Read Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer Online
Authors: James Shade
J
aeron’s vision came back into focus. Gerlido crouched close by, facing away from him, streaming blood onto the stone floor. The guildmaster grunted in pain, twisting, pulling at something at his chest.
The tip of his sister's kukri protruded from Gerlido's back. The flesh above the blade was slowly knitting itself together. He drew his dagger as quietly as he could. It was not quiet enough.
The blade tip disappeared, and the kukri was in Gerlido’s hand as he spun around. Jaeron was already in motion. He regained his feet, using the wall against his back as leverage. He managed to deflect Gerlido’s first attack and rolled out of the way, maneuvering to position himself between the master thief and his sister.
A crossbow bolt
thunked
into Gerlido’s side, seemingly coincident with the sound of the bow's release. The leader of the Black Fangs stumbled toward the corner of the room, giving Jaeron the opportunity to glance at his brother. Chazd was leaning against a cabinet covered in blood, but he raised his thumb.
Gerlido was again recovering. Jaeron used the seconds he had to roll across the floor and retrieve his sword. He could not even yell as weight compressed his ribs. There was no air. He gritted his teeth and got to his feet.
It is time to finish this. We’re losing this fight in inches.
Jaeron cleared his mind and let his years of training take control.
Single opponent. Left side strength.
Jaeron moved into a left side waterfall defense.
Gerlido snarled a feral challenge and charged, attacking with Avrilla's blade. Jaeron met the attack with a cross-sweep parry followed by a mid-thrust feint. Gerlido was consumed by rage and pain, his formidable attributes from being Tainted started working against him. He was more animal than man, working on instinct.
He blocked Jaeron’s sword with his hand, but was not fully prepared to take the blow. The arcane-psychic protection faltered and he sliced his claw to the bone along the sword’s edge. Gerlido counterattacked with the kukri. The swing was wild, undisciplined. Jaeron let the kukri shear across the sword as he presented a slanted high block but was forced to absorb some of the blow with his legs.
Gerlido overextended, and Jaeron took advantage of the mistake. He lunged forward keeping his sword in its reverse position and struck across Gerlido’s neck. The cut severed both the external and internal carotid arteries.
Jaeron felt the hot spray of blood across his left shoulder and leg just before tucking into a shoulder roll and pivoting into a low ready block. Gerlido turned around slowly, trying to maintain a grip on Avrilla’s weapon, but failing. He seemed confused when the kukri dropped to the floor. A pulsing flood of blood continued to issue from his arm and neck, but he was able to take another step toward Jaeron before dropping to his knees.
Jaeron let his sword slip from his fingers as he knelt next to Gerlido. He pressed his hand to the Black Fang’s neck in a futile attempt to stop the blood loss.
“Why?” Jaeron demanded. “Why did you kill Liadee deAlto?”
Jaeron was sure this was the crucial question. That the answer would make everything make sense. But he was not going to get that answer today. He watched in desperation as the feral orange glow of Gerlido’s eyes flickered and went out. The man’s bestial features receded. The body went limp.
Jaeron dropped him to the floor and backed away. The pumping of the blood stopped and the flow dwindled to a slow trickle. He watched in silence until it stopped altogether.
It was over.
~
It was over in an instant. Bujnot leaned over next to her, hand half extended ready to help her if she commanded it. But not doing so of his own volition. She tasted his fear in the air.
Malfekke’s light!
She could not believe it, but it made sense. Gerlido had been killed.
She did not have the patience for obedience games right now. Larsetta held up her hand and her servant helped her to her feet.
“I am fine. Leave me.”
She was satisfied as he scurried from the room.
It would do for now.
Larsetta made her way to the sitting room.
Is it possible?
Her blood vessel had been killed. She knew that was what happened, but the ramifications of it staggered her. She had no illusions that her kind was immortal, but they were damned resilient. And Gerlido was not the shadow of a Tainted he had created with his pets, Brale and Sukul. Larsetta converted him fully through the first ritual.
