Midnight Thief (6 page)

“Where’s the key?” James’s voice was quiet.

“We don’t have it.” Another blow, and a muffled groan. The guard sputtered. “Beat me all you want. We don’t have the key,” he said.

Bacchus looked happy to oblige. Kyra shuddered and once again averted her gaze. She forced herself to look at the building, concentrating on the intricate carvings, following it up the side of the archway to a high window….

“I can get us in,” she blurted.

Her voice sounded loud in the darkness and she felt everyone look at her.

“What?” said James.

“The window. I can get to it and unlock the door from the inside.”

“The windows are all shuttered and locked.”

“Not the second-story windows. The high one, in the bell tower.” She heard a few incredulous murmurs, but as she looked closer at the building, she became more sure of herself. The window was actually a set of three tall and narrow slots that looked wide enough to squeeze through. She didn’t see any bars or shutters, and the decorative stonework leading up to it gave plenty of footholds.

“You sure?”

“Give me a quarter hour.”

All eyes shifted to James. “Do it,” he said.

Kyra wiped her hands on her trousers as the others cleared away from her. The stonework didn’t begin at ground level, but there was a ledge above the first floor. Using a nearby barrel as a step, she jumped and caught the ledge, pulling herself over. She stood for a moment, belly to the wall, probing it with her fingers. The rock would support her weight. She took a breath and dug her fingers into two of the deeper carvings. One foot went up next, and then she pushed herself up as she reached for a higher handhold. Soon, she had worked out a rhythm and climbed steadily up the side of the building.

Her spirits lifted as she climbed. This was what she could do, and do well. Kyra was aware of her audience and, after the day’s frustrations, couldn’t resist showing off a little. Her swings were higher than usual, and her final jump from the stonework to the window perhaps more dramatic than it needed to be. Finally, she hung from the window, her hands clinging to neighboring slots. With another breath, she pulled herself up and slipped an arm in. From there, it was a quick scramble to squeeze her head and torso through, and the rest of her body followed.

The bell tower was strangely peaceful. There was a platform where the bell was supposed to be, and everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. From there it was easy to find the stairs back down, and it was indeed about a quarter hour after she started when Kyra turned the bolt and opened the front door. She caught different expressions as the men passed by. Some regarded her with appreciation. Rand stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. More than one looked at her with fear in their eyes, and she caught Alex making a sign to ward off evil spirits. Bacchus’s gaze still wasn’t friendly, but it didn’t hold his usual sneer.

James was the last to enter. After he passed, Kyra let the door close. When she turned around, all the men except James had gathered below the atrium’s high archways. The head assassin stood next to her.

He caught her eye. “You did well.”

It was the first time since she joined the Guild that he’d praised her, and she found it surprisingly hard to hold his gaze. She looked away, taken aback at the flush rising in her cheeks and glad that the darkness kept it hidden. She was a professional, not some giddy farm girl.

“It’s what I do.”

They walked in silence to rejoin the group. Right before they reached the rest, Kyra remembered. “The guards. What happened to them?”

“They’re being held outside. We’ll release them once we’re done.”

She searched his eyes for as long as she dared. James looked back at her, gaze calm and steady.

“Come see me tomorrow before you go into the Palace,” he said. “We can discuss your next step.”

N I N E

T
he beagle loped through the sparse underbrush, stirring up dust with her nose and ears as she zigzagged along an invisible trail. She’d tracked without fail this morning, but now her focus was wavering. Any rustle in the bushes became an excuse to slow down, any birdcall an invitation to look around.

“Let’s take a break,” Tristam said. The dog talker, a young shieldman named Martin, whistled sharply. The hound made a tight turn and sat down, tongue lolling. Tristam leaned against a tree as the five shieldmen with him settled nearby.

Martin poured some water for the beagle and scratched it behind the ears. “She’s bored with the scent,” he said. “And her left paw is sore. I don’t think we’ll get more work out of her today.”

“How do you see all that?” Tristam asked.

Martin shrugged. “Practice helps. But I’ve always been able to read them, and they’ve always been friendly to me.” As if to illustrate his point, the beagle pressed up to him and started licking his face. Martin fended off her efforts halfheartedly, turning his head so he could talk without getting kissed full on. “Even when I was knee high, the neighborhood dogs would come wagging their tails. My da too. Runs in the family, I guess.”

“I had a friend who was like that, only with horses,” said Tristam. “They loved him—always coming to beg for treats or get rubbed down. He could pick up on their moods, and they always did what he asked.”

“Sounds like a handy trick for a knight to have,” said Martin.

“It served him well,” said Tristam. Though he wondered now if Jack’s gift had hurt him in the end. If Gray had not been so obedient, would the horse have taken Jack into the pen with the demon cat?

“Here’s another set of tracks.” Another shieldman crouched near a cluster of trees and pointed at the dirt.

It had been tracks and droppings the entire trip and nothing else. No sign of human habitation, no campsites. They’d followed the trail through the forest for two days, but the dogs just led them in circles.

Tristam brushed a layer of dust from his forehead. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything. Let’s go back to Forge.”

