by AC Cobble
Rew grimaced, and Anne moved around him to kneel beside the girl. She wrapped an arm around Zaine’s shoulder. “I understand.”
Zaine drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “In the guild, the members make the decisions, and they earn the coin. The apprentices are subject to their whims. It wasn’t easy for me, being a young girl. I put in a year, though, until Balzac began to gain influence. Because of his influence, the thieves weren’t just slitting purses. They started bashing heads and using those cut knives on people’s necks. No one from the keep, of course. They didn’t want to draw the baron’s eye, but out in the streets of the lower quarters, the gutters ran thick with blood. The burgher councils must have complained, but the baron was distracted, too busy with his own plotting, I suppose. I couldn’t do it, couldn’t put my knife into a man. Balzac laughed at me and said he’d make murder a criteria for membership. Axxon, he’s not a bad sort for a thief, but everyone knew he’d lost his grip on the guild. He was scared of Balzac, just as the commoners were, just as the rest of us were. I knew with Balzac in charge, there was no future for me in Falvar, so I fled again. I went to Spinesend.”
Rew glanced at Anne where she was squatting beside the young thief. Her face was etched with sorrow, and he could see the water welling in her eyes. It wasn’t an unusual story, a young girl with few options fleeing all that she’d known. Half the girls in Anne’s inn could tell similar. Those girls had been lucky, though, to find a caring mistress who’d put them to work ferrying ales and baking breads instead of spreading their legs. It wasn’t often like that. It usually wasn’t like that.
“What happened in Spinesend?” asked Rew quietly.
“I tried to join the thieves’ guild there,” said Zaine. “I was a good pickpocket and showed some promise as a burglar. I thought they’d take me in… But in Spinesend, it’s the urchins that pick the pockets, and it’s sophisticated teams that conduct the burglaries. I had to find a group leader to take me on, and I was an outsider, a refugee from Falvar. None of the captains of the teams had an interest in me, and there was no way I could prove myself without their blessing. It seemed that again, I was left with two choices—the knife or the bed.”
Rew stood and began pacing the room. Anne and Zaine ignored him.
“I was at the end of my rope, hanging around the guild in Spinesend, living on odd jobs the others doled out that no one wanted, something between an urchin and an apprentice,” continued Zaine. “Then, a man who came around the guild from time to time stopped me. He told me he’d heard I was from Falvar and that I had a kind face. It was not my face I ever got compliments on, you know? I knew I shouldn’t, but I trusted him.”
Slowing his walk, Rew waited.
“He said he needed someone who knew the thieves’ guild in Falvar. He said he needed someone young and not intimidating, someone that others would trust,” said Zaine. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing a fat tear there. “He paid for new clothing, food, everything. He told me that he trusted me. After a week, he told me someone in Baron Worgon’s keep was attempting to flee, and he needed my help sneaking them out and back to Falvar. Said there’d be more work for me if I was successful. He sent me here to Falvar to find Balzac and deliver a letter and a pouch full of coin. I did, and Balzac simply thanked me. He didn’t jest at my expense. He didn’t try to coerce me into his bed. I-I’d never had that kind of respect from the man, like from a peer. I returned to Spinesend, and my contact seemed happy. We celebrated at one of the finest restaurants in the city. The next morning, he took me to Yarrow.”
“Did you know who you were to help slip from the palace?” asked Rew.
“I did,” responded Zaine. “The man told me it was Baron Fedgley’s children and that it was because Worgon was plotting against Falvar. It sounded plausible, and it matched with what Raif and Cinda told me after I got them out. Everything checked out, Senior Ranger. I thought this was the start of a new life, a real opportunity. They had me hooked.”
“Why’d you take them to Eastwatch?” wondered Rew.
“The man told me to. He said there was an easy route through the wilderness,” replied Zaine. “I didn’t know. Everything else he’d said seemed the truth. The nobles thought Worgon would be looking for them on the roads, so they didn’t object when I suggested it.”