She shook her head. She had known the Black Fangs were under attack, but she had allowed it to play out. She thought she could bide her time until Gerlido was left with no choice but to ask for her help. Now, in his stubbornness he had destroyed himself.
Or he had been dealing with a larger threat than Larsetta believed.
Larsetta allowed the throbbing echo of her pain to dissipate and as it ended she felt an almost imperceptible boost of power. She eased forward, glancing down at the coffee table. Larsetta regretted leaving her Feral set in Dun Lercos. She had not realized how much the presence of the board and pieces helped her think. Now that one of her major pieces had been eliminated she needed to re-plan her strategy for Islar.
J
aeron felt empty as he sat in the lowest rung seat, under the evaluating stares of the Islar Thieves Council. Though he had initiated the meeting, he found he cared little about the outcome. The vendetta was over. While he, along with his brother and sister, now legitimately had a bid to assume Gerlid
o’
s second rung guild position, he no longer wanted it.
Their friends had helped them again through the aftermath of the fight with the Black Fangs. Matteo had worked with priests at the Cathedral to tend their wounds and bury their dead. That they had only lost Bolvar seemed a blessing. Avrilla and Chazd were recovering from their injuries, though his brother’s shoulder seemed to be fighting the acolytes medicines and prayers more than his sister’s wrist. Jaeron’s ribs were still wrapped, and he could breathe without wincing most of the time.
Coatie had arranged for the Thieves Council meeting, providing advice and reminding Jaeron of the obligations Henri’s Hands now had. Jaeron was sure it was good advice. He just could not follow it.
Grandmaster deSwan started the meeting and the murmurs between the other guild leaders stilled. He addressed Jaeron directly, asking him to stand.
“Jaeron deAlto,” the Guildmaster began. “You claimed a vendetta between Henri’s Hands guild and the Black Fangs guild. Has this been resolved?”
Jaeron had no illusions. Every person in this room already knew the answer to that question. But the guilds had formalities to follow. The question had to be answered.
“It is resolved, Grandmaster.”
“Are you prepared to make reparations, as necessary and as judged by this council?”
“I am, Grandmaster,” Jaeron said. He nearly slipped. He almost said ‘we.' Their convention of having more than one guild leader was unorthodox. Coatie had coached him to avoid the topic. He took a deep breath bearing the responding lance of pain. He already had one thing to bring up that he knew they would not like. Coatie had also coached him on it, telling him not to go through with it. But Jaeron believed he had no choice.
As to reparations, Jaeron had discussed it with Chazd, Avrilla, and Coatie. None of them could identify a single source of a claim against them. Even so, with the guild’s potential to start running smoothly, they had some income that could be diverted to cover any claims the Council judged against them. Coatie had arranged for the appropriate bribe to deSwan, which was the key element anyway.
The Grandmaster finally realized that Jaeron had not relinquished the floor.
“Is there something else?”
“Yes, Grandmaster. I would like to Pass the Blade.”
The Grandmaster arched his brows and then a sudden wave of whispers echoed through the room.
“After your sudden appearance and introduction just months ago. Your claim of challenge that has caused undue financial hardship on the Guild structure. You now want to give up leadership of your guild?
“Do you think this is a game? That you can use this organization for a private war and then just walk away?”
“No sir, that is not my intent. During the challenge, I found that I have some personal business that will take me away from Islar for a time. I felt it… unfair to keep my position while abroad. My guild will, of course, remain operational.
“In fact, I would like to have it passed to someone who is well versed in its operation as he worked for my benefactor, Guildmaster Ortelli. I propose that the Henri’s Hands be turned over to Coatie Shaels.”
The agitation and tension in the room dissipated with the mention of Shaels’ name. Most, if not all, the guild masters in Islar understood the man’s competence. Many wished they had someone like him to help run their own guilds.
deSwan was silent, thinking it over.
“That would be acceptable, Guildmaster deAlto. Will he accept the Blade?”
