Midnight Thief

by Livia Blackburne

  Eventually, the birds and insects started calling again. Intermittently, Tristam whistled and heard Martin’s whistle in response. As it grew darker, the air became cooler. Thankfully, it was warm for early summer, and his cloak kept him comfortable. The moon was just beginning to rise when a twig snapped close by.

  Curious, Tristam peered around the log. Several shadows passed a few paces from his hiding place. Large shadows. Tristam jumped to attention. He waited until the footsteps grew fainter, then slipped out of his hiding place. Ahead, he could see something moving. Broad shapes, with four legs and a feline grace. A thrill of excitement ran through him and he followed, ignoring his doubts about the wisdom of trailing several enormous beasts.

  The shadows moved at a quick pace, weaving between the trees, when suddenly, they merged with the rest of the forest. Tristam blinked. The forest was still.

  “You’re far from the city, knight.” A lightly accented voice spoke from behind him.

  Tristam spun around and inhaled sharply.

  It was her. The dark blond hair, leather clothing, the haughty tilt of her chin. After weeks of nightmares, there was no way he’d fail to recognize that face. Tristam’s hand went to his sword.

  “Keep that in its sheath unless you wish your throat torn open.”

  Tristam saw the cat then, advancing on his left with hungry eyes. For a moment, Tristam struggled against the compulsion to lunge for the woman anyway, avenge Jack before the cat reached him. Then, something moved in his periphery, and Tristam snapped his head around to see another beast approaching from the other side. Slowly, Tristam let go of his sword.

  “What are you doing here?” asked the woman.

  “I could ask the same thing of you, barbarian.” He should have been terrified, but his fear was fading away, replaced by weeks of suppressed rage. All he wanted to do was hurt her. Make her pay for what she’d done, whether he survived or not.

  The Demon Rider tilted her head, looking at him curiously. “We’ve met before.”

  “We have.”

  “Your friend,” she said slowly. “He was careless.”

  “He was doing his duty.”

  “And now you wish to avenge him. That is unwise.”

  “I will avenge him.”

  The woman gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “No, you won’t.” She made a sharp gesture with her fingers. The cats lowered their heads and growled. Again, Tristam reached for his blade. He’d go for the woman first. Run her through before the cats fell on him.

  “Call off your pets.” Martin’s voice sounded clearly through the trees. Tristam turned to see him with an arrow nocked and aimed at the Demon Rider.

  Her eyes narrowed. As if responding to some unseen signal, the still-growling cats stepped back. For a moment, Tristam stared dumbfounded. Then he scrambled into action, drawing his dagger and moving behind the Demon Rider, careful never to step between her and Martin’s bow.

  “Martin’s an excellent shot.” He forced the woman’s arms behind her and pressed the dagger into her back. He had never seen Martin at the archery range, but confidence, real or feigned, was the only way they’d get out of there alive. “Don’t test him. You’re coming with us.” He turned to Martin. “You have a rope?”

  Martin slowly lowered his bow and untied a rope from his belt. Tristam watched the cats nervously as he bound the woman’s hands. She didn’t resist him, but there wasn’t a hint of fear in her muscles. Though—he snuck another glance at the demon cats—why would she be afraid? She wasn’t the one holding two gigantic beasts at bay with a dagger.

  One of the wildcats hissed.

  “If your cats come any closer, you’re dead,” Tristam said, pulling the rope tight. “You better make sure they behave themselves.”

  “The cats will kill you if you try to take me.”

  “I believe you,” said Tristam. “But you’re still going to escort us safely to the road. We’ll let you go when we get there.”

  The woman’s eyes passed over the two of them, calculating, and Tristam started her moving before she had a chance to call their bluff. To Tristam’s relief, the cats stayed back. He hardly breathed as they dragged their prisoner toward the horses. The cats followed them from a distance, never getting too close, but always poised to spring. There was an unsettling intelligence in their eyes. Tristam somehow got the sense that they knew exactly what was going on.

  “Martin, keep an eye on those…creatures.” Last thing he needed was for one to ignore his master’s command and come to her rescue.

