The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “Remember the plan,” Azzy said once the guards stationed outside the entrance shut the doors. She stepped out from behind the crates and started toward the warehouse while humming a cheerful tune.

  “Stop right there. No trespassers allowed.” The guard raised his torch for a better look.

  Azzy waved at the guards and continued undaunted. “Evening. ’Tis a fine night for a stroll, don’t you think?”

  “Stop. I mean it.” The guard made a show of touching the hilt of his blade.

  Azzy did as he said. She faced the guards, standing an arm’s length away, and Berengar was struck by the contrast between her petite stature and the guards’ stocky frames.

  With the guards distracted, Berengar and Morwen slowly edged toward the rear entrance. Voices came from inside the warehouse.

  Azzy’s gaze moved to the coin pouch at the guard’s side. “So many coins. That must be an awful weight to carry. Allow me to relieve you of it.”

  The guards looked at each other, stunned by her beauty or confused by her choice of words. Berengar blinked, and a knife appeared in Azzy’s hand. She moved before either could react. The knife flashed in the moonlight, and coins spilled from the cut pouch and into the thief’s purse without one landing on the dock.

  “You little…” When the guard reached for her, Azzy slipped from his grasp with ease and kicked his backside, knocking him over. When she severed the other guard’s belt to obtain his coin pouch, his pants fell to his boots, and he tripped and landed beside his companion.

  Azzy doubled over in laughter. “A profitable night. Thank you, gentlemen, for your patronage.” With that, she bowed gracefully and sped into the night.

  “What are you waiting for?” asked the guard clutching his pants. “After her!” They took off in pursuit, leaving the entrance unattended.

  “It worked,” Morwen said. “I hope she knows what she’s doing.”

  “It would’ve been easier to kill them. Now come on.”

  Morwen shot him a dark look, and they rounded the warehouse before the guards inside emerged through the front entrance to investigate the commotion. Berengar eased the door open and reached for his axe. A floorboard creaked under his weight.

  “Who’s there?” demanded a bearded man with a lantern.

  Berengar bashed the man’s skull with the flat of his axe, and his victim sank to the ground, unconscious. He quietly advanced on the guards lingering outside and subdued one from behind. Faolán brought another low, and a kick from Berengar put him out like a light.

  Morwen tossed a vial containing a dark powder at the remaining guard, who instantly crumpled to the ground. “Sleeping powder. My way’s easier.”

  “Help me with the bodies.” They dragged the guards inside and closed the front entrance behind them. They would be gone long before the men regained consciousness. Berengar put a bag over the bearded man’s head and bound his hands before lifting him onto the wagon.

  Several sacks were stacked against the wall. Morwen inspected one, which was full of a powder that shimmered in the faint moonlight. “This is it.”

  “Help me move these sacks before the others return.” Together they loaded the fairy dust onto the back of the wagon. Berengar hauled two at a time while Morwen struggled to lift even one.

  “Don’t forget Azzy.” She grunted and heaved a sack onto the wagon. “We’ll have to go back for her.”

  Azzy stepped out of the darkness. “That’s not necessary.”

  Morwen lost her footing and landed on her backside with a sack in her lap. “Stop doing that!”

  Azzy raised a hand to her mouth and suppressed a chuckle. “I gave the guards the slip and came back to see how the two of you were faring. It looks like you handled this lot easily enough.”

  After loading the last sack, Berengar climbed onto the wagon and took the reins. “Let’s go before they return.” When the wagon rolled from the warehouse, Faolán jumped onto the back and curled up at Morwen’s feet. It wasn’t long before they were away from the docks, again headed toward the Scholar’s District.

  Morwen’s eyes lingered on the sacks of fairy dust. “I expected we might find enough dust inside to fill one of these sacks, but this? Fairy dust has been incredibly rare since the fairies abandoned these lands.” She gestured to the stacks. “Where did this come from?”

  Berengar shrugged. “We’ll have to ask the dealer.”

  Morwen was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps a fairy gave it to him.”

