The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Berengar had warned her not to trust anyone. Something didn’t feel quite right, but was her sense of unease coming from Jareth, or was it an extension of the feelings that were bothering her already? Teelah hadn’t raised the alarm. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  Lucien remained uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps for fear of giving himself away.

  Azura spoke in the king’s stead. “And what is your price?”

  “I would have thought it obvious. I want your stories. I’d imagine you and the magician have led quite interesting lives.”

  Morwen regarded him with skepticism. “You’re willing to risk your life just for a story?”

  “You’d be surprised just what I’m willing to risk for a story, but I’ll also take your weight in gold.”

  Morwen gestured to the room around them. “You have everything you could ever want. Isn’t it enough?”

  For a moment, Jareth’s expression was deadly serious. “It’s never enough.” He finished his wine and rose from the chair. “I have another matter to see to. Feel free to discuss my offer among yourselves until my return.” With that, he swept from the room.

  “Well?” Lucien asked the moment he was gone.

  “I don’t trust him.” Morwen sensed Jareth was being intentionally evasive, even if she couldn’t point to a deliberate untruth. She glanced around the room, searching for something out of place. Something was amiss. Of that, she was certain.

  Azura gestured to the door. “You heard what he said about the forge. Völundr is preparing to reunite the halves of the cursed blade. We’re running out of time. If we don’t act soon, it will be too late.”

  Lucien made the decision for them. “Then the choice is no choice at all. We go.”

  Before Morwen could reply, the sound of footsteps approached from the next room as Jareth returned.

  “We accept,” Azura said. “You’ll get paid, but only after you prove good on your word.”

  Jareth rubbed his hands together. “Agreed. Ordinarily I would insist on payment up front, but given your reputation, I am comfortable with our arrangement. You’ll find a trapdoor beneath Labraid’s Tower on the other side of a fallen wall. You can’t miss it. Meet me there at dusk—and come alone.”

  Teelah rejoined them outside.

  Morwen stole a glance at the manor as they departed. “Did you see anyone, Teelah?”

  “No. You were alone.”

  Morwen bit her lip, unable to shake the feeling she’d missed something.

  Azura thought it best to scout the area in advance of their rendezvous with Jareth, so they set out for Labraid’s Tower. As Jareth predicted, the trapdoor wasn’t difficult to find once they knew where to look.

  Teelah glanced at the sky. “I should go. It won’t be long before dusk, and I must gather the others before nightfall.”

  Lucien held up a hand to stop her. “Teelah, wait.”

  She turned to face him. “Yes?”

  “I…” He fell short, as if unable to voice his thought. “We’ll wait for you at the tunnel’s end. Be safe.”

  “And you.” Teelah lingered for perhaps a moment longer than necessary before hurrying away.

  They sought shelter from the inclement weather in the nearest tavern. Lucien and Azura used the opportunity to fill their bellies while they waited for dusk, but Morwen couldn’t eat. Why would Jareth agree to put his life on the line for such a dangerous gamble? It didn’t make sense. Finally, she grabbed her staff and pushed away from her seat. If there was one thing Berengar had taught her, it was to always trust her gut.

  “Where are you going?” Azura asked.

  “I have to check something. I’ll meet you at the tower.” She rushed from the tavern and retraced their path to Jareth’s manor. Unlike before, a pair of guards were stationed outside the front, and the courtyard’s entrance was shut. Morwen scaled the wall and dropped down to the other side.

  Thunder bellowed as she approached the side door. Swirling black clouds gathered over the distant palace like living shadows reaching down to devour the earth. Morwen found the door locked, and although she didn’t carry a lockpick like Azura, a simple spell was enough to accomplish her purpose. The door swung open, and she entered quietly and shut the door behind her.

