Read Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer Online
Authors: James Shade
C
hazd stood in shocked silence after he answered the door. He was not sure what he expected, but he had not thought he would be seeing Master Rodin today.
“Good morning, Chazd,” the music instructor smiled from the doorway.
As congenial as always, the musician patiently waited for Chazd’s response. But Chazd did not know what to say.
“May I come in?”
Chazd nodded mutely and stepped out of the way, allowing Rodin to make his way through the small house’s entry hall and into the main sitting room. Chazd followed him, once again astonished at the outfit his teacher wore.
Rodin’s breeches and doublet were turquoise silk with split seam patterns revealing a dark blue cotton beneath. His shirt and hose were brilliant white and his shoes decorated with dark blue fenestrations to match. The entire ensemble was finished with polished pewter buttons and piping. The outfit cost a month’s salary of the average Islar working man, if Chazd’s estimations were close.
As Chazd followed the musician into the sitting room, he saw that his instructor had a package bundled in brown oiled paper under his arm. Rodin pulled off his shoulder bag and set the package down on one of the thinly padded leather chairs.
“Are your siblings here?”
“Yes, sir,” Chazd said.
He could not help frowning. He still had not sorted through all the thoughts and emotions concerning his instructor. Rodin had become a secondary father to Chazd, but ever since bringing him the various pieces of the music box and catching him with Bettra, Chazd had felt uneasy about the man.
No, he was jealous of the man. Of his confidence, his easy smile, and his disarming good looks despite his obvious age. Of his musical talent, certainly. No matter how hard Chazd worked, Rodin was always ready to challenge him with something he felt he had no hope of mastering. And he did so easily.
What is really bothering me, though?
Chazd had a feeling that it had more to do with his brother’s request and the enthusiasm that Rodin was showing about providing his help with this mess.
“Can you get them?”
Chazd looked up, startled again. His focus had been solely on the wrapped package near the center of the room and he had not realized his teacher had been talking to him. He shook his head and looked back at Master Rodin’s smile.
“Yes, sir.”
By the time the three deAltos joined the older bard in the sitting room, the man had already unwrapped the package and was quietly folding the oiled paper into a neat bundle on his chair. He turned toward the trio and gave a shallow bow toward Jaeron.
“Good morning. I apologize for calling upon you at this early hour.”
Chazd turned to his brother and sister, “This is Master Rodin, my music teacher.
“Rodin, this is my brother Jaeron deAlto and my sister, Avrilla.”
Jaeron crossed the room in two strides and shook the man’s hand.
“It is good to meet you, sir. Chazd speaks highly of you.”
Rodin’s grin broadened. “Oh? I’m surprised the lad speaks of me at all!” Rodin said.
Then he crossed the room and took Avrilla's hand, brushing it briefly to his 1ips and bowing formally.
“M’lady Avrilla,” his voice was quiet. “Chazd did not say that his sister was such a vision of loveliness and charm.”
Chazd shook his head, watching. Avrilla blushed, looking away from the man. Rodin turned around and raised his eyebrows at Jaeron. Chazd could tell that his brother was uncomfortable with the unexpected flattery of their sister.
“Tis a difficult habit to break. Complements to pretty women help put coins in the purse,” he said.
“But the complement was not said falsely, Jaeron deAlto. Your sister is beautiful, despite her effort to hide it.”
The easy smile was gone and the older man was suddenly addressing Jaeron as the man of the household.
“So, on to the reason for my visit.”
With a grand gesture, Rodin indicated the contents of his package. All eyes turned to the box on the table. It was a simple, beautiful construction, made of walnut with hand-carved dovetail joints. A brass handle protruded from the side, bent in a strong ‘L’. A series of crescent holes were cut into the front of the box, fanned out in a decorative pattern, decreasing in size from the center to the box's sides.
Chazd stayed in the wide doorway leaning gently against the left-hand frame. The box was the subject of the drawing he watched Rodin make nearly two weeks ago. He found that he was not happy to see it, despite his role in its creation. With a sudden certainty, Chazd did not want to hear the music that was sure to flow through those holes.
On the other hand Jaeron had knelt by the table, his hand tentatively touching the glossy surface of the wood. Avrilla moved toward the table also, practically prancing from what Chazd could see, influenced by the bard's compliments.
Rodin nodded and said, “Go ahead, Jaeron. Wind it.”
Chazd watched as his brother moved his hand to rest on the polished brass. His movement tentative, almost as reverent as his visits to Teichmar’s altar. As if the music box would burn him. Further encouraged by Rodin, Jaeron began turning the delicate crank in a clockwise direction.
Chazd listened to the locking gear click away in a rapid staccato that blended into a low mechanical hum. Despite his frustration with Jaeron's interest in this distraction, investigating the family history, Chazd could not help but feel a sense of pride. He had not assembled the device, nor drawn its plans, but he understood that Rodin had forced him to solve much of the crafting problems that were required to make this possible.
Jaeron turned the crank only a few revolutions and then paused to look at Rodin.
“A few more should do. It will play the melody fully through, I think. Finish the winding and then turn the key.”
Jaeron followed the instructions, stepping away from the device when the first clear note sounded from the chamber. They listened quietly as the music began, the comb and cylinder producing a song that had not played in almost fifteen years. On the conclusion of the introductory bars, Rodin joined in with an accompaniment on his travelers harp.
