Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  His companion was perhaps in his mid-thirties and was similarly clad, except his cloak was void of fur trim. Caspan noted that the hem of his cloak and his boots were caked with dirt, and the leatherbound handle of the longsword hanging by his side was stained with sweat. His long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his alert eyes scrutinised the recruits. He was a good half a foot shorter than the other man and was of a slighter build, but was broad-shouldered and looked as if he could move faster than a striking asp. He also wore a metal wolf pendant around his neck.

  Gramidge clicked his heels together as the men crossed the hall and stood before them. The smaller man waited several feet back from his companion in apparent deference, his left hand resting on the pommel of his longsword.

  Gramidge bowed at the bearded man. ‘Hail, Duke Connal, Lord of the Duchy of Dannenland; Commander of the Brotherhood.’

  The Duke gestured with a flick of his hand for the steward to step back, planted his hands on his hips and considered the group for a moment. His features were hard; he had a prominent jaw and creased brow, but there was a softness to his eyes that Caspan found reassuring. The Duke gave what Caspan perceived to be a satisfied nod. ‘Welcome to the House of Whispers. I hope your journey through the night wasn’t too cold?’

  Caspan had never before been in the presence of a duke. He glanced out the corner of his eye along the line, uncertain as to the correct manner of address. He was relieved when Roland saluted and said on their behalf, ‘It was a little, my lord.’

  The Duke nodded and waved his hand towards the table. ‘Please, resume your seats. Nothing warms you up on a cold night like a crackling fire and a hot cup of honey cider. And you’ve certainly earned that reward.’ He waited for them all to be seated before motioning with a slight tilt of his head at the man standing behind him. ‘This is Master Morgan. For the past month he and Master Scott have been scouring every cadet academy in the kingdom, selecting the finest recruits. Fifty were given the opportunity to join the Brotherhood. That number was refined to five tonight. You should consider it a great honour to have been accepted into this order. It goes without saying that I have very high expectations of you. In years to come, I may tell future recruits stories of your heroic deeds.’

  Caspan glanced at the tapestries, wondering if his exploits would indeed one day be the stuff of song and legend. It was an inspiring thought.

  The Duke poured himself a tankard of cider and took a long swig. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, placed his cup on the hearth mantle and warmed his hands before the fire. ‘I suppose you’re all curious as to what the Brotherhood does?’ He glanced over his shoulder at the recruits, who nodded eagerly. Caspan sat forward in his seat and studied the Duke intently. ‘Well, the answer lies in the Dray and the Roon. Would one of you care to tell me what you know of the Dray?’

  Sara raised her hand and, after receiving a nod of consent from the Duke, cleared her throat and said, ‘A long time ago, before Andalon existed and Men walked these lands, this island was home to a race called the Dray. They were a tall, graceful, grey-skinned race. They called this land Sorthalon, and it was the greatest and most powerful civilisation to have ever existed. Not even the southern tribes of Roon dared conduct border raids against them for fear of devastating reprisals. Their cities were thriving economic centres where exotic spices, silks and gemstones from all over the known world were traded. They studied the stars and sciences, and ­fashioned magical weapons and jewellery of great power. They had little to do with Men, who they encountered across the seas and in the land we today call Caledon. They considered Men to be barbaric and uncivilised, and the Dray refused to pass on any of their knowledge.’

  ‘The Dray also sailed across The Channel and expanded their civilisation to the desert kingdom of Salahara,’ Roland added, as if not wanting to be outdone by Sara. ‘The Dray capital, Dlinthon, was the greatest city in the world. It was said that the gleaming spires of its citadel reflected moonlight and could be seen over a hundred kilometres away.’

  ‘It appears your teachers at the academies taught you well.’ Duke Connal stroked his beard and arched a curious eyebrow at Sara and Roland. ‘And do you know what happened to the Dray?’

