Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer

by James Shade

  “Yesterday Anton stops me. Says that someone was over on Hanger, asking about the fire, and whether Anton knew of any guild involvement. Fang involvement. Sounded like something you wouldn’t be happy about, so we took care of it.”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “No one – a street person.”

  Gerlido could not argue with Sukul. He did not want the Fangs implicated in Henri deAlto’s death or the destruction of the apartment, despite the fact that deAlto had inadvertently set the fire himself. Still, his lieutenant was not telling him everything.

  “Go on,” Gerlido said. “What else did Anton say?”

  “Someone is asking about deAlto’s death. He did not know who it was, but he was going to try to find out.

  “Also, he thinks the deAlto children delivered the package.”

  “How the-?” Gerlido clamped his jaws closed. He needed to know if that rumor was true.

  “Sukul, have your boys keep an eye out for deLespan’s man, Jefford. He’s always running errands all over the city. The next time he’s out alone, I want to know immediately.

  “And look for that songbird again. Rodin. A soft mark like that you should be able to make talk.”

  Gerlido looked out across the tavern. Rough men and rougher women laughed and drank and fought and found dark corner booths for cheap, quick coitus. The quiet conversation at the gambling table was pointedly ignored, but Gerlido felt suddenly exposed. Investigation of Black Fang whereabouts would come from a narrow list of sources – the city guard, another guild, or someone who knew the history between Gerlido and Henri deAlto.

  He knew how to handle one of those possibilities.

  “Who is handling the Valche tenement fire investigation?”

  “Holger deLocke,” Sukul said.

  “I want to meet with him,” Gerlido said. “Figure out a way to make that happen. Keep looking for the deAltos. Just the two of you. I have work for the rest of the Fangs.”

  Gerlido watched his lieutenants continue to sit there nodding at him. As neither of them moved, he began to glower. Sukul picked up the signal first and slapped the meat of Brale’s arm.

  “Let’s move, Brale.”

  The leader of the Black Fangs watched them weave through the tavern patrons and out into the sunlight. He considered ordering a drink, but then thought better of it. He wanted something finer than the watered down swill served here.

  Before he stood, a wave of heat washed over him. His simple thirst for a warm single malt slid into a need of something hotter, thicker, more primal. It lasted only seconds, but it was all encompassing until it was gone.

  Gerlido cursed under his breath. That sensation was happening more often lately. Perhaps Larsetta’s visit was not ill timed after all. He needed to have a talk with her.

  Twenty-Six

  Avrilla followed Danine into the subterranean hallway, trying to get her attention as they made their way back into the shuffling crowd.

  “Danine! I don’t know what to do in an arena fight. I can’t do this.”

  The northern woman paused and moved Avrilla out of the pedestrian flow. Grasping her bicep, Danine pulled Avrilla close to her.

  “You can fight – I’ve seen that. You may not be as good as I am, but you are good.”

  “But it’s all been practice,” Avrilla said. “I’ve never really…” She did not know how to phrase her concern.

  Danine continued to look at her but did not say anything, an amused smirk highlighting her gaze. Avrilla looked around, taking in the environment of the arena sub-floor. The weapon and armor stalls. The energy of potential violence and the nervous thrill of gambling. The blood. There was a very real difference in the way she thought about combat and why she trained for it and the view that Danine held.

  “Danine, I’ve never killed anyone,” she admitted. “I don’t know that I can.”

  Danine smiled at her. It was a wicked smile and Avrilla got the feeling that was exactly the point that Danine was trying to make.

  “These are my terms, Avrilla,” she said. “I will join you if you join me.”

  Avrilla considered the statement, wondering if Danine had really been the right choice for her addition to their guild. She looked down at herself. The heat of the day rolled down the entry ramp to the arena, but it had nothing to do with the perspiration that flooded her. She felt self-conscious, ridiculous. She had never been in public with so much of her body showing.

  It was too late to make a different decision.

