Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (12 page)

“Who is handling the Valche tenement fire investigation?”

“Holger deLocke,” Sukul said.

“I want to meet with him,” Gerlido said. “Figure out a way to make that happen. Keep looking for the deAltos. Just the two of you. I have work for the rest of the Fangs.”

Gerlido watched his lieutenants continue to sit there nodding at him. As neither of them moved, he began to glower. Sukul picked up the signal first and slapped the meat of Brale’s arm.

“Let’s move, Brale.”

The leader of the Black Fangs watched them weave through the tavern patrons and out into the sunlight. He considered ordering a drink, but then thought better of it. He wanted something finer than the watered down swill served here.

Before he stood, a wave of heat washed over him. His simple thirst for a warm single malt slid into a need of something hotter, thicker, more primal. It lasted only seconds, but it was all encompassing until it was gone.

Gerlido cursed under his breath. That sensation was happening more often lately. Perhaps Larsetta’s visit was not ill timed after all. He needed to have a talk with her.

A
vrilla followed Danine into the subterranean hallway, trying to get her attention as they made their way back into the shuffling crowd.

“Danine! I don’t know what to do in an arena fight. I can’t do this.”

The northern woman paused and moved Avrilla out of the pedestrian flow. Grasping her bicep, Danine pulled Avrilla close to her.

“You can fight – I’ve seen that. You may not be as good as I am, but you are good.”

“But it’s all been practice,” Avrilla said. “I’ve never really…” She did not know how to phrase her concern.

Danine continued to look at her but did not say anything, an amused smirk highlighting her gaze. Avrilla looked around, taking in the environment of the arena sub-floor. The weapon and armor stalls. The energy of potential violence and the nervous thrill of gambling. The blood. There was a very real difference in the way she thought about combat and why she trained for it and the view that Danine held.

“Danine, I’ve never killed anyone,” she admitted. “I don’t know that I can.”

Danine smiled at her. It was a wicked smile and Avrilla got the feeling that was exactly the point that Danine was trying to make.

“These are my terms, Avrilla,” she said. “I will join you if you join me.”

Avrilla considered the statement, wondering if Danine had really been the right choice for her addition to their guild. She looked down at herself. The heat of the day rolled down the entry ramp to the arena, but it had nothing to do with the perspiration that flooded her. She felt self-conscious, ridiculous. She had never been in public with so much of her body showing.

It was too late to make a different decision.

“DeAlto,” Danine said again, more gently. “Fight with me.”

Without knowing exactly why, Avrilla looked up at the taller woman and nodded.

~

Coatie made a slow approach and set up close to the weapon shop’s front door before the two men walked out. He let them brush past him and waited a few moments, pretending to check some debris in the roadside to determine if it were fit contents for his bucket. Then, after assuring himself that they were not paying any attention to him, Coatie followed the deAltos across Horadon Road toward the Temple Ward.

Coatie continued cleaning the cobblestone street, pushing the filth from the cart pack toward the corner sewer grates. The deAlto brothers made only one other stop at a specialty ink and parchment shop, and this time did not leave empty-handed. The older one carried a small parcel held protectively under his left arm. When they turned onto Pineal Avenue, Shaels paused. He was wandering more than a street cleaner would and he looked around to see if there was a convenient place for him to discard his disguise. Before he found an appropriate spot, the two young men stopped.

The local well was over a block away. If the men decided to get moving again, he might lose them. Coatie decided to take the chance. He crossed the corner and the distance to the well, taking the opportunity to dump his bucket into the sewer grate and rinse it with fresh water. From the well’s stone pedestal, Shaels found the sun was at his back and he could watch the brothers from a better vantage point.

They were waiting for something. The elder brother stood stoically, watching the pedestrians and staying out of the way. The younger seemed full of nervous energy. He could not stay still. Between the two disparate attitudes, Coatie began to feel nervous. Either of them could notice him if he did not return to his cleaning or find a better place to hide.

~

The arena horns sounded again. The heavy rattle of chains sounded in the small ramp area, pulling up the portcullis and opening the way onto the arena floor. Danine grasped Avrill
a’
s wrist and guided her into the sunlight. She lifted the gir
l’
s hand above their heads and smiled at the crowd.

