The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  The full moon cast a bright glow over Dún Aulin. Torches and lanterns on every corner filled the City of Thieves with light. Guards patrolled the crowds in numbers approaching a small army. Everywhere people craned their necks for a better look at the cathedral. Some conversed in excitement while others looked on in fear. Everyone, from the meanest beggar to the wealthiest lord, had come in hopes of catching a glimpse of the cursed blade.

  The cathedral, a beacon of light in the dark, shone brighter than all. But for the path cleared by the guards for the king’s arrival, the cathedral was completely surrounded on all sides. Berengar scanned the endless sea of faces as he made his way inside.

  Morwen followed at his side. “You’re tense—even for you.”

  Berengar didn’t reply. He had witnessed firsthand the damage wrought by the sword. He hadn’t forgotten the black contract acquired by a member of the Brotherhood of Thieves. Even with the added security measures, it remained possible someone might make an attempt to steal the blade—either for its worth or its power. He wouldn’t rest easy until the ceremony was over and the shard was buried away for the next thirteen years.

  “At least I don’t have to wear a ridiculous dress like I did for Queen Alannah’s coronation.” Morwen, far more comfortable in magician’s robes or traveler’s garb, hated dressing like ladies at court.

  Berengar privately agreed about the need to dress the part. At Ravenna’s insistence, he had worn an elegant doublet and tailored pants to her mother’s coronation—a decision that cost him when Danes stormed the event and kidnapped the princess. For the ceremony at hand, he had left nothing to chance. He was fully armed and armored, and while his bearskin cloak would give him away, his appearance in the sanctuary might scare off any would-be thieves. By now, the whole city seemed aware of his presence in Dún Aulin anyway.

  “Remember what I said. No magic, for any reason.”

  Morwen rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Berengar, do you really think I’m going to start conjuring tricks with my staff in the middle of the ceremony?”

  He kept his tone firm. “Good. Having thousands of witnesses see you work magic is the last thing we need right now.”

  “Warden Berengar—a word, if you please.” The voice belonged to Tavish, who stopped issuing orders to his subordinates long enough to engage them in conversation. “The monster hunters we apprehended outside the Institute told me the most interesting stories. You’ll never guess whose name kept popping up.”

  Berengar remained stone-faced.

  “Is it even worth asking what you were up to?” Tavish sighed and shook his head. “I knew you were going to be trouble, but I never dreamed you’d collapse an entire building in the heart of the Scholar’s District. I tried my best to keep your involvement quiet, but I can’t promise word won’t spread. The Acolytes are out for your blood, and they aren’t the only ones.”

  “You’ll be happy to know we’re leaving after the ceremony. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

  At that, Tavish’s expression brightened considerably. “That is good news. I hope you mean it this time.” He started to go but stopped short and lowered his voice. “There is one other thing you might like to know. As you asked, I put the word out about the object you’ve been searching for.”

  “And?” Berengar glanced back at Morwen, who looked at him with anticipation.

  “There are reports an item of value is going up for auction on the black market tonight, not long after the ceremony. I’m not sure, but it could be what you’re looking for. A fence affiliated with the Brotherhood is running the auction. His name is Edrick.” Tavish nodded respectfully at Morwen and took leave to return to his duties.

  “Edrick?” Morwen frowned. “Azzy’s fence? It can’t be a coincidence.”

  Berengar thought back to their arrival in Dún Aulin and the theft of the thunder rune by the hooded thief. “It was her all along. She took the rune. Morwen, we’ve been played for fools.”

  “If Azzy took the stone, why would she double back and risk giving herself away just to steal our horses?” Morwen’s brow furrowed. “Unless…” She trailed off, deep in thought.

  “What?”

  “She wanted us to track her down. She had us marked from the start—from the moment we entered the city. Berengar, this is bad.”

  Before he could reply, the bell tolled to mark the commencement of the ceremony. “We’ll worry about it later. After the ceremony, we’ll track down Edrick and recover the stone. Then we’ll take care of Azzy.”

