by Paul Barrett
Gladly, Blink thought back. And that other little shit too.
Blink went next, folding his wings tight to fit them through the narrow gap, and Erick followed.
A hole in the street lay beyond the crates, which the thieves entered. The murmur of running water drifted up from the opening. Once Marcus and three of the thieves had gone in, Darius pointed to Erick’s group and said, “You first, scholar.”
Corby gave Elissia a nervous glance. She offered him a weak smile. “It’s okay,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.
Corby gave an uncertain nod and started down the hole. Blink went next, again having to fold his wings.
Darius pointed at Erick. “The soldier stays here.”
“Why?” Erick asked.
“Azinor’s orders. You have my word you’ll be safe until you reach the throne room.” Darius offered a crooked smile.
Erick had no idea who Azinor was, but he hated the idea of leaving Geran behind. A glance at Elissia’s grim face told him she didn’t care for it either. “And if I refuse?”
“Wasn’t that made obvious earlier?” Darius asked as he rested his hand on his knife.
The thieves behind Elissia had taken up casually aggressive stances. Using Geran, Erick and Elissia could break free, but Corby and Blink were already belowground, effectively hostages. Exactly why Darius had done it, Erick realized. “Geran, cadais paradial.”
“I obey,” Geran said. Darius took a step back at the groan but returned as the soldier started walking away.
“Where’s he going?” Darius asked.
“Away from here,” Erick said. “Does it really matter?”
Darius thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “Guess not. Alright, let’s get a move on. In you go.”
Landing in water deep enough to cover the top of his booted feet, Erick found himself in a coarsely crafted, cylindrical stone tunnel, five feet tall and five across. The smell drifting from the water joined his ever-growing list of aromas that made him wonder why people thought so highly of living in cities. He hadn’t been much impressed yet.
Elissia came in next. “Talk to me, Mar. What’s going on?” The anguish in her voice made Erick want to scream and punch the thief.
Marcus opened his mouth to speak when Darius dropped into the sewer behind Elissia. Marcus turned away. Elissia’s hand went to her eyes and Erick suspected she wiped away tears. Before he could be sure, the sewer cover slammed back into place, throwing them into total darkness.
“Lead the way, Crandon,” Darius said.
Erick took Elissia’s hand, and the group walked, the silence broken by splashing footfalls and dripping water, the darkness broken by nothing. Erick’s shoulders tensed as he stayed low, fearful of cracking his head on the ceiling. The youngest thief and one other had stayed above, putting them at even odds. He wondered if they could make a break for it, maybe free themselves and escape back up to the street.
Elissia must have sensed a shift in his body. She leaned close, and her breath drifted across his ear. “Don’t. We wouldn’t make it.”
He didn’t like the resignation in her voice but suspected she was correct.
After several minutes of walking through the cramped tunnels, they stopped. Erick heard shuffling noises and a click. A crack of light appeared and soon became a tunnel of illumination that spilled over the large group. Though not exceptionally bright, it glared at Erick like the blazing noonday sun suddenly popping up in the middle of a moonless night. He squinted at the change.
“Wipe the sludge from your shoes,” Darius said. Erick faced the lighted hallway. The other thieves wiped their feet on a large sisal mat just inside the corridor. They left, leaving the group alone with Marcus and Darius. The others wiped their feet. Marcus took the lead and Darius the rear.
Erick expected to encounter more smelly, dank hallways, but instead found that small oil lamps on sconces lit the corridor, giving off a scent of jasmine. The walls, far from being rough-hewn stone, were squared, level, and covered with carved images. Inlaid with gold, silver, and an array of gems, they depicted a variety of events, from great battles to beautiful acts of love.
The group hadn’t traveled far when Marcus commanded, “Wait here a second,” and slipped into a doorway.
While he was gone, Corby started to dig out his pen and parchment.
“What are you doing?” Erick asked.
“I have to write down descriptions of all these beautiful artworks before I forget what they look like.”
Erick didn’t know what to think about Corby’s attitude. Had he not noticed Elissia’s pain? How could he be so callous about it?
“Don’t,” Erick said. “Now isn’t the time.” He nodded toward Elissia. Corby followed his gaze, but if he noticed anything unusual in his cousin’s behavior, it didn’t show on his face. He returned to studying the reliefs, touching them as if making sure they were real.
Marcus emerged a few minutes later, garbed in a dull gray tunic and pants, and a pair of dark brown leather sandals. He had also put on a silver ring with a dagger-shaped piece of jet, just like Elissia’s.
“Feel better now?” Darius asked.
“At least I can walk without tripping. Those clothes were way too large.”
“I should have left you naked. What happened up there?”
“I got careless, but if you want to see it, I’ll show you the Geleit’s ring as soon as it comes out.” He started walking again, and the others followed.
They moved through a hallway, down a long, steep flight of stairs, and through even more corridors. The artistry of their surroundings continually amazed Erick. Apparently the Procurers wanted to obscure the fact they lived underground by making their dwelling as luxurious and opulent as possible. He couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes watched them as they moved deeper into the lair.