Relief washed across his companions’ faces, and Tristam couldn’t blame them. He walked ahead of the group, brooding as they began the long hike back. Malikel was a fair commander, but all the same, Tristam didn’t look forward to delivering news of yet another failed expedition.

Working under Malikel had brought a blur of changes and new responsibilities. Most of Tristam’s days were spent in the Palace reviewing reports and poring over maps. And after Tristam was knighted, Malikel started sending him on scouting missions in the forest. He welcomed those chances to get out of the city, but it wasn’t easy leading a team of guards into the wilderness, especially since many were older than he was. Time after time they found nothing.

You could be out on the road patrols right now,
with nothing to worry about except where to set camp,
said a spiteful voice in his head.

“Is everything all right, Sir Tristam?” Tristam cleared the frustration from his face as Martin came up next to him. It was still new, this need to set an example and keep morale high. The days of riding with Jack, rolling their eyes and making cracks behind the commander’s back, were over.

“Just call me Tristam. You know Malikel doesn’t place much stock in titles or ceremony.”

Martin grinned. “I thought about that, Sir Tristam. The problem is, everybody else still does. If I get used to dropping the ‘sirs,’ I might forget with someone else. Then things would get unpleasant.”

Tristam smiled despite himself. He liked Martin. The cheerful shieldman would have made a fine squire had he been higher-born. While the other Red Shields stayed aloof from their commander, Martin often spoke to Tristam. Either the young Red Shield was too young to have learned to keep a respectful distance from his superiors, or he was just too gregarious to help himself. Selfishly, Tristam couldn’t bring himself to discourage him.

They picked their way through the forest, ducking under the occasional branch. “Do you believe the whispers, sir?” asked Martin.

“What whispers?”

“The villagers say the Demon Riders raise their cats like their own children, nursing them at their own breasts. They say that’s how the cats grow so big, and why the cats are so obedient to their masters.”

“That sounds painful,” said Tristam with a grimace.

Martin fought to keep a straight face. “Does indeed, sir.”

“Well, they can keep that secret to themselves,” said Tristam. “I’d be happy just to find them.”

“It’s like they disappear into thin air, in’t it?” said Martin.

Tristam let out a breath, no longer bothering to hide his frustration. “This is our third trip out. We should have found something by now.”

Week after week, new reports came in from traumatized farmers. Livestock slaughtered, villagers injured or killed. Adding more patrols hadn’t helped much. Oftentimes, soldiers only arrived after the barbarians had fled.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Tristam. “The tracks are here, and they’re fresh. But why don’t we ever find anything else? If only these trees could talk.” Tristam paused. “Martin, when are we reporting to Sir Malikel tomorrow?”

“Midmorning.”

He conjured the map of the forest in his mind, trying to determine how far they were from the city. “Lead the group back for me. I’ll stay a little longer.”

Martin looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not planning to do anything unwise, are you?”

“No, nothing foolhardy. I just have a hunch.”

“If I may speak freely, Sir Tristam, you should at least tell us what you’re planning. Sir Malikel won’t be pleased with us if something happens.”

“Fair enough. Maybe we’re going about it the wrong way, looking for them when we clearly know they come here often. We should stay here and wait for them to come to us.”

Martin frowned. “May I have permission to accompany you, sir?”

“I can’t ask you to do that, not without more thought. It’s too—”

“Too dangerous? You’re starting to contradict yourself, sir.”

Tristam chuckled. “It
would
be nice to have some help, but I can’t command it of you. This isn’t a Palace order; it’s just my crazy idea.”

“It’s just a few more hours out here. How much trouble could we get in?”

It seemed unlucky to respond. But the decision was made, and Tristam informed the others.

His mood improved as he and Martin split up to find hiding places. The plan might not be a stroke of genius, but it felt good to be doing something different. A fallen log beside a boulder provided adequate cover, and Tristam settled behind it after brushing away his footprints. Despite the log’s musty smell, it was a comfortable hiding spot.

Eventually, the birds and insects started calling again. Intermittently, Tristam whistled and heard Martin’s whistle in response. As it grew darker, the air became cooler. Thankfully, it was warm for early summer, and his cloak kept him comfortable. The moon was just beginning to rise when a twig snapped close by.

Curious, Tristam peered around the log. Several shadows passed a few paces from his hiding place. Large shadows. Tristam jumped to attention. He waited until the footsteps grew fainter, then slipped out of his hiding place. Ahead, he could see something moving. Broad shapes, with four legs and a feline grace. A thrill of excitement ran through him and he followed, ignoring his doubts about the wisdom of trailing several enormous beasts.

The shadows moved at a quick pace, weaving between the trees, when suddenly, they merged with the rest of the forest. Tristam blinked. The forest was still.

“You’re far from the city, knight.” A lightly accented voice spoke from behind him.

Tristam spun around and inhaled sharply.

It was her. The dark blond hair, leather clothing, the haughty tilt of her chin. After weeks of nightmares, there was no way he’d fail to recognize that face. Tristam’s hand went to his sword.

“Keep that in its sheath unless you wish your throat torn open.”

