Lhind the Thief

by Sherwood Smith

  Then Thianra brought her palm down flat on the table. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stay with you until Imbradi, then either you go to Court, Hlanan, or I. Someone has to report all these disparate signs. If Dhes-Andis is involved with any of our recent bad luck then all three of us are marked anyway.”

  “I’ll keep trying to signal your Guard,” Hlanan said as he slid the ring off his finger and dropped it into a pocket. “I’ll try again anon. As soon as Tir comes back. Perhaps I’ll be less tired after a good meal.”

  “Where is the aidlar?” Rajanas said, looking up—just as my fingers snaked out and made the pinch.

  I backed away hastily, raising the jug to my lips for a hasty swig. His expression went from intensity to surprise, and I think he was going to laugh, but he never got the chance.

  The door slammed open. In dashed warriors with drawn swords. Their leader paused for the barest instant, then headed straight for Rajanas.

  As if released by a spring, my arm snapped out. The jug sailed through the air and smashed squarely on the leader’s helm.

  “Good throw, thief!” Rajanas called, and laughed. He sent his chair skidding in the way of the attackers and whipped sword and long knife free of their scabbards.

  The leader staggered back, ignoring the ceramic shards and punch all over his mail-shirt. His lips pulled back into a snarl. “Kill that one,” he ordered, pointing his sword at me. “The other three we take alive.”

  Warriors converged on us, blades menacing. Rajanas and Thianra (who had pulled out two long knives) spread out so as not to interfere with one another’s defense. Thianra placed herself before Hlanan, who was not armed.

  Hlanan cupped his hands, muttering fast. Fire formed into a glow above his fingers. A harsh voice croaked something, and a curtain directly behind Hlanan ripped as a hereto hidden door slammed open. The warriors had spread in a circle, and one dashed in and smashed his fist across the back of Hlanan’s head half a heartbeat before Thianra’s knife came down on his arm. The Scribe, who’d been involved in some kind of incantation, staggered. The soldier warded Thianra with his shield and clouted Hlanan again with the hilt of his blade.

  Hlanan slumped as Thianra, fighting desperately against three foes, blocked him from my sight.

  A soldier headed my way purposefully. I shoved my shaking hands into my waistband for my knife, but a kind of swift, sick certainty stayed my hand: in the past I’d used my blade only for escape, or for dramatic effect. I’d never been able to kill any living creature. I knew these fellows would not be stayed by the brandishing of a blade—so I decided desperately that it was better off hidden.

  But I had to act fast. I leaped to the table, and when the soldier jerked back, startled at the height of my jump, I kicked his elbow with a whack that cracked on the air. Pain shot up my leg but he dropped his sword, and I spun around, grabbed up the punch tray and swung it, just in time to deflect a blow aimed at the back of Thianra’s head.

  Smash! Everyone looked up when Rajanas crashed a chair into two warriors. Wood splinters flew in all directions. Five warriors tried to hem him in, but his whirling blades kept them at a distance.

  A blade whizzed at my knees. I leaped, somersaulted down the table and came up with a punch glass in either hand. I potted the warriors nearest, clapping as the glasses shattered on their helms.

  “Ho! Hey!” I yelled.

  Ze-e-e-em! A blade cut the air beside my head. I flipped backward, landing on my hands, and used the momentum to kick both feet into the swordsman’s chest, sending him crashing back into another soldier. Then I flipped again, landing on the floor as they fell in a tangle of arms, legs, weapons and chairs. Two more converged, I leaped again, kicked a helmed head and spun past a waving blade.

  “Oh, good one!” Thianra gasped, backing desperately from the pressing attack.

  Behind her, Hlanan lay on the floor, his hands limp. Anger flushed through me. Ranging myself beside Thianra, I sent the third glass at a soldier’s face, wishing the innkeeper had brought up more food.

  Why waste it on the betrayed?

  That was old instinct, you could say my head. Fast as lightning flashed an answer from my heart: Because I like them. I didn’t have time to scold myself for a sentiment that no one felt for me, because—

  “Kill the beggar!” the leader roared. “NOW!”

