Sanctuary Tales (Book 1)

by Robert J. Crane

  There was a muttered wave of exaltation at that, a little muted, but when the man repeated it again, it grew in force as the shock dissipated, and the third time it required not even his suggestion before the words “PRAISE BE TO THE SOVEREIGN” echoed through the cavern.

  I watched the faces below the stage, staring up at me with all trace of boredom gone. I caught sight of the workers waiting to the side of the stage, waiting to tear it down. They were watching with rapt attention, their nervousness gone and replaced by wonder. The faces in front of me gazed up in awe, smiles on some, expressions overcome with amazement and even—happiness?

  “Erith,” I heard a faint voice say, at a normal volume, and I looked to see the stoop-backed figure of Theratas Gruhm, the old man who shared my dwelling. He said my name again, and it was picked up by another voice, then another until it spread over the crowd in a low chant. “Erith. Erith. ERITH. ERITH!”

  It rose in pitch and intensity until it was a near-deafening roar, and I felt a hand land on my shoulder and looked up to see the face of the man who had been called Dahveed, still shrouded in the shadow of his cowl. “You should bow,” he said, “to your people.”

  It took me a moment, but I did. I stooped low, a curtsy that was more sincere than any I would have made to the men on stage if I’d been compelled. My heart was light, and as I dipped down and lowered my head, I caught sight of Dahveed’s boots, barely visible under the hem of his cloak. They were stitched, made of a foreign material, and a fine shade one didn’t see in the depths of Sovar. They were undoubtedly the property of a man who was unused to treading the muddy paths of the Back Deep, but still as clean as they had been when I’d seen them walk out of the dwelling across the alley from mine.

  *

  You do not know Sovar. Not her depths, not her darkness, and not her wicked ways and subtle temptations. But then, once, I did not know magic. I did not know the power of an incantation, the ability to heal. These things have changed. All things change, as I have seen in the years since I have left the Back Deep. And one can hope that maybe—just maybe—someday Sovar will change as well.

  THIEVING WAYS

  Note: This tale takes place around the same time as Chapter 16 of Defender: The Sanctuary Series, Volume One and several months before Aisling joins Sanctuary.

  One

  “I want to steal the Red Destiny of Saekaj.”

  The sole lamp above the stone bar in the establishment that was known on the streets of Sovar as simply “The Unnamed” cast the man across from Aisling in a dim light. His name was Xemlinan Eres, but so far as she knew, everyone in Sovar simply called him Xem. His eyes glistened as he stared at her, waiting to see what response his confession would stir.

  For her part, Aisling took a long, slow breath and picked up the small glass in front of her on the stone bar. It sat unevenly, the natural curves of the surface tipping it slightly to the left. She had grown up with wooden furniture, real wood, but that was a rare commodity in Sovar. She lifted the dirty, smoky glass, tinged by what looked like carbon scoring. The strong aroma of the Reikonosian whiskey, an illegal import, stung her as she breathed it in, burning her nasal passages as if she had poured it into them instead of between her lips. It lit a fire in her, and she tipped it back before clacking the glass back on the bar as she felt the whiskey burn all the way down. The sound of the glass touching the stone echoed in the Unnamed, and Aisling let out a breath that stung just a little—the way she liked it when she took a drink of something. “I’m listening,” she said.

  “No one’s ever tried before,” Xem said, his face alight with something more than the glow of the lamp. “It’s a slap right to the face of the Tribunal—”

  “Because we want to slap the face of the ruling body of Saekaj Sovar while we’re still living here in the city,” Aisling said with cool detachment as she held up the empty glass for Xem to see.

  “Sorry,” he said, and hastily reached for the bottle nearby to refill it. He spilled just a little while he was doing so, and Aisling watched it splash on the bar. Xem was usually such a steady hand, too. “Think of it, Ais. It’s a gem twice the size of your head.”

  She didn’t even blink. “And it’d be an ill replacement for losing said head if we were caught.” She tossed back her drink. “You’re talking about breaking into the Sovereign’s palace—”

  “Which he’s not even using at present,” Xem interrupted.

