The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “Is that how you see us—how you see me?” Morwen looked away. “I thought you were different, but maybe you’re just like all the others.”

  Her words took him by surprise. That’s what this is about? Morwen had faced resentment and ostracism her whole life on account of her magic. It was easy to see why she might identify with the druids. His expression softened, and he nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’ve always been suspicious of magic. I helped the High Queen fight a war to drive the Lord of Shadows from the land. I saw the terror that one dark sorcerer could unleash.” He paused, searching for the right words. “But then I met you, and I saw your great heart, and I know now that magic can be used for good or ill.”

  Morwen’s anger faded instantly, and she beamed from ear to ear.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Nothing. You know, sometimes, despite your temper and gruff manners, you manage to be rather sweet.”

  Berengar laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”

  “Pardons, sir and madam,” a barmaid said. When she saw Berengar’s scars, she averted her eyes. “There’s a man asking to see you. You’ll find him in a private room at the balcony.” She promptly withdrew.

  “It must be Niall. It’s about time.”

  Morwen continued grinning.

  “What?”

  “Great heart, eh?”

  “Shut up.” He started up the stairs, leaving her to trail behind.

  The balcony was only slightly less crowded than the auditorium, though the area seemed mostly reserved for wealthier patrons. Berengar and Morwen escaped notice as they passed others by, their faces masked by shadows. The spectators watched quietly while the performances continued below, even if there was little doubt who would win the night.

  “There,” Morwen whispered.

  Berengar followed her gaze to one of several private suites, where a lone figure sat at a candlelit table partially hidden by a curtain. The man waiting for them inside was younger than Berengar by several years. His hair, which was brown and wavy, framed a thoughtful face and a pair of intelligent blue eyes. Like Berengar, he wore a broach with the image of a silver fox—the sigil of the line of Áed—pinned to his cloak.

  “Niall,” Berengar said.

  “Berengar. It’s been a long time.”

  “It has. I’ve been busy.”

  “So I hear.” Niall inclined his head at the empty seats across him and waited for them to sit. “Word is the High Queen wasn’t pleased by what happened at St. Brigid’s.”

  Berengar shrugged. “Darragh’s her favorite. I’m just her monster.”

  The two men clasped arms. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.” Niall’s eyes settled on Morwen. “And who is this, if I may ask?”

  “My companion, Lady Morwen of Cashel.”

  “Indeed?” Niall chuckled to himself. “Times have changed more than I thought. I never thought I would see you of all people with a companion, let alone Munster’s court magician.”

  “You’re well-informed.” Morwen sounded impressed.

  Niall flashed a brief smile. “It’s my job to be.” He pointed to his head. “My mind is my weapon, and I must keep it sharp. I’m sure a scholar such as yourself can relate. I was sorry to learn of King Mór’s passing. What happened? I’ve heard only rumors.”

  “The king was assassinated by his daughter, Princess Ravenna.”

  “So it is true.”

  “Ravenna was a sorceress,” Berengar explained. “She wielded shadow magic and unleashed a coatl that nearly destroyed Cashel.”

  “Shadow magic?” Niall’s face grew somber. “Most interesting. Do you suspect the Lord of Shadows’ involvement with Mór’s death?”

  “I don’t know. Ravenna had cause to want her father dead.”

  “I suppose we’ll never know now. Munster is fortunate you were there to stop her, though I wish I could have questioned her before you finished her. Impressive work defeating a sorceress, by the way. Even with a magician at your side, I’m sure it was a difficult feat.”

  Berengar looked away. “I let her live, Niall.”

  For the first time, Niall looked truly surprised. He studied Berengar with curiosity. “You’ve changed more than I thought.”

  When he leaned forward, Berengar noticed blood on his clothes in the candlelight. “Are you hurt?”

  “The blood’s not mine.”

  Berengar smirked and folded his arms across his chest. “Finally getting your hands dirty for a change?”