  Rajanas’s blades, whirling vertiginously, disarmed two warriors in a row, and he leaped toward us. “Out,” he shouted at me, his chin jerking toward the window.

  I stayed at my place beside Thianra, trying not to get in her way as she fought against yet more converging attackers. They were closing in steadily, though as yet her speed and skill kept them at a distance. A big, burly fellow rushed me. I met his knee with my heel and ducked under his arm, jabbed my fists into a broad belly on another, and leaped clear over the table, just barely avoiding a deadly arcing blade.

  Pausing beside the window, I looked back in time to see Thianra step back to avoid a hard swing, and stumble over the remains of a chair. Two warriors landed on her.

  The rest advanced toward Rajanas, too many for me to do anything against—

  I’m the one with a death sentence. I smacked the window wide and whirled through, scrambling onto the low roof. A running few steps, then I was high into one of the big, shady trees.

  A shimmer! I thought then. Of course! But what? An army of hideous ghosts? Or . . .

  Through the open window below I heard a mighty cheer from the soldiery. I knew what had happened: they’d finally brought Rajanas down. I was too late.

  So there I was, safe in a tree, and the people who’d taken me prisoner were now prisoners of someone else.

  SEVEN

  So now I had a choice. Either I cut my losses and lope for safety, or I try to find out what was going to happen to them—

  The glow of torches and the sound of harsh voices from the courtyard caught my attention.

  “Can we take the rings off this one, at least? He cut up Raban and Kemm pretty good.”

  “This ruby will fetch a good price.”

  “I don’t care, just be quick about it,” came a voice of command.

  “I think this one’s only a servant. One ring in his pocket, and something tight on one finger. No stone in it.”

  “That one’s the scribe-mage. Don’t touch anything on him. Your nose will fall off. Or something worse.”

  “Aw, that old ring doesn’t look like it’s worth a tinklet anyway.”

  I edged along my branch and peered cautiously below as the warriors marched out in pairs, carrying Rajanas, Thianra, and Hlanan. Talk, the clank of weapons, the clatter of boots and hooves echoed up the stone walls of the court as they stuffed the three into a waiting coach. Warriors crowded Rajanas as they stripped him of the jewels that I had mentally claimed as my own. Hmph! Then out came their own wounded, who got thrown over the backs of horses if they weren’t on their feet.

  After that the warriors mounted quickly and ranged themselves in formation on either side of the coach. The leader wheeled his horse and flung down a bag of coins at the feet of the cringing innkeeper. Then he rode out at a gallop, the rest following behind in a cloud of choking dust that rose as high as my tree.

  A betrayal. They’d been expected, and the innkeeper had been bribed.

  It’s not your problem, weasel-wit, I told myself.

  I knew that. But I still sat there, remembering Hlanan’s words about dignity. Thianra’s kindly interest and flashes of unexpected humor. I tried to harden my heart, to think instead of Rajanas’s cold sarcasm and ungentle hands, but even he had given me a knife during the pirate attack, when he’d had no hope of escape.

  Meantime, there was that bag of coins . . .

  I swung down hand over hand through the tree, and dropped onto the ground near the kitchen windows. Like many kitchens this time of year, they were partly open to let out the heat of the ovens.

  Next to one of the windows an ancient vine grew. I pressed
my face into it so the leaves would hide me as I peered between the casement and the wall.

  I could see one side of the kitchen, a huge fireplace, and two or three big tables covered with rows of crockery. A tall woman with a face like winter was giving orders to a young boy with a loaded tray. The boy hefted the tray and disappeared. The woman started laying pastries onto the crockery.

  I was about to turn away when I heard the innkeeper’s voice: “Why are ye standing around, ye lazy scum? Get to work!”

  Two pairs of unseen feet scuffled away, then the door slammed.

  The woman looked up from her pastries at the innkeeper, who was now in my view. He smiled at her in a fatuous and cringing way and dramatically dropped the clinking bag on the table. “So much for your fears, Runklia. I told you it would be an easy fortune.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels, puffing out his cheeks.

