The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Godfrey held up his crucifix to ward against the shade. “Begone!” The creature hissed but shrank away.

  “Fall back!” a voice cried. “Fall back to the church!”

  Although the town’s defenders had seemed capable of beating back the initial wave of attackers, Newtown quickly succumbed to chaos as more monsters emerged from the forest. Fighting broke down into discrete pockets scattered throughout the area, and fires from fallen torches spread, devouring huts and buildings.

  “The blasted things keep coming!” Berengar cut down another spider and retreated to the town square as the ground shifted under his feet. What is it now? An enormous troll burst from the forest with a roar and struck the bell tower with its club. The tower fell and crashed to the earth, burying the last remaining archers. Morwen barely leapt out of the way in time. She landed on her back in front of the troll, which raised its club to deliver the killing blow.

  “Get away from her!” Lucien clutched a fallen spear in his grip. When the troll turned to face him, the king stared up at its towering enormity and stood rooted to the spot. Overcome by fear, he dropped the spear.

  An arrow from Teelah struck the troll in its shoulder. It bellowed with anger and spun around to face her, but Morwen forced it back with a wave of illumination from her lightstone. Azura deftly weaved through the air to distract the troll long enough for Teelah to scurry up the side of a hut and loose more arrows. Berengar severed one of its heel tendons with his blade, finally bringing the beast down, and a well-placed goblin arrow finished it.

  He didn’t have long to celebrate the victory. The warden peered through the smoke and saw Cathán looming beyond the flames, holding his scythe aloft to order the army of monsters forward.

  Berengar shook his head to warn Teelah against taking aim. “We have to go—now.”

  Morwen grabbed his arm. “What about the townspeople?”

  “There are too many.” The last of Newtown’s defenders fell, leaving its people at the mercy of Cathán’s growing legions. The townspeople fled in a blind panic, but the creatures were everywhere. The lucky ones were felled by goblin arrows. Those who weren’t so lucky found themselves devoured by spiders or crushed by ogres.

  “We have to do something!”

  “There’s nothing we can do for them now.” Berengar tore his gaze away from the nightmarish scene and eyed the tavern. If they waited any longer to make their escape, it would be too late. “Quick—to the horses.”

  They made their way through the fighting to the Gray Lady, where their horses waited. Azura called a fleeing horse to Lucien, who managed to climb onto its back, and the companions slipped out of Newtown unnoticed. They fled into the darkness, listening to the cries from those left behind as fire licked the sky.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They rode deep into the night. When they finally stopped, no one dared speak above a whisper. Despite the cool autumn air, they slept without a campfire. Berengar kept watch with his sword across his lap just in case. Each time fatigue crept in, unnatural sounds from the dark jolted him awake.

  They set out again at first light. It didn’t appear anyone had slept easily. According to friendly birds in the area, the way east remained under watch. It was important to put as much space between them and Cathán’s forces as possible. Many monsters—trolls especially—preferred to move about at night. Even if the dense forest sheltered the creatures from much of the weak sunlight, it was still safer to travel by day.

  They were lucky to have escaped at all. The creatures that attacked Newtown were far greater in number than those Berengar and Morwen encountered at the Giant’s Foot. While the crown’s attention was otherwise occupied with the Ceremony of the Cursed Blade, Cathán had amassed an entire army of monsters in the Elderwood.

  The forest was no more welcoming the farther they traveled. Briars and thorn hedges grew everywhere, and menacing crows replaced the friendly sparrows. Azura disappeared occasionally to scout the path ahead and behind from the air. Although the way forward was clear, the quiet between them continued. Berengar, who preferred silence to conversation, welcomed the change in pace. Lucien remained sullen and reserved, speaking only to Godfrey. At least he appeared to have finally resigned himself to his traveling companions. While the boy-king clearly had difficulty with the prolonged length of time spent in the saddle, he didn’t complain, much to Berengar’s surprise.

