The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “Aye.” She intentionally tripped and fell into the guard who had taken her satchel. While the guard was distracted, Morwen deftly slipped her hand into the satchel. Azura’s not the only one who knows sleight of hand. She was a magician, after all.

  I’ll only have one shot at this. She needed to retrieve the correct rune for Azura’s plan to work, and there was only enough time to grab one. She shut her eyes, concentrated on the character of magical energy emitted by each stone, and pulled one from the satchel. The purple stone shimmered in her hand, and she quietly hid the rune in her sleeve before the guard shoved her away.

  Only Azura, who met her gaze with a wink, seemed to have noticed. “When I give the signal, you know what to do.”

  The austere chamber was even more unforgiving than Morwen remembered. It held none of the beauty or splendor found in the throne room at Cashel, which seemed appropriate given the differences between kingdoms. It wasn’t that long ago she had stood at her father’s left hand to advise him against magical threats. The absence of a court magician had left Leinster vulnerable to those very threats, and now the kingdom lay on the brink of destruction.

  Valmont addressed an ornate full-length mirror with his back to them. The mirror hummed softly, and its surface seemed to ebb and flow. As Morwen approached, she saw another figure reflected in the mirror in Valmont’s place—a cruel-looking fairy in battle armor. Long black hair framed a scarred face, and atop his head rested a spiked crown.

  “The time is nigh.” Valmont gripped the shard of the cursed blade by its hilt and held it before the figure in the mirror. “Ready your armies for war.”

  The crowned figure spoke through the mirror. “I see nothing more than a fragment. Do not forget our pact. You promised me a throne.”

  The corners of Valmont’s mouth curled down in a show of contempt. “And you shall have it. I will uphold my end of our bargain. Take care to uphold yours.” When Valmont turned away from the mirror, the crowned figure vanished, replaced by a still glass surface.

  “You.” Lucien’s voice was a hiss. “Treacherous fairy.”

  Laughter came from the throne, where the imposter-king cackled, spilling wine from his goblet. Although the changeling’s appearance copied Lucien nearly perfectly, there were differences if one looked closely enough. Even adorned in the trappings of royal finery, there was something wild and unkempt about the changeling, who had taken Berengar’s bearskin cloak and now wore it as a robe while playfully spinning the warden’s sword in one hand.

  At the sight of Morwen and the others, he broke into song. “A staff, a sword, a throne! A bear, a mage, a fate entwined. A debt, an oath, a life exchanged. One daughter lost, one father lost. At journey’s end, one more begins. A home once lost will then be found, and at the end there is a crown!”

  Azura regarded the changeling with an icy expression. “You are a fool to aid in his treachery. Once Völundr has what he wants, he will discard you.”

  The changeling greeted her proclamation with more high-pitched laughter. “Happy fairy, do not fear—the thing you seek is closer than you think! A princess without a crown and a queen of great renown together venture down, into dungeons deep below, where light dies and shadows grow. Beware your wish gone amiss, and joy turned to woe.”

  “Enough!” Valmont silenced him with a dark stare. Jareth approached the throne and produced the remaining shard of the cursed blade. “You have done well, thief.”

  “You will honor your word? I will see the Otherworld and the great fairy halls?”

  Valmont took the fragment and caressed its surface. “Soon.” He returned to the forge with the twin pieces of the cursed blade. He surrendered them to the fire, and blue light from the forge filled the chamber with an ethereal glow. Valmont placed the shards on an anvil and raised a great hammer engraved with charms and enchantments. When he struck the anvil with the hammer, a fierce wind swept through the chamber, and every candle and torch inside the throne room went out at once. Many of the guards looked on in horror, too frightened to act.

  Azura quietly opened her fist to reveal a key she’d stolen from one of their captors. Her manacles fell away, and by the time the thieves turned toward her, she was already in motion. Before the others could move to stop her, she opened her mouth and shouted a word of power at Valmont, unleashing a wave of devastation that ripped through the throne room. With the others’ attention occupied by Azura, Morwen pitched herself forward, grabbed her staff, and spun it around to knock out the man who had taken it.

  “Titim titim amach.” The magic flowed through the staff, and her chains fell away. Morwen glanced back at the throne in time to see the smoke clear away from the forge, which remained unharmed.

