Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (39 page)

T
he trip became easier for Jaeron once he had left the city proper. Beyond Islar’s looming gates, Jaeron felt like he had been released from prison once again. His first stop was at the Utay farm, to see if he could repay a man for his unknowing and unacknowledged hospitality. The farmer was understandably confused, but nonetheless grateful for the overpriced purchase of a horse, saddle, and reins. Jaeron saw that the gear had been well used, but from his meager knowledge of riding, it seemed functional and sturdy enough.

Once on horseback, Jaeron made good time through the farms north of the city. The acres of fields that he passed were being threshed in preparation for the oncoming autumn. A few farmers were working the remnants of the second harvest crops. These would mainly be used for canning, sealing away the last of the summer’s sweetness for a midwinter feast.

Ahead the tree line was beginning to appear, scattered across the lower Riordan Hills and demarcating a very real limit of safety for the traveling thief. But as his horse crested a small rise in the road, Jaeron saw that he might not be journeying alone. A small group was finishing packing up a campsite. They were wearing the light gray robes and hoods of Teichmar pilgrims.

Jaeron’s hopes dissipated. He had been in touch with the church over the past couple of days and knew of no pilgrimage north of the city. Which meant that he would have no company on the road after all. Jaeron surmised that the pilgrims were probably on their way into the city to visit the Cathedral and other Holy sites of Islar.

More crestfallen than he expected, Jaeron decided to stop by the group and ask for a blessing anyway. Though he had not visited the church this morning or yesterday, this side stop – and perhaps a donation to their journey fund – would perhaps make up for it. He could not tell them the particulars of his mission, of course, but he hoped that through their eyes Teichmar would see something worthy of the Light of Justice.

He kicked his mount into a light canter. He wanted to reach the pilgrims before they started toward Islar, not wanting to rudely interrupt their travel or delay their arrival if they were trying to get to the midmorning service. As he approached, Jaeron was surprised to see that although the pilgrims had finished their preparations they did not seem to be going anywhere. Their horses were saddled, their mule packed, and their small campfire had been doused.

Three of the pilgrims stood near their animals, pouring over a sheaf of what looked to be papers or parchment. The remaining pair had wandered toward the nearby field and sat down on the stone fence. Even from this distance, Jaeron could see that the couple was indeed a couple, a man and a woman.

Perhaps they met on their pilgrimage or perhaps it was a young husband and wife taking the journey together. As he got closer he saw that the three by the horses were looking at a map, which confused Jaeron. He stopped his horse long enough to turn around and confirm it. Yes, he could easily see the city from here. The Northern Islar Road slowly wound its way to higher ground as it passed the farmlands behind him and away from the eastern seacoast. Even if ground fog obscured the city buildings, the towering structures of the Talica Bridge would be visible on all but the worst days.

Maybe they are not headed into the city after all.
He loosed the bit and let his mount continue ahead again, coming to within greeting distance of the seated pilgrims first. Neither of them moved to come to him, so he turned his horse off the road and stopped to dismount.

“Good morning,” he called.

Neither pilgrim answered, but the male rose and walked over to meet him. Jaeron dropped his reins and nearly stumbled when the man pulled back his hood.

“You didn’t really think you were leaving without us, did you?” his brother asked.

Jaeron was speechless. The longer he stood there without talking, the wider Chazd’s smile became.

Then he looked over Chazd’s shoulder. “The girl?”

From her perch on the piled field stones, the second pilgrim pulled back her hood too. Avrilla’s grin was as wide as Chazd’s but less mischievous.

A strong hand clapped Jaeron on the shoulder.

“The Church of Teichmar contributed a set of robes for you, as well, my friend,” Matteo’s voice sounded vibrant and happier than it had in a long time.

By then Jaeron had deduced the identity of the rest of the pilgrims, so his friend’s greeting did not come as much of a surprise. Still as he turned around, he could not help the tears that suddenly streaked his face. He could not talk, but pulled Matteo into a rough embrace. Matteo’s hug was strong in return and clapped Jaeron on the back a few times, allowing him to bring his emotions under control.

“Danine and Karl,” Jaeron nodded his head in greeting to the other two guildmates. “Good morning to you.”

They waved back at him. Then Jaeron was being grasped again and turned back around. Avrilla stood before him, looking up into his face. She was still smiling, but her eyes were holding as serious a look as Jaeron had ever seen in her.

“We are in this together, Jaeron deAlto.” She gestured to the group around them.

“We know you have a plan. A route picked. A schedule. But we have some ideas of our own. So don’t think you are going to lead this little expedition without some advice and guidance.”

Matteo dropped a robe into Jaeron’s hands as Avrilla continued.

“For example, we’re likely to find more friendly faces wearing these.”

Then Danine appeared, the reins of her horse in hand. “Remount deAlto. We’ve some leagues to put behind us today.”

~

The sun was starting to set behind the peaks of the Guradilup Mountains when Jaeron finally saw the first sign of the hamlet of Kanet. The group had made better progress than Jaeron had expected for his first day of travel. From his understanding of the maps he had studied at the Teichmar Cathedral, they were only three days from the pass that would take them through the western mountains to the Bormeeran border.

He reined in his horse and turned it around to look out over the land he was leaving. Islar was no longer visible. Somewhere behind them there were answers to the questions raised by the letter, the toys, and the music now resting in his backpack. And though the information that he had collected was by no means concrete and he was acting on a gut feeling that he knew no one else shared, Jaeron felt more sure it was true. He had a new sense of purpose.