  “I’m the warden of the most corrupt and dangerous city in Fál. My dealings with scheming nobles and treacherous officials are just as dangerous as your local disputes and monster hunts, I assure you.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Morwen said. “If he teases you, it just means he likes you. Besides, it was a big coatl.”

  Niall laughed. “I like her, Berengar. Don’t push this one away.”

  “He’s tried. I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

  “I believe it.”

  Berengar cleared his throat. “We do have other business in the city. Your message was light on details. Why ask to meet, and why here?”

  “There are eyes watching me all over the city. I thought it best to hide in plain sight. With everyone here preoccupied with the Revels, we can converse safely without fear of being overheard. I need your help, Berengar.”

  “Go on.”

  “All is not well in the City of Thieves. The mood is tenser than any time since the purges. The ceremony has the whole city on edge. The bishop’s passing, the murder of King Mór, and Munster’s empty throne have created a sense of unease—not to mention whispers of trouble in the north.”

  Berengar scoffed. “There’s always trouble in the north.”

  Niall’s face grew grim. “Things here are worse than you understand. King Lucien is not himself. He has shut himself up in the palace and hidden himself away from the world. There are those who say he has gone mad. Now the prince regent has gone missing.”

  “Missing?” Morwen repeated.

  “Vanished—without a trace. I think he’s in grave danger.” Niall’s voice grew firm. “I sense a sinister plot afoot in Dún Aulin. I’ve heard stories of an evil that has taken root to the west, and the Brotherhood of Thieves grows bolder by the day. There are those who say a member of the Brotherhood has taken on a black contract. I must find Prince Tristan before it’s too late, but I cannot be everywhere at once.”

  Berengar studied him carefully. “What would you have us do?”

  “I am leaving tonight, under cover of dark. In my absence, you must take over my duties and supervise the Ceremony of the Cursed Blade.”

  Chapter Five

  In the end, Berengar was left with no choice but to agree to Niall’s request. Even if he hadn’t owed Niall more than a few favors, the cursed blade was far too dangerous to allow to fall into the wrong hands. Morwen got her way—much to Berengar’s considerable annoyance—and he paid an exorbitant amount for a room at the Coin and Crown. It seemed their departure from Dún Aulin had been indefinitely delayed.

  Anticipating pushback from the higher-ups in the palace and cathedral, Niall had already secured an agreement to allow Berengar to take his place in preparation for the ceremony. As long as Berengar remained excommunicated, he was unwelcome, though as a Warden of Fál, he could ignore the laws as he saw fit. They could banish him from Leinster, but they could not enforce it without drawing the High Queen’s ire. It was an arrangement to no one’s liking—least of all Berengar’s. Neither the government nor the church wanted him in the city, and Berengar would rather be anywhere else. Unfortunately, until the ceremony was over, both sides were stuck with no alternative.

  Berengar retired for the evening not long after Niall took his leave. As he suspected, Jareth wasn’t the only one to recognize him. He drew a number of curious glances and outright stares when he paid for his room. Unlike at Munster, where he had stayed as a guest at King Mór
’s castle, he most certainly would not be welcome in the royal palace. With the bard’s tale still fresh in the minds of the alehouse’s patrons, it was better to lie low while he still could. His presence in Dún Aulin would be widely known soon enough as it was.

  Morwen, on the other hand, was not finished taking part in the night’s festivities. After weeks spent bored on the road, she relished the chance to indulge her inexhaustible curiosity and implored him to allow her to remain in his absence. Berengar, unwilling to argue with her further over the matter, agreed on the condition she not set foot outside the Coin and Crown. He was her companion, not her babysitter. He’d warned her. If she wanted to play with fire, that was on her—just as long as she didn’t come running to him when she got burned.