  The next half hour was lifted straight out of his nightmares. Marching through the forest, demon cats trailing a stone’s throw away. Holding Jack’s murderer at the tip of his dagger, yet knowing that he’d have to release her. Tristam’s tunic dampened with sweat and his arms began to ache from keeping such a tight hold on the woman. He didn’t know how far he could push this, but they needed to be on their horses with a good head start if they wanted any chance of outrunning the demon cats.

  Agitated hoof steps sounded ahead. Through the trees, he glimpsed Lady tossing her mane, pulling her bridle at the demon cats’ scent.

  The Demon Rider spoke again. “If I get on that horse, the cats will attack.”

  “We’ll let you go once we’re astride.” Tristam nodded to Martin, who mounted his horse and aimed his bow to stand watch as Tristam jumped into his own saddle. “Send your cats to that far boulder.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes, but inclined her head. The cats backed away, though not as far as Tristam had requested. “They’ll go no farther,” she said.

  That would have to do. “All right, Martin, ready to ride?” Tristam muttered.

  “Aye, sir.”

  He took one last look at the Demon Rider, then gave his horse a sharp kick. Lady jumped into a full gallop. Tristam crouched down as the forest blurred past, urging Lady to go even faster. Behind him, he heard Martin fast on his heels. He rode without looking back until he finally saw farmland in the distance. He couldn’t lead the beasts into the farms.

  Tristam risked a look over his shoulder. Martin rode madly on his heels, but beyond that, the road was empty. Cautiously, Tristam brought Lady to a halt. The two of them scanned the distance behind them.

  “You all right?” Tristam asked between breaths.

  “Tired, but kicking.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me what an idiot I was for wanting to stay out there by myself.”

  Martin grinned. “No, Sir Tristam, I would never dream of such impertinence.”

  “One Demon Rider and two cats?” asked Malikel.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tristam rubbed his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the window. It had been impossible to sleep after he got back, and he was now paying for it. His head throbbed, and there was a foul taste in his mouth that he couldn’t rinse out. Next to him, Martin stared at a pile of books on Malikel’s desk, blinking to bring them into focus.

  “You’re sure this was the same woman?” asked Malikel.

  “She recognized me,” said Tristam. He shivered as he recalled her voice, her odd way of speaking. Over the past two months, he’d imagined confronting her more than a hundred times. He’d envisioned yelling, threats, a fight to the death. But not the precarious standoff that had occurred last night.

  Malikel pushed two mugs toward them. “Drink up. You’re both paler than these parchments.”

  The tea was strong, with the mix of spices common to Malikel’s homeland of Minadel, a couple of weeks’ journey south of Forge. Too many flavors in one vessel for Tristam’s taste, but it did help clear his mind. Martin took a sip, hid a grimace behind his mug, and put the drink back down.

  “Did she say anything about who they were, where they came from?” asked Malikel.

  Tristam shook his head. “Nothing. She’s a strong beast speaker though. Her cats obeyed her completely.”

  Malikel was silent for a moment. “We’ll have to think about thi
s further. But at least we have some confirmation that they’re out in the forest.”

  There was a knock on the door. By the time Tristam registered the sound, Malikel was already halfway to the door. Tristam and Martin scrambled to their feet, but Malikel waved them back down, and they reluctantly sat, exchanging uneasy glances at letting their superior do such a menial task.

  Malikel opened the door to reveal a shieldman and signaled for Tristam to wait while he and the shieldman walked into the corridor. Through the doorway, Tristam saw the older man’s face darken as the man spoke.

  Malikel motioned for Tristam to join them.

  “There’s been a raid,” Malikel said curtly. “Come with me, Tristam; you have an eye for detail.”

  “A raid?”

  “One of the Palace armories was broken into last night. I have my suspicions about who was involved, but I need someone with fresh eyes.”

  Malikel questioned the guard as they followed him into the city. “I thought we had the locks changed in all the armories and storehouses.”