“It’s not too late to turn back, Jaeron,” his brother’s voice was close. He had stopped his horse as well.

He looked over at Chazd. Jaeron heard the sarcastic tone, so familiar. Then he understood that his brother had come to accept it too. Jaeron grinned back at him, not bothering to bicker back at a challenge made in jest.

“If we want a warm meal and a decent bed we should keep moving, boys,” Avrilla commented as she rode past.

There was a laugh in her voice and Jaeron suddenly realized he had not known that was missing. For all of them, it was like starting over. It felt right. It felt better than their decision to build a guild and seek justice for Henri’s murder.

Jaeron turned his horse around. A warm meal and a decent bed sounded good. He let his five companions ride ahead, pulling their cloaks tighter about them against the mountain air, and then prompted his horse to follow. He knew his role now - to worry about them, his family, no matter what he learned about his past.

The secrets about their past were out there. But they could wait until morning.

From the sitting room in her new Islar apartment, Larsetta had a wonderful view down Feldspar Avenue, over the rooftops of the Merchan
t’
s Ward, and the harbor beyond. She stood just inside the small, stone balcony and breathed in the air of what was going to be her city.

Mennat is a fool to disregard the potential influence of this northern city
. He treated it only as a source of income, simply another way to get the resources needed to contribute to his war. That he maintained his focus on Rosunland was going to be his mistake.

But Islar was so much more than that. From here Larsetta could remain out of Mennat's influence long enough to establish herself. To achieve her place as the
satyra
she believed to be her destiny.

The figure lying on the floor behind her finally broke its silence and moaned in pain. Larsetta smiled and turned around.

So, it has some connection to its former self
. Imagination flared and her womb tingled with the possibilities of what that meant. Larsetta stepped over the twitching body and walked over to the low cherry and marble table set in front of the fireplace.

A wrought iron stand sat on the table, silver inlays wound in the metal reflected the flickering of the dying firelight. The iron had been pulled into eight elegant loops, so fine and delicate that it appeared to be a confectioner’s product more than a blacksmith’s. Resting in the loops were eight blown glass bottles, triangular at the base and twisted up into nine-sided globes. On close inspection, miniscule bubbles could be seen in the thick blue-tinged walls. The shape of the glass and the angles of the walls were made to exacting specifications. As were the locations of the small gemstone and iron inclusions in the glass’ surface. The artisan Larsetta hired had outdone himself, creating an octet of identical pieces of art so nearly perfect that she almost felt sorry she had killed the man.

Seven of the vials were empty. Larsetta picked up the eighth vial and rolled it gently in her hands. The crystal stopper was sealed, dipped in molten lead and then a scarlet wax. Inside the bottle a mist swirled, pulsed with soft light. It pushed at the stopper in vain, searching for a way out of the prison.

Larsetta could not stifle the sudden laugh. It had worked. Her long years of planning and sacrifice had come to fruition. It felt glorious.

~

The spiritual essence that had once been Coatie Shaels peered out through the thick, blue glass at the distorted face of the woman who captured him. The initial horror at what he had become was finally passing. When he found he had locomotion, despite a lack of physical form, he swept the chamber. Every curved corner and surface to find a way to escape. It was exhausting, and it turned out, pointless.

Now he could only listen and watch as the woman named Larsetta turned around and gave commands to his body. He could not understand her words. They came through the glass as only a dull rumble. Then his body made its way to its knees, lurching forward to caress the woman’s curves through her sheer dress. Pressing its face into her loins. She played with its hair, but kept her eyes on the vial. She was laughing at him.

She spoke again and the figure rose and turned to leave the room. As it turned away, Coatie saw his eyes.
No, no longer my eyes
. They appeared cold and dull, but a flicker of amethyst ice shimmered in its pupils. Being purely soul energy, the fear that made him feel nearly consumed him.

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Dockside Ward – generally just called Dockside, this area of the city contains the city docks and wharfs, the bay side warehouses and fishing industry, and some cheaper businesses and residential buildings.


     
Governor’s Ward – also called First Ward, this ward contains the governmental offices, the city court buildings, the Guard Watch, and the prison.

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Highpoint Ward – almost always called The Hill, this is the smallest ward and comprises the larger, established homes of the rich and powerful; the Governor’s mansion is located here.

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Market Ward – generally just called the Market, this ward contains some residential homes and apartments and a lot of space dedicated to small business and market areas for outlying farmers to display and sell their produce.

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Ninth Ward – literally the last or lowest ward of Islar, this area of the city falls between Dockside, the Tinkers Ward, and the Market Ward; it is the poorest section of the city and is generally considered the home of thieves, beggars, and the poor.

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Northgate Ward – usually referred to as Northgate or the North, this area spreads out from the north side of Talica Bridge and is predominantly higher-end residential home and townhouses.

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Pineal Ward – also called the Craftsman’s Ward and sometimes, disparagingly Tinker’s Ward or Tinker’s Row; this ward holds a number of inexpensive crafting business, such as the tannery and a number of leather-workers and cobblers, picklers, smokehouses, and blacksmiths.

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Ranchers Ward – originally settled by the successful horse and sheep breeders, this ward has kept its name but is mostly comprised of mid-priced residential homes and businesses few of which are now owned by rancher families.

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Temple Ward – dominated by the Cathedral of Teichmar and its grounds, this ward also contains some mid-level residential neighborhoods.