  “DeAlto,” Danine said again, more gently. “Fight with me.”

  Without knowing exactly why, Avrilla looked up at the taller woman and nodded.

  ~

  Coatie made a slow approach and set up close to the weapon shop’s front door before the two men walked out. He let them brush past him and waited a few moments, pretending to check some debris in the roadside to determine if it were fit contents for his bucket. Then, after assuring himself that they were not paying any attention to him, Coatie followed the deAltos across Horadon Road toward the Temple Ward.

  Coatie continued cleaning the cobblestone street, pushing the filth from the cart pack toward the corner sewer grates. The deAlto brothers made only one other stop at a specialty ink and parchment shop, and this time did not leave empty-handed. The older one carried a small parcel held protectively under his left arm. When they turned onto Pineal Avenue, Shaels paused. He was wandering more than a street cleaner would and he looked around to see if there was a convenient place for him to discard his disguise. Before he found an appropriate spot, the two young men stopped.

  The local well was over a block away. If the men decided to get moving again, he might lose them. Coatie decided to take the chance. He crossed the corner and the distance to the well, taking the opportunity to dump his bucket into the sewer grate and rinse it with fresh water. From the well’s stone pedestal, Shaels found the sun was at his back and he could watch the brothers from a better vantage point.

  They were waiting for something. The elder brother stood stoically, watching the pedestrians and staying out of the way. The younger seemed full of nervous energy. He could not stay still. Between the two disparate attitudes, Coatie began to feel nervous. Either of them could notice him if he did not return to his cleaning or find a better place to hide.

  ~

  The arena horns sounded again. The heavy rattle of chains sounded in the small ramp area, pulling up the portcullis and opening the way onto the arena floor. Danine grasped Avrilla’s wrist and guided her into the sunlight. She lifted the girl’s hand above their heads and smiled at the crowd.

  Less than half of the arena seats were occupied this morning, but the people that were there filled the air with shouts for her. Danine had fought before smaller crowds and still enjoyed it. It was more than enough. She pulled in a full chest of air through her nose, tasting the dry, powdery dirt, the salty tang of the unwashed, and the coppery scent of money mingled with blood. It is going to be a great morning.

  Danine stalked forward onto the arena’s dirt floor, motioning Avrilla to follow along. She grinned at the girl’s nerves and fear. Those jitters would build into a tense excitement once the battle commenced. Avrilla was a natural fighter. She just needed the right motivation.

  The gates on the far side of the arena opened and the private arena guards prodded three men into the sunlight. The men were dressed in light leather armor, sandals, shin guards, and the military armbands characteristic of Rosunland. They were armed with short swords and small wooden shields. Captured armaments. The men stumbled into the bright morning as the gates closed behind them, looking around warily as the crowd began booing.

  Danine shook her head. She was disappointed. They were young and appeared inexperienced. She waived for Avrilla to come in close.

  “Fight to disable them. These are boys - not warriors.”

  She pointed to the right, nodding as Avrilla moved in that direction. Drawing her weapons, Danine moved left toward
the north side of the oval arena. Their opponents had entered a triangular formation, moving toward the center of the arena to avoid the market vendor projectiles being hurled by the spectators.

  Danine rolled her shoulders and swung her axe in a long overhand arc. As her left hand completed the revolution, her right hand went into motion, swinging her dagger up and over in a backhand arc. She gave each weapon another orbit and then reversed directions.

  She did not suspect that the morning would present much of a challenge, but she was a creature of habit now. Limbering up as she moved across the sand was part of an ingrained preparation. She broke stride into a light bounce across the field, wondering at the incentive they had provided for her foes. Would a death here in this field be better than the fate they may face afterward?

  She closed to within a few yards and saw that Avrilla had followed suit. The girl’s kukris were out and she was actively using the distraction methods that their instructor, Yarvin, had taught them. The men between them had spread out a little, finally recognizing the threat that the two women represented.