“I believe so, Grandmaster.”
On this point, Jaeron was not completely truthful. When Coatie had advised against leaving the guild in the hands of his brother and sister, he was really telling him that his guild may be torn apart when Jaeron abdicated. Jaeron was also convinced that Shaels did not want to run the guild.
The other reason not to name Avrilla or Chazd was because he still held out hope that he could convince them to go with him.
The Grandmaster nodded, but did not speak. It was done. If Coatie did not want the job, he would have to identify his successor, which would likely cause the dissolution of the guild and would undo the months of work the deAltos had achieved. It pained him, but he felt satisfaction that they had brought Teichmar’s justice to Henri’s killers.
No one would address Jaeron again at the meeting. He was no longer a Thief Guildmaster of Islar. He moved away from the table at the room center and took a seat.
~
She had hoped to find a new pawn for her growing Islar collection. This young deAlto certainly had potential. He was handsome, strong, and confident. Skilled with the sword if her evaluation of the final battle with Gerlido was correct. And though she suspected he had help, he seemed an astute tactician. But if he was leaving Islar, there was no need to expend energy on him.
Larsetta risked using her special sight to watch the youth move to his seat in the darkness against the back wall. She could not shake a strange feeling.
There is something about this deAlto…
The familiarity of his features bothered her, made her want to know more.
Later, once things are underway.
She looked hungrily at deSwan. She had to prioritize.
J
aeron sat on the window box seat, feeling the summer breeze flow in around him. It was one of those rare days for the season when the wind came from the west, and not the harbor, where the stench of fish and tar overwhelmed the senses. Avrilla stood in the kitchen behind him, sipping at a mug of coffee, trying not to burn her lips. She looked feminine this morning, clothed in a blue maide
n’
s skirt, bodice, and white cotton blouse. Jaeron had nearly laughed out loud when she came downstairs and he saw a ribbon wound in her hair.
A ribbon!
Her arm was still in a sling, but Jaeron had noticed she was using it for simple tasks.
Chazd was seated at the table, helping himself to a second portion of the thick slab bacon which he was eating with sourdough bread and
trellberry
preserves. His shirt was tight over the multiple layers of bandaging and though his brother winced at the movement, it did not seem to be stopping him from digging into his meal.
Jaeron decided not to wait any longer. He said, “I am making preparations to find out what happened to the priests.”
Avrilla put down her cup. “So, you really believe it?” she asked. “That the song we found is real? That there’s some secret gift from our birth parents out there?” She pointed out the window.
“I do. Nana Sarah meant for us to figure it out.”
“But we don’t really know if these priests exist! You’re basing this all on some old toys and a song! It’s… well, it’s crazy, Jaeron.”
“And you are talking about walking away from everything we’ve built here,” Chazd joined in. “Who will run the guild? It will fall apart!”
“Not right away, and I've asked Coatie to take the guildmaster position in the meantime,” Jaeron disagreed. “I think we can afford to be away for a month or so.”
“We?” Chazd asked. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jaeron gazed levelly at his brother. He tried to figure out Chazd’s motives for disagreement this time.
“Chazd, don’t you want to know what Nana wanted us to figure out? Aren’t you curious at all?”
Chazd sat the chair upright and got to his feet. When he spoke, he was uncharacteristically quiet.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead and gone. Nana Sarah, Liadee, Henri, Ardo. Sten and Bolvar. They are all dead. And so are their enemies. Our enemies.
“We have each other now. We have a good operation here. Henri’s Hands is attracting recruits. Mara’s orbs, Jaeron! We could run this city if we wanted to.”
“We’ll always have enemies, Chazd. Especially if we try to run this city.” Jaeron’s reply was just as quiet.
He slipped off the sill and walked to the small hutch to unroll a woolen blanket. There lay the assembled clues about their past – Sarah’s letter, the music box, the wooden toys and the lyrics Avrilla had scribed. Jaeron picked up his soldier, staring at the wooden face as if expecting to it to speak, revealing the answers to his questions.