  As the chiming continued, they took their places beside Tavish and Lucien’s thane just short of the altar. Berengar surveyed the host of onlookers in the heavily guarded sanctuary. Priests and government officials occupied two rows of pews on either side; the pews at the center were reserved for the nobility. Those of higher rank in the church hierarchy stood opposite Berengar and the others, while the remaining monks and friars watched from the balcony.

  Murmurs built into a deafening roar as trumpets blared, announcing the king. Flanked by attendants and his elite guard, Lucien passed through the open doors to enter the sanctuary and walked down the center aisle. He stopped to wave at those in the crowd and flashed an impish grin at the clergy. Father Valmont put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder and prodded him forward, and the king adopted a more somber manner while continuing his advance toward the altar. The tall Valmont appeared poised and confident.

  The roar of the crowd faded to silence as Flaherty, now clad in white bishop’s robes, appeared at the altar. He carried a shard wrapped in a silk cloth in his arms. The candles at the altar flickered as Flaherty unwrapped the shard. Berengar’s jaw tightened at the sight of the sword fragment, and Morwen shuddered involuntarily and took a step back. Like the elder tree in the Institute, the shard seemed to radiate an inner energy. Unlike the elder tree, it was a dark, malevolent presence.

  The surface of the sword, once beautiful, according to legend, was scarred and corroded—the result of Azeroth’s corruption. The steel was blacker than the endless night outside the cathedral. Shadows crept along its shimmering surface. Berengar struggled to tear his gaze away from the shard, which seemed to possess a mesmerizing effect. Unnoticed by the crowd, Morwen put her hand around Berengar’s wrist and whispered something under her breath. The trance was broken, and he nodded a silent thanks to his companion.

  When the procession stopped at the end of the aisle, Lucien stared at the shard with wonder until Valmont nudged him, and the king took a knee at the foot of the altar. Valmont and Flaherty briefly regarded each other with thinly veiled contempt before the bishop stepped forward to surrender the blade.

  The moment Lucien reached for the shard, a single high-pitched note broke the quiet inside the sanctuary. Berengar winced, and Morwen, whose senses were more attuned than those of an ordinary human, covered her ears and sank to her knees from the pain. Cracks sounded from above, where the chandelier, along with each of the stained-glass windows, shattered into a thousand glass pieces.

  Everything that followed happened in the span of mere moments. Chaos ensued, and screams rang out as men and women panicked and attempted to flee. In the middle of the confusion, a figure in a hooded cloak stepped out from behind a pillar at the back of the sanctuary.

  “There!” Tavish bellowed, and the guards leapt to attention.

  The thief, whose face was obscured by a scarf, spun two sharpened knives in her hands and broke into a sprint, moving faster than anyone Berengar had ever seen. She was halfway across the room before the glass hit the ground. The thief effortlessly countered the guards’ blades on her way to the altar and jumped over the fallen chandelier as Lucien’s elite guards loosed their crossbows at her. She avoided or deflected every arrow as she fell through the air and landed unharmed.

  “Stop her!” Tavish drew his sword and leapt to join the king’s guards at the altar.

  The thief darted past them, and their swords touched empty air. Her hand wrapped around the cloth with t
he blade. “I’ll take that.”

  Lucien growled like an animal and clung to the sword fragment. “That’s mine!”

  The thief ripped the blade free of his grasp and aimed one of her knives at him.

  Morwen put herself between Lucien and the thief. “Step away from the king.”

  “He’s not the king.” The thief aimed the knife at Lucien’s heart.

  “Boird bhriseadh!” Morwen deflected the throwing knife with a spell, and the weapon went careening across the marble floor. Fingering her remaining knife, the thief looked from Morwen to Lucien, who cowered behind the magician. More crossbows sounded before she could make another attempt, and the thief turned to flee.

  “Not so fast.” Berengar grabbed at her cloak, and the hood fell away, revealing long black hair and a pair of pointed ears. Even with the scarf covering her face, he knew her at once.