  A crystal wand, longer than those used by human magicians, reverberated with silent power in Valmont’s hand. “You failed.”

  Azura grinned. “Did I?”

  Morwen slid the rune of illusion into a slot at the head of her staff, sprinted forward, and trained her staff on the changeling. “Nocht a nádúr fíor! Let your true nature be revealed!”

  The false king’s eyes widened, and he tried to shirk away, but it was too late. A tiny, misshapen creature with wrinkled yellow skin sat in the imposter’s place.

  The real Lucien, freed of his chains by Morwen, stepped forward and pointed at the creature on the throne. “Men of Leinster! I am your true king. The fairy Valmont kidnapped me and replaced me with a changeling to steal my throne and take the cursed blade for himself.” Lucien cast his gaze on the guards. “If any among you are loyal to the crown, I call upon you to stand with me now and fight!”

  “To the king!” Dozens of guards drew their swords across the throne room and hurried to the king’s side.

  Valmont bared his teeth. “It matters not.” On his command, the Brotherhood of Thieves surrounded Lucien and his allies and forced them to the throne room’s heart. “I’ve filled this palace with those who answer to me. Your defenders are few, child.”

  Before the enemy could advance, a deafening roar came from behind them, where the doors at the throne room’s entrance trembled and shook. A giant crashed through the doors, and goblins and other creatures poured from behind him into the chamber, loosing black arrows and swinging swords.

  “Took you long enough,” Azura muttered to Teelah with a cheerful smile.

  The guards raised their swords and charged the thieves. “For the king!”

  The thieves ran to meet them, and fighting broke out across the throne room. The changeling hopped from the throne and took off running as Morwen and Azura approached. Morwen grabbed Berengar’s cloak to restrain the creature, which squirmed out of her grip, leaving the cloak behind.

  “Leave him,” Azura said. “Our fight is with Völundr.”

  A guttural cry emanated from Valmont’s throat, and claws sprouted from his hands. Two bat-like wings spread behind him as he took on his true monstrous form.

  “Get the blade.” Azura spread her wings and took flight, and Valmont shot into the air to meet her. Their shouts rippled through the throne room, and each exchange of words sounded like thunder.

  Morwen hurried to the anvil where the cursed blade lay. Shadows ran along its surface, whispering to her, and she hesitated. Finally, she managed to tear her gaze away. She unfastened her cloak and wrapped it around the blade to avoid touching it. Before she could spirit the sword away, Azura crashed into the forge and landed on the ground at her feet. Azura had yet to regain her footing when Valmont hit her with a spell that drew a painful shriek.

  Morwen relinquished her grip on the blade and trained her staff on Valmont. “Leave her be!”

  Valmont brushed her aside with a single word and started toward Azura, who struggled to rise. He returned the wand to his pocket, seized Azura, and held her by her throat. “Look at you. Still pretending to be human. Disgusting.” Desperate for air, Azura kicked and clawed at his fingers, but he tightened his grip. “You are of the Aos Sídhe. You are more than they could ev
er be, and you’ve thrown it all away.”

  “I’m also a thief,” Azura managed to cough out. Before Valmont could stop her, she deftly reached into his robes, and her fingers grasped the wand. “Anwybyddu.”

  The wand reverberated with an array of multihued light. Not only did Azura’s appearance change—revealing her true form—but her clothes did as well. In place of the thieves’ garb, she wore an elegant white cloak and silver dress that shone brightly. Valmont was thrown back into the forge, which exploded, leaving a smoke-filled ruin in its place.

  Morwen snatched her staff from the ground and scrambled to her feet. She spared a glance back at the unfolding battle, which had turned in favor of Lucien’s forces. The giant swept swaths of thieves aside to clear the way for the men and goblins to advance while the smaller broonies and pechs swarmed enemies distracted by pixies flitting about the chamber. When the guards fighting on Lucien’s behalf saw the nonhumans were fighting on their side, they put aside their obvious mistrust and joined in a united effort to defeat their common foe.

  Azura kept her gaze on the smoking ruin of the forge. Sword in hand, Lucien hurried to their side. The smoke parted to reveal Valmont, wielding the cursed blade with his great, bat-like wings unfurled, perched atop the throne.