Less than half of the arena seats were occupied this morning, but the people that were there filled the air with shouts for her. Danine had fought before smaller crowds and still enjoyed it. It was more than enough. She pulled in a full chest of air through her nose, tasting the dry, powdery dirt, the salty tang of the unwashed, and the coppery scent of money mingled with blood.
It is going to be a great morning.

Danine stalked forward onto the arena’s dirt floor, motioning Avrilla to follow along. She grinned at the girl’s nerves and fear. Those jitters would build into a tense excitement once the battle commenced. Avrilla was a natural fighter. She just needed the right motivation.

The gates on the far side of the arena opened and the private arena guards prodded three men into the sunlight. The men were dressed in light leather armor, sandals, shin guards, and the military armbands characteristic of Rosunland. They were armed with short swords and small wooden shields.
Captured armaments.
The men stumbled into the bright morning as the gates closed behind them, looking around warily as the crowd began booing.

Danine shook her head. She was disappointed. They were young and appeared inexperienced. She waived for Avrilla to come in close.

“Fight to disable them. These are boys - not warriors.”

She pointed to the right, nodding as Avrilla moved in that direction. Drawing her weapons, Danine moved left toward the north side of the oval arena. Their opponents had entered a triangular formation, moving toward the center of the arena to avoid the market vendor projectiles being hurled by the spectators.

Danine rolled her shoulders and swung her axe in a long overhand arc. As her left hand completed the revolution, her right hand went into motion, swinging her dagger up and over in a backhand arc. She gave each weapon another orbit and then reversed directions.

She did not suspect that the morning would present much of a challenge, but she was a creature of habit now. Limbering up as she moved across the sand was part of an ingrained preparation. She broke stride into a light bounce across the field, wondering at the incentive they had provided for her foes. Would a death here in this field be better than the fate they may face afterward?

She closed to within a few yards and saw that Avrilla had followed suit. The girl’s kukris were out and she was actively using the distraction methods that their instructor, Yarvin, had taught them. The men between them had spread out a little, finally recognizing the threat that the two women represented.

Danine felt a flush of anticipation, the contagious excitement of the crowd, and a background fear of injury. She was spurred with adrenalin. She checked on her partner. Avrilla was still hanging back, threatening but too cautious. The three Rosunlanders continued their circle, protecting each other's backs. The chant of the crowds in the arena stands reached its peak.

It is time. They want blood now!

She sprang suddenly, her lean legs propelling her three yards without effort. She was on the nearer opponent before he had time to react. Danine used her long-bladed dagger as a feint, drawing the man’s sword to block. Then she struck with her left hand, the small axe scoring a long cut across the man’s ribs.

He stumbled back, trying to use his small shield to defeat any further attacks. One of his partners moved back to help, perhaps deducing that Avrilla's threats were merely posturing. Danine danced back and used a pair of steps to move clockwise, placing the men directly between her and her partner again.

She assessed the first man’s wound. Her axe had torn through the hardened leather leaving a severe cut that bled profusely. By the way he was moving, Danine suspected she must have broken a rib or two with her strike. Avrilla’s face was pale, but not so much as Danine had expected.

Good, there’s some lust for the fight in her after all.

She caught Avrilla's eye and swung her axe lightly toward the first opponent. She did not know if Avrilla would understand the gesture, but it was plain enough. We can win without killing them if we have to.

Whether Avrilla understood or not, she took the initiative and made the next attack. Her height was a disadvantage. She could not close the distance to the men in as few steps as had Danine. But she was quick, and her technique with the kukri nearly flawless. The blades rang out hard strikes against sword and shield, forcing the second man into a constant defensive. The third opponent started to maneuver around to aid his partner, but Danine jumped in quickly to interfere.

She needed Avrilla to finish her fight. To wound, or possibly kill the second man. Danine yelled out a Hinterland battle cry and took a couple of wild swings with her axe and blade. The man had no choice but to deflect them, using up his precious strength to block the attacks. Danine’s first foe moved back in to help, but it took an incredible effort. Blood continued to flow down his side and already the hem of his shirt was drenched, glistening dark red.

Danine toyed with them, delaying finishing either opponent to give Avrilla a chance to find her natural instincts.
It’s possible the girl has none.
In her heart, she did not believe it. Though Bormeeran, there was something behind the younger woman's eyes that was wild and uncontrolled. Perhaps a side effect of her long-dormant magical talent. Smiling, she forced her bleeding opponent into a side step that caused him to stumble and she used the moment's advantage to watch Avrilla fight.

