Read Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer Online
Authors: James Shade
Jaeron agreed, “We can do that.”
“D
idn’t you hear the lady? You are no longer welcome here.”
Jaeron stepped out of the darkened foyer toward the entryway of the brothel. His sword was not drawn, but his hand rested lightly on the hilt. The four men at the threshold did not move but exchanged glances assessing what to do next.
The brothel had once been a governor’s manor, when Islar had much shorter stone walls and had not yet stretched across to the north side of the Targu Mares River. It was built in the deYelv style with thick columns supporting an arched roof over the porch. The columns repeated inside the spacious entryway and on into the entirety of the main floor.
“No one tells us what to do. Do you know who we work for?”
Jaeron did not, in fact, know whom they worked for. But the rumors Avrilla collected suggested that a group of Gerlido’s men would be showing up tonight. The reaction to their arrival from Sheila, this evening’s young greeting girl, confirmed his suspicions. At least one of these men was responsible for roughing up the women here.
“You should reconsider your current employment,” Jaeron said. He was smiling, but he had no doubt that his eyes betrayed equal humor.
“Four to one, boy,” said the older rogue on the left side of the group. He pulled a long, wavy-bladed knife from its sheath. “Better go on home before you end up dead.”
“Maybe he is home,” said the next man in the line, the one who spoke first.
He was younger, more eager to prove himself.
“That right, whoreson?” another goaded. “Nothin’ better t’do than try to keep mommy from what she really needs.”
The comment offended Jaeron more than he expected. The disrespect bit deep. He had no knowledge of who his real mother might have been. He could very well be the son of a whore, abandoned to thieves, just as easily as the son of any other woman.
He pulled his sword out. The motion was smooth and deliberate as Jaeron entered water stance.
“Your funeral,” the older man said. “Dying alone for–”
“Except that he’s not alone,” Danine said. She slipped from behind the front column. “I should just watch him kill you fools, but that wasn’t our goal. And we want to get this over with.”
Jaeron could barely see the lean woman standing behind the small group. She was dressed in dark body-fitting leather, accented with gray dyed linen. She had painted her face, a swirling Hinterland tribal pattern that hid her features and tattoos. She held her weapons loosely in her hands, only the subtle twitches in her ax blade giving away her readiness for a fight.
The reaction from Gerlido’s men was professional. The pair in the back whirled to face the new opponent and the remaining men drew their weapons. Jaeron did not wait any longer. He attempted to disarm them first. He swept his blade up and right into sun’s salute and feinted with his left leg. The leader took the bait and began a counter. Jaeron’s swift slice to the right caught the man’s sword arm, opening it between the radius and ulna, nearly from elbow to wrist. The man dropped his short sword, clutching the wound with his other hand.
The left-side opponent lunged in, trying to take advantage of Jaeron’s apparent distraction. Jaeron dropped into a low side lunge and performed a reverse cross-cut that drove his foe into a weak block with his kris. Coming up from the low position, Jaeron leveraged the pressure of the two blades against each other to force the man to stumble backward into the thieves behind him.
For her part, Danine had not been idle. She had engaged the two men with her full arena training, not fighting with the same regard for life that Jaeron was showing. She brutally hammered at both men who were obviously unprepared for her skill or tactics. By the time Jaeron had forced his foe’s retreat, they were both suffering from at least three wounds each that would soon incapacitate them.
“Yield!” Jaeron said.
He wanted this done before Danine killed them.
Grateful relief flooded him when he heard the weapons clatter to the floor. Though one of the four men immediately followed. The man curled into a fetal position, moaning over his injuries. His own sword still held ready, Jaeron indicated to Danine to gather up the men’s weaponry.
As she worked to pick up the various blades, the group leader demonstrated that he was not completely cowed. He lurched sideways to lean up against the wall and glared at Jaeron.
“You won’t be so lucky when Brale hears about this. The Black Fangs are not an enemy you want to have, boy.”
Jaeron was about to reply when Danine made it unnecessary. With a backhanded swing she struck the thief across the head with the haft of her axe, knocking his head into the wall next to him. He crumpled.
“Bind his arm and get him out of Islar. The next time we see you, we will kill you.”
She stood motionless while the two men who were still mobile scrambled to follow her instructions. Within a few minutes, they were gone, leaving a trail of blood behind them.
Jaeron did not miss the slight glare Danine gave him as she left to follow them. She was going to make sure they left the city that night. He understood that if they did not, she would make sure they could not tell anyone about what happened. He understood her anger, too. Danine, Chazd, Karl, and even Avrilla thought that he was crazy to think that they could dismantle Gerlido’s organization without killing anyone. Even more disturbing was that Matteo’s recent counsel was that Teichmar’s justice was not for the merciful. Matteo was not telling Jaeron he was weak, but his friend was asking him if he truly believed he could initiate this war with the Black Fangs without bloodshed.