  “True, the Sovereign has been away for the last century,” Aisling agreed, “but he’s been replaced by a triad of men so thoroughly loathsome that the only policy they’ve come up with that hasn’t incited hopelessness or anger in the masses is the Exodus Proclamation that opened the gates, allowing hundreds of thousands of our people to leave the city and their strangling grip.”

  “And that is why we should slap them in the face!” Xem was nearly triumphant about the whole thing.

  Aisling felt herself disengaging from the situation. “This is starting to sound personal,” she said and began to turn to get off the short, flimsy stool she was resting atop. “I don’t do personal jobs.”

  “It’s not personal,” Xem said, shaking his head. He came around the bar in a hurry, catching her before she could retreat. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; she moved slowly, giving him the opportunity to do so. No one can catch me if I don’t want them to, she thought with a deep satisfaction. “I want the Destiny. Have you ever seen it?” Xem’s face was hopeful.

  “No,” Aisling lied.

  “It’s a mammoth ruby,” Xem said, his eyes widening as though he were seeing it in front of him right now, in the moment. “Its worth is incalculable—”

  “I’m not so keen on objects of incalculable value, either,” Aisling said, making a clumsy move to slip past him. He caught her, just as she planned for him to. “Too hard to fence afterward, which leaves you stuck holding them when the guards find you.”

  “Thirty million gold pieces,” Xem said, his eyes dancing.

  Aisling hesitated, thinking it over. “Awfully low, if it’s a ruby twice the size of my head.”

  “But that’s the beauty,” Xem said, and took a ragged breath, “we’re done once the ruby is delivered. We take our gold and leave Saekaj Sovar out the main gate. I’ve arranged transportation with an elven wizard just outside the borders. All we need do is clear through some guardsmen—”

  “With our thirty million gold pieces,” Aisling said dryly, “which I’m sure won’t attract any attention.” She rolled her eyes, but in truth she was just playing him, waiting for him to remove her mental objections.

  “It’ll only be seven and a half million each,” Xem said, “split four ways.”

  “Oh, well that solves the problem of transporting them entirely,” she said.

  “I know, it’s still a lot,” he agreed, “but there’s a convoy leaving a week from now, and I’ve arranged for us to join it, along with six wagons to haul our take. It’s going to Aloakna, and it’ll also be bearing gold in the shipment, and thus we’ll pass unnoticed.”

  Aisling pulled her arm away. “So you’ve covered the escape,” she said, playing it to be almost grudging, like she wasn’t expecting that. “Do you have a plan to steal the Red Destiny, then? Or just an extraordinarily detailed idea for fleeing afterward?”

  Xem grinned. “I have a plan for that as well. And if I may be a bit immodest—”

  “Hardly a first for you, Xem.”

  “It may in fact be one of my most genius,” he said, ignoring her quip.

  Two

  Aisling slunk through the door, letting her feet make little to no noise. He was on her a moment after she walked in anyway, catching her from behind and wrapping his hands around her leather top. She let out a small gasp, feigning surprise, and felt his lips on her neck, eliciting a giggle before he set her down and allowed her to spin about.

  There was only a dim lamp in the corner of the small room for light, but it was plenty enough to see him by. His dark blue skin almos
t faded against the dim clay walls, and his face was alight with mischief—just the way she liked it. “Norenn,” she murmured and met his lips as they came down to hers. “How goes it?” she asked coyly, slipping out of his arms.

  “‘How goes it?’” Norenn Vard’s voice was laced through with disbelief. “Don’t be so sly; you know I’m waiting to hear.”

  “Waiting to hear what?” she asked in feigned ignorance. In her quest to become a better thief, she was getting quite good at acting. She gave him her best innocent look, and she could tell by his smile that she had done well.

  “Very good,” he said with a slow nod, “but if you don’t tell me, I’m going to—”

  “Going to what?” she asked. The facade broke and a smile slipping out.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a grin of his own, “but it will be appropriately proportional to the discomfort you’re causing me.”