  Morwen again looked around the room, seeking what was out of place. She shut her eyes, pressed her thumb against her forehead, and extended her second and third fingers to hone her senses. Darkness seemed to emanate from the fireplace. Morwen opened her eyes and approached. It looked like an ordinary fireplace. Concentrate. Again she closed her eyes. There’s something more behind the wall. Her finger brushed a lever, and the wall opened, revealing a hidden chamber on the other side.

  A single chest waited within the chamber, which was otherwise bare. Morwen reached down and lifted the lid. Inside lay a hooded cloak, a set of throwing knives, and a wooden mask. Morwen picked up the mask, which seemed to stare back at her in the quiet room, and her hands began to shake when she remembered where she had seen it before.

  It was the mask of the thief king.

  Suddenly, everything made sense. Jareth was the thief king. His double life as a famous bard was the perfect cover for a man who spent his time seeking secrets and rumors. He could even enjoy his ill-gained wealth in plain sight by creating a fictitious wealthy patron. It explained how he’d known everything about them, even from the start. The Brotherhood of Thieves was the greatest network of spies in Fál.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The others must know before it’s too late.

  “Is someone there?” The door opened, and a guard entered. Before he could go for his sword, Morwen knocked him out with her staff and fled the manor. Already the sky was darkening. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, drawing on her magical reserves to boost her stamina. When she reached Labraid’s Tower, her heart skipped a beat.

  The trapdoor was already open. Morwen equipped her lightstone at the tunnel’s entrance and broke into a sprint, hoping she wasn’t too late. She followed the tunnel’s course for some time before she heard voices beyond the shadows’ reach. Ahead, Azura and Lucien trailed Jareth, who carried a torch to light their path. To her relief, her friends were unharmed.

  “Stop!”

  The trio came to a halt at the sound of Morwen’s voice. “What is it?” Azura asked, taking note of her alarm.

  Morwen cast the mask on the ground at Jareth’s feet, and the torchlight illuminated its shape in the dark. “Jareth is the thief king. He’s leading us into a trap.”

  A sinister smile crept across Jareth’s face. When Azura went for her knives, he made no move to defend himself. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  A shiver ran down Morwen’s spine, and she realized they were not alone. Thieves everywhere stepped out of the shadows, their knives gleaming in the dark.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Berengar brought his horse to a stop.

  Beside him, Godfrey did likewise. “What do you see?”

  He held a finger to his lips to caution against speaking. For a moment, nothing happened. Leaves fell across the trail ahead, and all was calm. Then he spotted a band of goblins marching east. Niall quietly reached for his blade in case the creatures caught their scent, and Berengar did the same. Fortunately, the wind shifted in their favor, and the goblins passed them by.

  Niall eased his hand off the blade. “The whole forest is crawling with monsters.”

  That’s not even the half of it. The plan to lead the Acolytes away from the others had worked. Now the monster hunters were on their trail, and the need for caution had slowed their progress. With Prince Tristan’s life hanging in the balance, time was something they didn’t have, but one false step would bring an army of monsters down on them. Berengar knew their luck couldn’t hold forever; the enemy’s spies were too many.

  Godfrey prodded his horse back onto the path and beckoned them with his wooden hand. “I don’t know about you two, but I don’t pla
n on remaining in these woods come sunset.”

  Berengar stared ahead. Storm clouds gathered above the Giant’s Foot to the east. “We’re close.”

  A change came over the Elderwood as they traveled farther east. Sparsely spaced trees permitted more light into the forest, and the air was no longer quite so stale. Berengar observed forest animals and healthy plants in greater numbers, a sign Cathán’s corruption had not yet fully taken hold of the Elderwood.

  I hope Morwen’s keeping her head down. He still didn’t like her pressing on without him, even in the others’ company. Dún Aulin was treacherous, especially for a magician, and while Morwen might suggest otherwise, she had a unique talent for finding trouble.

  Niall glanced over at him. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know that look. It’s not nothing.” Niall studied him carefully. “You’re worried about the girl, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “You know, there was a time when I thought you didn’t care for anything other than that hound of yours.”

  Berengar shot him a dark look.