  She stared at him stonily, totally ignoring his swagger, and shoved the bag to the very edge of the table with her tray. “Fool.” Her voice was low. “If any of them had escaped you’d soon be dead. What about the servants?”

  The innkeeper’s mouth dropped open. Clearly he hadn’t thought about them. Then he shrugged, his eyes flickering around like bugs in a high wind. “Who cares? They can do nothing.”

  “They can talk.”

  The innkeeper squinted at her uneasily. “Talk? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you stupid slug, if you are going to serve such as she whom you bargained with today, you must make sure you think of everything. Those servants will get back to that young lord’s home and they will talk. If he lives near, then we’ll have trouble the sooner, because she won’t defend us, you can count on that.”

  The innkeeper pursed his lips.

  The woman went on, soft and venomous, “You will have to kill them. And quickly.”

  Just then my ears caught the faint sound of jingling and horse hooves disappearing down the road. That’s Arbren and the others, or I’m the Emperor of Shinja.

  “But I never . . . we shouldn’t have to . . . ourselves,” he protested.

  “If you are the blowhard coward I take you for then you will have to use some of that—” She nodded at the bag of coins. “—and hire someone to do it for you. But first you will have to lock them up. In the cellar, where they cannot be heard.”

  He stood there twitching uncertainly, his sweaty face none the prettier as he wrestled with his choices, then abruptly went out.

  The woman picked up her pastries again as if nothing had happened.

  One thing I knew for certain: these two stinkers were not going to enjoy the contents of that bag.

  The woman filled a tray, then turned away to set it on another table. In that moment I hoisted myself noiselessly over the low sill, and crouched against a cabinet, keeping the edge of the table between me and Runklia’s face. I watched her feet come back to the big table. I heard the soft thud of pastry dough falling into crockery, then she turned to heft another tray away.

  I shot my hand up, grasped the bag tightly so it would not clink, and my heart pounded as I crouched there under the table while more pastry thudded into crocks. At last she turned to heft another tray and I flipped myself through the window into a crouch on the ground just as the big door opened again.

  The innkeeper said, “Well it’s too late. They put their carriage to and lit out while we were talking. So if I get asked, I’ll just say—ho! Runklia, where’d you put my money?”

  “Didn’t you take it with you?”

  I didn’t wait to hear her answer. Within the space of five breaths I was through the trees and out into the open fields, running my fastest.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been both well-rested and well fed; I ran without stopping until the moon was high. Reaching a secluded little grove beside a stream, I dropped into long, sweet grass and lay panting, staring up at the jewel-bright stars until I caught my breath.

  When my heart settled back into its accustomed tread, I reviewed the fight. Rajanas had held some of those attackers from blocking my way to the window. Even a little rat of a thief deserves a chance to fight for its life, he’d said when the pirates attacked. He was a warrior, rough with his hands, caustic of tongue, but in his own way he was as fair as the scribe and the bard.

  Except for taking me against my will at the outset, all three had been fair to me by their own code.

  So . . . what about my code?

  No, my mind wailed back. I’m free, and for the first time ever, I’ve got enough take to live in comfort for two seasons. Oh, the places I could go . . . the freedom that was now mine . . . but then treachery returned, in the shape of memory: Hlanan’s considered words, as if our conversations had mattered. As if I’d mattered.

  Thianra’s laugh, her lovely voice drifting through the soft evening air.

  Even a little rat of a thief deserves a chance to fight for its life.

  Well, one thing I’d learned during my years of wandering: don’t stay mad at yourself for long, otherwise you’re at odds with the only ally you’ve got.

  I finally admitted that I wasn’t going to run off and leave them to their fates, though every practical instinct clamored for me to do just that. I knew I was going to find them, and free them, if I possibly could.

  If I could.

  Of course I could outsmart a parcel of boulder-witted warriors!

  All right, so I’d think of it as a challenge.

  I rolled over and splashed water over my hot face, wondering how I’d go about finding them —

  As soon as I thought it, Hrethan, came the inner voice of that bird, straight into my head. I am with them, and I will help you.