  “The meeting went well,” she said. The summons had come unexpectedly, an offer to meet in the wee hours of the morning, after the Unnamed had closed. “He had a … proposal for us.”

  Norenn tapped his vek’tag silk shoe against the floor. “I know that. One is not summoned to the Unnamed in the middle of the night without good cause. What was the proposal?”

  “Something … grand,” she pronounced, strolling behind the stone chair that had been carved out of the floor. “Something to build a reputation on.”

  “Oh,” Norenn said with more than a little disappointment. “I don’t care for those kind of jobs; building a reputation in Sovar is the fastest way to ensure that your personal story ends with, ‘And he spent the rest of his life digging ore and spreading manure in the Depths.’”

  “He has an excellent escape plan,” she said with assurance. In truth, she had to suppress the excitement quivering in the pit of her stomach. “It’s a sound scheme.”

  “But big, if it’s a reputation builder,” Norenn said and turned away. “How big?”

  “The Red Destiny of Saekaj,” Aisling replied, waiting to see Norenn’s reaction.

  “I hope you told him no,” Norenn said, the reaction coming more swiftly—and far more soundly—than she had anticipated.

  “Of course I didn’t tell him no,” she replied. “I listened to the basics of the plan, judged it on its merits, and—”

  “No,” Norenn said, slumping against the wall. “No, no, no.”

  “Why not?” She crept toward him, laying a hand upon his vek’tag silk vest. It was far nicer than most clothing found in Sovar, an ill-gotten gain from one of their previous jobs.

  “Because even if he has a masterful plan to steal it,” Norenn said, “the kind of reaction that this will prompt from the Sovereignty will be enormous, bringing so much fury upon us, on Sovar—”

  “The escape plan,” Aisling said, “includes leaving afterward. Possibly forever.”

  Norenn’s mouth opened slightly. “Leave Sovar?”

  She slipped the hand up from his vest to his face, feeling the smooth fabric against her palm turn to stubble from the day’s beard growth. “You’ve always said you didn’t want to spend your whole life here.”

  “Yes, I figured I’d travel when I was older, once my fortune was made,” Norenn said, opening his eyes to look down on her with reproach.

  “This is a chance to make your fortune,” Aisling said, smiling sweetly at him. “Seven and a half million gold pieces each. Fifteen million total, and we leave Saekaj Sovar afterward. We can return someday if we want, or put the money on deposit with a bank in Reikonos, Aloakna, Termina, wherever, and just … travel. Be free.”

  “Ugh,” Norenn said. “‘One last job,’ is that it?”

  “Yes,” she said, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “One final score, and we can be done if we want. Or not. All we have to do is give up Sovar for a while, which is …” she looked around at the hovel they lived in, a one-room stone cave in in the side alley caves off the main chamber, “… let’s face it, is no real sacrifice.”

  “This is home to me,” Norenn said stiffly. “I know it’s not much of one to you—”

  “Home for me is wherever you are,” Aisling said, and she tried to say it with sincerity. She smiled to give it extra weight, but Norenn laughed a little even so. “I’m serious,” she said. “I’ll go wherever you are. But this is a chance to make it big and just go—”

  “I’ve been a thief for a long time, my dear,” Norenn said and pulled away from her. “I know what it means when one of our kind says, ‘One last job, one final score.’” He sat in the chair again and laid his arms down on the stiff stone rests. “It means they’re getting greedy, that their sense of careful planning has been overtaken by a serious lust for gold. And you know what?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It always goes wrong, that last score. They flub it somehow—the mark catches on, they screw up in the planning stage, they overestimate their skill or they just leave too much to chance.” He sat up in the chair. “So when I hear you say, ‘one last job,’ it makes me nervous.”

  “It’s a good plan,” she said, kneeling in front of him at the chair. “It’s solid. Yes, there’s risk, but no more than any other job we’ve done, and with a much higher reward.” She rested a head on his knee. “You know I don’t care about the reward from ‘one last big job’—”

  “I know,” he said, and she thought she caught some bitter irony in there.