We’ve been watched ever since we walked into this place. Blink thought to him. You could probably push a stone at random and have a good chance of hitting a secret door.
Blink’s validation unnerved Erick. The deeper they went, the worse their chances of leaving became.
The group descended another flight of stairs that ended in front of a plain steel door. Marcus pushed the door open and walked in. With no real options, the rest followed.
They entered the most extravagant room yet. Round, at least a hundred feet across, its domed ceiling topped at thirty feet. Oil lamps set into the walls ringed the chamber. Their golden glow reflected off the polished white stone of the roof, bathing the entire chamber in rich, soft light. Sturdy tables made of dark, polished woods filled the room, placed in ever-shrinking semi-circles, with dark-stained chairs on the outer side only, so that all who sat faced the center of the room.
In the middle sat a stone slab. A thick, round plate of iron rested on the stone, slightly raised by a hidden pedestal. The plate held a chair made from the same white stone as the ceiling. Its high back faced them so Erick could not tell if anyone sat upon it. He had never seen the rare and expensive marble stone before, but had read descriptions, and knew that had to be the material before him. No other mineral could emit such a pearlescent sheen.
At least seventy-five people turned to them as they entered. Their audience ranged in age from ten to over forty; they sat with the youngest in the outer circles, farthest from the dais, and the older members in closest. Their eyes glittered in the light, and they surveyed the new group without speaking. Erick’s heart pounded. Elissia gave him another reassuring squeeze that did nothing to reassure him.
Darius closed the door. It clanged shut with an ominous echo. Erick jumped. I don’t like this, he thought.
That makes two of us, o creator of mine.
As if the closing door was a signal, the plate on the dais turned with a harsh squeaking sound, spinning the chair around so that it faced the quintet standing at the doorway.
The ugliest man Erick had ever seen sat on the throne. Bushy eyebrows hung over dark eyes that stared
from sockets set deep into a pitted and scarred face. His nose was flattened to an almost shapeless blob, and scraggly patches of gray whiskers sprouted from the fleshy, multi-chinned jaw. Wisps of graying black hair that reached down to his shoulders clung to his nearly bald skull. His hefty bulk filled the large chair, almost flowing over the armrests.
“Is that your father?” Erick whispered.
“We favor our mother,” she said.
“So, the Banished One has returned,” the man on the throne growled, his voice deep and rumbling. “And she seeks to regain my favor by bringing me a gift.”
“Gift?” Elissia asked.
“Why yes, the young man standing beside you. We’ve been looking for him.”
“Why?” Elissia’s voice faltered, and Erick’s heart dropped. He already knew the answer.
A man sitting near the throne stood. Erick started, thinking the pale man who destroyed Draymed had somehow leapt ahead to finish the task, but closer study showed Erick his mistake. Though the man had light skin black hair, there were differences: this man was pale almost to the point of being ghostly, and his hair extended to his mid-back, held in a ponytail by a thick loop of some deep red stone. He wore a short, clipped moustache and goatee, and a gold cap adorned his left canine. Clenching a fold in his loose-fitting robe, the man stared directly at Erick and said. “Necromancer Erick, I am Azinor of Starrasen, Ecrin of the Fist of the Inconnu. I have paid these people well to capture you and hold you for my Master.”
19
Never before had I seen such horror. Thousands of people, once dead, again living. They scaled the walls like ants swarming a lizard, heedless of any injury. Our swords would not pierce, our maces would not crush. Like the lizard that is overtaken by the small creatures it cannot defend against, we were doomed.
-Pannas-Ta, Warlord of the Tascana tribe of Falan-Dar
Erick slammed back into the blank stone wall. The door they entered through had disappeared.
Elissia stepped forward and placed herself between Erick and the others. “You can’t have him. I offer him Procurer’s Shield.”
“But you are no longer a Procurer,” her father reminded her. “Shield is not yours to offer.”
Moving as quickly as her brother had, Elissia shoved Marcus away and grabbed his dagger from his belt. “I’ll kill the first person who comes near him.”
“Hold,” the man on the throne shouted as the room echoed with sliding chairs and ringing steel. Everyone stopped, weapons in hand. He returned his gaze to Elissia. “There will be no killing in this chamber. We’re thieves, not murderers, and there’s no profit in wiping each other out.”
“So you’re going to let us walk out of here?” Elissia asked. “That’s the only way this can end peacefully.”
The man shook his head, making his jowls shiver. “Still one to overreact, I see. You should know me better than that. Agnon, if you would.”
Three sounds, like sharp gusts of wind through a wooden fence. A bee struck his neck. He swatted at it, only to drive a thin iron needle deeper into his flesh. He winced at the stabbing pain.
“You son of a bitch,” Elissia said. She held what Erick recognized as a blowgun dart, similar to Corby’s except the ball on the end of the needle was black.
She had just started to fall to the ground when his vision went dark.
Elissia came to with a dull throb in her forehead. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to figure out what had happened, and then it all came back. She sat up, expecting to find herself in one of the warren’s deep dungeons. Instead, she lay on an overstuffed couch. Light flickered from several lamps, and the scent of lilacs filled the room. They had stuffed her in one of the warren’s guestrooms.