The girl was angry. Danine could see it immediately. She had welts on her shoulder and face and a small cut on her cheek. The result of a clever shield block, Danine guessed. The strike had finally awoken the snow leopard within Avrilla. Her fighting style had changed. The interplay of the naked curved blades was no longer a flourish designed to impress. Each movement had purpose.

Danine’s foe found his second wind. Recovering a hidden reserve of strength, he dropped his shield onto the bloodstained sand and held his sword in a two-handed grip. He moved into a flanking position with the third Rosunlander and Danine had to shift into a side-to-side fighting posture. Danine began to fear she would not have time to see her partner's battle play out. She was going to have to finish one of the men.

She heard the rapid clang of steel on steel again, and Danine risked a quick glance when her opponents turned to look. Avrilla had used a full cross sweep and followed the man's block and counterthrust with a clever parry and quick strike to the thigh. The girl aimed well, or perhaps got lucky. The maneuver was designed to be lethal, a femoral strike that bled a foe out quickly as his pumping heart was used against him. Avrilla had turned the strike outward, missing the critical location, and made a deep cut through the front of his upper thigh, severing a quarter of the muscle bundle on the outside of the leg.

As the man tumbled to the ground, Avrilla called out, “Yield!”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Danine smiled. With a quick flicking motion, she threw the dagger in her left hand at the third man. In different circumstances, it could have been a killing shot. But her throw was designed to strike pommel first. The heavy metal connected with the Rosunlander’s forehead and he collapsed to the ground.

With no real choice given him, Avrilla’s foe dropped his weapons and sank to the arena floor, trying to hold together his savaged leg. Danine's gaze turned to their final opponent. The man was pale, shaking. A brief look of defiance crossed his face and Danine thought she might have to kill him after all. But then he looked at his friends again and threw his sword to the ground.

Danine raced across the sand and grasped Avrilla’s hand in her own. She lifted their clasped hands into raised fists of victory. The crowd had expected a death match, but Danine’s gamble worked. The energy of her own fans infected the rest of the crowd and the sight of the two women working so efficiently to defeat three opponents was heady. The entire audience stood, cheered, and stomped. Danine risked a sideways glance at Avrilla and caught the surprised joy on her face.

As the two women left the arena in a shower of flower petals and
boektral
seeds, Danine leaned in close to Avrilla’s ear.

“I’m in, deAlto.”

J
aeron was shocked at his sister’s appearance when she finally showed up to meet them. He and Chazd had waited for an hour and then finally gave up, deciding to buy a quick lunch from a street vendor. Jaeron’s concern about Avrilla’s absence drifted in a cycle from fear, to anger, to resigned confidence in her ability to handle herself. For his part, Chazd was uncharacteristically quiet.

Before they had split up that morning, Avrilla had been evasive about the errands she needed to perform. Even more perplexing was her request that he and Chazd stop in the supply store for writing materials and inks. She had been very specific about her needs, but Jaeron could not figure out why she could not go herself. He did not press her on it, though. He trusted her. More than Chazd. More than anyone he knew, except perhaps Matteo.

Really, I had trusted her as much.
Until her revelation that she had been keeping an ability in magic a secret from him for the past two years. That plus her strange behavior this morning had given Jaeron more doubts about Avrilla than he had his entire life. And now this.

He and Chazd had both broken into a run when Avrilla appeared around the corner of Pineal Avenue. She was covered with a thin coat of dust and sand, streaked with lines of dried sweat. Her hair was disheveled and rebound into an uncharacteristic, tight ponytail. The large welt raised on her cheek disturbed Jaeron the most.

“Avrilla! What in the name of Teichmar happened?”

“Are you okay?” asked Chazd.

Their sister waved them off. “I’m okay. It’s nothing.”

Jaeron did not believe her, but before he could ask further questions or argue with her, she cut him off.

“Really. I am fine,” she said. “In fact, I feel great.”

Chazd peered more closely at her face, evaluating the injury. Then he smirked.

“I hope the other guy looks worse.”

Avrilla smiled, almost laughing, and slapped Chazd in the chest.

“Seriously, Avrilla, what have you done?” Jaeron was not amused by the exchange. “You had us worried.”

“I’ve found my addition to the guild,” Avrilla said, dropping her voice to a lower volume.

