Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer

Thieves of Islar

Book One of the Heirs of Bormeer

James Shade

Cover by Katharina Tokala Niko and Steffen Brand

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and places are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by James B. Shade

Cover Illustration © 2015 by Katharina Tokala Nikola and Steffan Brand

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address the author at 16286 Avalanche Run, Broomfield, CO 80023.

For Mom and Dad. Thanks for letting me be as different as I needed to be.

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Seventy-Two

Seventy-Three

Seventy-Four

Seventy-Five

Seventy-Six

Seventy-Seven

Seventy-Eight

Seventy-Nine

Eighty

Epilogue

Appendix A: City Wards of Islar

Appendix B: Thieves’ Guilds of Islar

Glossary

Acknowledgements

J
aeron deAlto traced his fingers over his shirt until he felt the small form of the Hammer of Teichmar on its leather thong. He rubbed the bronze holy symbol through the fabric, finding comfort there, but also a nagging doubt that had troubled him since his father had laid out the plan for the break-in. How would his deity judge his actions this night? His, and those of his siblings.

He hovered over his younger brother, Chazd, who knelt on the dirty floor of the Near Shore warehouse, resisting the temptation to lean in and watch him work on the iron lock. A brush of air caressed his neck, movement from his sister, Avrilla. She would leave them, pace the warehouse perimeter, and return, almost without Jaeron noticing.

No one knew if Avrilla and Chazd were his sister and brother by blood, but Jaeron doubted it. Other than their coincident adoption, the three of them had little in common. Neither of his siblings had Jaeron’s height, fair features, or nearly black hair. Chazd stood shoulder to shoulder with their sister, with a wiry build, and auburn hair as unruly as his manner. Avrilla, on the other hand, was lean and poised. And though she tried to appear a boy in attire, her upturned nose, cute dimples, and a sprinkling of freckles over her cheeks gave away her femininity. But in Jaeron’s heart, they were his true siblings.

Jaeron peered across the derelict warehouse and through the now unboarded window that had afforded their entrance. The small moon, Sira, had risen above Slater’s Hill providing a modicum of light. Blocks away, ships bells rang overcoming the muffled shouts of cargo masters. Islar’s docks would soon be bustling with activity, even at this hour. And the hour was important. Their father’s instructions paid particular heed to the timing of the tide and Jaeron intended to follow them.

Jaeron shifted around just enough to watch his brother’s fingers manipulate the slim metal picks and willed Chazd to be successful. The hidden entrance had been tricky to find, but Avrilla discovered it beneath a canvas tarp and rack of shelves. The door itself was set in the floor with flush hinges and protected with a built-in lock. Though it would be Chazd’s mistake if his brother failed to pick it, Jaeron already felt the burden of fault.

The left pick twitched and jerked back, as if the pressure applied within the lock met with a sudden lack of resistance. Chazd winced and glanced back over his shoulder. A quiet
click
sounded through the warehouse. Jaeron let out the breath he had been holding. Avrilla stopped pacing.

A sly grin was beginning to form on his brother’s face. Jaeron hoped Chazd could not see his frown. The clicking sound was followed by a grumble of gears. Before Jaeron could react, the floor shifted.

“Shite,” Chazd muttered.

The door and a surrounding section of the warehouse floor swung out from under them. Darkness waited below. Jaeron scrambled to find a handhold, something to stop his tumble into the trap that Chazd had sprung. He lost the battle to maintain his grip and rolled down the ramp, colliding with his siblings on the way. A drop followed, and he landed with jarring impact on soft-packed sand.

“Shite for sure,” said Avrilla after a stifled grunt.

Red-gold light reflected dimly off the sand-covered floor. There was a light source far ahead. As his eyes adjusted, Jaeron could discern that they had fallen into a rough, earthen tunnel shored every few yards with wooden beams.

He rolled over to push himself to his feet. Avrilla recovered more quickly. She bounced to her feet and brushed the sand off her dark linen clothes. She stopped halfway through checking her belt for her weapons.

“We have company,” Avrilla said, not quite keeping the tremor from her voice.