  “—but this one is worth it. Even the mid-levelers in Saekaj don’t make seven and a half million gold pieces in their whole lives. It’s a fortune the like of which most of our people could never even imagine.”

  “Yes, well I’m imagining it right now,” Norenn said sourly, “and I’m imagining what will come after it—namely the entirety of the Sovereignty’s guards. This isn’t just calling down the force of Sovar’s militia, this is asking for the Sovereign’s personal guards and the army to come after you. So you’d better be sure the plan is good enough to deal with that. Good enough to handle everything that will come out of it—and I’m talking about house-to-house searches by irritated guardsmen, fearful of the Tribunal’s boot landing on the back of their necks.” He stood abruptly. “This is … so dangerous.”

  “Thievery carries the eventual death penalty in Sovar,” she said, and stood to join him with a slight smile. “The Depths being the means by which they carry it out. How much worse could the penalty be than for any act of thievery we would carry out on any other day?”

  “It’s not the penalty,” Norenn said, “it’s the effort they’ll put in to catching us. And it will be enormous.”

  “Which is why we leave,” she said. “Slip the grasp of the Sovereignty when we’re finished.” She smiled. “It’s a good plan.”

  Norenn sighed, and she sensed his capitulation. “I feel absolutely mad for even considering this.”

  “But you’re in?”she asked with a smile.

  “I will listen,” he said, a small concession, but one that she knew meant that she had him. “To Xem. I want to hear it from him.”

  “Good,” she said coolly, catching the distinctive, sharp aroma of his vek’tag silk vest as she rubbed her cheek against it. “He wanted to discuss it with you in any case, along with our other partner. I set it up for tomorrow.”

  “You were awfully presumptive,” Norenn said with a hint of stiffness. “How did you know I would go along?”

  “I presumed I could persuade you,” she said, still rubbing her cheek against his chest, against the silk.

  “And if your arguments failed?”

  She let her hand sink lower.

  “Ah,” he said as she leaned up to kiss him. “It would appear that Xem is not the only one with a sound plan.”

  Three

  Xemlinan stood before the three of them—Aisling, Norenn, and Leneyh Ousck. Leneyh was extremely slight, smaller even than Aisling, and prim, as if she’d been born to Saekaj, though Aisling rather suspected she was a practiced imposter. Her navy skin and undyed white hair serve
d to mark her as a member of the upper class, and her monochromatic clothing reinforced the image. She was stunning, though, even Ais had to admit, especially after the third time she caught Norenn’s eyes wandering to the hem of the woman’s dress. She gave him a gentle tug and he brought his eyes front again.

  “Any questions?” Xem asked. They sat in the back room of the Unnamed, a couple of lamps burning their dim light out over a small storage room stacked nearly to the ceiling with glass bottles.

  “When do we do it?” Leneyh asked, her small, piercing eyes almost languid in their motion. No lady of Saekaj would be as comfortable down here as she is, Aisling thought. No proper one, anyway.

  “In a week,” Xem said, the small parchment he’d made drawings on still hanging from his fingers. He’d used charcoal to sketch the vault, laying it out step by step. Ais had scarcely breathed as Norenn watched intently. Finally, around step five, he’d nodded, and she could see the first signs of approval from him. That had allowed her to breathe a little easier. “It should give us plenty of time to get our hands on the few things we need—appropriate attire, enough rope—”

  “Why are we doing this?” Norenn asked, his fingers touching his chin pensively.

  “Beg pardon?” Xemlinan asked, slightly taken aback.

  “Why are we doing this?” Norenn asked again.

  Xem smiled a little patronizingly. “For the money, of course.”

  “There are easier jobs,” Norenn said.

  “Name five,” Xem replied with a ready smile, looking between Leneyh and Aisling for support.

  “The Bank of Sovar, The House of Grimrath Tordor, The Bank of Saekaj, the Eristant Museum of Art, the Lowerquarter Storehouse,” Norenn said, rattling them off one by one. “Every one of them filled with goods that are easily fenced, save for Grimrath’s and the Museum, and with the exception of the banks, less likely to draw the ire of every guard in the entire Sovereignty.”