  Berengar shook his head. “I told you—all the fairies are gone. Those who weren’t killed by monster hunters fled these lands years ago.” Morwen was probably thinking of the wanted poster they saw in the grand square, but he doubted the creature depicted even existed. Many of the monsters on the posters were simply figments of frightened villager’s imaginations.

  Morwen sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s a shame. I would’ve liked to see one once. It’s said their voices were so lovely they could ensnare men’s minds or even influence nature itself.”

  “Aye.” Azzy peered into the night with a wistful look. “None were more graceful or beautiful to behold. The fairy halls possessed splendor beyond anything human minds can fathom.” She stopped, as if suddenly aware of Morwen’s gaze. “According to the stories, at least.”

  “They were also dangerous, short-tempered, and cruel,” Berengar muttered. “They played nasty tricks for sport and replaced human children with changelings—and those were the decent ones.”

  Azzy’s expression soured. “Harmless amusement. I expect if you lived for hundreds of years, you’d bore easily too.”

  When they reached the Scholar’s District, Berengar parked the wagon in the alley with the secret entrance and grabbed the unconscious prisoner while Morwen and Azzy opened the hidden door. A lit torch waited for them at the bottom of the stairs. Together they made their way down the underground corridor.

  Elias waited for them on the other side of the trapdoor. “Well? How did it go?”

  “See for yourself.” Berengar dropped the prisoner’s body at his feet.

  Unlike before, lanterns and candles illuminated the Institute’s halls. The light revealed the full extent of the wreckage within. Dust clung to every surface, and cobwebs hung about the chamber.

  “What of the fairy dust?”

  “Outside on the back of a wagon.”

  Elias knelt beside the bearded man and removed the bag from his head. “It’s him. Just as I thought. You’ve done well.”

  “Why did you want him?” Morwen asked. “What’s he to you?”

  “It’s obvious.” Berengar’s eye remained fixed on Elias. “Jareth said there were two sources of fairy dust in the city. You’re the other, aren’t you? That’s why you wanted his business shut down. He’s your competition.”

  “Aye, but that’s only half the truth.” Elias delved into his robes to retrieve smelling salts, which he held to the bearded man’s nose. “Wake up.”

  At the sound of Elias’ voice, Elazar’s eyes flashed open, and he sat up with a start. “I should’ve known.” He tugged to no avail at the ropes binding his arms. “It’s come to this, has it? You’ve sent mercenaries after me—your own brother?”

  Morwen’s brow arched in surprise. “Brother?”

  It made sense. Berengar gathered both were alchemists trained at the Institute. Each would have had the knowledge necessary to refine fairy dust. With no legitimate way to make an income after the purges, the pair had turned to the black market to survive. Elias sought safety behind the Institute’s walls while Elazar did the same behind those of his villa. Elias likely obtained his supply from the Institute’s existing stores, but that still left the question of where Elazar’s supply originated from. Even from Berengar’s limited understanding, no alchemist—no matter how talented—was capable of manufacturing raw fairy dust, which only grew in the fairy realm.

  Elias stared down at Elazar with contempt. “He was my brother once. Before his c
owardice cost me the love of my life.”

  Rage came over Elazar’s face. “I loved her too, same as you. I looked for her everywhere, but she was already gone! You blame me for her loss, but it was you who failed to make it here in time.”

  Elias crossed his arms. “The riots held me back, as you well know. By the time I arrived, it was already too late. Everyone was gone, and Iona with them.”

  At the mention of Iona, Berengar and Morwen exchanged glances. “Wait. What’s that about Iona?”

  The brothers looked at him, their animosity temporarily forgotten.

  “A herbalist at the Institute,” Elazar volunteered. “We searched for her in the purge’s aftermath, but it was no use. She died a long time ago.”

  Berengar shook his head. “You’re wrong. Iona was among those I led from the city.”

  “You remember her?” Elias looked skeptical.

  “I didn’t. Not until I ran into her in Munster a few months back. She set up shop at Knockaney as a healer.”

  Elias regarded him with utter astonishment. “Iona’s alive?”

