Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer

by James Shade

  He sucked another gulp of the liquid across his teeth and then nearly spilled the rest of the mug down his shirt as a hand clapped him firmly on the back.

  “Karl, my friend! How are you doing?” the voice crashed through his quiet thoughts, shattering them like the crucibles to get the silver within.

  ~

  Chazd sprang over the table and landed on the bench next to his best friend. It was good to see Karl and the pleasant thrill of surprising him helped push away some of the dark mood that had consumed the past days.

  “Chazd!” Karl said. “What in the name of Teichmar are you doing here at this hour?”

  Chazd shrugged. His friend knew his habits and sleeping late was a favorite. But Chazd had not been sleeping much lately, so the early hour made no difference. Since the second morning at their hideout in the barn loft, Chazd had taken to slipping out early before Jaeron or Avrilla were awake. It gave him a chance to sneak into the city, which he knew would just make Jaeron angry.

  He hated being outside Islar’s walls. The city’s alleyways and rooftops were Chazd’s playground, his refuge. He could not think at the barn, especially with his siblings continually checking on him. So, he would sneak away and come back with breakfast, which helped stave off questions about where he had been and what he had been doing.

  This morning was different, though. Jaeron had asked them to find someone they could trust to form the core of their new guild. Chazd did not even need to make a decision. He just knew he was going to ask Karl. He had always known that they would work together someday.

  “I needed to talk to you,” Chazd said.

  Karl set down his mug and spread open his palms. With his left hand, he made a thief sign – your mouth is open. It was supposed to be used when partners on a job were telling each other to be quiet. But over the decades it had devolved into a general insult for ‘you talk too much’ as well as a more derogatory comment about anatomy.

  Chazd smirked, but shook his head. “Listen, this is kind of important. I’m putting together a new guild.”

  “You’re putting together?” Karl laughed.

  “Okay – Jaeron and Avrilla and me.”

  “I always figured that your father would have led that charge,” Karl said.

  Chazd looked away and froze. He was not going to cry in front of Karl. By the gods, he was not.

  “What?” Karl saw the change in mood.

  “Karl, my father was killed a couple nights ago. You didn’t hear about the fire?”

  Chazd heard his voice crack, just a bit at the end. The clamps squeezing on his throat betrayed him.

  “Chazd, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and closed his eyes. This was not the way it was supposed to be. He and Karl should be jumping into this new venture with eyes shining, mouths grinning, and a little jingle in their pockets ringing out for more.

  “What fire? Chazd, what’s happened?”

  The work bells rang out across the mine and Chazd saw the serving girl begin her clean-up tasks, gathering trenchers and cups from the morning break. Chazd turned to Karl, blinking away the dampness in his eyes. He briefly covered the events of the night Henri died and told him Jaeron’s plan. He did not finish until after the last of the workmen were gone from underneath the dining fly and the shift supervisor was on his way over toward them.

  Karl had noticed the boss coming, too. He waved him off, pointing to his leg. Chazd could see that the man did not completely believe Karl’s excuse, but was letting him have a few more minutes despite it.

  “So, are you in?” Chazd asked.

  “I can’t really say no, can I?” Karl said. “But your family... well, are you sure I’ll be welcome?”

  Chazd nodded. He had already given that some thought.

  ~

  Considering their age difference and work ethic, one would never imagine that Chazd deAlto and Karl Veis would be friends. Certainly, the way they met would have challenged the possibility. Chazd worked through the arithmetic in his head. It had been almost five years since the near mishap that initiated their friendship.

  Chazd recalled his youthful overconfidence. He had only recently expanded his roaming territory to include the Dockside Ward. The ward seemed to team with wealth in comparison to the Ninth Ward. Ships were loaded and unloaded with more merchandise than he ever imagined. Rich merchants and attendants arrived with their entourage, giving orders and being addressed with more respect than the city guards. Carts and wagons arrived with produce and other products from Islar’s surrounding farms. And livestock was herded through the streets and up narrow, walled planks into ship holds.

