by Jane Glatt
She leaned back against the wall and once again said the prayer for her eyes. She’d been faithfully saying it every day for as long as she could remember. She didn’t know why it had failed now. Could it have something to do with his sword? But Kane Rowse had noted her eyes before she touched his sword. When she was caught last night no one had mentioned them so why could Kane Rowse see her eyes? If it was only him she could go back to her life in Thieves’ Quarter.
Duke Thorold leaned back. When the High Bishop settled into the chair across from him, his black silk robed whispered as it swept the stone floor. The two most powerful advisors to King Mattias often met here in Thorold’s study. It was a small, square room well furnished with heirlooms from his ducal ancestors as well as expensive gifts from nobles from across Soule, and Langemore to the north. Duke Thorold appreciated his comforts but he also felt it useful to display his wealth, connections, and family history.
“Lord High Bishop.” Thorold poured a glass of red wine and offered it across the table to Valden. “I am glad that you sought me out.”
The High Bishop nodded and took the glass. He took a small sip and a blood red drop of wine clung to the corner of his mouth.
“I fear I must remind you,” Thorold’s voice hardened, “of the need to be discreet. There was no reason to make so much of the thief in front of both the king and the captain.”
“But it’s an outrage.” High Bishop Valden’s voice rose in anger. “The church and her clerics do the One-God’s work and the law needs to recognize that. The fact that a commoner, a thief, is allowed to defile the holy work being done is intolerable. That girl should be handed over to me so I can ensure she gets the salvation she so obviously needs.”
Duke Thorold could imagine what kind of ‘salvation’ the thief could expect at the hands of the High Bishop. The man had no desire to spare the bodies of those whose souls he saved and Thorold knew of more than one subject who had been tortured to death while undergoing salvation. No matter, he found the High Bishop’s inclinations very useful. His knowledge of them ensured the High Bishop would remain his staunch ally.
“I agree that the church and nobility should be above commoners when it comes to the law,” Thorold said. “But we must tread carefully. I hate to admit it but Captain Rowse made some valid points. If the consequences are too severe criminals may decide that it’s better to leave no live witnesses. We must think carefully before we change the laws. In the meantime we have the knife.” Thorold paused and twisted his ducal ring on his finger. The High Bishop had handed the knife in question over to him as soon as the Kingsguard had released it and it was now safe and secure in the study of his Kingsreach estate.
“As for the thief,” Thorold continued. “There are other ways to ensure she does not go unpunished. Now, I want to review the statement from your priest. He claims he could see the girl as clear as day, which is quite an accomplishment for an elderly man with failing eyesight in a darkened room. How do you interpret this?”
“Of course there can only be one reason.” The High Bishop leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied look on his face. “It was truly a gift from the One-God for the good priest to be able to see clearly in his time of need.”
“Yes, of course.” Thorold kept the contempt he felt from his voice and his face. That was one the many things that he despised about the High Bishop. His hold on his church was admirable, but the man’s faith in the existence of both heavenly and magical powers was at times far too literal.
Oh, there certainly was magic, but it was not as widespread as people thought, at least outside of Aruntun. Thorold had spent a good part of his life investigating witches and he’d only ever come across one. Even then she hadn’t used her powers for the sixteen years that she’d been in his household and even his bed. But in the end she’d used it to help her brat, his bastard daughter, escape her fate. He’d killed her before she could do him any serious harm, thank the One-God. Perhaps that had been divine intervention.
If Thorold ever found the girl he’d kill her too, as he should have when he’d had the chance. It was a pity he’d not known about the magic earlier though, when the girl was younger. It would have been easy to make a small girl, his bastard daughter, grateful to him for being generous and kind to her and her mother. He could think of dozens of uses for a pet witch - but it was too late now.
“While I do understand your request for caution,” High Bishop Valden said. “I still feel we should …”
“Thank you High Bishop,” Thorold cut him off with a wave. “I do know your position. You’ve been quite clear on that, but you’ll have to excuse me. I must attend to some other duties and no doubt you have your own affairs to conduct.”
