by Aaron Pogue
From this spot he had a narrow view across the lawn to the mansion’s front doors. The graveled driveway ended in a wide circle there, and parked at the front steps was a plain brown carriage.
Corin frowned. “That isn’t Ephitel’s coach.”
“No,” Kellen said. “Ephitel’s coach just dropped him off, shortly after Avery went to fetch you here. It’s probably in the stables already.”
“Then whose—” Corin started, but he cut short when the carriage door swung open. Three nervous figures climbed down, twitching to look left and right before they hurried up the steps and into the house. Corin didn’t recognize the faces, but he knew them by their stature.
He turned toward the pale-faced Avery watching by his shoulder. “Tell me one more time about the dwarves and their chapter houses.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“All is lost,” Kellen said.
“No,” Avery insisted. “No, there’s still time, as long as we act quickly.”
Corin shook his head. “I have no desire to face Ephitel in person.”
“We shouldn’t have to,” Avery said. “He’ll hardly keep his guests waiting while he goes and buckles on a sword! No. Now’s the perfect time to sneak in there, while he’s distracted with the dwarves, and steal it right out from under him.”
Maurelle frowned. “Will we have time for that?”
“We should,” Corin said. “Dialogues with dwarves are never over quickly. Especially if they have something you want. Ephitel might not be out until tomorrow.”
“We have time,” Avery said, “but not you, sister. You are going home.”
“I’m certainly not!”
“I will not see you in this kind of danger.”
“I have already been in prison today, brother, and it wasn’t I who murdered a distinguished hero there!”
Avery gasped and staggered half a step. “How dare you—”
“How dare you pretend to care for me? Now.”
“Maurelle—” Corin started, soothing, but she went right on.
“All you had to do was drop your silly club a month ago, and I would still have a life. You chose this fate for your family, Avery. I’m just following through.”
Avery could not meet her eyes. He stared at the toes of his boots, breathing in shuddering gasps. When he spoke, his words were eerily familiar. “You must go home. We may well tangle with Ephitel’s private guards, and they are not good men.”
Before Maurelle could lash out again, Corin caught her hand. “I have a use for you.”
“No!” she snapped angrily, even as Avery did the same.
Corin ignored them both and went on. “We will need a distraction here. Something to draw off Ephitel’s guards while we sneak in.”
“That would simplify things a bit,” Kellen said.
“But what am I to do?” Maurelle asked.
Avery said, “Go home!”
Corin silenced him with a glare, then answered the lady. “Go to the druids. They meet in a shady tavern off Piazza Primavera. I’ll give you directions.”
“I don’t know what they told you,” Avery said, “but the druids will not be much help in a raid on Ephitel’s estate. They are not that kind of organization.”
“No,” Corin said. “But their organization is key. Find Delaen. She is the one with long white hair. Tell her we need another riot. Send a mob to Ephitel’s front gates, and we will sneak around the back.”
“Can they really do that?” Kellen asked, doubtful.
“They raised the mob that delayed Avery’s trip to the palace dungeons,” Corin said. The soldier’s eyebrows climbed his brow, and Corin grinned. “Aye, they have their uses.”
“But will they do that?” Avery asked. “For you?”
“Not for me, but they’ll do it for Oberon. Tell them everything we know—that Ephitel is meeting with the dwarves to buy gunpowder with his writs of provender, that he has been wearing the sword Godslayer, and that he is moving quickly. Tell them they must move more quickly still.”
“I can tell them all that,” Maurelle said, though she sounded intimidated by the burden.
“For glory, and for Iryana,” Corin said.
She grinned at him.
“And what if they refuse?” Avery asked. “What if they cannot raise a mob in time?”
“Then we will walk away. We’ll slip out of town, find some barn to hide in, and wait till this blows over while we make another plan. We’ll just have to hope the king survives that long.”
Kellen cleared his throat. “I cannot accept that risk.”
“Honestly, I can’t either,” Corin said. “So let us put our faith in Maurelle and in the druids. And in the people of Gesoelig.”