  “Aye,” Morwen said. “I can vouch for that. She did a fine job mending my broken leg—for a herbalist, anyway.”

  Elias took a step back, clearly overcome with emotion, and his eyes fell on his brother. “All these years I spent hating you—all for nothing. Can you ever forgive me, Elazar?”

  “I am as guilty as you, brother. I ask your pardon for all that has passed between us.”

  “You have it.” Elias cut the ropes binding Elazar, and the two shared a tight embrace. “I have missed you, brother. You don’t know how lonely it’s been.”

  Morwen cleared her throat to get their attention. “Do you think we’re just supposed to overlook the fact you’ve been filling this city with fairy dust? Whatever you’ve suffered, it doesn’t excuse what you’ve done. People have died. You should both be rotting in a dungeon.”

  “We’ll go away,” Elias promised. “We’ll leave and go in search of Iona. You have my word. Besides, Dún Aulin is far too dangerous for us.”

  “Ahem.” Azzy’s voice interrupted the tearful reunion. “I believe the magician was promised a reward?”

  Elias wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “And you shall have it. Come.” He led them to the vast atrium with the winding staircases before stopping at an empty wall to raise his lantern. The lantern glowed with a strange green light that reflected off the surface of an invisible seal. Elias pricked his thumb with a knife and pressed the blood against the seal. A faint rumbling sound emanated from the other side as a section of wall descended to reveal a hidden chamber.

  “It was here the whole time.” Berengar shook his head. “Blasted magicians.”

  “Alchemists,” Morwen corrected from the precipice.

  Candles and torches burst into green flame when Elias crossed the threshold. Morwen and the others filed in after him. Potions, ornaments, scrolls, and all manner of mystical artifacts were packed into the chamber’s narrow confines.

  Morwen looked on in awe. “The last remnant of the Institute’s wealth of knowledge.”

  “Aye,” Elias said. “I saved what I could, but the rioters left little behind. You should have seen it in its day. There was nothing like it in all the land.”

  Berengar advanced carefully as not to touch anything by accident. The chamber’s mysterious contents held no allure for him. His fondness for Morwen didn’t erase his discomfort around magic. Strange amulets and rings—likely bearing all manner of dangerous enchantments—glimmered in the green light.

  Morwen stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Berengar to come to a halt to avoid a collision. He followed her gaze to the end of the chamber, where an enormous tree covered the rear wall. Its roots ran into cracks in the stone floor, and its ancient branches spread across the ceiling. The leaves glowed and pulsed with the same green light that filled the chamber as the tree hummed with light. A large, solitary eye in its trunk was closed.

  Azzy bit her lip and took a step back, remaining outside the wave of illumination. She instead began searching through the chamber’s many scattered relics in accordance with their agreement.

  Morwen choked up with emotion. “An elder tree.”

  “Aye. The last of its kind in the kingdom. I have been its guardian these last years.” Elias looked away, distant. “It was the least I could do in remembrance of my fallen companions.” He raised his lantern but kept his distance. “Go on. You know what to do. You must prove yourself worthy.”

  Morwen hesitated.

  “What is it?” Berengar asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just…” She trailed off while continuing to stare at the tree. “This is a hazel tree. My last staff was made of ash.”

  “So?”

  “Ash is a scholar’s wood. Hazel is used for bringing change. It’s favored by mages.” Her voice was full of doubt.

  When she was a girl, Morwen tried to become a mage—a warrior magician—but failed the tests for acceptance into the order. The experience had a deep impact on her, and every now and again Berengar saw that beneath the confidence of youth she still feared she would never quite measure up.

  “What are you waiting for? You’ve spent the last month complaining about not having a bloody staff, and now you’re just going to stand there? Get on up there.”

  Morwen nodded to herself and climbed a small staircase to approach the tree. She knelt before the tree, bowed her head reverently, and held out her hand. “Great tree, I—Morwen of Cashel—humbly beseech you to lend me your strength so that I may spread good and foster peace throughout this land.” She stared up at the tree expectantly. When the tree’s eye remained shut, she looked to Elias for guidance.