The High Bishop nodded. Then he picked up his wine glass and drained it.
Thorold smiled when the High Bishop shut the door as he left. He was well pleased with how he was managing the king’s advisors. High Bishop Valden was well in hand. Duchess Avery of Aruntun, who rarely came to Kingsreach, seemed content with the reports he sent her way. Young Duke Ewart of Fallad was acclimating himself to his new roles of duke and husband and Thorold doubted Ewart would be in Kingsreach before the fall.
That left Kane Rowse. The captain was proving to be more trouble than Thorold had expected. He had hoped that when Feiren Rowse stepped down as captain he’d be able to suggest someone more to his liking, but King Mattias had not listened to reason. There had been a Rowse as Captain of the Kingsguard for generations and Mattias would not be swayed from his choice. The only good thing was that, like his uncle, Kane was careful to limit his influence to issues that concerned the guard and the protection of the king and country. The Duke of Comack smiled to himself. The king’s health was failing more rapidly and when he finally succumbed to his illness there would be a new Captain of the Kingsguard.
Kane moved to his place near the front of the hall, looked across at his Uncle Feiren and nodded. He’d just let the last of the expected Brothers in and had made sure all exits were sealed and guarded.
The hall was in fact a cavern. It sat directly beneath the Rowse property and had been used as the meeting place for the Brotherhood of the Throne for centuries. Long ago, fast-flowing river waters had scoured out the large cave and the various tunnels that fed into it. Water had smoothed and rounded the rock walls and in the time since then, the floors had been polished by generations of Brotherhood feet. To this day some of the tunnels spilled out along the banks of the Seven River which, in early spring, flowed angrily through the center of Kingsreach, filled with runoff from the Seven Sisters mountain range.
Tonight, as head of the council, Feiren Rowse had gathered as many of the Brotherhood as possible on such short notice. Besides the council of five, who stood behind the high wooden table facing the room, there were some thirty Brothers gathered in clumps, voices low as they exchanged theories of why the meet had been called. Feiren and the council had already discussed the recent events and now they were going to explain it to their membership.
It was time. Kane stepped over and took a place beside a solemn and serious Andel. They’d be called upon to swear witness soon enough.
“My Brothers.” Feiren Rowse’s deep voice brought silence to the low murmurs that had been echoing around the large room. “The Brotherhood of the Throne has at last been Called. The prophesy is in motion!”
The room erupted in chaos - shouts and cheers echoing in the large cavern. Feiren slammed a palm onto the table and the crowd fell silent.
“If we can have silence we will hear from those who are here to swear witness.” Feiren gestured to Kane and Andel. “My own nephew, Captain Kane Rowse of the Kingsguard, whose lineage in the Brotherhood can be traced back to the reign of Wolde, and Guard Andel, also of the Kingsguard, whose family has belonged to the Brotherhood since the reign of Marto. Kane if you would give us a full report? I ask you all to hold your questions until the end.”
Kane stepped in front of the table and began his acco
unt, starting with the revelation that the High Bishop was collecting old steel. As he described the events he’d witnessed he looked out over the faces of those assembled, seeing the same mix of emotions he’d felt over the past few hours - surprise, fear, excitement, disbelief. He finished by recounting when the thief, Brenna, had spoken the Call, the old passage that had been handed down through the Brotherhood for generations, the words they had been waiting two millennia for. Kane stepped aside and Andel reported what he’d seen.
“And where is this thief at present?” The scorn in Marcus Brunger’s voice was a counterpoint to the awed whisperings that had started once Andel’s report was complete. “Still in jail I assume. Are we to believe that the Brotherhood of the Throne has been waiting in secret for two thousand years to save a common thief? Where is the proof of her royal bloodline?”
“My apologies, Guild Master Brunger.” Kane’s voice rang out in the cavern. “I fear I wasn’t clear enough in my testimony. She obviously is not a common thief or old steel would not react to her, nor would she know the Call. And what exactly would you expect of the one who raises the Call? Clearly someone of low birth or questionable background would be the most likely to need the Brotherhood. A rightful heir to the throne would have no need of us.”