When he was being honest with himself, Jaeron did not believe it either. However, he had faith that Teichmar would ensure that those that were killed went to their graves for the right reasons. Jaeron had no proof that Brale and Sukul had killed his father, nor that Gerlido had ordered it. Only Tabbil’s dying words. If Teichmar arranged it such that Gerlido died at Jaeron’s hand, he was not going to lose sleep over it.
“So be it,” Jaeron whispered. “I’m not ready to give up.”
“What?” a soft voice spoke behind him.
He had forgotten about the girl. He turned to face Sheila.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”
He pulled himself together enough to offer her a faint, but honest smile.
“Everything should be okay, now. They won’t be coming back.”
The girl looked at him curiously. She had light auburn hair that glowed red in the lamplight. Unexpectedly Jaeron found himself noticing her petite form, the curves of her chest and hips silhouetted in the windings of the sheer green fabric that she wore. Her mouth pursed in a half-smile. A subtle tilt of her head and the moistening of her lips spoke her intent.
Jaeron acted before the offer could be made. He bowed formally.
“I have to go,” he said. “Please let us know if you have any further trouble here. Father Matteo from the Cathedral should be by to visit in the morning.”
He almost stopped it from looking like he was running as he crossed the entryway and out into the Islar streets.
~
The fact that Gerlido’s crew was the most feared second rung guild in Islar did not make him pause. It did not matter. They had taken away his father and, as it turned out, they were responsible for taking away his mother too. Perhaps, to most, a life amongst thieves would not be considered a life to be missed, but they had robbed him of his choices and his chances at what he imagined was normal.
Twice orphaned.
The thought spurred him on.
Chazd slipped from shadow to shadow across the corridor and down the side hall. He heard a soft hiss from behind. He paused mid-step and looked back to see that he was more than a dozen yards ahead of his team. Karl could hide well, but moving on his injured leg he could not keep up with Chazd’s determined pace. Petra and Bolvar followed behind Karl, purposely staying in the back to watch for unexpected arrivals.
The goal discussed with Jaeron was simple. They needed to start making dents in Gerlido’s armor. They needed to maim, kill, or run out of town Gerlido’s guild members. While Jaeron and Danine were in place protecting Vengh’s whorehouse, Chazd was leading a more direct assault on the Fang’s unlicensed gambling hall.
Chazd silently hoped that their information was incorrect and that Brale or Sukul were here. He wanted the chance to kill them himself. He had waited for the last of the patrons to leave before making their move. A crossbow shot incapacitated the outside guard and his guild members moved in to take the entry.
They moved down the hall to the back room. If luck was with them, Chazd thought, they would not only hurt Gerlido in terms of manpower but if the house had done well tonight, they might get a fair number of
dozecs
in compensation.
The silver on his mind, Chazd considered the two thieves behind him. How comfortable would he have been had Karl not been watching his back? How much could he trust them?
Enough, Chazd. Focus!
He flexed his fingers on his crossbow and imagined Gerlido in his sights. The anger returned, lessened, but his concentration was back on the assignment.
The hall ended at a thick wooden door. The group had not encountered anyone else and the two side halls led to a locked apartment and a small kitchen long in disuse. Chazd checked the door. It was locked. No time to pick it, he waived Bolvar forward to kick it in.
Chazd leading, they rushed into the room. Karl, Bolvar, and Petra broke left while he moved to the right. He shouldered his crossbow and fired at the beefy man standing in the near corner. The bolt penetrated just below his right shoulder and lodged into the wall behind him. If he pried himself loose from the shaft, he would not be using his sword for weeks.
Karl and his partners made it to the counting table. Of the two rival thieves there, a quick man with curly, black hair, had flung his chair back when the door opened. He had his daggers drawn by the time the Hands reached him. His partner fumbled with his chair and his sword and tripped sideways, throwing the other off balance. Karl’s blade sliced through the air. It
thunked
into the table, severing four of the black-haired man’s fingers. Chazd took aim and fired his crossbow again. He adjusted his targeting by a fraction just before the bow released, catching the other money counter through the left collarbone. The quarrel shattered the bone and knocked the man screaming to the floor.
Meanwhile, Bolvar and Petra engaged the remaining Black Fangs. The two men left were the hall bouncers, muscular thick-necked brutes who had time to assess the fight. They were both armed with heavy clubs and were intelligent enough to use each other’s position and the room’s furniture to control the combat.
Bolvar and Petra had fought together before. The pair used Bolvar’s expertise with dueling blades and Petra’s small frame and speed to separate the two bouncers and then engage them one at a time. Bolvar did not waste time trying to damage his man. His goal was to occupy him, make him believe that Bolvar was the larger threat. Then the petite woman slipped in behind and plunged her two small daggers into his lower back. Wheezing suction sounds came from the wounds after Petra leapt back. The man dropped to his knees and his partner surrendered.