  “We did, sir, and only two copies of the key were made.”

  “And the armory guards?”

  “There were two of them, and neither of them had a key. Both guards are missing.”

  “This is what I was trying to avoid.” Although Malikel kept his voice level, Tristam could see the anger in his brow.

  A group of men in Palace uniforms were already at the armory when they arrived, some examining the building’s outer grounds while others rushed in and out with parchments. He made quick note of the armory’s thick walls and solid door as a tired-looking official came out to meet them.

  “Sir Malikel.”

  “Nels, what’s missing?” Malikel asked.

  Nels sighed, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Fifty to seventy-five sets of studded-leather armor. They didn’t touch the heavier ones.”

  “How did they get in?” Malikel asked.

  “There’s no sign of damage to the doors, and the locksmith insists these locks cannot be picked. The Palace armor steward and I have the only two keys.”

  “Could someone have copied the key?” asked Tristam.

  “It’s possible. Anything’s possible.”

  Nels led them inside, past the atrium, and into the back rooms, where the armor was kept. Their first stop was a large chamber, a quarter of which was stacked with boxes. The room had stone walls with no windows and only one door.

  “This is where the leather armor was kept,” said Nels. “They took most of it.”

  The more Tristam thought about the robbery, the stranger it seemed. Fifty to seventy-five sets were enough to outfit two or three units. It was too many for a band of brigands to use themselves, which meant that whoever stole this probably intended to sell it to someone with a sizable force of armed guards. Within Forge, only the Palace employed so many soldiers. There were the neighboring cities of Parna and Edlan, but why would they go to the trouble of stealing something as simple as leather armor?

  “What do you make of this, Tristam?” asked Malikel.

  Tristam shared his confusion, and Malikel nodded, seemingly satisfied with Tristam’s reasoning. “I agree. It’s unlikely that Parna or Edlan is behind this. And none of the noble houses of Forge employ this many soldiers. So what does that leave us?”

  “I don’t know. Is someone building a secret army at Forge’s expense? It seems far-fetched.”

  “It does. And yet…” Malikel led Tristam to the back of the room, away from Nels’s hearing. “There’s unrest in the city. Whispers amongst the common-born against the Palace. My men have been picking up on it for years. Nothing concrete, but enough that I ordered all the locks changed in our important storehouses. Apparently, that was not enough.”

  “But who could possibly…”

  “Are you familiar with the stories of the Assassins Guild, Tristam?”

  “The only Guild I know of is the one from the history books.”

  The older knight nodded. “About a hundred years ago, they were a threat in the city, dealing in illegal trade and eventually becoming powerful enough to influence the government. The Palace was able to capture their leaders, and the Guild dissolved. But in the past decade, there have been rumors that it never completely disappeared. And since becoming Minister of Defense, I’ve encountered hints that they, or some organization like them, are returning to power. Reports of strangers asking our low-level servants for information, for example.”

  “So someone is recruiting spies,” said Tristam. Espionage was by no means new to Forge, and all squires learned the basic history. Edlan and Parna were always trying to gain an upper hand, but they usually infiltrated the nobility to learn the goings-on at court. “Perhaps it’s not too bad, if they’ve only been able to get to the servants.”

  “Don’t underestimate your servants, Tristam. They’re capable of more than you think. My predecessors as Defense Minister were too busy waving their swords at Parna and Edlan to notice the threats right around them. If they hadn’t been so quick to discount the abilities of the poor, they might have acted against the Guild before they grew strong enough to breach our walls.” They circled back to Nels. “Show us the rest of the building,” said Malikel.

  They visited the other storerooms, but none had been touched. Tristam began to see why Malikel would be worried. The raid had been accomplished with unnerving precision. The burglars had known exactly what they were looking for. And even more disturbing was the fact that they’d left no signs of how they had broken in. That, combined with Malikel’s suspicions about the Guild…Tristam had to fight the urge to look over his shoulder.

  After they covered the ground floor, Nels led them to the unused upper floors. A few smears in one hallway’s dust pattern caught Tristam’s eye—not quite footprints, but the dust wasn’t as smooth as in the other corridors.