  Danine felt a flush of anticipation, the contagious excitement of the crowd, and a background fear of injury. She was spurred with adrenalin. She checked on her partner. Avrilla was still hanging back, threatening but too cautious. The three Rosunlanders continued their circle, protecting each other's backs. The chant of the crowds in the arena stands reached its peak.

  It is time. They want blood now!

  She sprang suddenly, her lean legs propelling her three yards without effort. She was on the nearer opponent before he had time to react. Danine used her long-bladed dagger as a feint, drawing the man’s sword to block. Then she struck with her left hand, the small axe scoring a long cut across the man’s ribs.

  He stumbled back, trying to use his small shield to defeat any further attacks. One of his partners moved back to help, perhaps deducing that Avrilla's threats were merely posturing. Danine danced back and used a pair of steps to move clockwise, placing the men directly between her and her partner again.

  She assessed the first man’s wound. Her axe had torn through the hardened leather leaving a severe cut that bled profusely. By the way he was moving, Danine suspected she must have broken a rib or two with her strike. Avrilla’s face was pale, but not so much as Danine had expected.

  Good, there’s some lust for the fight in her after all.

  She caught Avrilla's eye and swung her axe lightly toward the first opponent. She did not know if Avrilla would understand the gesture, but it was plain enough. We can win without killing them if we have to.

  Whether Avrilla understood or not, she took the initiative and made the next attack. Her height was a disadvantage. She could not close the distance to the men in as few steps as had Danine. But she was quick, and her technique with the kukri nearly flawless. The blades rang out hard strikes against sword and shield, forcing the second man into a constant defensive. The third opponent started to maneuver around to aid his partner, but Danine jumped in quickly to interfere.

  She needed Avrilla to finish her fight. To wound, or possibly kill the second man. Danine yelled out a Hinterland battle cry and took a couple of wild swings with her axe and blade. The man had no choice but to deflect them, using up his precious strength to block the attacks. Danine’s first foe moved back in to help, but it took an incredible effort. Blood continued to flow down his side and already the hem of his shirt was drenched, glistening dark red.

  Danine toyed with them, delaying finishing either opponent to give Avrilla a chance to find her natural instincts. It’s possible the girl has none. In her heart, she did not believe it. Though Bormeeran, there was something behind the younger woman's eyes that was wild and uncontrolled. Perhaps a side effect of her long-dormant magical talent. Smiling, she forced her bleeding opponent into a side step that caused him to stumble and she used the moment's advantage to watch Avrilla fight.

  The girl was angry. Danine could see it immediately. She had welts on her shoulder and face and a small cut on her cheek. The result of a clever shield block, Danine guessed. The strike had finally awoken the snow leopard within Avrilla. Her fighting style had changed. The interplay of the naked curved blades was no longer a flourish designed to impress. Each movement had purpose.

  Danine’s foe found his second wind. Recovering a hidden reserve of strength, he dropped his shield onto the bloodstained sand and held his sword in a two-handed grip. He moved into a flanking position with the third Rosunlander and Danine had to shift into a side-to-side fighting posture. Danine began to fear she would not have time to see her partner's battle play out. She was going to have to finish one of the men.

  She heard the rapid clang of steel on steel again, and Danine risked a quick glance when her opponents turned to look. Avrilla had used a full cross sweep and followed the man's block and counterthrust with a clever parry and quick strike to the thigh. The girl aimed well, or perhaps got lucky. The maneuver was designed to be lethal, a femoral strike that bled a foe out quickly as his pumping heart was used against him. Avrilla had turned the strike outward, missing the critical location, and made a deep cut through the front of his upper thigh, severing a quarter of the muscle bundle on the outside of the leg.

  As the man tumbled to the ground, Avrilla called out, “Yield!”

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Danine smiled. With a quick flicking motion, she threw the dagger in her left hand at the third man. In different circumstances, it could have been a killing shot. But her throw was designed to strike pommel first. The heavy metal connected with the Rosunlander’s forehead and he collapsed to the ground.

