Read Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer Online
Authors: James Shade
T
he lingering scent of incense filled the voluminous interior of the Cathedral of Teichmar. Matteo Falks walked slowly acrossthe altar, taking in the quiet solitude. He so enjoyed these moments, performing his simple chores after the morning services. Up until three years ago Matteo had enjoyed the services, too. But when Matte
o’
s mentor and spiritual advisor, Father Bruhan, retired the tone and even the purpose of the Church seemed to change.
Father Bruhan was a converted faith-follower of Olkein. He had once told Matteo that when his mother church had been outlawed, he was given the choice to convert, be exiled, or give up being a priest. He said he could never stop serving his people and he felt his beliefs were similar to those described in the Book of the Just. The choice was simple.
Matteo admired Father Bruhan’s devotion to the church that the man espoused as a devotion to its people. Bruhan believed the church was the people, not the oak, marble, and precious metals that were shaped into the building around him. In some ways, he believed it was more about the people than about the god. Perhaps that was why he had found it palatable to convert. Matteo learned from Father Bruhan that the teachings of Teichmar were about being just in the way one lived and acted, not punishing others for the way they acted. Matteo knew that there were many church leaders who had the opposite view.
As Matteo knelt to say his final prayers before heading back to the dormitories, he reflected on the morning’s sermon. Since Father Abreida began presiding over the services, the focus was more and more on forcibly ensuring justice. The new Church of Teichmar was leaving no room for mercy or forgiveness. Abreida’s militant teachings were at least being softened by the presence of Father Nojel. The student of Bruhan’s had returned from his post on the warfront and was considering an offer to take Abreida’s previous post as the Cathedral Patriarch.
Matteo prayed for change. A way for a new message of hope to spread through his church. Minutes later, Matteo emerged from the Cathedral’s western “pastor’s” door and turned to lock it behind him. When he turned around, a familiar face greeted him.
“Jaeron!” Matteo smiled. “Teichmar’s Word, brother.”
Matteo noted that his friend’s smile and greeting back was half-hearted. As an acolyte, he had an uncanny knack for interpreting mood and expression, and his formal training gave him further ability to discern false claims and denials. His friend was in distress.
“What’s wrong, my friend?”
Jaeron frowned, shaking his head slightly.
“Not here… may we talk in private?”
~
Weeks later, with his ankle recovered, Jaeron began playing
gomjom
with the orphans at the Church, seeing Matteo almost daily from late spring through midsummer. Then Henri had taken away Jaeron’s free time, enrolling him in combat training with a Pevaran sword master. Fortunately, his father also recognized the budding friendship between the boys and allowed Jaeron to spend time with Matteo when he could. This led to Jaeron’s enrollment in the Cathedral academy. The school was expensive, normally reserved for nobles and merchants’ sons, but a few students were admitted on a charity basis. At Matteo’s urging, Father Bruhan made the recommendation for Jaeron’s entry, recognizing in the young deAlto a candidate of true faith, if not extraordinary scholastic ability.
The boys saw each other during services as well, when Jaeron attended them with Henri. Once it became obvious that Matteo was going to join the ranks of the acolytes, he asked Jaeron to join the Church with him. Both boys had impressed their teachers with their ability to recite and understand Teichmar’s Word and they always had insightful questions and answers during their catechism. Matteo believed that Jaeron would be accepted into the order without question.
Jaeron suspected that his friend was right, but in the end, Jaeron decided not to ask Henri about it. He would not have needed his father’s permission, but Henri would have had to provide the tithing fee required to enter service. Even that was not the real reason that Jaeron decided not to pursue the priesthood. By that time, Jaeron understood his father’s goals and felt the growing rift between a life of service in the church and the obligation to his family. The wall between the two choices had come to the point where it could no longer be breached.
Jaeron knew that Matteo hoped he would one day change his mind. Meanwhile, the two young men enjoyed what time they could spend together whether they devoted that time discussing Teichmar’s writings and philosophy or teaching the church orphans the finer points of
gomjom
.
~
Matteo nodded, “Sure, Jaeron. The dormitory or a private oratory?”
Jaeron suggested that they use an oratory for the conversation. He garnered that the rooms were blessed and sealed against eavesdropping for private prayer and consult with Teichmar’s priests or the deity himself. Ingrained with a thief’s wariness, Jaeron was not sure he could trust any establishment of Islar. He was uncertain whether anyone could overhear a conversation held in those chambers, but it was the best he could do this morning.
Impatient, Jaeron paced while Matteo unlocked the cathedral doors. Then the two men walked side-by-side toward the Hall of Contemplation. Jaeron paused at the altar with Matteo, kneeling into the Rite of Balance and silently mouthing the appropriate prayer. As he rose, he noted that Matteo had imitated his actions.