“I agree.” Feiren Rowse once again took center stage. “Whether or not the proof witnessed here satisfies every one of us, I am convinced, and the council agrees with me, that the prophesy is in motion. The reason for the Brotherhood’s existence has come and we must respond.” The rest of the council, three men and one woman all nodded their agreement.
“I trust my nephew’s testimony completely,” Feiren said. “As well, I’ve been expecting that our time to act would be soon.” Feiren held his hand up once again to quiet the sounds of surprise that followed his statement. “We have on the throne a king who has been ill for a very long time. A king who is now heading into his middle years with no heir of his blood, and no inclination to marry and sire one. His advisors, with the exception of my nephew, seem to have no desire for the king to marry.”
“Why would they, when he’s named the Duke of Comack’s son his heir?” The shout came from the back of the room.
“Precisely,” continued Feiren. “Why would they? But Beldyn of Comack has but one of the four bloodlines. If he becomes king then Soule may be in peril. So the Call was not unexpected, at least by this council. We still need more information about this thief, Brenna Lightfingers. How is it she has the bloodlines of Wolde’s children running through her veins? We don’t know and truthfully, we may never know. But as the head of the council of the Brotherhood of the Throne I declare that the Call is true. We will send word to all chapters of the Brotherhood at once, as well as arrange for a full meet.”
Kane and Andel were quickly surrounded by Brothers eager for more information about the Caller. Marcus Brunger and a few of the older men hung back and Uncle Feiren headed towards them. Kane turned to answer a question from Laclan Galloway. Uncle Feiren would be able to convince any doubters, Kane thought, because it was the prophecy - all members of the Brotherhood must embrace their destiny. He looked at Andel’s grinning face; of all the youngsters who dreamed of being the one to receive the call, it was they who had heard it.
“I’m assuming we’ll be buying her bond?” Kane rubbed his tired eyes. He was seated across the desk from his uncle in Feiren’s study. The meet had finally ended and late though it was, Kane knew his duties were not yet finished for the day.
The room they sat in was paneled in dark oak and on the walls, flickering in the firelight were some of the family’s most treasured heirlooms - a shield from the Kivvan wars, eight hundred years ago; a halberd that had belonged to the first Rowse to be Captain of the Kingsguard, over two hundred years old. But the most prized possessions were the old steel weapons. In addition to Kane’s own sword Feiren had an old steel sword from the time of Wolde, the first king. The wall held three knives and another sword from King Marto’s time, made just before the old ways and the old gods were swept away on the tide of the One-God. Worship of the One-God had been imported from Langemore along with King Marto’s wife. No king had followed the old gods since.
Feiren Rowse was a large man just into his fiftieth year. The trim form kept firm by years of active duty in the Kingsguard had diminished only a little in the years since his retirement. He’d allowed his thick salt and pepper hair to grow slightly since his military days and it now reached just to the collar of his white cotton shirt.
Beside Kane sat Dasid Addems, second-in-command of the guard, as well as a member of the council for the Brotherhood of the Throne. Dasid was a wiry man with closely-cropped sandy blond hair. At thirty-six more than half his life had been spent in the Kingsguard. Once he was named captain, Kane had inherited Dasid from his uncle and had been gratefully accepting his advice since.
“I think we need to keep out of this,” Feiren said. “For the girl’s sake it’s best if neither the Rowses nor the Kingsguard show any particular interest in her.” Feiren took a sip of his wine before continuing. “But I feel responsible as it was I who commissioned the theft of the priest’s knife in the first place.”
“And I who made the arrangements,” Kane said softly. “So I’ll make sure she gets out. I’ll contact Eryl, the thief I hired to acquire the knife.”
“Good.” Feiren nodded to Kane. “Now we know the High Bishop is collecting old steel weapons. What we don’t know is why, or if he even realizes the significance of them.”