  The third or fourth day of his excursions, Chazd saw his temptation. An untended carriage was parked outside The Crooked Window, a then unknown Dockside tavern where he would eventually spend so much time. The carriage was a formal affair, with high polished brass and meticulously varnished redwood. Velvet drapes hung in the windows, drawn open, allowing Chazd to confirm that there was no one sitting inside.

  The carriage was harnessed to a pair of Ukindelan mares. Their shafts were fitted with holdbacks and the carriage wheels were blocked. Chazd learned later that Ukindelans were nervous and willful, but at the moment he was just marveling at their beauty. Their coats were pale gray and graduated to a dark ash near the nose and feet. Their hindquarters were dappled with white and ash spots and their mane and tail were ashen near their bodies, but darkened to midnight at the tips. Dressed in royal red velvet, blood red-dyed leather, and bright brass, they were a wonder for the twelve-year-old Chazd.

  At the time Chazd wondered how Karl knew he was going to try to steal the carriage, but in hindsight it was obvious. He had developed better skills at keeping such things hidden since then. Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, Chazd quick stepped across the road toward the carriage seats. He was about to climb in when he felt a hand grab him by the shoulder.

  “You don’t want to do that,” a voice said. It had a strange slur, like the words were not being fully formed.

  Chazd spun to begin his protest. He already had a story preparing in his mind. A tale of being the coachman’s lost son. He figured he could fast-talk the guard long enough to make a break for it and lose him in the Dockside traffic. He never got the chance to say anything. The sight of the man facing him silenced him.

  “I tried stealing a horse once, and look what I got for the trouble,” the stranger said. Then he broke into a smile that was more unsettling to Chazd than his serious appearance. “C’mon, let me tell you about it.”

  Chazd almost bolted, but his curiosity overcame the notion. They had spent the afternoon together, Karl telling the story of his disfigurement and other tales of the trouble he had gotten into. He also provided a guided tour of Dockside where Karl had spent most of his life. Over the next few weeks, they became fast friends. Chazd never regretted his decision to stay and listen.

  ~

  “Karl, you do more odd jobs for more shady businesses in this city than anyone else I know. You know how the guilds work – something Father never really taught us. And I can convince them you’re trustworthy.”

  “Okay,” Karl said. “I’m in.”

  Twenty-Two

  The lingering scent of incense filled the voluminous interior of the Cathedral of Teichmar. Matteo Falks walked slowly acrossthe altar, taking in the quiet solitude. He so enjoyed these moments, performing his simple chores after the morning services. Up until three years ago Matteo had enjoyed the services, too. But when Matteo’s mentor and spiritual advisor, Father Bruhan, retired the tone and even the purpose of the Church seemed to change.

  Father Bruhan was a converted faith-follower of Olkein. He had once told Matteo that when his mother church had been outlawed, he was given the choice to convert, be exiled, or give up being a priest. He said he could never stop serving his people and he felt his beliefs were similar to those described in the Book of the Just. The choice was
simple.

  Matteo admired Father Bruhan’s devotion to the church that the man espoused as a devotion to its people. Bruhan believed the church was the people, not the oak, marble, and precious metals that were shaped into the building around him. In some ways, he believed it was more about the people than about the god. Perhaps that was why he had found it palatable to convert. Matteo learned from Father Bruhan that the teachings of Teichmar were about being just in the way one lived and acted, not punishing others for the way they acted. Matteo knew that there were many church leaders who had the opposite view.

  As Matteo knelt to say his final prayers before heading back to the dormitories, he reflected on the morning’s sermon. Since Father Abreida began presiding over the services, the focus was more and more on forcibly ensuring justice. The new Church of Teichmar was leaving no room for mercy or forgiveness. Abreida’s militant teachings were at least being softened by the presence of Father Nojel. The student of Bruhan’s had returned from his post on the warfront and was considering an offer to take Abreida’s previous post as the Cathedral Patriarch.