Tristam saw the cat then, advancing on his left with hungry eyes. For a moment, Tristam struggled against the compulsion to lunge for the woman anyway, avenge Jack before the cat reached him. Then, something moved in his periphery, and Tristam snapped his head around to see another beast approaching from the other side. Slowly, Tristam let go of his sword.

“What are you doing here?” asked the woman.

“I could ask the same thing of you, barbarian.” He should have been terrified, but his fear was fading away, replaced by weeks of suppressed rage. All he wanted to do was hurt her. Make her pay for what she’d done, whether he survived or not.

The Demon Rider tilted her head, looking at him curiously. “We’ve met before.”

“We have.”

“Your friend,” she said slowly. “He was careless.”

“He was doing his duty.”

“And now you wish to avenge him. That is unwise.”

“I
will
avenge him.”

The woman gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “No, you won’t.” She made a sharp gesture with her fingers. The cats lowered their heads and growled. Again, Tristam reached for his blade. He’d go for the woman first. Run her through before the cats fell on him.

“Call off your pets.” Martin’s voice sounded clearly through the trees. Tristam turned to see him with an arrow nocked and aimed at the Demon Rider.

Her eyes narrowed. As if responding to some unseen signal, the still-growling cats stepped back. For a moment, Tristam stared dumbfounded. Then he scrambled into action, drawing his dagger and moving behind the Demon Rider, careful never to step between her and Martin’s bow.

“Martin’s an excellent shot.” He forced the woman’s arms behind her and pressed the dagger into her back. He had never seen Martin at the archery range, but confidence, real or feigned, was the only way they’d get out of there alive. “Don’t test him. You’re coming with us.” He turned to Martin. “You have a rope?”

Martin slowly lowered his bow and untied a rope from his belt. Tristam watched the cats nervously as he bound the woman’s hands. She didn’t resist him, but there wasn’t a hint of fear in her muscles. Though—he snuck another glance at the demon cats—why would she be afraid? She wasn’t the one holding two gigantic beasts at bay with a dagger.

One of the wildcats hissed.

“If your cats come any closer, you’re dead,” Tristam said, pulling the rope tight. “You better make sure they behave themselves.”

“The cats will kill you if you try to take me.”

“I believe you,” said Tristam. “But you’re still going to escort us safely to the road. We’ll let you go when we get there.”

The woman’s eyes passed over the two of them, calculating, and Tristam started her moving before she had a chance to call their bluff. To Tristam’s relief, the cats stayed back. He hardly breathed as they dragged their prisoner toward the horses. The cats followed them from a distance, never getting too close, but always poised to spring. There was an unsettling intelligence in their eyes. Tristam somehow got the sense that they knew exactly what was going on.

“Martin, keep an eye on those…creatures.” Last thing he needed was for one to ignore his master’s command and come to her rescue.

The next half hour was lifted straight out of his nightmares. Marching through the forest, demon cats trailing a stone’s throw away. Holding Jack’s murderer at the tip of his dagger, yet knowing that he’d have to release her. Tristam’s tunic dampened with sweat and his arms began to ache from keeping such a tight hold on the woman. He didn’t know how far he could push this, but they needed to be on their horses with a good head start if they wanted any chance of outrunning the demon cats.

Agitated hoof steps sounded ahead. Through the trees, he glimpsed Lady tossing her mane, pulling her bridle at the demon cats’ scent.

The Demon Rider spoke again. “If I get on that horse, the cats will attack.”

“We’ll let you go once we’re astride.” Tristam nodded to Martin, who mounted his horse and aimed his bow to stand watch as Tristam jumped into his own saddle. “Send your cats to that far boulder.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, but inclined her head. The cats backed away, though not as far as Tristam had requested. “They’ll go no farther,” she said.

That would have to do. “All right, Martin, ready to ride?” Tristam muttered.

“Aye, sir.”

He took one last look at the Demon Rider, then gave his horse a sharp kick. Lady jumped into a full gallop. Tristam crouched down as the forest blurred past, urging Lady to go even faster. Behind him, he heard Martin fast on his heels. He rode without looking back until he finally saw farmland in the distance. He couldn’t lead the beasts into the farms.

Tristam risked a look over his shoulder. Martin rode madly on his heels, but beyond that, the road was empty. Cautiously, Tristam brought Lady to a halt. The two of them scanned the distance behind them.

“You all right?” Tristam asked between breaths.

“Tired, but kicking.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me what an idiot I was for wanting to stay out there by myself.”

Martin grinned. “No, Sir Tristam, I would never dream of such impertinence.”

“One Demon Rider and two cats?” asked Malikel.

“Yes, sir.”

Tristam rubbed his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the window. It had been impossible to sleep after he got back, and he was now paying for it. His head throbbed, and there was a foul taste in his mouth that he couldn’t rinse out. Next to him, Martin stared at a pile of books on Malikel’s desk, blinking to bring them into focus.

“You’re sure this was the same woman?” asked Malikel.

“She recognized me,” said Tristam. He shivered as he recalled her voice, her odd way of speaking. Over the past two months, he’d imagined confronting her more than a hundred times. He’d envisioned yelling, threats, a fight to the death. But not the precarious standoff that had occurred last night.

Malikel pushed two mugs toward them. “Drink up. You’re both paler than these parchments.”