Jaeron was still picking himself off the ground when he heard the rumbling growls. Three forms slunk up the tunnel towards them. Though silhouetted against the torch glow, Jaeron made out broad chests, heavy and powerful jaws, and muscled rear haunches devoid of all but a stub of a tail.

“By Mara,” he swore. “
Brek
hounds.”

The throaty growling seemed to fill the tunnel as the guard dogs came toward them, moving in bursts as if trying not to get too close to each other. Jaeron had just time enough to draw his sword. He clouted the first hound in the muzzle with the hilt of his blade, but the dog’s teeth scored his forearm as the animal’s weight brought them both to the ground. He rolled forward to his feet and spun to hold the hound in a face-off.

Avrilla drew her kukri, a pair of short-handled weapons with heavy, inwardly curved blades. She slid forward and under the second hound mid-leap. She turned into a half-twist and skidded on the soft sand onto her knee and thigh, bringing her right kukri up under the dog’s muzzle. The curved blade caught the animal’s jaw, and she used its own momentum to flip it back over her shoulder.

Against the left-hand wall, Chazd took the brunt of the third dog’s attack. The animal streaked in low and then lunged for his brother’s throat. Chazd did not have time to pull the Bormeeran crossbow off his shoulder, let alone load it. But savvy enough to go against the natural instinct to block the dog’s mouth with his arm, he turned instead, pulling on his quiver strap. The hard leather case blocked what could have been fatal bites, but now the canine had Chazd pinned to the ground. It gnashed on the case, shaking its head side-to-side. Jaeron’s brother was caught between trying to push the dog off and struggling with the leather strap, which was choking him.

Jaeron lunged, attempting a quick chest strike, but the beast jumped back out of reach, wheeling around and snarling. The animal was smart, wary enough to stay clear of Jaeron’s sword and not willing to give ground.

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Jaeron needed more space, more air. He could not focus. He kept moving to keep Chazd in sight. The hound on top of Chazd had stopped its savage twisting and chewing on the quiver as it sensed Avrilla’s approach. His sister’s counterattack had incapacitated the first dog. After pulling her blade free from its jaw, she had run back to help. Her left-handed crescent swing only grazed the beast’s side as it leaped over the youngest deAlto. She dropped her kukri, letting it dangle from her wrist by the leather thong, and pulled Chazd to his feet.

“Nae a sword or even a dagger, Chazd,” Avrilla said through clenched teeth. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

A tremor shook his sister’s voice under the scolding. She had been just as scared for Chazd as he had been. The realization gave him the clarity to push away his fears and recall his training.

He circled the
brek
hound, moving from a grounded mountain stance into a second cycle posture. With a pang of guilt, Jaeron cross-stepped toward the dog and performed a dual slash attack. He scored a pair of superficial hits, a slowly seeping cut across the hound’s shoulder and a deep laceration across the animal’s nose and lip. The dog cowered and backed against the earthen wall, snarling and whining. A cross-strike feint preceded a lunge. The combination proved effective, and the final strike speared the hound through the chest.

Jaeron prodded the dog at his feet, a short quick jab confirming the beast was dead. Turning, he saw Chazd was disheveled and shaken, but uninjured. Avrilla, however, was having trouble taking the last beast down. It was a large male, almost twice the size as either of the other two. His growls filled the tunnel and, on his face and shoulder, he wore the scars of the pack alpha.

The
brek
hound avoided being cornered. It alternated from quick snapping at his sister’s legs when she tried to advance to running in a low scramble around her as she tried to position for a side attack. Jaeron stepped in front of the dog as it attempted another circling run. It pulled up, snarling, foam flying from its lips and teeth. The distraction gave Avrilla an opportunity to score a thin cut along the dog’s right haunch. It spun and leapt out of the way.

The hound growled and snapped at Jaeron and Avrilla, able to watch both opponents in the confined space. It did not expect an attack from the third deAlto. Jaeron heard the heavy
thwiip
of Chazd’s crossbow at the same time the bolt struck the hound’s shoulder. The force of the quarrel knocked the dog to the ground, and it did not get up.

“Sorry about-” Chazd began.

