They walked through the town; the crowd saw their injuries and gave them as much space as they could. At least one fight happened as people bumped into one another and a merchant tent was brought down before the adventurers could intervene. Tibs didn’t see what happened to the brawlers, but he couldn’t stop the image of a broken hand covered in ice from popping in his mind.

On the other side of the town, Ariana left him to join the archers on their practice fields. Unsure what else to do, and not interested in risking seeing what the adventurers did with those fighting, he headed for the area the rogues trained in. Only a few groups were left, and the old rogue who had led his group was packing locks and picks away in a chest.

He noticed Tibs and made a face. “If you got in a fight, go tell one of those good-for-nothing adventurers.”

Tibs hesitated. “I got hurt in the dungeon. No one said who to see about my injuries.” Did they expect him to simply endure them? He could, but how would those more gravely hurt train?

“You expect me to believe you were in the dungeon?” the man said mockingly.

Tibs took a lock out of the chest and unlocked it in a few seconds. He almost threw it at the man’s feet, but caught himself and handed it for inspection. If the man didn’t remember him, a demonstration would do, Tibs hoped.

The old rogue looked it over. “I supposed being able to open locks doesn’t require being big and menacing.” He didn’t sound impressed, but the corner of his lips curled up slightly. “And being small does have other advantages.” He placed the lock back in the chest. “I take it they don’t have clerics there yet? No, of course not,” he continued before Tibs could ask what a cleric would look like. “They aren’t going to bring them in until the dungeon graduates, and they start letting in the nobles. Wouldn’t want one of those to die outside the dungeon and have their family complain about us not taking care of their precious children.” The man spat and Tibs took a step back.

He didn’t like nobles either, but he hadn’t expected this kind of anger from someone as well off as the rogue before him.

The man patted himself down and took something out of a pocket. “Hold this while I get something for your injuries.”

Tibs took it; a crystal the size of his thumb, like the one the rogue that had stood by the entrance to the training ground on the first day had had. It was a different shape and Tibs realized it was cloudy, with some blue or possible green in it. The color seemed to shift as he turned it in the light. Back on his street, he could get a few old apples for something pretty like this, but Tibs didn’t think it had any real value.

“What do you think?”

Tibs startled, he’d been too focused on the crystal and hadn’t noticed the rogue returning. The man was looking at it intently.

Tibs shrugged and handed it back. The man knew its values more than Tibs would since it was his. The man handed Tibs a small glass vial with a greenish liquid in it in return.

“Drink that.”

Tibs eyed it. “What is it?” he uncapped it; the content stank.

“A healing potion, what else would it be?” the man said, annoyed. The man no longer held the crystal, and Tibs cursed silently for letting himself be distracted. Whatever pocket it went in, it might contain other things, more valuable things.

Not that he intended on picking the man’s pockets. It would be an easy way to lose a hand, or more in this place. Still, he couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his eyes when he looked at the man, trying to determine his motivation.

The old rogue sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Tibs,” he answered after deliberating giving a false one.

“Well, Tibs, I don’t want you dead. Unless you found a way to get on the wrong side of one of the other…” he trailed off and seemed to search for a word. “What do you call yourselves?”

“Rogue?” Tibs offered. He’d already given his name. So it couldn’t be what he was asking for.

“Those of you going in the dungeon,” the man said with a look that claimed Tibs should have known what he meant. “In my days we called ourselves explorers.”

Tibs thought back. “Runners, Dungeon Runners.”

The man frowned, then shrugged. “Unless you’ve made an enemy of another runner, no one here wants you dead. So there’s no reason that would be poison.”

“Okay. What do you want for it?” Nothing was given.

The man sighed. “I do not miss being a society runt.” Then smiled. “Tibs, that is included in what I do for you. You can’t train properly if you’re hurt, and while there is something to be gained in learning to function while injured, that’s for later.”

Still suspicious, Tibs emptied the content in his mouth and regretted it immediately. He tried to spit out the foul-tasting liquid, but the old rogue had his hand over his mouth.

“Swallow it. It doesn’t work otherwise.”

The man was stronger than he looked, and Tibs had no other option. He swallowed and immediately felt better; even the need to throw up was gone.

“That’s part of why we can afford to give them away,” the rogue said. “It’s not the good stuff, but it still works, that’s the important thing, right?” He took the empty vial. “And if it assuages your runt sense, the guild’s paying me to train the lot of you. When this is over, I’ll be able to retire to a small house in a small town away from any trouble. I’m too old to gallivant about exploring dungeons, killing monsters, and saving princesses. So you see, I am getting something out of this, just not from you individually.”