Avery watched his sister walk away, head held high, until she disappeared beyond the cottage. Then he hung his head. “Proven postulates!” he groaned. “We’re doomed.”
“We aren’t doomed,” Corin said. “Maurelle shows remarkable tenacity. And I think Delaen will listen to her.”
Kellen drummed his fingers on the hard leather of his scabbard. “What do we do until then?”
“We wait and watch,” Corin said.
Avery sighed. “Sounds dull.”
“Most of thieving is,” Corin said. He considered Avery for a while, then asked, “How did you come to form the Nimble Fingers?”
“It was just a hobby,” Avery said. “No. Not even that. An interest. I had heard stories of the thieving fairies of yesterworld, and of manling heroes there renowned for their burglaries.”
“Wait! What is the yesterworld?”
Avery frowned. “Nothing. It is nowhere.”
“Is that where the druids come from? Ephitel called them outlanders.”
“He should not have used that name,” Avery said. “We’re not allowed to speak of yesterworld to manling mortals.”
Corin wanted to ask more, but Avery looked wretched at what he had let slip, and Kellen stood behind him with a white-knuckled grip on his sword’s hilt. Corin couldn’t imagine the gentle soldier employing the weapon, but the gaffe had clearly upset them both.
“Forget the yesterworld,” Corin said. “Tell me more about the Nimble Fingers.”
Avery cocked his head. “Why should I tell tales when you are from tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be telling me?”
Corin shrugged. “What questions do you have?”
“Who is king of Gesoelig in your time?”
“It is as I said in the story. There is no Gesoelig. This whole city was lost and forgotten somewhere along the way.”
“Very well,” Avery said. “Then who is king of Hurope?”
Corin shook his head. “There is no king of Hurope. Hurope is divided into near a dozen kingdoms. Ithale may be the most powerful, Rikkeborh the wealthiest, Raentz the cleverest…”
“Ithale the most powerful,” Avery said. “And you claimed Ephitel is king there?”
“Worse,” Corin said. “He is their god. The manling family Vestossi reigns at Ephitel’s pleasure, but everyone within the land trembles in fear of Ephitel.”
“That does not sound so different from Gesoelig,” Kellen muttered. “They do not remember Oberon at all?”
“He was hidden in the oldest texts,” Corin said. “Lost in forgotten languages. But I found his name, and others could. I will remember him and tell the world, if I can but get back.”
Gloomy silence settled on the three until Corin grinned and said, “You are remembered, Avery.” The black-clad gentleman gave a start, and Corin laughed. “Aye. In all the land, though they call you Avery of Jesalich.”
“Better than A. Violet,” Kellen said.
Avery shot him a glare, but turned quickly back to Corin. “How do they know me? Why?”
“By the Nimble Fingers,” Corin said. “It became far more than a hobby. It is your legacy.”
“The Nimble Fingers?” Avery’s brief laughter became a suspicious glare. “You are teasing me.”
“Not in the lea
st. I owe my every talent to your teachings passed down through the years. You have been something of a hero to me, ever since I was a boy. It will be an honor to rob a god with you.”
Avery grinned at that. “It will be fun to try.”
“And what of me?” Kellen asked. “Am…am I remembered in your time?”
Corin shrugged and looked away. “I’m sorry, but I do not know your name.”
“What of Maurelle?” Avery asked. “Or Parkyr?”
Corin shook his head. “There aren’t elves within the lands of men. I was astonished to see so many lords and ladies in this place. There are old stories of your people, and rumors of distant, mystical islands where elves still live. But mostly you are just stories for our children.”
After a stale moment, Kellen heaved a sigh. “It is likely just as well that I’m forgotten. I doubt I’d be pleased to know how I was remembered.”
Corin shook his head. “You are a hero, Yeoman Kellen. I will remember you as nobly as I remember Oberon. If I can find my way home, I will tell them how you stood against a tyrant. That is courage.”