“You are right. We have a good thing here. And I cannot expect you to go with me. I had hoped… I guess I didn’t even want to ask you.”
He turned around as Chazd blew a chest full of air out from between his teeth. Frustration knotting the muscles in his shoulders, the youngest deAlto crossed the kitchen, grabbed his new mandolin from the table, opened the kitchen door, and walked away not bothering to close it behind him.
“This is something I need to do, Avrilla. I want to know who I am.”
Avrilla said softly, “I know who you are. You are Jaeron deAlto, gentleman, thief Guildmaster, and Pevaran master swordsman, eldest son of Henri deAlto, and a caring, overly protective older brother. What more do you need to know?”
And with less noise than the wind stirring outside the window, the young woman also left the room.
~
Jaeron’s eyes were heavy. His throat was dry. His brain felt thick with a light headache that started at the crown of his head and flowed down toward his temples. He wondered why, after wrestling with his decision and all the planning, was he dreading getting out of bed and underway? Thoughts of putting it off for another day drifted into his mind, which only succeeded in making him angry. Finally, Jaeron’s frustration peaked and he threw himself out of bed.
The chill of an early cold snap had settled into the deAlto home and helped Jaeron move faster. He washed his face at the basin and dressed in the traveling clothes left out the night before, the one indulgence he had decided to spend money on in preparation for the trip. Clean woolen breeches and stockings, a thick flaxen shirt and wool traveling cloak. Sturdy new boots, which Jaeron had bought a week ago, wearing them a bit more each day so that they would be broken in for the day of the trip.
The kitchen was quiet when Jaeron entered. He stirred up the coals and added fuel to the stove, more than was necessary for his breakfast but it would provide a good cooking heat for his brother and sister when they woke up. He did not imagine that the gesture would be much appreciated, however. Though disappointed in their viewpoint, Jaeron was also a little relieved.
What if he was wrong?
He fried two farm fresh eggs, eating them with the last of the bread they had sliced for dinner the night before. Jaeron felt warmed with the memories of the meal, glad that Chazd and Avrilla had agreed to have a last dinner together, just the three of them. Avrilla had surprised them by cooking a thick rabbit stew and Chazd had shown up with a bottle of wine from the Crooked Window’s reserve cellar. They avoided talking about the guild as much as they could and completely left out any mention of Jaeron’s trip. His siblings left soon after the meal, both claiming they had guild business to attend to. Jaeron suspected that they wanted to give him time to pack and not be reminded of his leaving. It was an abbreviated goodbye and Jaeron had not heard either of them come home last night.
He cleaned the kitchen, trying to keep the clatter to a minimum.
No need to wake them now.
Then Jaeron tied on his sword belt, pulled on his cloak and backpack, and headed out the door. He was leaving earlier than he had planned, but from this point it made no difference. He was heading north first, hoping to complete that first third of his journey before winter set in. Jaeron locked the door and made his way down the gravel road toward Church Street and out of the city.
Islar was well awake by the time Jaeron reached the Talica Bridge. The vendors and delivery carts were claiming the streets as the legal Islar markets prepared for a new day. Jaeron paused at the bridge, looking at the awesome monuments and wondering about the night months before.
Has it really been four months?
It seemed like ages since Henri had been killed. Jaeron had come to terms with his father’s death, else he would not be making this trip now to possibly discover something of his birth parents. Still, the sadness of loss came easily and he felt the beginnings of tears welling in his eyes.
Jaeron crossed the wide road, watching his footing on the worn cobblestones near the edge of the bridge. He proceeded a third of the way across the river’s span and stopped, leaning against the engraved stone wall. He looked eastward toward the harbor and South Claw Bay, just visible beyond Islar’s jumble of buildings that jutted into the final bend of the Targu Mares river. Jaeron whispered a brief prayer to Teichmar, asking for his blessing on the journey, his forgiveness for missing the morning’s service, and his care-taking for Henri in his father’s afterlife.