Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  The funniest part of the evening was when the singer sat on Lachlan’s lap, fondled his hair and sang a slow, sultry love song. Lachlan’s face went bright red, which only made his friends guffaw even more. Finally seeing the humorous side of the situation, a faint grin played at the edges of Lachlan’s lips. This soon spread into a full smile and he joined his friends in their collective laughter.

  Roland patted Lachlan on the shoulder once the singer had moved off. ‘Aren’t you glad you came? It’s not every day that happens.’

  Lachlan loosened his collar and took a swig of his drink. ‘No, it isn’t, thank goodness.’

  Sara announced that it was time they started heading off. Master Scott had returned to the House of Whispers immediately after picking up the supplies and had left Sara with enough coin to pay for the meal. He had made it clear that the recruits must be back before midnight.

  As Sara picked up her book and went to the counter for their bill, Caspan observed a group of six teenage boys sitting across the room. He pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head so that he could watch them without being seen. One of the boys was pointing at Kilt and making comments about her, much to the mirth of his friends, who roared in laughter. They looked like a pack of street roughs: their hair long and unkempt, their faces covered in stubble, and their stained clothing marked with patches. In short, they looked like trouble.

  Roland also noticed them. ‘We should move off,’ he said under his breath to Caspan, who nodded.

  ‘Let’s just hope Lachlan and Kilt don’t see them,’ Caspan whispered, and started to direct his friends towards the exit. Kilt wouldn’t appreciate being mocked. And he very much doubted Lachlan would sit idly and allow her to be made fun of.

  However, their hope of avoiding a confrontation ended when Kilt glanced over her shoulder to see what all the fuss was about. Realising she was the subject of their amusement, she strode over to the table of ruffians.

  ‘Good evening, boys. Is there a problem?’ Kilt stared challengingly at them, hands on hips.

  One boy wiped his sleeve across his mouth and sniffed. ‘I’m glad you came over. We have a question for you.’ He and his friends broke into hysterics, and it was some time before he regained his composure. ‘Do you shave your face?’ The boy grinned cruelly, his eyes searching Kilt’s for a reaction. One of his companions laughed so hard he almost fell off his seat.

  Caspan and Roland crossed over and stood protectively by Kilt’s side. Roland placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to move her away. ‘Come on, Kilt, they’re not worth it.’

  Kilt shrugged him aside. She planted her hands on the table and leaned in closer to the boy who had spoken, looking him straight in the eye. ‘No, I don’t. Although I imagine you’d have to every hour, you great ape.’

  The grin vanished from the boy’s lips. He rose slowly from his chair, his eyes narrowing, and prodded Kilt in the chest with his finger, forcing her back. ‘You’ve got a smart mouth, shrew! You’d better be careful, or something nasty will happen to you.’

  Kilt continued to stare boldly at him. ‘And you’ve got an ugly head, but I won’t hold that against you.’

  The boy slammed his fist on the table in rage, knocking over his friends’ tankards and spilling claret across the table and floor. The people sitting at nearby tables scurried away.

  ‘Let’s see how well you can smile with no teeth!’ the ruffian threatened, and drew back his fist.

  But Kilt was faster. She dodged the punch that flew past her face. Using the boy’s momentum to her advantage, she drove her knee into his crotch, making him double over in pain.

  Kilt adjusted her tunic and smiled at the other thugs. ‘Now, does anybody else have anything they’d like to say?’

  All five boys flung back their chairs and sprang to their feet. Caspan glanced quickly over his shoulder, hoping that his friends were aware of what was happening. To his relief, Lachlan was racing across the tavern, coming to help. Sara was standing by the door, her book held tightly against her chest, her eyes wide with shock.

  He turned his attention back to the ruffians, whipped his cloak behind his shoulders and joined Roland as he stepped in front of Kilt. ‘Get ready,’ he warned. ‘Things are about to get messy.’

  Roland nodded. ‘I think right about now would be a good time to leave.’