  “I remember seeing her once or twice at Mór’s court. We even met once, at some wedding feast or another at Cashel. She was probably too young at the time to remember it. I’m sure you were invited and chose not to go.”

  “I’m not fond of weddings. Or the south.”

  “Or any event where people are present, for that matter. She must be quite capable if you’ve chosen her as a companion.”

  Berengar resisted the urge to smirk. “When she’s not trying to get herself killed.”

  “How did she come to join you?”

  “Before he died, Mór asked me to look after her.”

  A brief interval passed before Niall spoke again. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I know you have an unpleasant history with Dún Aulin.” It was an understatement, and they both knew it.

  Berengar shrugged. “I did what needed to be done. I always have.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I was there too.”

  You’re not the one they call monster. Berengar fought back the words. He was a hardened killer long before the riots. His hands were stained with blood, and whatever blood Niall had on his was of a different sort. “I remember. The king sent you to find Prince Tristan before the mobs got him first.” Niall’s was a rescue mission. He got to play the hero while Berengar got his hands dirty. Like the other wardens, Niall was lauded while Berengar was spat at and despised.

  “We’ve been friends ever since. To tell you the truth, sometimes I suspect I’ve been a poor influence on the prince. You may find it hard to believe, but I was something of a troublemaker in my youth.”

  Godfrey, who had pulled beside them, gave a hearty laugh. “I, for one, don’t find that hard to believe at all.”

  “I hope he’s alright.” Niall’s concern for the prince’s safety was evident. Unlike Berengar, he had always been lucky in his friendships. It wasn’t surprising. Niall was quick-witted, even-tempered, and always ready with a laugh. The people considered him something of a rogue but loved him all the same. “Do you think Cathán can actually accomplish what he plans?”

  “You’ve seen the pestilence he’s wrought,” Godfrey answered. “If he’s not stopped, the blight will spread.”

  Niall shook his head, skeptical. “I don’t doubt magic is real, but that doesn’t mean it’s what it once was. The Fomorians are long gone—if they ever existed at all.”

  Berengar remained stone-faced. “I never put much stock in the old tales either. That was before Blackthorn, when Laird Margolin attempted to sacrifice Imogen to Balor. Something spoke to me—a giant, wreathed in shadow and flame. I felt its presence again at the henge.” He understood Niall’s skepticism. Although there were more than enough monsters in Leinster to keep the hunters occupied, Niall spent most of his time dealing with court intrigue and treacherous lords.

  Faolán glanced at him, a warning in her eyes. He pulled back on the reins, but it was too late. A goblin scout lurking in a tree spotted them and raised a horn to his mouth. The blast reverberated through the forest, and caws sounded as crows flocked overhead.

  Niall swore. “So much for the element of surprise. There’s no point hiding ourselves now.”

  They galloped down the trail, ignoring neighboring creatures. Soon the village of Tulach Mhór materialized through the trees. The Giant’s Foot was within reach. Berengar spurred his horse forward and raced toward the forest’s border. He realized something was wrong just before he broke through the trees.

  An army had assembled outside the Elderwood, but not the one he expected. The Acolytes of the Truth Faith lay in wait. There were at least a hundred in all, maybe more, suggesting Leinster’s soldiers bolstered their numbers on Valmont’s command. Archers, infantry, and cavalry gathered in formation, ready for battle.

  Winslow was ready for me. If Morwen and the others hadn’t taken a separate route to reach Dún Aulin, the Acolytes would have annihilated them.

  “Fall back to the woods.” Berengar ducked under an arrow that missed his head by inches and turned his horse around. Niall and Godfrey, already nearer to the forest, closed the distance with ease. An arrow struck Berengar’s mount, then another. His horse collapsed shy of the trees, and Berengar crashed to the ground. When he looked back, he saw the Acolytes’ forces advancing.

  “Berengar!” Godfrey stared at him with growing horror.