  “You are too late. The Sword of Vengeance is whole once more. You cannot hope to stand against its might.”

  Azura stared him down. “It’s called the cursed blade for a reason! Whoever wields it is doomed to fall by it.”

  “Foolish child. Each life I take with the blade will only increase my power. And I plan to take many.”

  “He’s right. We can’t defeat him in battle.” Morwen’s eyes darted to the enchanted mirror behind him. If the enchantment worked the way she suspected, there might be a way to use it against Valmont, but that would require Azura’s knowledge of fairy magic. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Azura’s face betrayed the hint of a smile. “Distract him and force him back. I’ll do the rest.”

  Morwen thrust her staff forward. “Fórsa tiomáint bhrú!”

  Valmont met her spell with a vocal attack that nearly knocked her off her feet. Lucien sprang forward, swinging his sword blindly. Valmont countered each strike with ease and effortlessly shattered Lucien’s sword with the cursed blade.

  Morwen’s eyes widened in fear as Valmont raised his weapon to deliver the killing stroke. He’s going to kill the king.

  Just before Valmont thrust his sword through Lucien’s heart, Teelah pushed the king out of the way. Morwen’s mouth opened in shock as the sword protruded from Teelah’s abdomen.

  “Stupid goblin.” Valmont wrenched the sword free, and she dropped to the floor.

  With Valmont temporarily distracted, Morwen swung her staff around and tried the same spell again. “Fórsa tiomáint bhrú!” This time, Valmont was pushed back, directly at the enchanted mirror.

  Azura, her wand at the ready, darted forward. “Drych yn dod yn fyw!” The mirror hummed, and its surface began to swim. “Gwneud porth i'r byd arall.”

  “No! You will not cast me out!” Valmont opened his mouth to shout a word of power, but the amulet around Azura’s neck glowed with brilliant golden light that filled the chamber.

  The sphere of light exploded outward, sending Valmont back through the mirror, and the mirror shattered behind him.

  Morwen stared at the thousand glass shards. “He’s gone.” Valmont, having disappeared into the mirror, was nowhere to be seen. “Where did you send him?”

  “Somewhere else.”

  Morwen turned back to Teelah, who lay in a pool of blood.

  Lucien ran to Teelah’s side and reached for her hand. “She’s dying.” He glanced back at Morwen. “There must be something you can do—some potion or spell.”

  Morwen looked Teelah over and bowed her head. “I’m sorry. She’s past my ability to heal. There are limits even to what magic can do.”

  Lucien trembled, and tears rolled down his face. The fighting had all but stopped, and the throne room had grown quiet.

  Teelah’s voice was weak. “Who would have thought? Tears from a human, shed for me.” She managed a smile. “I spent my life hating you, but it turns out you’re not so bad.”

  “You can’t die, Teelah. You can’t. You’re my friend.”

  Teelah wiped away his tears. “Don’t cry. It’s not regal, remember?” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t forget your promise. Be a good king. Honor your word.”

  Lucien nodded solemnly. “I swear it, in the name of the Lord of Hosts.”

  Content with his answer, Teelah slumped back, and her eyes closed. Morwen fought back tears. Despite her magic, she felt powerless.

  Lucien buried his face in Teelah’s hair. “I wish we had more time…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

  Blinding white light, so powerful she was forced to shield her eyes, enveloped the room. Teelah’s eyes fluttered open, and she gasped for breath with new life, her injuries healed.

  “I don’t understand,” Lucien said, still cradling Teelah in his arms.

  Morwen began laughing with joy. “Don’t you see? It was your wish!”

  “A selfless wish, spoken from a pure heart.” Azura smiled triumphantly, her wand shining like a star.

  Berengar charged. Faolán forged a path to Winslow, whose defenders reacted too late to stop Berengar in time. He brought his sword down with all his might, but Winslow countered the blade with his battleaxe. Even as the sword rattled in Berengar’s hand, he brought the blade around in a horizontal slash, and again Winslow parried the strike.

  Goblins in the trees unleashed torrents of black arrows, giving cover to the monsters’ advance. The Acolytes, seasoned warriors all, held their ground against the first wave of attackers, and the battle began.