  They started backing warily away but the boys charged at them. Caspan grabbed the end of the table, lifted it and pushed it over onto the group of boys. Two of them cursed as they were knocked to the ground, but the other three came at the recruits. The street thug on the right – a tall boy with dark eyes – snatched a tankard from the floor and swung it at Roland, who moved instinctively forward to block the attack with his left hand. He then delivered a punch to the boy’s chest, sending him staggering away gasping for air.

  Over to Caspan’s right, Kilt ducked a wide punch, pivoted and lashed out with the heel of her boot. Her assailant took the full impact of the kick, the wind exploding from his chest as he doubled over. Kilt slammed her elbow down onto the boy’s back, and he crumpled to the floor in a moaning heap.

  But Caspan didn’t have time to react to the ruffian who turned his sights on him. The thug tore forward and shoulder-barged him onto a nearby table. Startled, Caspan tried to regain his feet, but the boy dived on top of him, pinning him down. Caspan tried desperately to fend off the blows that were being rained upon him, but it wasn’t long before a punch got past his defences. Hot pain erupted along his jaw. His vision blurred and he covered his face behind his forearms, trying to stop another direct hit.

  Caspan wasn’t too sure how long he withstood the ruffian’s assault, but it seemed to be an eternity before the boy was finally dragged off him. He peered through the gap between his forearms to see Lachlan knock the thug to the floor.

  Caspan blinked clarity back into his vision and saw one of the remaining two ruffians swing a wild punch at Kilt, his full weight behind it. But Kilt darted to the side, easily avoiding the blow, then kicked him in the rear and sent him crashing into a table. The boy roared in anger, grabbed a nearby stool and charged at Kilt. She seized the closest chair and thrust it in front of her, using it to intercept the thug’s attack. The chairs shattered upon impact, sending shards of wood flying through the air. A broken chair leg smacked into the ruffian’s temple, and he stumbled back, clutching his head.

  The final thug – who was even larger than Lachlan – came at Roland. The giant tossed aside tables and chairs as if they were nothing, cornering the recruit close to the central hearth. With flight no longer an option, Roland leapt forward and delivered one of his best punches straight into the boy’s jaw, forcing his head to snap to the side. The ruffian turned slowly and looked down at Roland. ‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ The boy sneered, wiping his sleeve across his mouth.

  For the first time in his life, Roland looked caught for words. He took a fearful step back and raised his fists, hoping to block the ruffian’s punches, which he knew would come down on him like sledgehammers.

  Caspan raced across the room, weaving lithely through the mess of furniture. But as fast as Caspan was, he knew that he would never make it in time. The thug drew back his fist and stepped forward. Roland braced himself for the impact.

  The fist came at him like a shoulder of ham shot from a ballista. Roland swung his right forearm across his face in an attempt to deflect the punch. He succeeded, and turned the attack into a glancing blow. Still, it was enough to send Roland careening into the wall. His head hit a wooden beam, and he winced in pain as he prepared to face the ruffian’s next punch.

  Caspan called out, distracting the giant for only a second. But that was all the time the former footpad needed. Jumping in the air, Caspan slid deftly across the slippery surface of a long table, bringing him right up to the combatants. Then Caspan leapt onto the thug’s back, locking his arms around his neck.

  The ruffian twisted violently in an attempt to dislodge Caspan, but the recruit clung
tighter than a barnacle to a ship’s hull. His face turning purple, the boy pushed aside Roland, who stumbled over a nearby stool. The thug staggered over to the nearest wall and slammed his back hard against it. Caspan gave a whimper, released his hold and slumped to the floor.

  The ruffian reached down, grabbed Caspan by the scruff of his cloak and pinned him up against the wall. He drew back his clenched fist and aimed it like a battering ram at Caspan’s face. The recruit tried desperately to break free, but it was to no avail.

  Lachlan came out of nowhere and crash-tackled the ruffian to the ground. As Caspan slid down the wall and Roland scrambled back to his feet, Lachlan and the giant wrestled across the floor. It was an evenly matched fight, until Lachlan climbed atop his opponent and delivered a punch that made the thug raise his hands in surrender.

  Lachlan got to his feet and glared at the boy. ‘Nobody messes with my friends. Now get out of here before I get really angry!’