Chazd's musings had distracted him from noticing the changes that had come over the room. He recognized a low voice, melodious but rough, that had been singing along with the music.
Of three holy men who took up the call,
We sing o’ their trails to help save us all.
Twere sent laden with faith, weapons, and wine,
Silently waiting for tree-borne carved sign.
A life they embraced, of exile and pain.
In faraway lands and ne’er seen again.
The truth bearers knew with patience they’d wait.
‘Til gift bearers come accepting their fate.
So where, where are they now?
Oh where are they, where are they now?
The black clad brother went north through the pass.
Yon wolf’s head mountain and cold, swampy grass.
Friended the hunters and wild mares ridden,
Plied the shaman for relics lain hidden.
Traveled ‘mong barrows where watchtowers stand,
Back ‘long river where ice merges with land.
Before the white cliffs the sun never mars.
A fool to find him in cave full of stars.
So where, where are they now?
Oh where are they, where are they now?
Purple embroidered and arcane embraced,
The second along enclosed south sea traced.
Crossed surging waters, eight falls blocking war.
To sand imprinted with giants of lore.
Round step-sided hills of olive and vine,
The sole comfort of bread and sweetened wine.
Below spire’s shadow in stucco and tile,
A mage expected, completing the trial.
So where, where are they now?
Oh where are they, where are they now?
The rustic, wise third he took to the sea,
To risk rocky straits and black piracy.
Welcomed as brother on pink Elven shore
Near city afloat and red hawks that soar.
Secluded inland a library old,
Where obelisk marks a basin of gold.
The ringed monkeys howl and coral makes art.
Nearing placid shoal the knight finds his start.
So where, where are they now?
Oh where are they, where are they now?
Seek three priests divine who took up the call.
They fled to the winds to help save us all.
To preserve their faith in hiding they stayed.
But honor demands new parts to be played.
Seek them, go find them now.
Oh where are they, where are they now?
His brother sang, clearly voicing every word of every line. On the second stanza, Rodin joined in with background vocals and completed the song’s refrain in the round. Chazd noticed that though Rodin was performing, he was watching his brother, too. The music teacher had a strange look on his face, his eyes focused in concentration.
When the song ended, Jaeron shook his head in frustration. He appeared confused, as if he had lost his train of thought. He rubbed his face with his hand and dropped down into a chair. Avrilla walked over behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.
The last bit of the melody trailed off and stopped. Rodin stepped up and set a rolled scroll of parchment on the music box.
“That's the sheet music for the work. It's derivative, but well executed. The original is an old work, probably created by Kelsea. The words you sang are new, written by the same master who crafted the cylinder, I would guess.”
Rodin leaned forward and lifted the lid off the music box exposing the mechanisms within.
“What is most fascinating is an engraving on the cylinder. If I read it correctly, the device was made fourteen years ago. By the maker’s mark on the cylinder, his name was Jak deEvmar. He was a highly respected craftsman and musician in Dun Lercos. He passed away only a few years ago.
“It's a shame you hadn't found this sooner. I would have made the trip back to the capital. It would have been an honor to meet him.”
Avrilla had picked up the sheet music and was studying it politely. Chazd wondered if there would ever be a piece of handwriting that his sister would not attempt to duplicate.
Rodin's gaze swept the three deAltos. If he were expecting an explanation, none was forthcoming.
Chazd cleared his throat, interrupting the silence. “Are you satisfied now, Jaeron?” he asked.
His brother looked at him, frowning but silent.
“There's nothing here. No secrets, no revelation of a hidden past. We're no closer to finding out who killed Father and taking out due justice.”
Avrilla's sharp voice struck back at him, “Justice or vengeance, Chazd?”
Chazd closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped.
“Is there a difference?” he whispered.
“Chazd,” Jaeron began quietly, “I don't know how it's all related, but I have a feeling that it is. None of us believes that Father was killed for Lord deLespan's necklace, or even that love letter. Ardo's death? Having to kill deLocke?
“What had we done to Gerlido's guild prior to Henri's death? Isn’t it more likely that it was something that happened in Father’s past?”
Chazd spun around and collapsed into his chair.
“I don't know, Jaeron. I don't pretend to understand it all. I just know that we know who did this! Gerlido and his thugs think they've gotten away with it. So, let's stop them!”
“You don't want to know why?” Rodin asked.
His mentor's insertion into their conversation startled Chazd. The question bothered him more than the continued arguments with his brother.
Do I really care why?
He wanted to shout it at them, but at the same time he felt the gnawing want that was buried under the anger. Chazd knew that vengeance was not going to be enough, but it was the shield he was using to hide his mourning.
Not ready for that realization or revealing it to his siblings, Chazd shook his head. Sparing a glare at his brother and trying to ignore the sympathetic look from his sister, he got up and left the room. He was running by the time he crossed the small hall and went out the apartment's front door.
~
The eldest deAlto looked back at him, about to speak. Then confusion set in.
“No… a few words. The general theme, I guess.”
Rodin nodded. “If I wind the box and play it again, it would be different. Do you know why?”
Jaeron shook his head; a vague fear shadowed his features. Rodin glanced at Avrilla. The girl understood by instinct though she probably could not explain it.