  With no real choice given him, Avrilla’s foe dropped his weapons and sank to the arena floor, trying to hold together his savaged leg. Danine's gaze turned to their final opponent. The man was pale, shaking. A brief look of defiance crossed his face and Danine thought she might have to kill him after all. But then he looked at his friends again and threw his sword to the ground.

  Danine raced across the sand and grasped Avrilla’s hand in her own. She lifted their clasped hands into raised fists of victory. The crowd had expected a death match, but Danine’s gamble worked. The energy of her own fans infected the rest of the crowd and the sight of the two women working so efficiently to defeat three opponents was heady. The entire audience stood, cheered, and stomped. Danine risked a sideways glance at Avrilla and caught the surprised joy on her face.

  As the two women left the arena in a shower of flower petals and boektral seeds, Danine leaned in close to Avrilla’s ear.

  “I’m in, deAlto.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Jaeron was shocked at his sister’s appearance when she finally showed up to meet them. He and Chazd had waited for an hour and then finally gave up, deciding to buy a quick lunch from a street vendor. Jaeron’s concern about Avrilla’s absence drifted in a cycle from fear, to anger, to resigned confidence in her ability to handle herself. For his part, Chazd was uncharacteristically quiet.

  Before they had split up that morning, Avrilla had been evasive about the errands she needed to perform. Even more perplexing was her request that he and Chazd stop in the supply store for writing materials and inks. She had been very specific about her needs, but Jaeron could not figure out why she could not go herself. He did not press her on it, though. He trusted her. More than Chazd. More than anyone he knew, except perhaps Matteo.

  Really, I had trusted her as much. Until her revelation that she had been keeping an ability in magic a secret from him for the past two years. That plus her strange behavior this morning had given Jaeron more doubts about Avrilla than he had his entire life. And now this.

  He and Chazd had both broken into a run when Avrilla appeared around the corner of Pineal Avenue. She was covered with a thin coat of dust and sand, streaked with lines of dried sweat. Her hair was disheveled and rebound into an uncharacteristic, tight ponytail. The large welt raised on her cheek disturbed Jaeron the most.

  �
�Avrilla! What in the name of Teichmar happened?”

  “Are you okay?” asked Chazd.

  Their sister waved them off. “I’m okay. It’s nothing.”

  Jaeron did not believe her, but before he could ask further questions or argue with her, she cut him off.

  “Really. I am fine,” she said. “In fact, I feel great.”

  Chazd peered more closely at her face, evaluating the injury. Then he smirked.

  “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

  Avrilla smiled, almost laughing, and slapped Chazd in the chest.

  “Seriously, Avrilla, what have you done?” Jaeron was not amused by the exchange. “You had us worried.”

  “I’ve found my addition to the guild,” Avrilla said, dropping her voice to a lower volume.

  She moved to the edge of the street to stand next to the corner of a mercantile, out of earshot of passersby. Jaeron stood close to her and pulled Chazd to their side. From there they could observe if anyone approached.

  “She needed to be convinced, so we had a… sparring session,” Avrilla admitted.

  “She?” Chazd asked.

  “A sparring session?” said Jaeron.

  “Who-?” both brothers spoke at once.

  Avrilla stared at them and Jaeron could see she was losing her patience.

  “Are you boys ready to let me finish?”

  Chazd nodded.

  “Go ahead,” Jaeron said. “Sorry.”

  “Her name is Danine – yes, that Danine.” Avrilla cut off further questions.

  Jaeron knew some of the history between the two women. He had helped his sister soak, wrap, and apply ointments to her training injuries over the years.

  “I thought our new venture could use some muscle. I had a pretty good idea of where both of you went for your additions to our group.

  “Anyway, Danine’s different now… well, not different, I guess. She’s the same. Tough, strong, dangerous. But she has found the right outlet for her anger.”

  “Looks like the right outlet was your face!” Chazd’s laughter was infectious.