No, it’s me who is the imitator.
The Hall of Contemplation was cool and still, even as midday approached. Jaeron slowed down as they walked through the blue and violet hues of light filtering down through the stained glass windows. He let the peacefulness of the place sink in. Matteo motioned for him and they entered a small side room. Each oratory was starkly furnished. A pair of fine oak chairs with worn padded leather seats faced each other at the center of the chamber. A kneeler was placed on the left side of the room, under a wooden fresco of Teichmar mounted on the wall.
Matteo closed the door behind them once they were inside and murmured the prayer that sealed the room to disturbances. Jaeron waited quietly. Now, as the moment came, he was not sure what he was doing here. His initial intention to grow his guild roster was faltering as he realized the selfishness in his selection. Matteo was the only person outside of his family whom he trusted and, in many ways, he had a closer bond with Matteo than he did with Chazd or Avrilla. But his friend had committed his life to the church. He could not ask him to leave that to join a group of thieves.
By the time Matteo had finished and moved around in front of him, Jaeron was clenching his fists trying to fight through his conflicting emotions.
“Jaeron, what’s going on?” Matteo motioned for Jaeron to sit down.
As he stepped back, Jaeron practically collapsed into the chair, finally feeling the release of tension he had been under since the night he watched his father die.
“I don’t know where to begin, Matteo,” he said.
“Teichmar judges the actions of the heart, Jaeron. And you’ll find no judgment from his servant,” Matteo intoned the words that began a formal confession.
Jaeron knew he had few, if any, secrets from Matteo. He reasoned that his friend had no illusions about Jaeron’s life and livelihood, so he began with Henri’s planning session for their break-in of the Dockpad’s warehouse. Matteo was quiet through the narration, reacting only to lean forward and grip Jaeron’s arm as he talked about his final moments with Henri in the burning apartment. As Jaeron finished he unwrapped the package he had been holding. He handed Matteo the letter and let him read it before giving him the wooden soldier.
“I don’t know what most of it means,” Jaeron finished. “But I’m in agreement with Chazd. I don’t think Teichmar will see justice unless we help make it happen.”
Matteo searched Jaeron’s eyes and he could almost sense that his friend was trying to gauge the commitment in his words. Now that it was all out, Jaeron felt a wave of relief. He stood up and stretched, rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder. Moving in front of the image of Teichmar, he looked at the familiar figure once again wondering how much things had changed in the past few days.
“What are you looking for, Jaeron?” Matteo asked, kindly but with authority.
Jaeron turned around slowly. “To tell you the truth, Matteo, I originally came here to ask you to join us. I think I just realized that I actually came here because I needed someone to share this burden with. A friend to lean on.”
“You know you have that.”
Matteo paused, frowning and then stood up to approach him across the room.
“Jaeron, you’ve balanced on the edge of this coin for a long time. Teichmar’s teachings are clear about theft,” he said looking at the eldest deAlto pointedly.
“Punishment in equal measure.”
Matteo nodded. “You know, I’ve always believed that Teichmar’s justice is carried out in his own way, not ours. We’ve both seen the Word used incorrectly. Inappropriate justice carried out by the fallible, or the corrupt.”
“What are you saying, Matteo?”
Matteo gripped Jaeron by the shoulders. “Jaeron, I know you believe that this cause is just and not about vengeance. Whatever you need, you just have to ask. I’m not ready to leave the Church, but I think I can influence the Church to help you at times. For the right actions and the right reasons, of course.”
D
eLocke rubbed his eyes as the third witness left his office. She met all his expectations, which meant she added no valuable information to his investigation. Holger realized that he was going to have to focus on finding the people responsible for the fire, and if that also resulted in the discovery of who caused the death of Henri deAlto, he would not complain.
Holger did not believe that deAlto’s so-called children killed the man. He was convinced that they probably found him dead and used the fire as a diversion to take the old man’s possessions and leave town. They had not realized that the death of an old thief would have caused less of a reaction than the loss of a building worth hundreds of krovats. A building belonging to Tonas Valche. The fact that Valche owned one out of eight buildings in the Ninth Ward made no difference. He had friends on the city council and they were putting pressure on deLocke to bring in the deAltos. Now he had two witnesses claiming that the deAltos had arrived after the fire had started and one of them rushed into the burning building to rescue the old man.
More likely, one of them remembered the placement of something valuable they had left behind.
“Rubbish!” Holger muttered. “Thieves and liars, the lot.”
He looked up at his assistant, Guardsman Cregg. He smirked at the man’s nervous shift of footing.
“Well?”