  The street thugs scurried out of the tavern, moaning and nursing injuries. The boy who’d started the fight stopped at the exit, cursed under his breath and produced a dagger from his belt. Holding it by the tip of its blade, he raised it behind his ear and aimed it at Lachlan.

  One of the patrons gave a cry of alarm. The entire tavern froze.

  Lachlan stared fiercely at the boy and took a step towards him. ‘Put that down, you coward.’

  Caspan moved forward to join Lachlan. He pointed a finger in warning at the thug. ‘You don’t want to do that. This was nothing more than a scuffle. Let’s just call it a night and walk away.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say.’ The ruffian wiped his forearm across his shattered nose. ‘Look what the shrew did to me!’

  Lachlan snorted. ‘Don’t blame us. You shouldn’t have started something you couldn’t finish.’

  The ruffian’s hand trembled with barely controlled rage. ‘Aren’t you brave? Let’s see how good you are at dodging daggers!’

  Caspan positioned himself in front of Lachlan and spread his arms wide. ‘No! This isn’t how you want this night to end.’

  The ruffian spat contemptuously. ‘Isn’t it?’ His jaw tightened, and he drew the dagger back further – only to be knocked to the floor, crowned by the heavy book wielded by Sara, who had been standing by the exit the entire time. She kicked the dagger away from the boy’s hand and gave him a boot up the backside to assist him out the door. Then she turned to her friends, who stared at her and clapped with approval.

  ‘I can’t believe you just did that!’ Kilt exclaimed.

  Sara grinned and straightened her shoulders proudly. ‘What? I’m not allowed to put out the rubbish?’

  The following day the recruits went about their training as usual. Caspan and Roland kept their hoods pulled over their faces, hiding the bruises they’d received from the fight. Fortunately, it was cold, and the Masters didn’t question why they insisted on keeping their cowls on.

  The last thing the recruits wanted was for the Masters to find out what had happened that night. It had been a show of great trust by the Masters, allowing them to venture out by themselves, and the recruits didn’t want them to think that they were irresponsible. Until the ruffians had tried their hardest to ruin the recruits’ fun, they had had a great time, and were afraid they’d be banned from ever visiting the Thirsty Wayfarer again. Not that they were keen to do that in the near future, though, for fear of running into that very same pack.

  It was when the friends were sitting in the Great Hall for dinner that Scott approached them and raised the matter of the mysterious outing. ‘Is anyone still interested in going on a trip with Master Morgan?’ he asked.

  Roland’s eyes lit up and he slapped his palm on the table. ‘Just name the time and the place, sir.’

  Scott grinned. ‘A messenger arrived by raven the other night. Monks up north claim to have found something that might be of interest to our order. Morgan will be heading off at first light tomorrow. I thought he might enjoy your company.’

  ‘Really? And what did he say?’ Roland asked ­hesitantly.

  Caspan was certain he was thinking that Morgan wasn’t keen to go on a long journey with the troublesome boy.

  Scott rubbed his chin. ‘To be honest, he didn’t seem that taken with the idea at first. But I managed to convince him that it would be good for your training.’

  Lachlan drained off his tankard and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. ‘Then it’s settled. So we’ll meet the Master in the stable before dawn?’

  Scott shook his head. ‘No. Horses will be too slow for such a trip. You’ll travel by Warden.’

  Kilt’s eyes shone with excitement. The recruits’ soul keys had been returned to them during breakfast, and she toyed with hers, which dangled from her neck on its new silver chain. ‘How awesome! Our first proper outing on our Wardens.’

  The Master raised a cautionary hand. ‘Don’t get too excited. You’ll all be flying, so you’ll need to ride tandem with the boys. I’d like you to join Caspan on Frostbite.’

  Caspan thought that Kilt would have been disappointed that she wouldn’t get to ride Whisper. Now, having learned that she’d have to fly with him, it wouldn’t surprise him if she bluntly refused to go on the journey altogether.

  ‘And your reason being?’ she asked the Master coldly.

  Scott shrugged indifferently. ‘No real reason. I just thought it would be good for you, that’s all.’