She moved to the edge of the street to stand next to the corner of a mercantile, out of earshot of passersby. Jaeron stood close to her and pulled Chazd to their side. From there they could observe if anyone approached.

“She needed to be convinced, so we had a… sparring session,” Avrilla admitted.

“She?” Chazd asked.

“A sparring session?” said Jaeron.

“Who-?” both brothers spoke at once.

Avrilla stared at them and Jaeron could see she was losing her patience.

“Are you boys ready to let me finish?”

Chazd nodded.

“Go ahead,” Jaeron said. “Sorry.”

“Her name is Danine – yes, that Danine.” Avrilla cut off further questions.

Jaeron knew some of the history between the two women. He had helped his sister soak, wrap, and apply ointments to her training injuries over the years.

“I thought our new venture could use some muscle. I had a pretty good idea of where both of you went for your additions to our group.

“Anyway, Danine’s different now… well, not different, I guess. She’s the same. Tough, strong, dangerous. But she has found the right outlet for her anger.”

“Looks like the right outlet was your face!” Chazd’s laughter was infectious.

Avrilla threw him a stern ‘shut up’ look but could not keep up her façade of anger. All three deAltos fell against the building in laughter.

When she recovered her breath, Avrilla resumed her story. “It took some time to find her, and then some time to convince her. She said yes. But she asked the same thing I’ve been wondering.

“What’s next?”

~

Rocks and ruts jumbled the carriage that wound down the road out of the Targumures Mountains into the foothills southeast of Islar. Larsetta grimaced as the rear wheel struck a deep pothole hard enough that it popped her out of her seat. She resisted the urge to lash out at her manservant and coachman, Bujnot. She was loathe to admit it, but the man was probably doing the very best he could.

Bujnot had given her a fair assessment of the travel conditions through Bear Mark Pass. The roads had only recently been cleared by the Bormeeran army and that they would not have done as thorough a maintenance job as the Griffonriders did in years past. Another jolt shook the carriage and Larsetta swore. If he were driving into the ruts on purpose to prove his point, she would have to kill him. Even if he was adept at personal service and asked few questions, even for tasks of dubious legality.

The easier, faster way to travel between Dun Lercos and Islar was by water. A short ferry down the Lercos Faza River and then a three to four day voyage by ship to Islar Harbor. Except that Larsetta hated the ocean. For reasons both personal, and related to her anointing, she avoided stepping on board a ship at all costs.

She realized her avoidance of the sea would only help propagate the folklore about the Tainted. The common story was that saltwater was anathema to them. But that assumed the facts of her condition were ever known. No one other than Bujnot, Mennat, and Gerlido knew that secret. And none of them knew to the extent which she had been converted.

Tainted.
The very word was an insult.

Truthfully, Larsetta did not often think about the fact that she was once human. By all appearances, she was still human. But she felt her form was a convenient mask, a deception that enabled her kind to stay close to their source of life.

My kind.
There had not been another of her kind in scores of years. If deTollo spoke the truth as her creator, there may not have been another anointed such as her in over a century. The others that she knew of, even the ones she had made, were nothing in comparison.
Little more than human themselves and they call themselves Tainted.

She gritted her teeth and snaked her tongue across the suddenly sharp surfaces. Larsetta played out her anger, letting the emotion roll through her body. With her awakened senses already active, it felt like an acidic tingling through her veins. It rushed and pulsed, hot and bubbly.

Larsetta shook her head, tossing her black hair from side to side and then threw herself back into the cushioned seat of the carriage. She laughed quietly at the display and let the anger go, reveling in the sweet parting.

She recognized the truth of her existence. There were all too human traits remaining in her nature. Emotions such as anger, lust, and anticipation were particularly fulfilling. Whatever other gifts Malfekke had bestowed on her, he left those pleasantries intact. And he had left within her a hunger.

Larsetta drew open the carriage curtains and closed her eyes, letting the sunlight flashing through the spring leaves play over her face. She extended her senses so she could feel the cold of the leaves’ shadows and the heat of the sun, discrete and contradictory. She had been careful on this trip. Nearly a week without using her demon-given powers. No string of missing persons or unexplained deaths tracking her movement from the Bormeeran capital.