  Matteo prayed for change. A way for a new message of hope to spread through his church. Minutes later, Matteo emerged from the Cathedral’s western “pastor’s” door and turned to lock it behind him. When he turned around, a familiar face greeted him.

  “Jaeron!” Matteo smiled. “Teichmar’s Word, brother.”

  Matteo noted that his friend’s smile and greeting back was half-hearted. As an acolyte, he had an uncanny knack for interpreting mood and expression, and his formal training gave him further ability to discern false claims and denials. His friend was in distress.

  “What’s wrong, my friend?”

  Jaeron frowned, shaking his head slightly.

  “Not here… may we talk in private?”

  ~

  The two young men had met nearly eight years ago. Jaeron twisted his ankle playing gomjom in the unused market fields near Islar’s church ward. Remembering that it was a healing day, Jaeron limped his way to the Church’s grounds. During his care, the attending priest named Father Bruhan introduced Jaeron to Matteo and made a comment about the similarity of the boys’ injuries. The boys spent the rest of the afternoon regaling each other with stories of their achievements on the gomjom field.

  Weeks later, with his ankle recovered, Jaeron began playing gomjom with the orphans at the Church, seeing Matteo almost daily from late spring through midsummer. Then Henri had taken away Jaeron’s free time, enrolling him in combat training with a Pevaran sword master. Fortunately, his father also recognized the budding friendship between the boys and allowed Jaeron to spend time with Matteo when he could. This led to Jaeron’s enrollment in the Cathedral academy. The school was expensive, normally reserved for nobles and merchants’ sons, but a few students were admitted on a charity basis. At Matteo’s urging, Father Bruhan made the recommendation for Jaeron’s entry, recognizing in the young deAlto a candidate of true faith, if not extraordinary scholastic ability.

  The boys saw each other during services as well, when Jaeron attended them with Henri. Once it became obvious that Matteo was going to join the ranks of the acolytes, he asked Jaeron to join the Church with him. Both boys had impressed their teachers with their ability to recite and understand Teichmar’s Word and they always had insightful questions and answers during their catechism. Matteo believed that Jaeron would be accepted into the order without question.

  Jaeron suspected that his friend was right, but in the end, Jaeron decided not to ask Henri about it. He would not have needed his father’s permission, but Henri would have had to provide the tithing fee required to enter service. Even that was not the real reason that Jaeron decided not to pursue the priesthood. By that time, Jaeron understood his father’s goals and felt the growing rift between a life of service in the church and the obligation to his family. The wall between the two choices had come to the point where it could no longer be breached.

  Jaeron knew that Matteo hoped he would one day change his mind. Meanwhile, the two young men enjoyed what time they could spend together whether they devoted that time discussing Teichmar’s writings and philosophy or teaching the church orphans the finer points of gomjom.

  ~

  Matteo nodded, “Sure, Jaeron. The dormitory or a private oratory?”

  Jaeron suggested that they use an oratory for the conversation. He garnered that the rooms were blessed and sealed against eavesdropping for private prayer and consult with Teichmar’s priests or the deity himself. Ingrained with a thief’s wariness, Jaeron was not sure he could trust any establishment of Islar. He was uncertain whether anyone could overhear a conversation held in those chambers, but it was the best he could do this morning.

  Impatient, Jaeron paced while Matteo unlocked the cathedral doors. Then the two men walked side-by-side toward the Hall of Contemplation. Jaeron paused at the altar with Matteo, kneeling into the Rite of Balance and silently mouthing the appropriate prayer. As he rose, he noted that Matteo had imitated his actions. No, it’s me who is the imitator.

  The Hall of Contemplation was cool and still, even as midday approached. Jaeron slowed down as they walked through the blue and violet hues of light filtering down through the stained glass windows. He let the peacefulness of the place sink in. Matteo motioned for him and they entered a small side room. Each oratory was starkly furnished. A pair of fine oak chairs with worn padded leather seats faced each other at the center of the chamber. A kneeler was placed on the left side of the room, under a wooden fresco of Teichmar mounted on the wall.