  “Azzy?”

  Her eyes narrowed in his direction, and she whirled around and delivered a double kick to his chest that knocked him flat on his back. Her cloak pulled free of his grip, and she bolted toward the entrance.

  “Bar the doors!” the king’s thane ordered.

  The massive stone doors slowly began to close, cutting off her path of escape. The thief kept running, even as the sliver of space between the doors grew ever smaller. At the last moment, she slipped through the gap just before they slammed shut.

  “Blast it! She got away.” Tavish sheathed his blade and approached the guards. “Get those doors open! We can’t let her escape.”

  “Escort King Lucien to safety.” Valmont’s tone was quiet but firm enough to instill order in those around him. Berengar hadn’t noticed it before, but there was an almost hypnotic quality to his voice that inspired obedience in those around him. For some reason, the effect reminded him of the cursed blade. “Spread the word. Bar all the gates to the city. No one comes or goes unless I permit it.”

  “You heard the man,” Tavish bellowed.

  Murmurs sounded where the priests had gathered around a crumpled form at the altar. Berengar pushed his way to the front of the pack to get a better look.

  “It’s Bishop Flaherty,” Morwen said. “He’s dead.”

  Flaherty lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes. Blood stained the white marble beneath him. Berengar turned over the body. One of Azzy’s knives protruded from his back.

  “Murdered, here in this sacred place,” Valmont proclaimed. “By the thief, no doubt.” The priests nodded in assent.

  Berengar frowned. From her position facing the altar, it should have been impossible for Azzy to stab Flaherty from behind. Then again, everything had happened so fast he could easily have missed something amid all the confusion.

  Morwen pulled him aside. “Was that who I think it was?”

  Berengar stared at the entrance. Azzy was gone—slipped into the teeming masses gathered for the ceremony. “It was.”

  “Magic,” someone said, and Berengar noticed a man whose finger was pointed at Morwen. “She used magic! I saw it.”

  All across the sanctuary, onlookers stared at Morwen with fear, and the magician’s eyes widened in alarm. In saving the king, she had revealed her powers to everyone in attendance—which included the most powerful men and women in Leinster.

  Berengar grabbed her arm. “We have to go. Now.”

  They rushed from the cathedral and into the night. Berengar whistled, bringing Faolán running to their side.

  “That’s why Azzy stole our horses.” Morwen quickened her pace to match his. “She accepted the black contract. She had this planned from the start. She tricked us into leading her right into the king’s court in the middle of preparations for the ceremony. I’ll bet she had the key to the Institute all along.”

  Berengar swore. “And now she has half of the most dangerous weapon in Fál. We have to find her and recover the blade before she flees the city.”

  Morwen glanced back at the cathedral. “What about Tavish and the watch?”

  Berengar shook his head. “She’s a thief. She’ll see them coming from a mile away. Besides, after what you did back there, it’s better if we handle this on our own.”

  “It sounds like you already have a plan.”

  “Aye. Azzy won’t leave the city without stopping to collect the earnings from the sale of the thunder rune. So we get to Edrick first, take back the rune, and catch Azzy when she comes for the money.”

  Morwen rubbed her hands together. “Good. We’ll give her a taste of her own medicine.”

  A voice called out to him through the chaos. “Warden Berengar!” It was Godfrey. “You must depart the city at once. The priests plan to send monster hunters after Lady Morwen. They say she’s a witch.”

  “I was only trying to help!” Morwen’s lip quivered in a show of vulnerability. “You saw—I saved the king!”

  Berengar laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know. You did the right thing.” He squeezed her gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You have my word. Right now, I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?”

  Morwen nodded slowly.

  “We’ll leave tonight, but we have to retrieve the cursed blade first. Godfrey, we’ll need your help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Go to the Coin and Crown and ready our horses. We’ll meet you there once we have the blade.” Berengar slipped the signet ring from his finger and handed it to Godfrey. “If we don’t make it back, send a message to the High Queen telling her what’s happened.” He noticed guards carrying torches marching from the cathedral. “We should go.”