  Caspan shifted uneasily, glad that the Duke wasn’t directing his questions at him. Apart from the fact that all that remained of the Dray were their burial mounds and tombs, he didn’t really know much about the ancient race and was finding the discussion very informative. He’d never read a history book in his life, let alone attended a lesson on the subject. The wonders of ancient civilisations weren’t exactly hot topics of discussion in Floran’s sewers.

  Sara glanced nervously at the others, then directed her gaze back at the Duke. ‘About a thousand years ago they disappeared. Nobody knows where they went or why. Some said that they were destroyed by a violent civil war waged by rival dynasties. Others speculated that they were wiped out by a disease against which they had no immunity. It is even said that they bequeathed Sorthalon to Men, who were destined to be the next great civilisation, and headed west across the Endless Sea, never to return. They took with them their knowledge of arcane sciences, leaving their kingdom to fall into ruin and decay.’

  The Duke nodded grimly. ‘And thus began the Age of Men.’ He pulled aside a seat and placed his right foot on it as he stared into the fire, his gaze distant. ‘Several decades after the disappearance of the Dray, raiders and pirates from Saxstein sailed across The Channel and settled in southern Sorthalon. They spread north, inhabiting the abandoned cities that they found. Over a hundred years passed. They abandoned their warlike ways and became farmers and traders. But war came, brought on by an invading army from their home country. They landed in the south and swept north like a scourge, destroying everything they came across. The once great cities of the Dray were laid to ruin. After almost another hundred years of intermittent war, treaties were drawn and peace came to this land, which was now named Andalon. It was divided into the three duchies of ­Randerlonia, ­Dannenland and Lochinbar. The MacDain family claimed divine descent and established its royal capital at Briston, built atop the ruins of the ancient Dray capital. Andalon became a great kingdom, powerful enough to rival the other three great kingdoms of Man: Salahara, Saxstein and Vorsklagov.’

  He regarded the tapestry on the wall. ‘All that remains of the Dray civilisation are a few buildings and towers that have survived the ravages of war, and their burial mounds and tombs, which we consider sacred and are not to be disturbed.’ He shifted his gaze back to the recruits. ‘Now we are at war with the Roon. Andalon has faced invasion before, from Saxstein and Caledon. We’ve always managed to drive our enemies back. But now we face an enemy like no other.’

  ‘Why don’t any of the other Four Kingdoms come to our aid, my lord?’ Caspan asked, hoping he didn’t sound too ignorant.

  Roland snorted at him. ‘What rock have you been living under for the past decade?’

  Sara gave Roland a disapproving scowl, then turned to Caspan and smiled sympathetically. ‘We stand alone. Vorsklagov, the great empire to the far east, is wracked by civil war. Salahara is locked in a vicious fight against the corsairs who have taken hold of her northern shores, and Saxstein, who has tried to invade Andalon twice in the past two centuries, would sooner take advantage of our predicament and invade from the south rather than send help. That’s why King Rhys can’t divert all of his armies north.’

  Duke Connal nodded. ‘This is our fight alone.’ He regarded Caspan, who shifted in his seat, uncomfort­able at being scrutinised by the Duke’s penetrating gaze. ‘I take it you are Caspan?’

  The former thief felt his throat tighten. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  A faint smile played at the edges of the Duke’s lips. ‘Raven told me to expect you this evening.’ He reached for his tankard, took a sip and considered each of the recruits in turn.

  ‘My cousin, King Rhys, created the Brotherhood to turn the tide of the war against the Roon in our favour
. The secret to winning this fight lies in supplying the northern legions with magical Dray weapons and artefacts.’

  ‘But Dray burial sites are not to be violated, my lord,’ Lachlan said. ‘The punishment for doing so is death.’

  The Duke nodded. ‘That’s correct, but we have the special sanction of the King.’

  Roland’s eyes widened with sudden revelation. ‘So the Brotherhood searches for Dray weapons and items buried deep in Dray tombs and mounds. We then give them to the northern legions, to aid them in their fight against the Roon.’