  “Go! Save the prince!” Berengar drew his sword, pushed himself to his feet, and scrambled toward the forest as more arrows fell around him.

  He didn’t get far. Approaching riders followed in pursuit. No matter which direction he turned, another horseman awaited. One charged toward him with a spear. Berengar moved out of the horse’s path and met the attack with his sword. Although his strike knocked the rider from the saddle, Berengar hit the ground and lost his blade in the process. Still groggy from his fall, he grasped for the weapon, which lay just out of reach.

  “Reach for that sword, and we’ll fill you full of holes.” Winslow looked down on him from his horse. “Where are the others?”

  Berengar met Winslow’s gaze without replying.

  “Hold him down.” Winslow dismounted while two of his underlings restrained Berengar. He smiled at the warden’s axe, which he carried in two hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take some pieces from you first.” The monster hunters forced Berengar’s hand to the ground.

  When Winslow took a step toward Berengar and raised the axe, suddenly the earth began to shake. “What’s happening?”

  The others peered into the forest. Berengar seized the opportunity to tear himself free, snatch his sword from the ground, and throw himself at Winslow as the army of monsters emerged behind him.

  Morwen and the others ascended a winding stair illuminated by torchlight as the thieves led them from the dungeons. The chains binding her manacles rattled when she moved.

  “Teelah should have been here by now,” Azura whispered. “I should have known better than to trust a goblin.”

  One of their captors prodded her along before Morwen could respond. “Quiet, you lot.”

  A door opened at the stair’s end, and they emerged into the palace.

  “We’re escorting the prisoners to the throne room,” Jareth—now wearing the thief king mask—said to the guards waiting on the other side.

  The guards’ captain scowled. His discomfort with the thieves’ presence in the palace was obvious. “Entrance to the throne room is barred on Bishop Valmont’s orders.”

  “Rest assured, he will want to see the gift I have brought him.”

  The captain began to step aside until Lucien tore free from his captors’ grip. “Valmont is a liar and a traitor! I am Lucien, your rightful king.”

  The pronouncement drew murmurs and troubled looks from the guards. “What is the meaning of this?” One guard unsheathed his blade and started forward, but the guards’ captain shook his
head.

  “Stand down. That’s an order. These three murdered Bishop Flaherty and plotted to depose the rightful king with a pretender.”

  Lucien glared at him. “How much is Valmont paying you for your loyalty, treacherous worm?”

  The guards’ captain ignored him and stared hard at his reluctant underlings to issue an implicit warning against interference. “Make sure they’re properly searched before they’re allowed inside the throne room.”

  Morwen frowned. Their captors had taken her staff, and the use of magic without it was too unpredictable to attempt an escape. Besides, with the palace crawling with guards, there was nowhere to run. There must be something I can do.

  A guard grabbed her satchel and pulled it away. “I’ll take that.”

  Morwen shot a glance at Azura as they resumed the journey to the throne room. Azura hadn’t even attempted to resist when the thieves revealed themselves. Despite the discomfort caused by her iron manacles, Azura didn’t appear concerned. Instead, she smiled, hinting at an inner confidence.

  She wants them to take us to the throne room. Now that they’ve caught us, it’s the only way we’re getting close to Valmont.

  A sudden sensation of dread distracted her from her thoughts. Her skin crawled, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A dark power emanated from the throne room. She’d never felt magic so strong. She hesitated and stretched her hands toward the throne room, and a premonition of destruction flashed through her mind. Black magic.

  “I sense it too.” Azura leaned closer to Morwen and lowered her voice. “Do you remember the spell you used on me the night I stole the cursed blade?”

  Morwen didn’t bother hiding her confusion. “Why?”

  “Do you think you can manage it again?”

  Guards stationed outside the throne room parted as the doors opened to permit them entrance. Searing heat greeted them inside, where a great forge cast a shadow across the room. Its fires burned with an eerie blue light. When Morwen’s eyes moved from the elite guards and their crossbows to the false king on the throne, she realized what Azura was implying.