“Shhh,” Jaeron said, straining to listen. Jaeron whipped around and checked the tunnel. How far had the sounds of the fight carried?

Silent and unmoving, they waited. A minute went by, then two, and then stretched into three before Avrilla finally spoke. “I think we should go.”

Jaeron pulled a cloth from his pack and wiped his blade clean before returning it to its scabbard. He found himself trembling, his heart pounding. He had expected the thrill, the nervous excitement of breaking into the warehouse. But not the aftermath of combat soured with regret at the blood he had spilled.
Only dogs, Teichmar.
The
brek
hounds would not have hesitated to kill him, or his siblings. He mouthed a silent prayer to the god of Justice, thanking him for their safety through their first real battle.

Chazd led the way down the tunnel, barely acknowledging Jaeron’s head tilt. From the flickering movement of shadow and light and the scent of creosote, Jaeron suspected the Dockpads had illuminated their underground den with the cheap, tar-based torches commonly found along the dockside. The passage continued only a short way before sloping down to open into a natural cavern.

The faint tang of saltwater lingered in the moist air. The sand was partially washed away, revealing the natural limestone of the cavern floor beneath. Jaeron recognized it as a residual of the cyclic flooding of the chambers. He considered the trade-off between moving more quietly versus the tracks they would leave behind. In light of the dead guard dogs, it seemed the Dockpads would eventually know someone had been there.

“Keep to the sand as much as you can,” Chazd whispered, voicing the conclusion before Jaeron had the chance.

Jaeron glanced at Avrilla, seeing a confirming nod. He understood. Their brother needed to feel he was making up for his earlier mistakes. They moved on until the cavern split, the area well lit by a torch, sputtering stubbornly in an iron floor sconce.

~

Henri deAlto sat hunched in the only seat he considered comfortable. The core of a log smoldered in the apartment fireplace casting the open room in a reddish hue. He fidgeted but stayed in the chair, waiting for the sound of the next Cathedral bell.
The
y’
ll be fine.

The clay pipe sat in its holder on the mantle. He considered a smoke but thought better of it. He did not need to sour his stomach any further. He was already destined for a troubled night’s sleep.

Henri had been doing favors for a decade, establishing and solidifying good relationships in most of the taverns and inns in Islar and keeping informed on the structure and key figures of the Islar Thieves’ Guilds. The danger in taking this job was not that he was acting against Ruggio’s Dockpads. Though, were they caught, it could go badly for them all. But there were other dangers - old blood debts that once disturbed his nightly sleep.
But the ground stones of that road are well worn by now.

His more present fear was that his dream was not embraced by his adopted children. Well, not embraced by Jaeron. Only a few years ago he had been sure that his eldest was going to join the church, but the boy had changed his mind. These last years, Jaeron had seemed to fully invest himself in Henri’s plans and had progressed far in his training. All three had progressed far.
Beyond my expectations.
They were each gifted. Gods knew he had not expected that when his wife, Liadee, had shown up with them nearly fifteen years ago.

Olkein
, he prayed silently to the outlawed Lord of Wisdom,
you alone know how much I had not expected.

Henri grinned, recalling the night Liadee had shown up on his doorstep, a fearful look in her eyes. Two bundles of cloth under her arms and a toddler clinging to her calf. She gave him the answer to his marriage proposal, on the condition that he accept the three orphans with her. Jaeron was only three. Maybe three, since none of them knew their real ages. For a barely remembered time, they were a normal, if poor, family.

His smile faded. Then Liadee died, or disappeared. And what was he to do? Henri was a father. He had to make sure his children were properly prepared.

The sound of the door latch broke his musings. Henri was out of the chair and halfway across the room before he realized that it had not been long enough.
Eleven bells. They shouldn’t be back yet.

He was turning back toward his bedroom to grab his sword when the door burst open. He recognized the two men that entered. His heart sank. They were Guild enforcers, of the worst kind.
Old blood debts. Olkein save me.

“Where’s the jewelry box, deAlto?” the smaller one hissed.

Henri did not waste time answering. He grabbed the only two weapons available to him, the fire poker and the oil lamp from the mantle.