“I don’t think I realized the significance of them either,” Kane said. “Is there anything in the histories that describes the effect the Caller has on old steel?” Kane could still feel his shock and surprise at seeing his sword shining under his and Brenna’s hands.
“There might be,” Dasid said. “I remember reading something in one of the old texts, a reference to a light of some kind. At the time it seemed to have little relevance, but now...” he shrugged.
“Yes, well, we’ll need to go back over some of those texts in light of recent events,” Feiren said. “In the meantime Kane must arrange to have our lass’s bond bought out.”
Kane nodded at his uncle’s words. It meant a trip to Thieves Quarter. It was almost midnight so he expected the Quarter to be a hive of activity.
A few minutes later with a couple of heavy purses tucked close to his skin, Kane left his uncle’s house by one of the secret passages. This one turned him out into the center of Kingsreach, well away from his uncle’s house and only a few blocks from Thieves Quarter.
Kane entered the Crooked Dog, his hat pulled low on his head. He’d been here before dressed as Master Arlott. His finely made but well-worn shirt, vest, and breeches blended in well enough with the downtrodden patrons of the pub. When he scanned the room his eyes burned slightly in air made thick by a drafty fire and cheap tallow candles. One of the two customers looked up at him and then, seeing no threat, went back to staring at the tankard in front of him. Kane walked warily over to the barkeep and placed a copper on the stained wood.
“I need to speak to Eryl.” At the barkeep’s nod towards the back Kane slid the coin all the way across the bar, then headed to the door the barkeep had indicated. Two quick raps, then three long ones – the signal Kane had been told to use before – and the door opened a crack. A dark brown eye peered out at him.
“I’m here to see Eryl about a delivery that’s been misplaced.”
The door opened and a beefy man shifted his bulk just enough to allow Kane to squeeze past. The small room had a round table covered with wine jugs and empty glasses, a few hard wooden chairs pulled up to it. Eryl Fentin, self-proclaimed Master Thief, sat at the table. Besides the man on the door, two more members of his gang, these two obviously the worse for wine, were also in the room. One man, head down on the table, his cheek dipped into a puddle of wine, snored softly. The other was stretched out on a bench along the back wall, an arm dangling limply onto the filthy floor. The d
oor closed behind Kane and he settled his gaze on Eryl.
“Master Arlott. Good eve to you,” Eryl said. “You were not expected.” Small-boned and fine-featured, the man addressing Kane had the dark hair and eyes of one from the Falladian plains.
“And good eve to you, Eryl Fentin.” Kane sat down across from Eryl. “We have business to discuss.”
“Ah, I see you did not receive my message. We’ve had an unfortunate setback in regards to our efforts to make a certain delivery to you.”
“Hah!” The drunk lifted his head off the table as he spoke. “Like as not she’ll give us all up to the Guard. Never did understand why ye fancied that witch.”
Eryl sent the man a stern look. “That’s enough Millen. We have company. As I said, Master Arlott,” the thief turned back to Kane. “We’ve suffered an unfortunate set back.”
“Which is why I’m here,” Kane said. And what exactly had the drunk meant by his comment about Eryl fancying Brenna? “My patron is aware of the circumstances you and your, er, associate find yourselves in. He’s asked that I come on his behalf to make amends.” What if Eryl and Brenna were coupled up?
“Despite the fact that the delivery was never made,” Kane continued, “the recent turn of events has been of some value to my patron,”
“Has it now?” Eryl’s dark eyes glittered and he sat up straighter. “That is good news. Mayhap he’d want to be appreciative about that.”
“So he has told me,” Kane assured him. “No doubt others would look to take advantage of the situation, but as I told you before, my patron is looking for dependable contacts for now and the future. He feels the least he can do his pay the girl’s bond price.” Kane had the attention of all four men in the room now and he watched warily as the two ‘drunks’ straightened up and eyed him soberly. Interesting. Eryl and his gang weren’t as undisciplined as they wanted him to believe.