  Kilt glanced at Caspan and drew a patient breath before shifting her gaze back to the Master. She nodded begrudgingly. ‘If you say so, sir.’

  Scott regarded Sara. ‘It’s best if you also ride with one of the boys. You’ll be travelling a fair distance, and I doubt Cloud Dancer will be able to keep pace.’

  Sara nodded, to which Roland said urgently, ‘She can ride with me.’

  Caspan suppressed a grin. He suspected that Roland was keen to share his saddle with Sara so as to avoid riding tandem with Master Morgan, who would now have to join Lachlan.

  Scott cocked an eyebrow at Roland. ‘Any silly antics and I’m sure Master Morgan will send you straight back to the House of Whispers.’

  Caspan was sure the Master had said this on Sara’s behalf. She wasn’t a confident flyer and didn’t appreciate how Roland and Bandit often goofed off.

  Roland saluted the Master. ‘You can count on me, sir.’

  ‘How do the monks know of us?’ Caspan asked. ‘I thought the Brotherhood was a secret organisation.’

  ‘We are,’ the Master replied. ‘It just so happens that the monks have helped us once or twice before, providing us with shelter when we’ve explored tombs in their area. They don’t know exactly what it is we do, but they understand we are sanctioned by the King and are interested in exploring ancient Dray sites.’

  ‘Do you think we’re ready for such a trip?’ Sara queried.

  ‘You’ve made impressive progress in the course of the past week. I wouldn’t have asked Master Morgan to take you if I didn’t think you were up to it.’ Scott sat on the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’re to meet outside the front of the House of Whispers an hour before dawn.’

  ‘How long will the journey take?’ Sara asked.

  ‘The better part of the morning. You should arrive at the monastery for lunch.’

  Roland rubbed his stomach and licked his lips. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Caspan gave the Master a concerned look. ‘We won’t be going anywhere near the Roon?’

  ‘They’re held north of the River Trenter by the northern legions. The monastery is an hour’s travel by horse south of the river.’ Scott smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry; Morgan won’t be taking you anywhere dangerous.’ He leaned over the table and selected a mince pie. ‘He plans on spending the night in the monastery and heading back the next morning, so pack lightly. And don’t be late.’ He took a bite, bid the group good evening and exited the hall.

  The recruits quickly finished their dinner, arranged f
or Gramidge to wake them before dawn, then headed off to their private quarters. Caspan packed an extra pair of pants and his old leather doublet in case it rained, as well as his stiletto and lantern, as a force of habit. He read for a while, practising translating an ancient text before climbing into bed.

  Slowly stroking the soul key around his neck, he stared out the window at the silver-lined clouds passing the crescent moon. Eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s adventure, it was a long time before he finally drifted off to sleep.

  The black velvet of the night was fading to a grey smear on the horizon when the recruits began their journey. As previously arranged, Caspan partnered up with Kilt, Sara rode with Roland, and Morgan with Lachlan. The Wardens had been equipped with special two-person saddles the recruits had collected from the stable. They had harnesses, large horns at the front that rose up and over the riders’ thighs, and high cantles at the rear, sculpted to the contours of the riders’ backs to prevent them from falling out.

  Morgan seemed to be in a happy mood and gave a rare smile when he greeted the recruits. Roland glanced at Caspan and raised his eyebrows in shock. Still, Caspan noted how Roland tried to avoid the Master, summoning Bandit as far away as possible and not asking Morgan to check that he had correctly saddled and harnessed his manticore. Roland’s eyes glistened with restless energy, but he refrained from making any comments that would anger Morgan.

  With the Master and Lachlan leading, they flew over the forests to the north of the House of Whispers. They travelled at a steady pace, cruising only a few yards above the tree tops. Once clear of the forest, as dawn’s rays transformed the land gold, Morgan instructed Lachlan to increase their speed and climb higher.

  Soaring above the land, Caspan settled back in his saddle and gazed at the countryside below. Everything looked so different from this height; rivers squiggled across the ground like shimmering slugs’ trails, livestock looked like ants and hamlets resembled children’s play-blocks.