Kellen smirked. “I have not stood yet.”
“You will,” Corin said. “I see it in you.”
Avery’s ears perked up. He sat a little straighter, then sprang to his feet. “And soon, perhaps. It seems I misjudged my sister. And your druids.”
“Have they come?” Corin asked, but a moment later he heard it himself. From away to the south, the clamor of an angry mob tore at the morning stillness.
“The guards are on the move,” Kellen said, from his place at the gate. “It’s working. Age of reason, it’s working!”
“Keep calm,” Corin said. “This is our plan.” He looked up toward the top of the gate and the cruelly sharp spikes that topped it. “Is this our best way in?”
Kellen shook his head. “There’s a river birch some way down that leans over the gate. It’s nearer to the stables entrance, anyway.”
“Then let us move,” Corin said. “I don’t know how long Delaen’s mob will hold against Ephitel’s guards.”
Kellen led the way, darting north along the gate’s path. He moved with the same easy grace as Avery, but his eyes flickered nervously, and he never stopped chewing his lip.
Corin asked, “What troubles you?”
Kellen snorted. “Everything? What are we to do once we’re inside the gate?”
“We find a way into the house. With any luck, undetected.”
“And then?”
Corin nearly missed a step. “Well…we find the sword.”
“How?”
Corin shrugged. “There is some reason to the way a house is arranged. Once we’re inside, we should be able to guess where Ephitel might keep his valuables—”
“But won’t those places be well guarded?”
Corin had to shrug. “Perhaps.”
“Then we will fight.”
“No. Not if we can avoid it. Fighting only draws attention. We’ll try to find something cleverer.” He brightened. “Perhaps you could pretend to belong. It worked in the dungeons.”
“Only because I belong in the dungeons. No. Ephitel’s house guard wear a different uniform, and…” He sighed, miserable. “They all know Ephitel would never choose me.”
Corin slapped him on the back. “You’ll make him pay for that. I’ve never been the favorite, Kellen. Never in my life. And yet somehow I’ve always managed to come out on top.”
The yeoman brightened. “We’ll make him pay. I like the sound of that.”
“Me, too,” Avery said from behind them. “Now quit gossiping like courtiers and pay some attention. This is careful business.”
As they approached the birch that Kellen had mentioned, Corin recognized it instantly. It grew out at an angle from the ground—a long, straight trunk just wide enough to scamper up, and tall enough to overhang the iron gate by perhaps a pace. It happened to loom over a lightly forested corner of Ephitel’s estate as well, which offered them some cover for the approach.
Corin went ahead, climbing the smooth trunk almost as easily as the rigging back on his ship, Diavahl. As soon as he was past the gate, he dropped lightly down and darted into the shade beneath a blooming cherry tree. Avery came right behind him, then Kellen landed with a muffled crash and a violent curse, but in a moment he was up again and standing with the others, peering out toward the mansion.
“I don’t see any guards,” Corin said.
“Maurelle’s commotion at the gates must have drawn them,” Kellen said. “No one ever disturbs this property.”
“I noticed. The people wouldn’t even look toward the house.”
“Ephitel has a fearsome reputation.”
Corin shrugged. “Well, today it serves us well. Let us move while they are still distracted.”
He went ahead, leading a darting path among the cherry trees, then dashing over twenty paces of open lawn to flatten his back against the stable wall. From there no windows on the property gave view, so he caught his breath while Avery and Kellen joined him. As soon as they were all together, he slipped down the back of the stable, listening for the sound of some attendants in the bays, but it seemed even they had gone to see what caused such ruckus at the front gate. Still, he eased his way around the end of that wall, peering into every shadow in the stable yard, then he dashed across the yard into the shelter of the house’s stable door.
Avery came after him, padding lightly as a cat, but Kellen tromped like a soldier in his heavy boots. Corin ground his teeth, but he said nothing. They were fortunate to have such a powerful distraction. He glanced around the yard one more time, saw no one watching, then tried the handle on the door.