Cregg blanched. “Nothing, sir. I didn’t say anything.”
Holger stared at the boy’s pale face, the mass of cartilage of his larynx slowly moving up and down like a cork bobber. He let the younger guard stand under his scrutiny for a few moments more, until he was sure perspiration accumulated at his temples. Then he looked back to his desk and reached for his notes.
“Bring in the next witness, Cregg.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered, nearly jumping to respond.
Holger smiled observing that the man had the sense to remember to close the door quietly behind him when he left this time.
~
Lord deLespan came out onto his terrace, maneuvered his candle lantern from hand to hand as he allowed the door to swing closed behind him. Avrilla watched him walk into his garden, stiff and proper. He was having trouble shielding the candle from the light wind and misty rain that developed after dinner. He was alone, which was a good sign. She and her brothers had not been sure that he was going to follow those instructions. The features of his face cycled from worried fear to indignant anger as he shrugged his shoulders against his neck, trying to dissipate the spring night chill. He kept looking around the garden, eyes mostly level, never thinking to look above his head.
Avrilla had been in place in the courtyard for the past hour. So far she saw no sign of guards or other spies, though that did not guarantee that they were not there. A man as wealthy as deLespan could afford very clever guards, and defenses more arcane in nature. She kept watch as he paced the stone walkway. His hand kept moving to his breast pocket, fingering the contents.
Perhaps the letter I wrote this morning?
On his second pass below the tree, Avrilla decided that his twitchy, nervous behavior probably confirmed an absence of hirelings. She swung out onto a low branch of the tree and dropped to the ground behind the nobleman. deLespan spun, startled by the noise.
“Shh,” Avrilla warned him, whispering. “Don’t make any noise or sudden movements.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
The mine owner surprised her, keeping his composure. He matched his voice to the same level as hers.
“We’ll get to that. Do you have your gate key?”
He shook his head.
“No matter,” she said. “Walk with me.”
Avrilla put a little emphasis on the words, feeling the magical power she possessed flutter within her throat. DeLespan nodded and followed her to the courtyard’s gate. When they arrived, she rapped on the wood softly and waited for the response. The gate rattled lightly once and then the lock opened. Avrilla pulled on the heavy door and stepped aside as her brothers entered the yard. The nobleman stepped away from them, his hand unconsciously reaching for a weapon that was not there.
“It’s okay, Lord deLespan. These are my brothers. We aren’t here to hurt you.”
Avrilla did not use any power this time, trying to allow her sincerity to show. The man’s hands still shook, but he was angry as well as scared.
“We can be your friends if you allow us.”
“You have a hell of a way of showing it.”
“Lord deLespan,” Jaeron interjected softly. “We apologize for the inconvenience and unusual nature of this meeting, but our discretion is for your protection as much as ours.”
“Blackmail does not seem much like protection.”
“We are not blackmailing you, sir. And I am sorry if our letter made it seem that was the case. I asked my sister to keep her message short and vague.”
Jaeron walked over to stand face-to-face with the man and held out his hand. Chazd took a package out of his satchel, unwrapped it, and placed it in his brother’s palm. The candlelight reflected off the polished wood.
“I think you were looking for this,” Jaeron said, offering the box to deLespan.
The nobleman set his light on a terracotta planter and reached for the box in Jaeron’s hand. He unclasped the lid and opened it slowly. Avrilla noted that the man only glanced at the jewelry that lay on the velvet folds and then turned his attention to the letter pressed into the lid. The man pulled the parchment free, kneeling to set the box on the ground. He frowned up at Jaeron when he noticed the broken seal and then he unfolded the letter and read the contents. He stood, refolded the letter, and held the sheaf against the open flame of the candle. deLespan stood calm and silent while he waited for the fire to consumed it.
“My man, Jefford, said that this had not been recovered,” deLespan finally spoke. “I suppose that you were amongst those who stole
The Bridget’s
cargo?”
“No, our family was hired to retrieve it from them.”
“Only things turned ugly right after that,” Chazd spoke up.
Jaeron waved him back. “Lord deLespan, our father was killed the night we recovered this for you. Quite possibly because of its contents.
“Who would have known about this? Who would have wanted to make sure you never got this back? What is this all about?”
“The seal was broken - you’ve read the letter?”
Jaeron nodded, but he kept glancing in Avrilla’s direction. She realized she had backed out of the candlelight, feeling a rush of heat on her cheeks. The letter had embarrassed her, as well as stirred feelings she never wanted her brothers to realize she had.
“Your son has quite an imagination,” Chazd said.
“My son is a fool,” said deLespan. “Buying this jewelry and commissioning this… poetry. In Dun Lercos! Under the very nose…
“Do you know who Kadene is?”