“You’re awake,” Corby said. He laid beside her, head resting on a plump golden cushion, his eyes closed. “They took my hat.”
“Where’s Erick?”
Corby pointed without opening his eyes. Erick lay on a couch across the room. Blink, also unconscious, had his legs and arms chained against the wall behind Erick.
Elissia wiped at her dry mouth and tasted sour pomegranate. That and the headache told her the soporific her father had used to subdue them. The only thing that surprised her was that his actions had surprised her. “I’m going to go talk to him.”
“Who?” Corby asked.
“My father.”
Corby opened his eyes and sat up, even though the motion caused him to wince. “Why would you want to do that? He just poisoned you.”
“It wasn’t poison; it was paladade. Strong tranquilizer, but no lasting effects.”
“I’ll add that information to my book.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? Your brother was ready to kill you to get Erick down here. What makes you think Uncle Torin will be any different?”
Elissia winced. “I just have to explain to him what’s going on.”
“We are talking about the man you want to overthrow and replace, right?”
“What better way to take him down than by getting in his graces?”
Corby sighed. “He won’t talk to you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Corby muttered, but Elissia ignored him. The remark about Marcus hurt, but she couldn’t accept anything at face value. Something had been off in her brother. He’d threatened her, but she didn’t hear conviction. He wouldn’t have killed her. She had to believe that, or she might as well do it for him.
Her whole intention in returning to Kal-Ador had been to take her place at home, beside her brother. She belonged in the city, with the Procurers, not wasting away on an island. Just because she wouldn’t be a whore didn’t mean she couldn’t be a thief. She belonged with Marcus. To accept what had happened was to admit that she had truly lost him, and she couldn’t. She still had a chance to make things right. And she needed to do it now, before Erick woke up and she lost her resolve.
Corby let out a sigh. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t sure the guards no doubt stationed outside their room would even let her go, much less her and Corby. Blink had woken up and stared at her, curiosity in his eyes, their bright blue so out of place against his grey skin.
If she stayed here, it would break Erick’s heart. She cared for Erick a great deal, but not enough. She cared about her twin more. She had been three long years away from Marcus. She needed to be here. Erick had to understand. After all, he now knew what it was like to not have a home.
She wouldn’t throw him to the wolves though. She would convince her father to let him go, contract or not. She wouldn’t let the Procurers hand Erick over to Azinor. If her father refused, she would—
She had no idea what she would do.
Squaring her shoulders, she said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Blink said, and something in his voice almost stopped her. He didn’t believe her.
Before her nerve broke, she turned and knocked on the door. Within moments, a man with straight brown hair and a crooked nose opened the door and towered above her. He wore cured leather armor that bore the crooked sword sigil of a Strongarm.
“I need to see my father,” Elissia said.
“Our orders are— “
“Stuff your orders, Archel. You’ve known me my whole life. I’m not going to try and escape.” She lowered her voice, hoping Blink wouldn’t hear. “Hells, I’ve been trying for three years to get back.”
Archel frowned, seeming to weigh his options. He looked at the other Strongarm.
The other guard, broad-chested and unknown to Elissia, shrugged. “Your dice,” he said.
Archel nodded. “Come with me,” he told her.
“I know the way.”
Archel shook his head. “If you’re not with me, then you’ve escaped.”
“Let’s go.”
As Elissia drew closer to her father’s chamber, she grew less sure of herself and more confident of
Corby’s declaration. She was not welcome here. She should turn around now. This meeting could only end like their last, with her father shouting and Elissia in tears.
Stop it, she told herself. You didn’t come this far to back down now.
Most of the warren slept or attended to other duties, so they reached her father’s room without encountering anyone else. Large double doors covered in gold that gleamed almost painfully under the light of the nearby sconces marked her father’s chamber.
Archel raised a hand to knock and then hesitated. Elissia knew he must be rethinking the wisdom of what he had done.
“You aren’t the only one,” she murmured as she stepped up beside him and rapped her jet ring against the door, which let out sharp metallic tings. “Father, open up.”
She paused, waited a moment, and then rapped again.
The door opened as she finished her second round of knocking. Her father, still dressed in the dark clothing he had worn earlier, peered out. When he saw Elissia, his grizzled face dropped into a frown. He glared at Archel, who took a step back under the withering stare.
“Father, I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I’m sorry for what happened, but I’ve learned my lesson. I want to stay here. I want to be a Procurer again. I’ll do anything you want.” Well, almost anything, she thought.
Torin stared down at her, his jowly face set in a grim line. She thought she caught the briefest glimpse of pain behind his eyes, but then it disappeared, and she may have imagined it.
“No,” he said and slammed the door in her face.
Erick’s eyes fluttered open. The headache caught his attention first, the dryness in his mouth second. He sat up, running his tongue across the roof of his mouth to try and ease the parched feeling and get rid of the sour taste. He was in a large chamber, as lavish as the rest of the thieves’ den he had seen. Exquisite woven rugs covered the floor. He rested on a solid, heavily cushioned couch covered in deep hues of blue and gold. Table lamps with scented oils provided light while filling the room with the smell of lilacs.