  When they stopped to make camp that night, Berengar decided it was safe enough to start a campfire, and Faolán watchfully patrolled the camp’s perimeter as Berengar and the others gathered around the flames for warmth.

  Morwen noticed Lucien sitting off by himself and approached. “I wanted to thank you for distracting that troll earlier.”

  Lucien shook his head dismissively. “I did nothing. I just stood there like a frightened child when the beast drew near.”

  Godfrey chuckled. “It was your first battle. It’s only natural, Your Highness.”

  “Not for me. A king should be brave. All my life I’ve been forced to watch my oaf of a cousin diminish the crown’s influence. That fool has allowed the Rí Tuaithe and lesser lords to steal power for themselves, indulging in licentious pursuits, while I have studied tomes and scriptures to prepare myself for the day when I came of age.”

  “Bravery often comes from unexpected places, my king. You may find it where you least expect.”

  Morwen sat next to Berengar. “Do you think we’ll find Prince Tristan or Warden Niall if we go farther west?”

  Berengar shrugged. He still wasn’t sure what either was really after.

  “It’s a mistake to go that way,” Lucien declared. “We should be headed east to take back my throne instead of riding around the wilds in a circle.”

  Berengar spared him a brief glance of irritation. “And you’re not concerned by the army of monsters in our path?”

  Lucien glared at him. “The only monster I see here is you.”

  Berengar held the king’s gaze. “Do you have something you want to say to me, boy?”

  Lucien shot up from where he sat. “Leinster is no place for murderers. Excommunicating you for what you did at St. Brigid’s was a kindness. I’d have thrown you in the dungeons to rot for the acts you committed during the purges. A killer like you has no place among the good people of Leinster.”

  Berengar let his anger get the better of him. “I saved your rotten city because it was my queen’s command. If it were up to me, I’d have let the whole place burn. You talk about the good people of Leinster? I watched them turn on each other for nothing. Where were the palace guards when the Acolytes cut down those accused of following the old ways? When the mobs stoned innocent women and children in the streets?”

  Lucien shifted uncomfortably. “The purges were before I was born.”

  “And what’s your excuse now? Things have only gotten worse. The criminals and the corrupt thrive while your people cry out for help and no one answers. No wonder it was so easy for Valmont to take power.” Lucien made no reply, a sign the remark struck close to home. “That’s what I thought. We’re not going east until we find a clear path, and that’s the end of it.”

  Lucien turned to face Azura. “Very well. Fairy—I wish for you to transport us to the palace at once.” When Azura made no move to accede to the king’s request, he crossed his arms in a show of displeasure. “Well? I thought fairies granted wishes.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  Morwen gave Azura a curious glance. “How does wish magic work exactly?”

  “I would need a wand, for starters. Wish magic is incredibly complex. Belief plays a role, as does the intention of the individual making the wish. A pure heart is best, but as fond as I am of you, I can count the number of humans I’ve seen use their wishes to help others on one hand. Most people approach their wishes with selfish hearts and then have the temerity to wonder where it all went wrong.”

  Teelah, busy sharpening an arrow, scoffed at her. “Please. You fai
ries delight in using the promise of wishes to seduce your prey. You can’t blame them for taking it out on you when they figure out your game.”

  The pair exchanged dark looks, and no one spoke for several moments.

  Morwen was first to break the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do goblins and fairies hate each other?”

  Teelah set the arrow aside and began work on another. “Every goblin knows the story. There was a time, when this world was still new, that our races lived together in peace. We goblins were legendary conquerors and warriors, feared above all others. In their pride, the envious fairies tricked us into angering the elder gods. The gods cursed us, stripping us of our most powerful magics and great beauty and making us ugly in the eyes of others.”

  “I don’t think you’re ugly.” The words came from Lucien, who appeared to have uttered them without thinking. No one seemed more astonished by his pronouncement than Lucien himself, who refused to meet Teelah’s gaze. “For a goblin, anyway.”