“That’s all you were to do? Get Raif and Cinda and bring them to Falvar?” pressed Rew. He frowned, believing the girl’s story but thinking it wasn’t the end of it.
Zaine shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.
Rew stood and poured her half a cup of wine. “Tell us the rest, lass.”
“I was told to befriend the nobles, to earn their trust and their favor,” said Zaine. “I-I knew that when we got here, I was expected to help the thieves in Falvar gain entrance to the keep. The man told me that was the price into the guild, the only way Balzac would trust me. I believed that. I thought they were playing both sides, sneaking Fedgley’s children from beneath Worgon’s nose then taking the opportunity to get into the keep and put an extra bit of gold into their pockets. It’s not unusual, in the guild, to play more than one angle. I didn’t know they would kill the guards. I didn’t know anything about Arcanist Ralcrist, the Dark Kind, or the baron—none of it! I overheard them talking about the arcanist’s staff, and I figured the job was to steal it.”
Rew refilled his ale mug, leaning against the table. “Your contact, the man you met in Spinesend, you said he was a regular around the guild. Did you know who he was?”
Zaine blanched. “I did.”
“And?” asked Rew.
“He’s dead,” said Zaine. “His name was Fein. He was a fixer for the thieves, a man who traveled between the cities in the eastern duchy, arranging jobs that would cross the different guilds’ territories. Nobles and merchants knew him. Gutter rats knew him. Fein had fingers in everywhere. It made sense he’d be involved in something like this. You have to believe me. It all made sense!”
“You’re sure he’s dead?” pressed Rew.
Zaine nodded. “Early in the morning before I was to sneak into Worgon’s palace, Fein was killed at a gaming table in a seedy Yarrow tavern. I saw the body, but I decided I’d go ahead with the mission. I knew Balzac had the rest of the plan, and I figured that if I helped, he might not mind that Fein was dead. It’d be a bigger share for him, and he still might let me into the guild.”
“So the trail ends with the death of this man Fein,” growled Rew. He slammed his mug down on the table, sloshing ale over his hand. “Alsayer could have portaled anywhere in the kingdom, and that was our only lead!”
“I know who hired Fein,” whispered the thief.
Rew blinked at her. “Who?”
“Sorry. You said to start from the beginning,” she mumbled. “Fein was hired by Duke Eeron’s arcanist. Before I agreed to do this, I followed Fein in Spinesend and saw them meeting together. I overheard them discussing the plan. It matched what Fein told me. It matched what happened up until Balzac and the others killed those guards. You have to believe me! I thought they simply meant to steal the arcanist’s staff. I didn’t know. None of the rest of what they said made sense at the time.”
“Does it now?” asked Rew.
Zaine nodded, her eyes down on her untouched wine. “The arcanist spoke of a room for the prize, somewhere he could keep it safe. I thought it was just, I don’t know, some chamber they could keep an enchanted artifact from detection, a place they’d store the staff until they sold it.”
“Go on,” encouraged Rew.
“The prize they spoke of had to be the baron,” said Zaine. “They had to be discussing a prison for the baron. It’s Duke Eeron’s arcanist! He spoke of going to the chamber after meeting Fein, so it must be in Spinesend. I’m certain they’re holding Baron Fedgley there!”
“Could you identify the arcanist?” asked Rew. “And are you certain he was truly in Duke Eeron’s employ?
“I—Yes, I know I could,” s
aid Zaine. “I know he works for the duke. At the New Year ceremony, I was, ah, picking pockets in the crowd. I saw the arcanist on stage with the duke. I recognized him when Fein met with him later. It’s the same man, and I’m certain I can identify him again. But, Senior Ranger, I think Balzac knows more than he’s letting on. I believe he had contact with Alsayer.”
“Why?” asked Rew.