Tibs scratched at the itch under the dried blood and revealed smooth skin as it flaked away.

“Now, since you’ve gone and explored, don’t worry about having to work building the town. Just go rest. I expect you need it after this.”

Tibs rubbed more of the dried blood off, shuddering a little at the memory of the stone rats clawing and biting him. “Can you teach me how to fight?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Now, why would you want to learn that? You’re a rogue; let the others do the fighting.”

“The dungeon didn’t care what I am, it tried to kill me just as hard as the others. And after our fighters died, I didn’t have much choice, but I didn’t know how.” He did his best not to let his shame show.

The man sighed. “Right, I was older when I explored my first dungeon. Lamba, if I remember rightly. Everyone on my team had solid experience, they knew their roles.” He looked at Tibs. “What you have to do is make sure the others know they aren’t going to get anywhere in the dungeon without you. You’re the important one on the team, so it’s their job to make sure you stay alive. If they won’t understand that, find another team, got it?”

Tibs doubted that was right. From what he’d seen, everyone had an important part to play in the dungeon run. Yes, the fighter would take the brunt of the attacks, but could Tibs pull off claiming he was more important? Wouldn't the fighter just go look for another rogue. And if he didn't, would the others on the team just not want to work with him?

But he couldn’t argue with the older rogue. He’d be sacrificing his training just to claim he knew better, which Tibs knew he didn’t. The old rogue had lived to an old age, so he had to know a lot more than Tibs did. So he left and headed toward the fighters’ area. They would know how to fight, and maybe one of them would be willing to teach him.

He realized the problem with his idea once he watched them train. The swords were big. Tibs didn’t know if he’d be able to even lift one of them, even if he was allowed to use it. He’d been assigned a knife. Had that been because of his size or because he was a rogue? He tried to remember if the rogue on the other side of the table had carried a knife or a sword, but he hadn’t noticed any weapons on him.

He was annoyed. He needed to stop being distracted by all the new things and get back in the habit of noticing everything. It was the only way to survive the street. He needed to remember that no matter what this place looked like. it was still a street.

He walked around the town of tents and the outskirt of it had workers constructing wooden buildings. Runners helped, supervised by adventurers. The town was getting larger. Hopefully, it would alleviate the crowding.

Paying close attention, he noticed the black band on a few of the adventurers’ left wrists; and others, who kept it covered, seemed to rub at the clothing over it.

Tibs tried to help with the work but was chased off, told to go back to his parents by the workers. The adventurers, who had to know he was a runner, just smirked. Merchants kept close eyes on their wares before their tents, using adventurers to keep the crowd from getting close, and chased Tibs away any time he approached, threatening to let an adventurer loose on his thieving ass.

Merchants knew how to tell thieves from the rest in this new town, it seemed.

The adventurers again only smirked and Tibs didn’t think they’d do anything the merchant said if it came to it. But he didn’t risk it. If a merchant could tell he was a thief, any of the adventurers would be able to catch him in the act of taking something.

He wanted to keep his hands. Needed to, if he was going to keep surviving the dungeon.

* * * * *

Over the next week, he trained and ate with Ariana when they could arrange it. She was able to help build the town, unlike him.

He kept looking for someone to teach him how to fight. Ariana offered, but her bow was almost taller than Tibs, and he didn’t see himself using one.

Then he was pulled to join a team.

“What’s that?” the sorcerer demanded as the adventurer brought Tibs to the team. He was tall and held himself like someone who had lots of coins and was used to being obeyed.

“Your rogue,” the adventurer said before walking away. Tibs had already put on his armored shirt and gotten his knife.

The sorcerer looked down at Tibs. “Are you even any good?” he sneered.

“I survived my first run,” Tibs replied, not looking away.

The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, hiding behind everyone else, like every thief out there.”

The fighter next to the sorcerer snickered. A thug, Tibs marked him as the kind who was confident only when someone else took the lead so they could hide behind. Tibs wanted to show scars from his injuries to prove he’d hadn’t hidden, even if he wasn’t proud of how he’d behaved, but the potions had healed his skin smooth.

“Don, why don’t you cut the kid some slack?” one of the two archers said, while the other seemed torn between joining in with the snickering and being stoic. “It’s not like they gave him a choice.”

The sorcerer glared at the archer. “Who asked for your opinion, Langley?”