  I fought against surprise—or more correctly the fury that attends surprise—and managed not to lock Tir’s thoughts out. My instinctive reaction of distrust dissolved when I remembered what the aidlar had vowed about never harming “my kind”: one thing I’d found about creatures other than human was that they never lied.

  So, Where? I sent the thought back.

  No words came in answer. Instead, a mental picture of moonlit fields, as seen from the sky. The black coach and its guard, still riding in two militarily straight lines, was moving westward at a trot.

  Westward: back toward the harbor.

  We need to act now, or they’ll reach Letarj before morning, I sent the thought to Tir.

  I felt its agreement—and the confidence with which it awaited my plan. For Tir was a bird, and planning was up to humans. It had patiently flown with the carriage, and then when that was attacked, it flew to warn Hlanan. Too late. That much I gathered from the swift flow of images.

  So then it followed the cavalcade that had captured Hlanan and the other two, loyally waiting for me to remember the three and concoct a rescue, just as would others of its kind.

  That thought made me feel queasy.

  You stay with them, and I’ll find a way to catch up, I sent.

  Again I felt Tir’s unquestioning acceptance, and I got to my feet, wondering how I was to accomplish this. Their captors were riding steadily back down the river toward the harbor again. Running all night—which I couldn’t do—wouldn’t catch me up with them before they reached the harbor.

  I walked slowly to the top of a little rise, breathing in the soft breeze that had sprung up. Wisps of fog drifted some distant hills; above, soft clouds rolled silently over the stars, blocking them from view. I sniffed the air, sorting the scents. Water . . . almond blossoms both sweet and bitter . . . citrus . . . cedar . . . and the pungency of horse. Horses?

  As I crested a hill, I saw a farm nestled alongside a stream Clumped under some trees stood horse-shaped shadows, heads drooping. When I took a few steps, a few heads came up, ears alert.

  Rejoicing, I ran down toward the fenced pasture.

  Stealing horses has always been easy. I send them friendly thoughts, and the first one that responds, I climb on, hold the mane, and ride. When I’m done, I always
send them in the right direction for home. Soon I was on the back of a frisky, freshly-shod young mare who was ready for a good gallop. She cleared the fence in a leap that left several hand-spans to spare.

  The horse knew a path that paralleled the river road. She galloped happily, slowing when we encountered slowly drifting fingers of fog rising off the river. We cantered over the countryside, Tir sending mental pictures of the prisoners’ location from time to time. The aidlar’s position remained in my mind like a fixed star, and I guided the horse steadily toward it.

  As I neared them, I wondered how I was to effect a rescue. I had myself and a bird, and against me were twice-twelve warriors, all armed. Rajanas, Hlanan and Thianra could not be counted on for anything; I did not even know if they were awake. Hlanan certainly had not been when they dumped him into that coach.

  The obvious course was to use my shimmers somehow. But how?

  My next thought was, I needed more allies. Tir? Can you find Arbren and those other servants?

  I cannot hear their thoughts as I can yours. I see no other humans near.

  So the servants were out. I figured they’d probably ride for home. As I recalled, none of them had been armed. But Rajanas’s six guards had been armed. Where were they?

  I remembered Hlanan’s worry about losing trace of them, and I decided I’d better discount them.

  All right, then. No human aid. Perhaps as well. No questions, that way. How about non-human?

  I was near enough now to listen without ears or eyes. Digging my hands into the horse’s mane, I sat as steadily as I could and spread my thoughts out ahead, sensing . . . and I saw little lights of many colors, most but not all dim, as though asleep. Then I found Tir and the others, and near them, the red mental presence of a warren of snakes.

  Snakes?

  I opened my eyes, fighting the moments of nauseating vertigo that always clawed at my insides after that kind of exercise. As I scanned the black line of forest that the swirling mist nearly obscured, a plan formed. I nudged the mare into a gallop and dashed through the fields adjacent, until I had passed by the gradually slowing cavalcade. Tir! Can you fly ahead and show me the road?