  Caspan felt his skin tingle in nervous anticipation. He had heard that the commanders of the northern legions and veteran warriors rode into battle upon powerful beasts they summoned out of thin air. It was also rumoured that these soldiers were armed with magical weapons that sliced through iron, and wore rings and amulets that gave them superhuman strength and endurance. Five such soldiers, one of whom summoned a ten-foot stone ape, were credited with holding a mountain pass for three days, delaying the advance of several hundred Roon warriors until reinforcements arrived.

  He had dismissed these stories as nothing more than fanciful tales, perhaps propagated by the legions to give the people of the south hope that the forces of Andalon might prevail. How could they be true? Magic no longer existed in the Four Kingdoms – except, Caspan suddenly realised, in Dray tombs, which had remained undisturbed for over a thousand years.

  ‘The Brotherhood was created twelve years ago, when a thief was arrested after looting a Dray barrow in Dannenland,’ Duke Connal said, drawing Caspan from his thoughts. ‘In his pocket was a piece of parchment that he claimed to have pilfered from inside the tomb. On it was a written passage in Ancient Tongue. A metal ­statuette of a wolf, also taken from the tomb, was discovered hanging around the thief’s neck. Unable to read the text, but believing it may have been linked to the statuette, the commanding officer sent the parchment and figurine to the King.’

  Caspan stared at the pendant hanging around the Duke’s neck, his eyes narrowing. He had believed that the Duke wore the wolf figurine because it was a symbol of the royal house, but now he had other thoughts. Could this be the same figurine that had been described in the story?

  ‘What they learnt about the looted objects remains one of the greatest discoveries ever made about the Dray,’ the Duke continued. ‘According to the text, the statuette was a creature of great power called a Warden, which was summoned from a magical plane. They were the lifelong companions of Dray kings, guarding them from all dangers and accompanying them into battle. They also joined them into the afterlife, being buried with kings in royal tombs.’

  Lachlan’s brow furrowed. ‘So the stories of Andalonian commanders riding great beasts into battle against the Roon are true?’

  ‘We will not win this war using conventional methods of warfare,’ the Duke said. ‘The Roon are too powerful. Presently there are around forty soldiers and commanders armed with Dray weapons and who fight alongside a few Wardens. But we need to equip many more if we are to achieve victory in this war.’

  Sara looked at him sharply and swallowed. ‘So you’re going to train us how to break into Dray burials?’

  Caspan noted the concern on the faces of his fellow recruits. He had heard that Dray tombs were riddled with traps and concealed passages. Those who were brave and foolish enough to defy the King’s order and enter them were rarely seen again.

  The Duke nodded. ‘That will be your primary role.’

  ‘So it’s a race against time,’ Kilt muttered.

  Roland adjusted the collar of his cloak in mock confidence. ‘All in a day’s work.’

  Kilt rolled her eyes. ‘Speak for yourself!’

  The faint outline of a smile formed at the edges of Duke Connal’s mouth at Roland’s comment. He looked intently at them. ‘As of this day, you are members of the Brotherhood. Do our order proud. The fate of Andalon rests on our shoulders.’

  The Duke took another draught of his drink before walking over to join Master Morgan. The two shared a few quiet words before he exited the hall.

  ‘You won’t see much of the Duke from here on,’ Master Morgan said. He was still standing with his hand on the pommel of his sword. ‘He’s usually on missions and rarely visits the House of Whispers.’ He strode across to one of the stained-glass windows and peered out. ‘This building is home to some of the most daring and bravest people in the kingdom. You should feel honoured to be here.’ He looked back at them and raised a finger in warning. ‘But mark my words, this is no cadet academy. For three months Master Scott and I will train you, teaching you how to use weapons, pick locks, circumvent traps, decipher ancient languages, move as silently as ghosts and scale sheer walls. We’ll make master treasure hunters of you. Your training will be hard, and we will push you to your limits. There will be times when you might question your decision to join this order. But always remember that, as hard as the training becomes, it may one day save your lives.’

  Caspan didn’t expect anything less. The last thing he wanted was to be sent on a dangerous mission unprepared. As far as he was concerned, the harder the training, the better. ‘How many of us are there in the Brotherhood?’ he asked the Master.