  It was quiet when he returned to the main hall the following morning. Patrons sat hunched over their breakfasts, nursing hangovers. Some were still unconscious, having slumped over the bar or fallen asleep at tables. Their intermittent snores were a welcome reprieve from the music that filled the alehouse the night before. Even with the staff hard at work brushing floors and wiping tables, it was clear the task of cleaning the mess left behind would take quite some time.

  Berengar looked around for Morwen. Although the crowd had thinned a great deal overnight, there was no shortage of guests within the hall. A few hurried about making preparations to depart Dún Aulin. To his surprise, Berengar spotted Morwen sitting wide-awake at one of the tables. He headed to join her after obtaining a heaping portion of breakfast.

  Morwen wrinkled her nose at the bounty of food on his plate. “For your sake, I hope we don’t run into another thief today. I don’t think you could keep up with all that weighing you down.”

  Berengar stifled a yawn. “You’re looking chipper this morning.”

  “What a night! You should’ve heard them, Berengar. Jareth won the Quill, of course, but the others were outstanding. And the songs and ballads! I haven’t heard such talent in ages. It reminded me of my time in the king’s court.” She stretched her arms toward the ceiling as if to emphasize her point.

  Berengar noticed a sizable stack of coins before her. “Where’d those come from?”

  Morwen sat back in her chair and gave a self-satisfied smile. “My ficheall winnings. I may have joined one of the tournaments last night, and I may have won said tournament to great fanfare from the crowd.”

  “Morwen…”

  “It was glorious! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a proper challenge—no offense, of course.” She shoved the stack of coins toward him. “This should be more than enough to cover the cost of our stay here for a good long while.”

  “Morwen, that’s not the point. I told you to keep a low profile, not join in a high-stakes ficheall tournament.”

  She held up her hands. “Relax. I’m sure no one recognized me.”

  “There she is!” bellowed a man sitting with his friends at a nearby table. “Three cheers for Morwen, the best ficheall player to ever grace these halls!” The friends clanked their tankards and cheered to the visible irritation of those hungover.

  Morwen flushed a deep shade of red and turned back to Berengar. “Sorry.”

  Berengar sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  Morwen ran a hand through her hair. “Do you like it? It’s lavender.”

  “You had time to visit the bathhouses and win a ficheall tournament?”

  “I also brewed a few potions and worked on a number of enchantments that were easy enough to manage even without a staff. The next person who tries to steal something from my satchel is in for a nasty surprise. And don’t worry—I made sure to do both away from prying eyes.”

  Berengar stared at her, at a loss for words. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  Morwen shook her head.

  “And you aren’t tired?”

  “I’m a magician, remember? I can draw off my magic stores for energy. Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t wasting my time. I managed to pick up some valuable information during my ficheall matches. You’d be amazed at how the prospect of easy coin loosens lips.” She lowered her voice. “It seems a number of gamblers have quite a few friends in common with the Brotherhood of Thieves.”

  “Go on.”

  She grinned. “I thought that might get your attention. I asked after the go-betweens the Brotherhood uses to fence their ill-gotten gains. As it turns out, there’s a fence named Edrick who recently acquired a pair of valuable horses from Munster. According to my source, he’s putting them up for sale at noon near the East End District. Not bad, right?”

  “It’s a start.” With any luck, the information might prove useful beyond leading to the return of their horses and belongings. Berengar finished his breakfast and wiped his beard with his sleeve. “Let’s go. Noon is still hours away, and we have a lot to do before then.”

  They emerged from the alehouse and started down the stairs. The storm had ceased overnight, and the sun shone brightly for the first time in recent memory. The air was unseasonably warm, though nothing approaching the summer heat that had marked their time in Munster. People swarmed the streets even in the early hours, and despite the Revels’ conclusion, Leinster’s capital hummed with life.

  Faolán waited for them outside.

  At the sight of her approaching, Morwen reached into her satchel and tossed the wolfhound a treat. “I take it we’re not abandoning the hunt for the rune then.”