  Azura, her attention still fixed on Teelah, appeared not to have noticed. “Surely you don’t actually believe that rubbish. The elder gods aren’t even truly gods. They’re exceptionally powerful immortals and nothing more.”

  Morwen looked surprised. “I thought fairies worshipped the Tuatha.”

  “A common misconception.”

  “Then what do you worship?”

  “Nothing—and everything.”

  Teelah shook her head. “Now who’s speaking rubbish?”

  “Fairies venerate magic, much in the way druids revere life—certain madmen excepted, of course.”

  “But druids also worship the elder gods,” Morwen reminded her.

  Lucien interrupted. “There is only one true God. The Lord of Hosts. He is the way, the truth, and the life—the source of light in this world. He offers salvation freely to those who would receive it.”

  Morwen looked skeptical. “What of nonhumans? I’ve seen how your church treats them. Winslow and the Acolytes would have burned me at the stake for being a magician.”

  “You can’t judge an entire belief system based on the actions of fanatics!”

  “Yet the people of Leinster treat all magicians as monsters because of the Lord of Shadows’ conquest of Fál. They treat goblins and fairies the same way for similar reasons, I might add.”

  “That’s different!”

  It was Morwen’s turn to cross her arms. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  Berengar hadn’t expected her passion on the subject. Worship of the Lord of Hosts was the dominant practice in Munster, even if religion played a more ceremonial role there than in Leinster. He supposed Morwen’s sympathy for the older ways shouldn’t be that surprising considering her background as a magician.

  Lucien looked to Godfrey for support. “You’re a man of the cloth. What do you say?”

  “The scriptures say ‘The Lord is the Maker of all.’ Just as I believe we are all His children, I do not believe all forms of magic are evil. Where did such abilities come from, if not Him?” He stopped to take a swig from his flask.

  Lucien sniffed the air and frowned. “Is that whiskey? You’re a terrible priest.”

  Godfrey chuckled. “Friar, actually—but you’re not wrong.” He put the flask away and wandered to the forest’s edge to relieve himself.

  Lucien buried his head in his hands. “I do not know why He has chosen to test me so.”

  “Take heart, my king.” Godfrey slapped the king on the back on his return to camp, earning him a look of ire from Lucien. “It is also written that the Lord will not test you beyond your capabilities.”

  “You’re awfully quiet, Berengar. What do you think?” Morwen peeled back her bandages to discover the burns from the thunder rune had healed. She flashed Teelah a grateful smile, which the goblin acknowledged with a nod.

  “You’re not dragging me into this.” He was born far to the north, where worship of the elder gods remained strong. For a long time he had believed in nothing at all. That changed when he met Nora. Now he was no longer sure what he believed. If there was a just God, it seemed unlikely that He would look favorably on Berengar’s many misdeeds.

  “I see too many unpleasant faces for such a beautiful night.” Azura reached into her cloak and removed the musician’s flute she had stolen. “This is a night for songs.” She lifted the flute to her lips, dancing as she played, and the fire seemed to dance with her.

  Slowly, the melancholy mood about the camp began to lift. Godfrey and Morwen joined in the dancing, and both lent their voices to more than one familiar tune. Despite her apparent efforts to appear otherwise, Teelah too seemed to enjoy the music, and even Lucien tapped his foot to the melody.

  After watching the merriment for some time, Berengar stalked away from camp. Faolán joined him, and they continued listening from a short distance away.

  Eventually, Morwen found him, her face flushed from song and dance. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

  Berengar shrugged. “Someone has to keep watch while you lot enjoy yourselves. We’re surrounded by danger on all sides, remember?”

  She laughed and sat down beside him. “It wouldn’t hurt you to try and enjoy yourself every once in a while.” She followed his gaze to the dancers. “I see. You wanted to get away from the others. They’re not so bad. You might try giving them a chance.”

  “I prefer to work alone.”

  “That’s what you said when we first met. It’s okay to have friends. It doesn’t make you weak. You know what I think?”