“When I saw him today, he already knew what happened in the throne room,” explained Zaine. “He must have fled right after you confronted him, so how would he know what occurred in the throne room unless he was expecting it? Alsayer must have told him. How long did it take you to reach Arcanist Ralcrist’s chamber after you saw the thieves sneak in? They would have gone there right away, unless…”
“Unless they were meeting with Alsayer,” growled Rew. “That’s just like the spellcaster, confirming he won’t be exposed before he acts. With the other five thieves dead, only Balzac knew the meeting happened.”
Zaine nodded. “That was my thought as well. I went to tell Axxon about what happened, but Balzac grabbed me before I could. He seemed more worried about who else I’d been talking to than what I’d tell his boss. I think I understand now. He’s not afraid of the other thieves. He’s afraid of Alsayer.”
Rew nodded. “He should be. If the spellcaster knows him, it’s only a matter of time before Alsayer returns and ties up loose ends. Zaine, do you know of a safe house or a bolt hole the thieves may flee to?”
She frowned and shook her head. “No, they change the location of the guild and their safe houses regularly. I was able to walk the streets when we first arrived until I found someone I knew and I followed them to the brothel, but I’ve no clue where their safe house may be now. After what happened in the guildhall, they won’t be roaming the streets.”
Rew turned to look at Anne. She frowned at him, and he nodded. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.
Rew leaned forward and took the wine from Zaine’s grasp. “Still remembering the hangover from the morning after the miner’s tower, eh? Anne can make you some tea.”
“I don’t—“ began Anne.
“Make the tea,” said Rew. “Please.”
“I don’t like this,” said the empath, standing and collecting a hot pot of water off their table near the food. She poured a bit of steaming water into a teacup and sprinkled a pinch of herbs into it. She stood over the cup for a moment, looked at Rew in disapproval, and then turned and offered Zaine the tea. “It will soothe your nerves.”
The thief took it and drank. They spoke quietly, probing her for more information about what Fein and Duke Eeron’s arcanist had discussed. Fifteen minutes after her first sip of the tea, Zaine’s head slumped forward. She was dead asleep.
“How long?” asked Rew.
“Twelve hours,” said Anne. “I’ll stay with her.”
Rew nodded. “We can’t let her slip away again.”
“I hope you don’t mean to execute her with my help,” said Anne, frost in her voice. “I wouldn’t be able for forgive you for that, Rew.”
“The crimes she committed were not in the territory,” said the ranger. He rubbed the stubble on his head, knowing it was a lousy excuse. He admitted to the empath, “That, and if we mean to pursue this, we’ll need her to identify the arcanist in Spinesend. Duke Eeron has half a dozen of the old geezers, and they all look the same. Bald heads, pinched faces, and white beards. If they’ve got Baron Fedgley in prison at the behest of one of the princes, they’ll have covered their tracks. Without Zaine’s help, I’m not confident we’ll ever figure out which arcanist is keeping the baron.”
“You’ll use her, then?” questioned Anne.
Rew shifted uncomfortably. “To save a life, if we must. You disapprove?”
Anne reached up and untied her hair. She held the binding in her hand for a moment. She admitted, “I’m not sure.”
Rew nodded.
“Zaine needs something,” said Anne. “There’s a hurt in her that I cannot take away. This girl needs a purpose, something she can hold onto other than survival. She needs a family. If you do this, Rew, do not cast her aside. Do not use her and then leave her in Spinesend with no one around her.” Anne paused, frowning, and then she added, “I will go with you, and when it’s over, she can come back with me to the Oak & Ash.”
“Anne, this will be too dangerous—“
“I’m going with you,” said the empath.
The ranger grunted but did not respond. He stood and collected his weapons.
“Where are you going?” asked Anne.
“I need to tell Raif and Cinda that we have an idea where their father might be,” he said. “I need to tell them that, and that they cannot go after him. Falvar needs them, and it’s safer for them here.” Rew strapped on his longsword. He added, “And once I’ve told them that, I’m going to go find that Balzac again.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rew walked at the head of two-score heavily armed soldiers. The men were wearing Baron Fedgley’s colors, but for now, they were the ranger’s men. Word had gotten out about him leading the defense of the city and battling the giant imps that Alsayer had released in the throne room. It’d earned him a certain notoriety, and Rew’d had no difficulty recruiting volunteers to run the thieves to ground.
