. But he was just so used to having nothing worth bothering with. Plus, maybe, he still wasn’t quite the hardened city tough he liked to pretend to be.

  They were Crag, meaning they hit low and they hit hard.

  As Skel ducked under a tapestry, stepping into one of the city's many narrow marble alleys, they caught him in the shins. Crag v. Stoph was a bad matchup. Crag v. Half Stoph?

  Skel went down hard. He rolled a little as he hit the ground and prayed to the bastard gods that his bones weren’t broken.

  Hollow bones were a requirement for a species that flew like the Stopheri. For Madcap Skel the manmade mule? A curse that usually kept him away from fights.

  Skel groaned, and tried to shove himself up, but the stone man who’d tabletopped him tackled him back down. Folk-free Crag, improper, without a place in the doorframe. They were the bottom of Crag society, nearly as poor as Skel himself and living in sight of the mountain- of all that they believed should have been theirs.

  Maybe it had been different once, when people had been spending less time on the road, less time trying to funnel through and into Bestat. The city had been smaller, supposedly, in the recent past. Now though, with the Sole pushing its borders out so far and so fast, the Crag who weren’t living in the mountain were starting to get pushed out of their own city.

  And they certainly weren’t happy about it.

  The Crag who’d tackled him clocked Skel across the face as he tried to leverage himself up. He felt his nose shatter, and swore vividly.

  From above, he heard a threatening laugh.

  “Stay down cloth-freak.”

  Gods. They sounded so stupid.

  Skel never bothered with all this when he mugged people. Again, with the fragile bones and all, he preferred to avoid a fight- wait till they were inebriated, easy targets. Then all he needed was a knife and some posturing.

  He rolled his eyes, spitting up a little blood that had gotten into his mouth from his crushed nose, but otherwise stayed still as the presumable partner to the Crag that had tackled him began searching Skel’s pockets. There were a few moments of frantic searching, the crag pocketed the 4 copper Skel had foolishly kept on himself. Grunting, his attacker kept looking, going so far as to check Skel’s shoes before popping a frustrated head into Skel’s eyesight.

  “Where is it?!”

  “Where is what?” Skel sighed. Hells, he thought he recognized these guys. Had definitely seen them around. They should know he was shit broke.

  “The payout for that cushy adventur’in gig ya just scored shit head.” The crag currently sitting on his chest growled.

  Hmmm. Wow. Okay. So maybe the Terrapan seer had a reason for not giving Skel the payout. “I don’t have it, “Skel sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically, “Don’t get paid till the job gets done.” Course, the Terrapan could have just told him to avoid this alley, so ultimately the seer was still a dick.

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  The crag on his chest shook him, which seemed to jar Skel’s head more than it should. He’d probably hit it some point during the whole takling… rolling… punching ordeal.

  “Fuck you mean ya don’t have it?”

  Skel grit his teeth, smiling thinly, “I don’t have it, I haven’t gotten paid yet.”

  Again, the dark chuckle from the non-tackly Crag. Skel wondered if he’d practiced that. Stood in front of a mirror ha-haing to himself until it was appropriately creepy.

  “Yer’ lying to us.”

  “You literally just searched me.”’

  “I don’t know what sorta weaver wizards bulshit you cloth-fucks are capable of.”

  Skel was going to get a migraine, “I’m not a weaver, certainly not a wizard.”

  The crag on his chest snorted, “Yeah right. Them was hiring for a wizard, and we just watched you take the job.” Mr.Wrestly slammed Skel back into the ground and Skel groaned as his head cracked ominously.

  Marble cities, so pretty, so not fun to get slammed around in.

  “No that’s-” Skell coughed a fun little mixture of blood and phlegm, “they didn’t hire me for that.”

  The Crag above him kicked him in the side with a tone plated foot. Heavy thick plate too. He was probably considered an ugly fucker amongst the Crag. It was little consolation while his hefty stone pattern was driving the air from Skel’s lungs.

  “Fucking liars. All you Stoph bastards.”

  “No I’m-”

  Tall guy loomed closer, binging into Skels view a glowing silver cuff pointed his direction, “Shut up. If you think you’re pulling some weaver bullshit to get out of this,” The bracelet glowed, and fire started to gather in the guys’ palm, “You’re dead wrong. So you better start telling us where that coin’s at.”

  Gods. wow. So much to unpack there. Telling him to shut up, then, to start talking. Making such a cheesy threat. Genuinely, apparently, being willing to kill Skel over this. It was actually pretty scary that they were maybe willing to kill him.

  Skel though, was just so fucking relieved.

  Because Crrag used to not carry magical artifacts at all. But with the influx of outsiders, and some loosening in their authority’s concerns regarding their kind and magic, more and more of the stone folk had started carrying around a little extra magical protection.

  Skel smiled. It was a cheap enchantment, and an easy spell. Plus, for all the Crag on his chest had really knocked him around, he could still speak, could still move his hands.

  Skel reached up, yanking the Crag above him to left- right in front of his ugly friend. Madcap spat blood as he snarled at the both of them.

  “Fire bites the hand that wields it.”

  A small explosion followed. Balloning out from the artifact on the Crags hand. Plumes of smoke and fire that caught both crag in the crossfire before shooting into the air.

  Skel struggled free as they both started screaming, taking a moment to flip his wing over his chest and grin as he scrambled to his feet.

  The crag, who wasn’t the wielder, shot a hand out and Skel cursed as he skittered out of reach and turned to run.

  Idiots.

  His feet were light on the pavement as he ran, wiping the blood from his face. He didn’t make much sound, one pro for the bird bones.

  Everyone was always so worried about Stoph weavers, stoph wizards. Skel wasn’t one of those. Hells, he didn’t think there was a name for what he was. But it wasn’t like he was hiding it, people just didn’t seem to take it seriously enough.

  He unmade magic. With the right word to tweak a spell or an effect. Skel could collapse it in on itself in whatever way suited him best.

  In theory.

  He panted as he slowed to a stop, risking a quick look back before ducking down another alley. Gods willing he wouldn’t get mugged for nothing again, but Skel couldn’t exactly head down the main thoroughfare right now. If a couple of crag turned up with burns, pointing at the half Stoph still snotting up blood…

  Skel wasn’t counting on the authors siding with him.

  He ducked into the shadows till the city was at his back, and he could breathe easier under the stars.

  The crag loved to talk about Bestat as being a city in three parts. Truth was though, there was more out there. If you left the city you didn’t loop back to the start, and it wasn’t like the crag were shipping out on the road every day to mine marble or farm. There were farms at the base of the mountain, a little bit of hard packed dirt still free around the city. Then, past that, there was the waste.

  Skel breathed out heavily as he cleared the dirt and headed into the mess. Strange dead thorny bushes and scrub brush, tightly packed on hard packed ground interrupted only by large irregular slabs of marble. Brutal to walk through, with no water to drink, no signs of life.

  No signs of life but Skel. Skel and his home away from home, the small camp he shared with another old vagrant. He sighed as he followed the small path they’d cleared to camp, letting out a relieved breath as he got further from Bestat.

  What a stressful fucking day.