“Definitely not you,” the archer replied. “You never need other’s opinion since you know everything, right?” he looked at Tibs. “Don’t pay too much attention to Don’s tone. He likes to think that because he is smart, he’s better than the rest of us. Course he wasn’t smart enough to avoid ending up here, so he’s just like the rest of us in the end.”

Don was ready to lay into the archer, but an adventurer directed them to the entrance before he could. The sorcerer took the lead and Tibs had the feeling that if he’d been able to, he would have walked too fast for the rest to keep up.

They made it to the first room and Don gave instructions while Tibs looked over the floor.

“Alright, we’re going along the wall, it’s a safe path. Langley, since you like taking the lead, you’re first. Melstrom, you’re next. I’ll go after, Jennay, after me, and the thief can hide behind us.”

“Don’t,” Tibs said as the archer stepped into the room.

“I give the orders,” Don stated.

“I’m the rogue,” Tibs replied. “Give me time to see if the triggers are—”

“I’ve been through this room twice already,” the sorcerer snarled. “I know the layout. I’m not going to have a useless kid tell me what to do. Langley, go.”

The archer looked from Don to Tibs. “I’m with the kid. I want him to—”

“I gave you an order,” the sorcerer said through clench teeth.

Langley snorted. “I’m not your lackey, that’s Mel there. I’m here because we just barely survived our last run and they think we’re working together. Trust me, Don, if they’d asked for my opinion, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You are going to regret this, Mel, stay against the wall, it’s the safe path.”

“Don’t,” Tibs repeated. “It’s not safe.”

“Shut up kid, or I’m going to throw you in the room and you can deal with the lances by yourself.”

Tibs took a step forward, hand clenched on his knife, but Langley put a hand on his shoulder.

“Not worth it kid, trust me. Let Don do what he wants, it’s going to be a lot easier on everyone.”

“But.” Tibs pointed to the two trigger tiles along the length of the wall.

“Don says he knows what he’s doing.”

The sorcerer pointed to the room, and the fighter stepped in, staying against the wall.

“Not there!” Tibs yelled as the man almost put his foot on a trigger tile and had to hold himself against the wall to avoid falling.

“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to blast you,” Don threatened.

“You can’t attack me,” Tibs replied.

The sorcerer beamed. “Who’s going to know?”

Tibs looked at the two archers, and even Langley only gave him a shrug. He was only on his side as far as not putting his life in danger allowed. He might talk back to Don, but he wouldn’t attack him, Tibs realized.

Tibs shoulder’s slumped. He’d thought teams worked together.

“Keep going,” Don said, keeping his eyes on Tibs.

The click happened, then the gasp from the fighter.

“Told you,” Tibs said softly. The slap took him off his feet.

“Don’t you ever talk back to me like that!” Don turned to the dying fighter. “You idiot! I told you to stay by the wall.”

Tibs glared at the sorcerer’s back as he stood. He shifted it to Langley who only raised an eyebrow in response. He wasn’t on Tibs side, that was clear now. The other archers seemed embarrassed not to have done anything and mouthed a ‘sorry.’

Don cursed as the fighter dissolved. “Why didn’t any of you go get him? I just lost money.” He turned to Tibs. “You’re so sure of yourself, why didn’t you go?”

Tibs barely managed to keep his mouth shut. How did the man want him to do anything when he’d slapped him down? Instead, he crossed the room as confidently as he could, watching for where the triggers were.

* * * * *

“This is your fault.” The sorcerer dropped his robe and amulet on the table. “If I’d gotten a competent thief, we could have made it to the third room. Instead, because of you I get nothing out of this run.”

Tibs was slower to take off his armored shirt, the tatters of it that were left. He hurt from the scratches and bites he’d received.

Without their fighter, Don had proclaimed that Tibs was the one to clear the rats. When Tibs tried to point out he didn’t know how to fight, the sorcerer pushed him in among the boulders and the rats jumped on him.

He barely heard the arguing as he did his best to keep the rats off. Then arrows flew over him, and someone grabbed his leg and pulled him out. By the time he had opened his eyes, it was only him and the sorcerer by the entrance to the room. Don looked ready to blast him, energy crackling along his fingers, but he glanced at the trap room and the energy faded away.

He had Tibs guide him through the triggers, complaining the entire time about how slow he was, and on the other side he rushed off. Looking pissed when the adventurers kept him from heading to the table while Tibs stumbled toward them.

The woman on the other side of the table looked bored as Don walked away, still ranting about how everything was Tibs’s fault. She was an archer, based on the unstrung bow at her back. It was more elaborate than the one Ariana used.

Tibs slowly made his way back to the town and the rogue’s training ground for that horrible tasting potion.