They’d started at the brothel, and as expected, they hadn’t found anyone there. Rew had found his cloak and Zaine’s daggers. Jon’s body was there, right where he’d slumped to the floor with the two crossbow quarrels in him. Rew left men to watch over the dead ranger until he could return. He would give Jon a proper ranger’s burial, but not that night. Jon had earned it being done right, and when Rew could give the younger man his full attention, he would.
In addition to several thieves Rew had killed during his escape, they found the old guild leader’s body. Axxon’s throat had been slashed into a grisly red smile. Balzac’s work, Rew was certain.
The thieves and their allies had fled in a panic, and it turned out it wasn’t difficult to follow the trail. The locals around the brothel remembered when suddenly two-dozen scantily clad women went running through the street, hands clutching at diaphanous silk clothing, bits and pieces bouncing and flashing into view. The girls must have known too much to leave them in the brothel, and not even Balzac had the stomach to kill them all.
They followed the trail of gossiping men outside of the taverns and found the procession had rushed out the river gate toward the small settlement that sheltered at the foot of the Falvar Bridge. The settlement would be nearly empty that night, with most of its residents corralled and hiding behind the towering pale stone walls of the town. It was the perfect opportunity to confront the thieves and capture them before they slipped away.
Through the river gate, Rew led the soldiers, the stomping of their heavy feet echoing against the empty buildings ahead of them. It was two hours before midnight, and after the excitement of the day, most of Falvar was abed. As they reached the bridge settlement, Rew saw a few curtains pull back and shutters open as they marched by, but most of the windows remained dark. The citizens who had hidden out in the settlement instead of sheltering in the town stared agape at them, perhaps wondering if there was another attack, or if they would be forced from their homes into Falvar’s protection.
Rew watched carefully, waiting until he saw one door open then immediately slam shut. The citizens would be watching to see what the soldiers were up to. The thieves would already know.
Rew pointed to the long, low building where he’d seen the movement, and shouted, “There!”
Behind him, the squad split into two groups, one circling around the back of the building, the other staying with Rew. He led the men to the front door of the building, which was made to look like a simple warehouse, and hammered his fist against the door. No one answered, which only confirmed his suspicion. Someone inside had peeked out the door, after all.
“Break it open,” instructed Rew. “Don’t
rush in, though. Let me go first, and keep an eye out for traps.”
A soldier stepped around him and hefted a giant maul. The man swung it back and forth a few times to build momentum and then smashed it against the door, blasting the heavy steel head of the weapon into the door handle where it’d be latched.
With a sharp crack and an explosion of wood and iron, the door burst open, and Rew jumped inside. It was dark, but he could see in the gloom that it was an open room with several hallways on the other side of it. Outside, it was made to look like a warehouse, but inside, it housed a secondary thieves’ guild. In the half second he’d been in the dark room, his eyes began to adjust, and he saw several tables flipped onto their sides in the middle of the room. Behind them, a dozen thieves crouched, and the dim light gleamed on the steel heads of crossbow quarrels pointed right at the door.
“Crossbows!” shouted Rew before launching himself to the side.
He heard the crunch of metal as the armored soldiers tried to clear the doorway. Then, crossbow strings began to thump, and quarrels flew overhead. Rolling, Rew kept low and kept moving, hoping the thieves didn’t have an angle on him over their tables.
Steel heads of the bolts smashed into the wall and whistled out the doorway, but he didn’t hear any grunts or screams of men pierced by the flying metal and wood. The thieves had been waiting for more targets, but his warning had given the soldiers time to find cover.
Scrambling on hands and feet, Rew dodged around the room, crawling behind another table and flipping it on its side. The wood thundered as half a dozen bolts smacked into it. Splinters exploded around his face, but the quarrels stayed lodged in the table. He waited, listening to the clicks as new bolts were set and crossbows were cranked.