  “I don’t like leaving things unfinished.” The thunder rune wasn’t as powerful as Azeroth’s sword—broken or otherwise—but it was still dangerous, as was whoever had hired the goblins to retrieve it. “Niall set up a meeting with the king and his advisers at the palace later today. Until then, we can focus on other business.”

  Morwen produced an apple seemingly out of thin air and polished it before taking a bite. “So, where to now?”

  “First we’ll see about finding you a new staff. If we’re going to be here a while, you should at least be able to defend yourself.” He smiled briefly at having caught her off guard for once.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I shouldn’t have to remind you that you can’t just buy a magician’s staff at the corner market. Even if you could, Dún Aulin is the last place in Fál I would look for anything associated with magic.”

  “Just follow me. There’s a place where we might be able to find some of the materials you require. More likely than not we won’t find anything at all, but it’s worth a shot.”

  The Coin and Crown faded behind them as they left the Rookery. Instead of returning to the grand square by way of Padraig’s Gate, Berengar led Morwen north to another of the city’s older districts. While the area’s stone buildings were impressive in size, most were in various states of disrepair and neglect, and the spot was notably less crowded than other parts of the city.

  “Where are we?” Morwen asked.

  “The Scholar’s District. Or what’s left of it. It was the center of knowledge before the trade guilds took over.” There was a time when craftsmen, artists, and others came to Dún Aulin to study their chosen professions, though the city’s status as a hub of learning declined in the years before the Shadow Wars.

  Berengar fell silent, and Morwen followed his gaze to a tower looming above the others. “What’s that?”

  “The Institute.”

  Her eyes widened in amazement. “Truly? I thought it was destroyed in the purges.”

  “It might as well have been.” Scorch marks and piles of rubble were visible even at a distance as evidence that not all signs of the purges had been erased.

  Morwen bowed her head in reverence. “So this is what’s left of it.”

  In times past, magicians and mages were trained at the Institute. Only the various academies at Cill Airne rivaled the Institute’s prominence as a center of higher learning for the mystic arts. Healers, alchemists, and herbalists, though they could not use magic, also studied within its walls. By the time o
f the riots, their numbers were greatly reduced. Like the Oakseers’ Grotto, the Institute was evidence of a world intent on leaving the old ways behind.

  “What makes you think there’s anything left to find? Rioters would’ve picked the place clean. Even if they hadn’t, the entrance is caved in.”

  “There’s another way inside. Come on.”

  Morwen started after him. “Wait. How do you know so much about this place? You didn’t…”

  “No. Jareth didn’t have the whole story. Typical bard. Not long after I arrived in the city, the druids poisoned me with a substance called the Bewilderer’s Bite.”

  “The Bewilderer’s Bite? That would have knocked you on your backside.”

  “It did. One of the students at the Institute found me before the rioters. He brought me back to the Institute, where a herbalist administered the antidote.” He hesitated, one foot in the past. “The whole place was under siege. The mob’s torches lit up the night.”

  Morwen’s face was full of concern. “That’s horrible.”

  “Aye. The Institute’s leaders struck a deal with the Brotherhood of Thieves to smuggle them out of Dún Aulin in return for valuable magical wares. They asked me to help get them across the city to the Brotherhood. I knew I should leave them…that I had more important things to take care of…but I couldn’t.”

  “What happened?”

  “The mob separated the group. Half made it to the Brotherhood. The Acolytes of the True Faith caught up with the other half. I cut a path to the gate, but I couldn’t save them all.” He looked at her for a long moment. “That’s why I showed Cathán and his followers no mercy. All the killings—all the death—it was their fault. I made them pay.” His hands began to tremble with anger. Even after all these years, his rage burned just as hot.

  Morwen must have sensed his anger, for she reached out her hand to him. “Peace, my friend.”

  Berengar pulled back and shook his head to warn her away. In addition to sensing emotions, he’d seen Morwen influence them with her touch, and he wanted no part of it. “I’ve told you before to keep out of my head. I won’t tell you again.”