  “Sir Malikel,” Tristam called. He picked his way down the edge of the hallway, careful not to disturb the dust. It led to a small room, meant to be a lookout point perhaps, with three narrow windows opening high above the street. Holding his breath at the musty smell, Tristam crossed to the windows and peered out. The drop was dizzying. He spent a few moments watching the tiny people below before returning his gaze to the windowsill. They were dusty, but one slot was much cleaner than the others.

  “Someone was up here.” Tristam moved aside to let his commander take a look.

  “It looks like it, but how did he get up here? It’s too high for a grappling hook, and there are no buildings nearby.”

  Tristam looked through the window again. The buildings across the road were much too low to offer a way up, and there were no obvious rooftops to either side. An arrow trailing a rope, perhaps? But the armory’s façade was solid stone, with no place for an arrow to lodge.

  “I don’t know,” Tristam said. “But if someone had indeed climbed through this window, he could have opened the front door for the others.”

  “Perhaps,” said Malikel. “Stay up here, Tristam, and take a closer look at this room. Let me know if you find anything else.”

  T E N

  Kyra pressed her back against the wall, palms flat on the cold stone of the alcove, ears trained toward the footsteps down the hall. This section was tricky. The door she needed was in the middle of an open hallway. Once she was out there, she’d have no cover while she picked the lock.

  She waited until the footsteps faded and glanced into the corridor. Empty. Kyra took her chance and ran down the hallway. The candles cast flickering shadows that settled somewhat as she stopped outside the door.

  The knob didn’t turn. Kyra hadn’t expected it to, but she never knew when someone would forget and save her some work. She looked around again—still safe. Kyra inserted a thin piece of metal into the bottom of the keyhole, twisting it and maintaining pressure as she reached for her lock pick. Some thieves favored sets of picks in different shapes and sizes, but Kyra preferred to carry just one. It required more practice,
but one was lighter, simpler, and quieter to carry. Kyra kept twisting the lock as she inserted the lock pick into the top of the keyhole, delicately pushing up tumblers one by one. She knew this lock well by now. The first tumbler to give was about two-thirds of the way in. Then it was the innermost tumbler.

  She stayed alert for sounds as she worked. If a guard passed, she’d have to run and start over. Tonight, however, she teased up the last tumbler without incident. The lock clicked open. Tucking her tools back into her belt, Kyra slid into the empty room and locked the door behind her.

  The room was lined with cabinets, with a few desks in the middle. By now, she knew that older records were kept in the cabinets while newer ones were usually on the desks. She took a pile of records from the nearest desk, making note of their position and order, and took them to the window, shuffling through in the dim light until she found the one she wanted. Kyra then replaced the rest, fished out a pen and parchment from her belt, and grabbed an ink bottle from the table.

  She copied the record line by line. Bella had taken it upon herself to teach Kyra how to read and write a few years ago, and Kyra was glad she had. James’s surprised look when she’d told him had been worth it. It took a good half hour to copy the whole thing, but finally she capped the ink bottle and returned the original to its place. She blew on her parchment, then crept back toward the door and pressed her ear against the wood. It was quiet outside.

  Kyra made it down a few corridors before she heard footsteps again. She only had time to duck into a side hallway, press against the wall, and hope nobody looked back. The smell of roasted ham teased her nose, followed by three kitchen servants. One carried a half-eaten ham. Another had a platter of cheeses, and the last carried a plate of leftover fruit. The servants would take them back to the kitchen, where they would eat what they wanted and throw the rest out. It was painful to see all this waste, but Kyra couldn’t risk following them. The footsteps faded, and Kyra almost started out when she heard someone else. She held her breath as a Red Shield walked past. His scarlet tunic made her flinch. The guards at the armory had worn the same red uniforms. Several times now she’d woken up in terror and lain awake in bed as the beatings replayed in her mind. James had promised her she wouldn’t have to kill, that he’d set those guards free. But still…She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on getting out of the Palace.