  “The tree is very old. It has been asleep for a long time, and it may not soon wake. If it speaks to you, it may show you visions of events yet to come.”

  Azzy’s voice broke the silence. “It’s not here!” No longer remotely amused, she knocked aside charms, necklaces, and pendants in her anger. “I don’t understand. There should have been one here…”

  “What’s it matter?” Berengar asked. “I’m sure any of these relics would fetch you a handsome price.”

  Azzy regarded him with a wrathful expression that hinted at an explosive temper usually kept on a leash.

  Morwen stiffened suddenly.

  “What?” Berengar knew that look. It meant trouble.

  “Danger.”

  Berengar reached for his axe. “How close?”

  “Close.” Morwen cast a glance back at the tree and reluctantly hurried to join them.

  Shadows moved above the atrium, and hisses sounded in the dark. Goblins crawled along the ceiling like spiders and spread across the walls as they descended.

  “I thought no one could get in here.” Berengar thought again of the secret entrance.

  Elias held his crossbow at the ready. “They must have scaled the walls and entered from the tower.”

  Berengar’s grip tightened around his axe as the goblins moved to surround them. His companions gathered around him with their backs to the hidden chamber. Twin knives appeared in Azzy’s dexterous hands, and it was clear from her expression she had no love for goblins.

  After encircling them, the goblins bared their fangs and rattled their weapons but made no move to attack.

  Teelah, the goblins’ helmeted leader, stepped forward to face Morwen. “We have no quarrel with you, magician. Give us the stone and you may leave.”

  “I won’t abandon my friends. And I don’t have the stone. It was stolen.”

  “We will see.” Teelah pointed a club in Berengar’s direction. “This one belongs to us. He has much to answer for.”

  Berengar raised his axe, prompting a chorus of menacing hisses from the goblins. “Come get me.”

  “Fool. You’re outnumbered three to one.”

  Berengar grinned. Having spent the last few days hunting for answers with little to show for it but more questions, he finally had a chance to
cut loose and use his axe. When a goblin lunged forward, sword raised, Berengar leapt to meet it, and the fight began.

  A tremor spread through the atrium, and dust poured from the ceiling.

  “Look!” Morwen exclaimed. “The tree!”

  The ash tree’s eye had opened, and its pulsing lights grew even brighter. Morwen turned and fled into the chamber.

  “After her!” Teelah ordered her followers.

  Berengar batted his foe aside with ease using his axe’s handle and moved on to the nearest goblin. He swung his axe in broad sweeps to hold the creatures back while Elias used his crossbow to distract the archers. Another tremor rattled the hall, and when Berengar looked back, he saw Morwen kneeling once more before the tree, her hand on its trunk.

  Teelah sprang forward and kicked him in the face. Berengar was fast, but the goblin was faster, and only his armor protected him from fangs and sharp nails. Azzy, fighting at his side, moved with speed and precision, delivering narrow strikes in concert with his movements. Teelah was thrown off balance, and Berengar seized the chance to strike the goblin’s helmet with the butt of his axe. The helmet came flying off, revealing the face hidden underneath. To his surprise, he found himself looking at a female goblin.

  “You’re a woman,” Berengar said, unable to hide his astonishment. A girl, even. Although Berengar had no way of reckoning goblin ages, Teelah appeared significantly younger than those that followed her.

  Teelah’s black hair was worn long in a single braid. She brushed green blood from her lip, sniffed at the air, and her gaze narrowed at Azzy. “You. You’re not like the others. You’re a…”

  Before she could finish, a strong gust of wind ripped through the chamber. Morwen stood at the hidden chamber’s entrance with a new staff in one hand and a glowing green rune from her satchel in the other. The hazel wood branch was longer and sturdier-looking than her previous staff. Its surface was still rough and did not yet bear the symbols or charms carved into magicians’ staffs or slots for runes at the staff’s head.

  Teelah and the other goblins froze, and it was clear they regarded magic with fear and respect. Distant barking broke the tense standoff that ensued, and Faolán—having somehow found her way inside—came bounding up the stairs. Footsteps and raised voices sounded nearby.