  Godfrey pocketed the ring. “Good luck, my friends.”

  Berengar turned to Morwen. “Come on. We don’t have another second to lose.”

  They left the crowds behind and hurried east, taking a shortcut through the East End District to avoid crossing the Warrens. The streets were all but deserted in the midnight hour; those who hadn’t left to witness the ceremony had long ago returned to their homes for the night. The number of lanterns and lamps dwindled the farther they advanced into the poorer neighborhoods, until at last there was only the full moon’s light for illumination.

  Eventually, they reached the black market under the overhead bridge. The whole area appeared abandoned. The only sound was the whispering of the wind.

  Berengar unlimbered his axe. “I don’t like this. It’s too quiet.”

  Morwen shuddered. “The rune is here. I can feel it.”

  Faolán sniffed the air and stared into the darkness, and Berengar followed her gaze. Faint candlelight glowed in the distance. “There.”

  The wolfhound led them into the night. Berengar kept to the shadows and approached with stealth. He spotted Edrick pacing nervously in the moonlight as he drew near.

  The boy stopped suddenly. “Azzy, is that you?” He held out the candle and peered into the darkness.

  Berengar stepped into the light. “Afraid not.”

  Edrick gave a shout and nearly tripped over his own feet. A growl sounded when he turned to run, and a pair of amber eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

  Morwen blocked Edrick’s only route of escape. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Edrick’s eyes darted around, seeking another way out. “What do you want?” Despite his apparent effort to appear confident, his voice broke. He looked a lot less like the hardened youth they encountered before and more like the frightened boy he was.

  Morwen took a step forward. “He wasn’t lying when he told us he didn’t know where the rune was hidden. He left out that he knew who had it. I bet you thought you were pretty clever, didn’t you? Well, it looks like your luck has run out.” She held out her hand. “Hand over the rune. I suggest you do it now.”

  Edrick sighed and retrieved a small pouch from his stand. “Take it.” He tossed the pouch to Morwen, who opened it to reveal the thunder rune, which she promptly returned to her satchel. “You got what you wanted. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”

&n
bsp; Berengar shook his head. “Not a chance. Your friend’s been busy tonight, and we want a word with her.”

  Edrick raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “You don’t know, do you?” Morwen asked.

  “Know what?”

  Morwen looked over at Berengar. “She must’ve been planning to use the proceeds from the sale of the rune to get herself out of the city.”

  “What are you talking about?” Edrick failed to hide his surprise. “Azzy’s leaving?”

  “Do you have any idea where she might go?”

  Edrick hesitated and looked away.

  “I know you want to protect her, but she could be in danger. There are those who would harm her if we don’t find her first.”

  Edrick bit his lip. “There is one place she used to talk about—the Giant’s Foot, a ruin to the west near Tulach Mhór. There aren’t many guards that close to the wilds, and the rural constables out that way have their hands full with other concerns.” He went quiet and glanced around the deserted area. “Listen to me—we should leave. I was waiting for Azzy, but something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?” Morwen asked.

  “There’s no one else here. Just us. No one else came for the stone.”

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Berengar grabbed Edrick and shook him. “Talk!”

  A throwing knife sailed past Berengar and embedded itself in the post beside his head. “Let the boy go. Now.” Azzy, armed with another throwing knife, stood opposite them in the moonlight.

  Berengar tightened his hold on Edrick. “Surrender the cursed blade first.”

  Edrick’s eyes widened at Azzy in astonishment. “You stole the cursed blade?”

  Azzy’s expression softened. “I have to leave the city, Ed. Leinster’s not safe for me anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it was for your own protection.”

  Berengar growled. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until I get some answers.”

  Azzy returned her attention to him. “You have no idea what’s happening here. As long as the cursed blade remains in the city, every man, woman, and child is in danger.”