He looked to Avery. “It’s open.”
“Then go ahead.”
“I cannot guess what’s on the other side.”
“One way to find out.” The gentleman stepped past Corin, unhesitating, and turned the handle. He threw the door wide and darted through, hands raised before him as though ready for a fight.
No one waited in the hall. Corin followed after Avery, and no matter how he strained his ears, he could hear no one in the house.
“We saw the dwarves come in, didn’t we?”
“They’re here,” Avery said. “Keep your focus. And, for your fear of reason, keep quiet.”
He threw a glare at Kellen, then slipped away down the hall.
“Why is he so mad at me?” Kellen asked, in a tone too near a normal speaking voice.
“He has a gift for stealth,” Corin said, pointing down to Kellen’s heavy boots. “You do not.”
The yeoman looked crestfallen, but before he could apologize, Corin shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Just…keep doing better.”
Corin darted after Avery, down the corridor and past a busy kitchen, unnoticed. The hallway branched to left and right, and Corin followed the flash of Avery’s black boots to the left. That felt right, anyway, moving toward the mansion’s heart, somewhere sturdy and secure. Somewhere far from windows and other prying eyes. But for a treasure like this sword, somewhere wide and tall. A library or some inner den.
He caught up with Avery at the threshold of a sitting room. The elven thief hid in the shadows of the doorway, but Corin could see what had given him pause. The room beyond offered stairways up and down—to the private chambers up above and the sturdy cellars down below. Corin whispered, “Down.”
Avery’s mouth tightened in a grim smile. “I was just thinking up.”
“It could be either,” Corin said. “But downstairs we are less likely to get caught. We might have time to search, and even if we come up empty, we’ll still be able to make another attempt.”
Avery shook his head. “That’s well considered, but it costs too much in time. We can’t afford it. We should split up.”
“Absolutely not,” Corin said. “We risk too much as it is.”
“But less without the lumbering ox around,” Avery said, rolling his eyes back down the hall beh
ind them. “I swear, if Kellen keeps that up—”
“Keeps what up?” Kellen asked, from right behind them.
Corin was as surprised as Avery. He’d heard the same heavy, clomping boots just down the hall behind them.
“Guards,” Corin whispered.
Kellen’s eyes shot wide. “What do we do?”
Before Corin could find an answer, a pair of Ephitel’s house guards came around the corner behind them. They spotted Kellen instantly and froze in a moment’s uncertainty. Another pair appeared down the hall opposite, across the sitting room, and they were not as hesitant. They drew their swords and broke into a sprint.
Kellen bounced on his toes, almost whimpering. “What do we do?”
Corin and Avery answered as one. “We run!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Corin had no desire to split up now, so he darted for the stairs leading up. Apparently pursuing the same line of reasoning, Avery dashed the other way. Corin tried to correct his route, but Kellen was too close behind him. The yeoman’s legs tangled with Corin’s, and both went crashing to the floor. Corin caught one glimpse of Avery, head still above the landing, looking back in worry. The gentleman hesitated, for just a moment, then he disappeared.
Corin couldn’t blame him. Four guards were charging after them, and as Corin looked up, he spotted another hurrying down from the upstairs landing. Corin scrambled to his feet, hauling Kellen after him, then he leaped toward the cellar stairs.
But Kellen couldn’t follow quickly. The soldier limped, clearly favoring his hip, and before he’d made it halfway to the stairs, all five guards were in the sitting room. Steel rasped as they drew their blades, and Corin saw understanding in Kellen’s eyes.
The yeoman drew his sword. Corin shook his head frantically. “Don’t be a fool. Get over here!”
Kellen turned in place, still backing slowly toward Corin, but he spent most of his attention on the guards. “I’ll hold them off.”
“You’ll get yourself killed,” Corin said. “Drop that thing and try to run!”
Kellen looked back over his shoulder, holding Corin’s gaze. “Find the sword,” he said. “Protect the king. And remember me a hero.”