  Berengar pointed his sword at Winslow. “I’m going to take you apart for hurting Morwen.”

  “That? I was just getting started.” Winslow stared him down, axe at the ready. “I’ve been waiting for this since the day you cut down my boy.”

  Berengar kept his gaze trained on his foe. He knew the hate that drove Winslow all too well. It was too dangerous to risk taking his eye off him, even for a moment. “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Winslow rushed forward, swinging the battleaxe, and the pair exchanged blows in a fierce clash. Neither gave ground, even with the battle raging around them.

  He’s good. Berengar knew better than to underestimate his opponent. Winslow was a skilled fighter. A lifetime spent hunting monsters had fashioned him into a lethal killer.

  After scoring a strike that bounced off Winslow’s breastplate, Berengar rolled away to avoid being struck in turn. Winslow wore mail under his steel plates. Berengar, in contrast, had no armor protecting him. Two spearmen came sprinting toward him, forcing Berengar to divert his attention from his foe. Faolán took care of the first, and Berengar split the other’s face in half. Winslow was on him in a flash. When Berengar grabbed at the axe’s handle, he caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye. With his free hand, Winslow thrust a dagger toward the warden’s heart. When Berengar brought his arm up to ward away the blow, the dagger raked across his forearm, and Winslow stabbed him in the torso.

  As Berengar pried the dagger free, Winslow bashed him with the axe’s handle and struck him across the face with a steel gauntlet. “Pathetic. I expected better from the High Queen’s Monster. You’ve grown soft.”

  Berengar growled and drove his forehead into his enemy’s face. Winslow’s helmet fell away, and he stumbled back. The two circled each other, each waiting for the other to strike. Berengar raised his sword and rushed his foe, who ran to meet him in turn.

  Just before they clashed, a rampaging troll stormed between them. Thrown to one side, Berengar found himself staring up at a menacing goblin. Before the creature could impale him with a spear, Faolán dragged the goblin away. Berengar pushed himself to his feet in time to behead another goblin running at him. Th
e troll hurled a stone that crushed a half-dozen soldiers in its path on its way to Berengar, who rolled out of the way, grabbed a spear near a fallen horseman, and cast it at the troll. The spear struck true, and the troll crashed to earth in mid-charge.

  More monsters swarmed the area with each passing moment. Berengar scanned the multitudes but could no longer see Winslow amid the fighting. An ogre swung its club at him only to fall prey to an archer’s arrow. The archer turned his attention to Berengar, but Faolán leapt on the man before he could take aim. The battle quickly descended into chaos as scattered fighting raged on across the forest, and both sides suffered heavy casualties. Horns blared to sound the retreat as the monster hunters—at a distinct disadvantage, given the terrain—fell back to join the bulk of their forces. Berengar sliced through a spider’s leg and joined in the retreat with the monsters closing in behind him. The two armies met on the open field, and the fighting intensified.

  Deafening thunder clashed to the east, where lightning flashed above the Giant’s Foot. Cathán. Berengar knocked an enemy rider from his horse, smashed the man’s face in with his boot, and stole the horseman’s mount. He used the confusion to make his way to the Giant’s Foot.

  Crows flocked over the hilltop to greet his arrival. Berengar glanced at the summit. The rubble that once concealed the ruins’ entrance had been cleared away. In its place loomed a great stone doorway. Shadows beckoned within. Berengar cut another spider’s legs from under it and started up the stone stair. There were fewer enemies waiting above, but enough to cause him trouble nonetheless. He fought his way up the hill, using the stone pillars and archways to take cover from goblin archers at the peak. While he occupied the archers’ attention, Faolán crept behind them and eliminated them one by one.

  They met at the summit. Crows descended, clawing and pecking at them, and they hurried inside. A cavernous chamber reached deep underground. Passages at multiple levels of the ruins emptied into a great atrium, and numerous staircases led to the lower levels. Berengar peered over a precipice and saw Prince Tristan bound to a stone table on a dais. Thick smoke rose from a lid-like seal visible through a hole in the dais. Massive iron chains fixed to the cavern’s walls anchored the seal in place. Around the seal there was only darkness—a gaping pit that threatened to swallow all light.