  “You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

  Morwen punched his shoulder. “I think you’re so used to being the outsider you’ve forgotten what it’s like to have real friends. Look around. I see misfits and outcasts, just like you and me.” She smiled at him and climbed to her feet. “Maybe you’re not as alone as you think you are.”

  Faolán watched her go and gave a low whine.

  “Fine.” Berengar picked himself up and trudged to join the others.

  The merrymaking didn’t last much longer. With the exception of Azura, who looked as if she could dance all night, the companions were still tired from their flight from Newtown. Soon the crackling campfire and howling winds were the only sounds.

  Left alone with his thoughts, Berengar turned Morwen’s words over in his head. He hadn’t always been alone. He had a wife once. That was before the war—a lifetime ago now. Morwen was right about one thing. He was an outcast. His reputation, spread by tall tales and bards’ songs, was well-earned, and his frightening appearance didn’t help matters.

  The loneliness didn’t bother him. He’d grown accustomed to it—even learned to prefer it. That was one reason he kept to the road, always moving from one task to another. He couldn’t quite put his finger on when that had started to change. Perhaps it was when he met Morwen. Already he felt as if she had changed him more than the other way around.

  Then again, Berengar would never have allowed her to get close to him if not for the events that brought him to Leinster the last time. He had been at his lowest point. No matter what he did—no matter how many monsters he killed—the world never seemed to get better. He had helped the hobgoblins but they died anyway. He had put Imogen on her uncle’s throne only to watch her become a tyrant. Then there was Rose, who with her dying breath told him it wasn’t too late for him.

  Was it? He wasn’t sure. He had felt something for Ravenna he hadn’t for anyone since his wife’s death. Something he didn’t even think he was capable of experiencing anymore. In the end, he wasn’t able to save her either. Despite keeping Cashel from destruction, he had failed Mór and Alannah, and chaos now gripped Munster.

  The wind picked up, and he heard teeth chattering. The sound came from Lucien, who shivered, having moved away from the fire and stubbornly refused to return in his effort to distance himself from the others. The sound of his moans woke Teelah, who approached the king’s sleeping form without making a sound.
Berengar tensed, ready to intervene, but to his surprise, Teelah laid a blanket over Lucien and returned to her cot. Lucien stirred, glanced at the blanket, and stared at her for a long time before returning to sleep.

  He woke at dawn. Pale gray light crept through branches down to the forest floor. A dream lingered in the back of his mind, like lost words on the tip of his tongue. A memory of Ravenna came to him, unbidden, and a kiss, beautiful and tragic.

  “Father?” Morwen muttered when he woke her. It appeared he wasn’t the only one dreaming.

  “Ready yourself for the road. We’re leaving soon.”

  She stretched out with a yawn, and he went to rouse the others, who proved equally difficult to wake. He wondered if the strange dreams were brought on by Azura’s songs or the magic of the Elderwood. Before long, the company shared a simple breakfast around the fire.

  Lucien, sitting underneath a tree, glanced around suspiciously. “Where’s the fairy?”

  Azura hung upside down from a branch directly above him. “Here!”

  When Lucien looked up, he found himself staring into her shimmering violet eyes and let out a shriek. Morwen bellowed with laughter, and even Godfrey had a hard time concealing his amusement.

  Although Lucien quickly recovered, his embarrassment was plain. “Impudent fairy. I’ve had enough of your mockery.”

  Azura dropped from the branch and landed beside him. “You take yourself far too seriously. You should learn to laugh at yourself.”

  Lucien stormed away to fill his water horn at a nearby stream. Moments later, a growl sounded above the running water. Berengar followed the king’s gaze to an enormous wolf across the stream. At the sight of Lucien, the wolf snarled and bared its fangs. Berengar reached for his sword, but the space between them was too great to cross the distance in time.

  The wolf crouched, as if to pounce, but a black arrow felled it before it could leap. The wolf let out a howl before a second arrow silenced it, and Lucien looked back to see Teelah clutching her bow.

  Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but few words came out. “I…”