But she used them freely now. She amused herself with them. Larsetta was a few short hours from a rural mountain village and a fresh meal. She squirmed in her seat, twisting her legs together and rubbing her calves in turn over the opposite shin. Warmth flooded her loins. She was anxious to get to Islar. In the city, she could satiate two of her human drives and replenish her strength.

~

“Hello?”

Jaeron saw his brother and sister jolt into a readiness, reacting the same way he had to the voice in the barn below. He motioned for them to remain quiet and reached across the hay bale for his long sword, nodding to his siblings as they also reached for their weapons. They all knew the farmer’s voice and those of his family. This was someone else.

“Jaeron deAlto?”

The voice was low, loud enough to sound through the barn but not loud enough to be heard outside. Even if he had recognized the voice, Jaeron would not have answered. He still did not have a good feeling of whom they could trust. It was not Matteo, the only one Jaeron had given the location of their hiding place.

“Look, I may be wrong, but I believe you are Jaeron, Avrilla, and Chazd deAlto. On the run from an act of arson that killed your adoptive father. I’m not with the Islar guard and I am here alone.

“I have been sent to talk with you.”

Jaeron started to get up, despite the warning look from Chazd. Avrilla joined in with a cautionary shake of her head.

Jaeron moved with slow and careful placement, knowing how much movement would change the pressure distribution on the old loft floor. He was not going to have creaking wood give them away.

If their location had been discovered after only a few days, Jaeron needed to know how. And why.

“Who are you?” he called down from the loft.

“My name is Coatie Shaels. I work for Victor Ortelli and I’ve been sent to arrange a meeting with him.”

His siblings’ eyes widened at the name.
Victor Ortelli.
As one of the more powerful second rung Guildmasters, Ortelli was the rumored candidate for the first rung position when Grandmaster deSwan retired. Jaeron’s grip clenched tighter on the hilt of his sword. He heard that there had been some rivalry between Ortelli and Henri many years before. Perhaps they had to look no further for his father’s killer.
Had the man really waited so long to extract some sort of revenge?

“Listen,” Coatie continued. “I don’t see that you have any reason to trust me or my Guildmaster. But the Spoiled Vassals were not involved in your father’s death. Ortelli wants to help.

“If you want to talk about it, come meet Guildmaster Ortelli at the Crooked Window tomorrow. He will be expecting you for a noon meal.”

Jaeron waited, pondering over Shaels’ words.
Could they trust him?
He was not ready to act rashly on that mistrust either. He stayed in the loft, listening for the barn door. He heard nothing. Finally, after a full two minutes, he gave the signal to Chazd and Avrilla to climb down with him and make sure that Shaels was gone.

~

Coatie made his way back across the pasture to the road that led to Islar’s North Gate. He was both impressed with and worried about the deAltos’ hiding place. He may have had the advantage of a good description of the deAltos and a list of their father’s known associates. But if he could find them, eventually so could anyone else.
Still, a barn in the farmlands was clever. They are just not being careful enough during their trips into the city.

As Coatie approached the gate, he considered how difficult it had been to shadow them from that point. They were being careful to pass through the gate during high traffic to avoid the scrutiny of the guards. It was a good plan. Otherwise, they would have been in deLocke’s custody by now.

His thoughts returned to those responsible for Henri deAlto’s death. Coatie’s investigation thus far had uncovered an overall negative response amongst the thieves’ community. No one would make an open accusation, but many were commenting that unless a third rung guild was directly interfering in the affairs of a first or second rung guild, there was no excuse for such reprisals. Unfortunately, his inquiries had revealed little else. If another guild was involved in Henri’s death, no one was admitting it.

Coatie’s own guildmaster was being particularly vocal about Henri’s death. By the night after the fire, he had spread the word mandating that no one in the Spoiled Vassals take any action to help anyone, thief or guard, find the deAlto children.

He could not help but wonder why Ortelli was so interested. Ortelli found independents useful for tasks that required skills outside of those held within the guild. They also allowed a guild to get things done that might otherwise call question from the upper rung guilds. But Victor seemed to be taking deAlto’s death more personally. Coatie did not know, nor did he try to discover, all of the reasons behind it, but he suspected it had something to do with the deAltos’ mother.

Adoptive mother.
Henri’s deceased wife, now gone nearly twelve years. He wondered about that too, as he had heard that Henri had not really wanted children.
But he took in three orphans when his wife asked, just like that?