“Tie them up,” Chazd ordered, indicating the ones who were not so badly injured that they were already disabled. “Leave him there and tie off his hand.”
As angry as he was that neither Brale nor Sukul were here, he was not going to let the man bleed to death.
Not just because of Jaeron.
Chazd went to the counting table and began filling the leather sack he had brought with him. There were a lot of mixed coins, both Bormeeran and Rosunlander, as well as some personal items – rings, cloak clasps, small bits of silver and even smaller bits of gold. Chazd took it all. They could sort through it later.
Karl joined him and fidgeted at his side. “Time to go, Chazd.”
“Aye. You’re right about that.”
In a louder voice, Chazd addressed the gambling hall crew. “Collect your friends and get out of the city. The Black Fangs are no longer welcome in Islar.”
J
aeron watched Chazd open another bottle of wine. The third, if he had been keeping track. His brother moved around the room, refilling glasses with a smile on his face. The entire core of the guild was squeezed into their apartmen
t’
s front room. They were all smiling, even Sten and Danine. The expression looked prickly on the experienced thief, as though he had not much chance to wear it in his life. On the Hinterland woman, it looked a little scary.
A hunter’s smile.
It’s her nature.
Danine was wild to her soul.
Also in attendance were Matteo and Coatie, though neither of them was in as festive a mood. Jaeron thought he understood his friend’s demeanor. He was having as much a hard time accepting their actions of the past night in terms of Teichmar’s teachings.
The Hands had horribly wounded four of Gerlido’s men. Jaeron felt torn. Were those injuries valid in the eyes of Justice, or were they overkill in the eyes of Mercy? He had not anticipated the wanton bloodshed on this course to avenge their father. Now, could he accept their actions, especially in light of his encounter with deLocke.
Jaeron put his hand over his mug when Chazd came to him with the bottle.
“No, thanks, Chazd. I’ve had enough.”
His brother shrugged, still grinning, and moved back across the room. Coatie also refused more wine and came to stand by Jaeron. Glancing at him, Jaeron could see Coatie taking in the cramped room. Evaluating the guild. Judging his family and his friends.
“You think the celebration is a bit premature?” Coatie asked.
Jaeron tilted his head. He knew it was.
“You also, I noticed.”
“You’ve barely begun.”
“We’ve reduced his manpower, maybe by as much as half.”
“No,” Shaels shook his head.
“What have you found out?”
“It’s not new information, deAlto. You are underestimating Gerlido. And Brale and Sukul. Those three alone could best all you’ve dispatched. And more.”
“They could beat us?”
Coatie laughed, but Jaeron could hear no humor in it.
“I don’t know, Jaeron. I haven’t seen you fight. I’ve heard that you and your sister both are competent. And the Hinterlander… frankly she frightens me if the tales of her arena exploits are even half-truths.
“But I’ve seen Brale in the pit fights. I’ve seen Sukul carve up four armed Guardsmen without taking a scratch. And Gerlido is rumored to have bested them both.”
“I hear you, Coatie. But we won’t know until we face them.”
“It will be too late by then.”
“Aye,” Jaeron agreed. “It will.”
“So, what’s next?”
Jaeron turned to face him. “You know, for an adviser, you seem to ask me a lot of questions.”
Coatie’s face finally broke into a grin. Jaeron shook his head and motioned for the other thief to follow him. Once in the basement, they settled onto two of the high stools.
“Chazd and Sten came up with the next move. They think we should strengthen our numbers by running down the protection muscle Vengh committed to us. They think we can get the Guard to patrol more aggressively and leverage that into pressuring them to join us.”
Coatie did not like it. Jaeron could see it in his face, adept as the one-time lieutenant was at covering his feelings.
“What?” Jaeron said. “Come, man. If you have reservations, I want to hear them.”
“First, using the Guard is dangerous. A good portion of them are already in the pocket of one guild or another and you won’t have any idea if the men you are treating with have already been bought.
“Second, you might want to watch how you deal with Vengh. You’ve paid him back the favor you promised, but now you are proposing to weaken him–”
Coatie held up his hand, stopping Jaeron from interrupting.
“I know your deal with him. But Vengh’s memory can be short when it suits him. And just because the vendetta is approved does not mean guilds cannot take sides. No one will take direct action against either of you, but there are too many other ways to interfere to count.”
Jaeron sighed.
“This was Sten’s idea, right?”
Jaeron’s gaze shot away from the wall map back to Coatie.
“He used to run with some of the Three Mill Legion. He probably thinks he can pull them in.”
“I don’t know, Jaeron. It could go either way. What else do you have?”
Jaeron frowned. He was not sure if they had anything else. A bit of idle gossip that Avrilla and Matteo had heard amongst the girls at the whorehouse.