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘That’s not many,’ Sara said anxiously.

  ‘We’re a small, selective unit,’ Morgan explained. ‘We find that works to our advantage when we go on missions into foreign territories, particularly Salahara and Caledon. That’s where the other members of our order currently are.’

  The desert kingdom of Salahara lay several hours by boat south from Andalon’s southern city-port of Waterpool. Although Andalon and Salahara had been at peace for the past hundred years, Salaharan corsairs prowled the Slave Coast, and nomadic brigands killed anybody foolish enough to dare trekking across Salahara’s seemingly endless sea of sand dunes. In spite of this, treasure hunters often ventured into Salahara, lured by the legendary wealth buried beneath its shifting sands, stowed away in ancient Dray cities swallowed by the desert.

  Roland leaned forward in his seat, rested an elbow on the table and frowned. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand, sir, and I hope you don’t mind me asking, but it’s been puzzling me ever since Duke Connal told us what the Brotherhood does.’ The Master gestured with an open palm for him to continue. ‘Why don’t you recruit from the armies? Why choose cadets? Or, even better, why don’t you recruit tomb robbers and thieves? I know that’s what I’d do.’

  ‘Not every soldier makes a good thief, and tomb robbers, whilst they are highly skilled at sneaking into burial mounds, are often not to be trusted,’ Morgan replied. Caspan was discomforted by his words. ‘We’re not just treasure hunters. Yes, we’ll continue with the weapon training you did in your academies and teach you how to detect and circumvent traps, but much of your training will focus on reading and translating ancient languages, and studying Dray genealogies and maps. Our past experiences have taught us that most veteran soldiers and thieves have little patience for such … well, what they consider to be trivialities.’

  Sara looked offended. ‘Trivialities? Study and research are anything but that!’

  Caspan shifted in his chair, feeling self-conscious. He was lucky that his parents had taught him to read and write when they were alive, but he knew nothing about ancient Dray language or their history. He hoped this wouldn’t be an issue in the coming months.

  The Master strode over to a chair and folded his forearms across the top of its back. ‘Some of our members are former thieves and tomb robbers, but most are from the military. We set a similar test to the one you attempted this evening last year when we were searching for prospective recruits. But rather than pick from the cadet academies, we targeted the armies. Fifty of the most skilled soldiers in Andalon pursued the challenge. More than a quarter couldn’t decrypt the riddle that led to the second clue. Of those who did, only three could translate the ancient passage for the next clue. In the end, only one woman suc
cessfully passed the test and was invited to join the Brotherhood.’

  Lachlan cocked an eyebrow. ‘Only one?’

  Roland screwed up his nose. ‘And a woman?’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Kilt demanded.

  Roland raised a hand in placation. ‘Absolutely nothing. I’m just a little … well, surprised, that’s all.’

  Kilt drew breath to comment but the Master cleared his throat impatiently. ‘There’s so much more to being a successful treasure hunter than knowing how to wield a sword and pick locks. Many soldiers and thieves don’t have the patience nor the temperament for what we do. It’s not all action. Research is one of our most valuable weapons. Weeks may pass during which we won’t leave the archive, searching through ancient maps and parchments for clues to the location of Dray burials.’ He regarded them thoughtfully. ‘The fact that you completed this evening’s challenge is proof that you’re smart, quick and determined.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Most importantly, you know how to use your brains.’

  Sara smiled proudly. ‘We have the trainers at our cadet academies to thank for that.’

  The Master nodded. ‘There’s been a greater focus on academic studies in the past year. Yes, Andalon needs competent soldiers in its fight against the Roon, but the kingdom also needs diplomats, strategists, ordinance masters and a whole range of others who know more than simply how to wield a sword. We knew the academies would provide a valuable pool of prospective recruits this year. I should also point out that some of the passageways we encounter in Dray tombs are too narrow for adults to access. It will be handy having a group of smaller, more nimble members to navigate their way to the end of such tombs.’ He looked at Lachlan. ‘Although, I don’t think that will apply to you.’