Jaeron knew it was the woman to whom the letter was addressed, but there was no other indication of her identity. He shook his head.
“Kadene Elizabeth Witaasen. Wife of Lord Neal Witaasen,” deLespan paused. “I see you recognize the name.”
Avrilla understood now. The man’s son was having a tryst with the wife of his father’s business partner.
“Who-?” Chazd began to ask.
“Witaasen owns the other half of the silver mine, Chazd,” Avrilla answered before her brother had a chance to finish.
“I wouldn’t say ‘own’,” deLespan said. “But yes, we run the silver mine here in Islar. Were this affair to become public… Well, the law would be on Witaasen’s side.”
“I don’t understand,” Avrilla admitted.
Jaeron explained further. “The Church would side with the wronged husband. Lord deLespan’s son would be excommunicated and exiled. Kadene could suffer the same, but would at least be imprisoned for a time. Both her family and deLespan’s would have to pay reparations. The resulting scandal could affect his mining privileges.”
deLespan coughed, but rolled his hand in the air as if to say, there it is.
They were quiet for a bit and then the nobleman spoke. “Obviously a man in my position has enemies. My son would have suffered had this been made public. Lady Kadene would have suffered more, I suspect.
“Still, I don’t know who could have known about this outside of me, my son, my manservant, Jefford, and the man he hired to retrieve it.”
Avrilla frowned. That must have been their Uncle Ardo.
“What about the scribe?” she asked.
Chazd turned away, and slapped the head off the nearest night bloom.
“This is getting us nowhere,” said Chazd. “Someone else had to know!”
Avrilla instincts told her that deLespan had no more answers for them. “It just doesn’t seem that this boy’s indiscretion has anything to do with Father’s death.”
Jaeron apparently agreed. “Thank you for answering our questions and again our apologies for keeping you so late.”
“I am sorry that I could not be of more help,” the nobleman responded after an awkward pause. DeLespan snapped the jewelry case closed and tucked it under his arm. “If you would wait a moment, I will return to the house and get the compensation that was promised.”
~
Until then I need to keep everyone paid.
The single aspect of the Black Fang operation that prospered during the winter was Gerlido’s arrangement with the horse breeder. As foaling commenced, select mare and foal combinations were sold to the private buyers in Dun Lercos and reported as having died during the birthing. The mares and foals were secretly loaded on merchant ships and taken only the gods knew where. The breeders would collect an insurance payment arranged by the Bormeeran army and the Fangs would get their supply of
gindi
and a small cut in the double profit.
Overall, it was the deal that Gerlido was most proud of. The only problem was that the demand for the prized warhorses recently spiked and neither Gerlido nor the horse breeders in his pocket could keep up with the demand.
Gerlido re-ordered the sheaf of parchment and folded it back into the leather case. He had been careful setting up his operations. The robberies and protection rackets were open guild business, and he paid his fees to the Grandmaster on schedule. He argued about his gambling dens, but gave in to pressure when he sensed that the other guild leaders were close to lodging formal complaints.
On occasion, he allowed Fang members to be caught selling gindi and went along with the punishment as demanded by the guild council. The Grandmaster believed that he had control of the entire drug trade in the city, and Gerlido wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
It was not enough, however. He wanted more. Gerlido wanted something that could topple the Grandmaster and put Islar in his control.
I have a way to do it.
Gerlido looked behind him to the rugged chest tucked into the corner of his office. Within that locked and trapped container was the only evidence that the Crimson Wolves existed. The name of the infamous group of assassins was taken from folklore, an ancient tale of the grey mountain wolves from Northern Bormeer.
They were nameless, fearless, and almost everyone believed that they were a myth. But Gerlido’s chest held a bone-handled dagger with a flame-shaped double blade, its handle wrapped in gray leather and its pommel marked with a tiny, red wolf face insignia. That blade killed Gerlido’s first Guildmaster in Dun Lercos almost twenty-five years ago. Before deSwan took over the Winter’s Hate guild and became Grandmaster of Islar. Before Larsetta turned Gerlido into one of her own.
Gerlido had one contact, a single name, that he believed would allow him to hire the Crimson Wolves. But he knew if he made that attempt, without the money and power to back it, deSwan would learn of it and Gerlido would be the assassins’ target instead of the Grandmaster.
The key was to control the silver. He finally had the opportunity to do that. He just needed to get that jewelry case from the deAltos. The Black Fangs had checked every known contact of Henri deAlto that they could confirm. Since his death, all but two had denied any contact with the deAlto children. Ardo Tabbil and the musician from whom the youngest was taking lessons. Both men seemed to have disappeared along with the deAltos.