Shaels cannot help us without information.
“The women of Paisley House… the courtesans there…” Jaeron tried to shake off his reluctance to discuss the lives of these women.
“The whores,” Coatie said. “I know who you mean, Jaeron.”
“Some of them have been hired for an event. Something to do with horses. It sounds like Gerlido is paying for the expenses. They were excited. Discussing how they would be getting new dresses, riding in coaches. It’s probably nothing.”
Coatie spun around to the worktable and drummed his fingers on the surface.
“Maybe not, Jaeron. The Equine Council annual trade faire is within the fortnight. Ortelli always wondered which guild had its finger in that pie, so to speak.”
Coatie recognized Jaeron’s confusion.
“So, it looks like you know even less about horses than I do. The Equine Council is like our guild structure, but made up of the horse ranch owners rather than guildmasters. Every year, after the spring foaling, they meet with all of the volume buyers. There’s a dinner, a formal ball, and then judges spend a couple days evaluating breeding stock and awarding trophies to the best examples of the various breeds. The results of the judging set prices for the offspring of the competing mares and stallions, and by extension related horses.
“There is a lot of gold changing hands. We tried to get the Vassals involved a few years ago and were rebuffed. I thought the Council may have been too highbrow to deal with ‘mere’ thieves, but Ortelli didn’t believe they were incorruptible. Especially in Islar.
“Maybe he was right.”
“I’m not sure how this helps us,” Jaeron said.
“I’m not either, but I think you need to attend that ball.”
~
Komi had been servicing Islar thieves as a druggist and surgeon since before the fall of the queen. His small kitchen served as a field hospital as much as twice a month. Gerlido knew the man did what he could to keep it clean, but he was privately glad he had never needed the old doctor’s mending.
Anton stepped forward when Gerlido entered the kitchen.
“I didn’t know–”
Gerlido shut the man up with a single look. Black Fang training took over and the bouncer withdrew, waiting to be addressed.
Within the kitchen, a bloody scene was in the process of clean-up. Komi stood in the corner of the room washing wrappings and tools in a basin. His apron was stained with blood and other less obvious substances, many of them old and permanent. A large man lay on the kitchen table, face down and stripped to the waist. His arms hung languidly toward the floor. His eyes were closed and his skin pale.
Gerlido knew without asking. He could hear the absence of the heartbeat. He glanced at Komi, who returned his look with a shrug. The guildmaster moved into the room for a closer inspection. Two puckered holes were visible low in the man’s back. They had come from strikes that were angled inward and upward near the sides of the torso. One had slid below, the other above, the man’s seventh ribs.
Gerlido smiled. It was a vicious way to kill. It guaranteed a slow, painful death, as you drowned in your own blood. Had the victim not been one of his best bouncers, Gerlido would have liked to congratulate the killer.
Komi had come over to stand opposite Gerlido across the body.
“Never had a chance,” the surgeon said.
“Anton should have recognized that and left him behind.”
Gerlido turned around, “But that is not a conversation to hold here.”
He reached into his coin pouch and pulled a
krovat
, then hesitated. He let his fingers guide him to add two
dozec
more. He passed the coins to Komi.
“Handle the cleanup.”
Komi nodded, silent, and did not look at the payment with Gerlido still in the room.
Anton followed Gerlido to the street without instruction. They walked a block and then took a side alley that would bring them out toward the Islar Fishery.
“Explain.”
“The gambling hall got hit last night. A group came in just after closing. Well coordinated. One of them took Ravi’s hand. A crossbowman knocked Powell out of the fight. A little girl did that to Cask.”
“Where did everyone go?”
“Once we got untied, they scattered. They told us to leave the city. But I couldn’t leave Cask.”
“Another guild?”
“They didn’t say, but it sounded like it.”
“Recognize anyone?”
“No, guildmaster,” Anton knew he was disappointing him. “It was fast, but I saw them pretty good. No one I knew.”
“Crossbow… Did one of them fight with a Pevaran blade?”
“No, sir.”
Gerlido mulled it over as they walked. There was a girl, but the wounds in Cask’s back were thin wounds. Daggers, not the gaping slashes of a kukri.
Could the deAltos be trying to confuse me?
Taking into account all he knew of the deAltos, the rumors of the trainers Henri had used, and the information he had researched since Jaeron’s induction at the Council, it was still questionable whether they could have been behind such a bold attack.
“Anton, find Brale and Sukul and then gather the guild. Set the markers to call in our guild spies, too. I want everyone there.”
Gerlido did not bother to watch the bruiser hustle away. He had another, more disturbing thought.
Larsetta. Could she be behind this?
He was not certain how he could figure that out, but he had an idea on how to confirm whether or not the deAltos were involved. Gerlido whirled abruptly, heading back toward the Tinker’s Ward and the bathhouses of Jotar Vengh.