  Matteo closed the door behind them once they were inside and murmured the prayer that sealed the room to disturbances. Jaeron waited quietly. Now, as the moment came, he was not sure what he was doing here. His initial intention to grow his guild roster was faltering as he realized the selfishness in his selection. Matteo was the only person outside of his family whom he trusted and, in many ways, he had a closer bond with Matteo than he did with Chazd or Avrilla. But his friend had committed his life to the church. He could not ask him to leave that to join a group of thieves.

  By the time Matteo had finished and moved around in front of him, Jaeron was clenching his fists trying to fight through his conflicting emotions.

  “Jaeron, what’s going on?” Matteo motioned for Jaeron to sit down.

  As he stepped back, Jaeron practically collapsed into the chair, finally feeling the release of tension he had been under since the night he watched his father die.

  “I don’t know where to begin, Matteo,” he said.

  “Teichmar judges the actions of the heart, Jaeron. And you’ll find no judgment from his servant,” Matteo intoned the words that began a formal confession.

  Jaeron knew he had few, if any, secrets from Matteo. He reasoned that his friend had no illusions about Jaeron’s life and livelihood, so he began with Henri’s planning session for their break-in of the Dockpad’s warehouse. Matteo was quiet through the narration, reacting only to lean forward and grip Jaeron’s arm as he talked about his final moments with Henri in the burning apartment. As Jaeron finished he unwrapped the package he had been holding. He handed Matteo the letter and let him read it before giving him the wooden soldier.

  “I don’t know what most of it means,” Jaeron finished. “But I’m in agreement with Chazd. I don’t think Teichmar will see justice unless we help make it happen.”

  Matteo searched Jaeron’s eyes and he could almost sense that his friend was trying to gauge the commitment in his words. Now that it was all out, Jaeron felt a wave of relief. He stood up and stretched, rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder. Moving in front of the image of Teichmar, he looked at the familiar figure once again wondering how much things had changed in the past few days.

  “What are you looking for, Jaeron?” Matteo asked, kindly but with authority.

  Jaeron turned around slowly. “To tell you the truth, Matteo, I originally came here to ask you to join us. I think I just realized that I a
ctually came here because I needed someone to share this burden with. A friend to lean on.”

  “You know you have that.”

  Matteo paused, frowning and then stood up to approach him across the room.

  “Jaeron, you’ve balanced on the edge of this coin for a long time. Teichmar’s teachings are clear about theft,” he said looking at the eldest deAlto pointedly.

  “Punishment in equal measure.”

  Matteo nodded. “You know, I’ve always believed that Teichmar’s justice is carried out in his own way, not ours. We’ve both seen the Word used incorrectly. Inappropriate justice carried out by the fallible, or the corrupt.”

  “What are you saying, Matteo?”

  Matteo gripped Jaeron by the shoulders. “Jaeron, I know you believe that this cause is just and not about vengeance. Whatever you need, you just have to ask. I’m not ready to leave the Church, but I think I can influence the Church to help you at times. For the right actions and the right reasons, of course.”

  Twenty-Three

  DeLocke rubbed his eyes as the third witness left his office. She met all his expectations, which meant she added no valuable information to his investigation. Holger realized that he was going to have to focus on finding the people responsible for the fire, and if that also resulted in the discovery of who caused the death of Henri deAlto, he would not complain.

  Holger did not believe that deAlto’s so-called children killed the man. He was convinced that they probably found him dead and used the fire as a diversion to take the old man’s possessions and leave town. They had not realized that the death of an old thief would have caused less of a reaction than the loss of a building worth hundreds of krovats. A building belonging to Tonas Valche. The fact that Valche owned one out of eight buildings in the Ninth Ward made no difference. He had friends on the city council and they were putting pressure on deLocke to bring in the deAltos. Now he had two witnesses claiming that the deAltos had arrived after the fire had started and one of them rushed into the burning building to rescue the old man. More likely, one of them remembered the placement of something valuable they had left behind.