Among Thieves

by Hulick, Douglas

  Degan stared at me. “Solitude,” he said. “So she’s the other Gray Prince involved in all this?”

  “The one from the dream, yes.”

  Degan stared at me some more. “You know,” he said at last, “I’m really starting not to like you. Not at all.”

  “Get in line.”

  “Dare I even ask what you want to do with it?”

  I hesitated a moment before answering. “I want to give it to the person it belongs to.”

  “Ioclaudia?” said Degan. “That’d be a hell of a trick, considering . . . Oh. Not Ioclaudia. Him.”

  “Yeah.”

  Degan considered. “Well, that would solve a number of problems at once.”

  “That’s my thought.”

  “Assuming he lets you live.”

  “That’s the hitch,” I admitted.

  “Do you have any idea how you might get the journal to the emperor?”

  “I’m working on that,” I said.

  “Which means you don’t have any ideas.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, one thing I know for sure,” said Degan as he took my elbow and started leading me out of the compound. “You aren’t going to find the emperor standing around here.”

  I couldn’t argue with his logic. Instead, I handed Degan one of Kells’s war cords and tied another on myself.

  I steered us eastward into Kells’s territory for a bit, then cut north. That would lead us into one of Nicco’s strongholds, but our best chance of getting out of Ten Ways lay in that direction. The empire would be slow in closing down the Dancer’s Highway, but, even if they did, there were broken patches of wall and several inviting drainage grates in that part of the cordon.

  The streets were empty, or nearly so, with only a few Kin patrols, a couple brave or oblivious Lighters, and us. We dropped the war cords just inside the edge of Kells’s territory, to better avoid being stopped once we left.

  “So once we get out of here,” said Degan as we crouched in the deeper darkness of an archway, “where to?” We could hear fighting a few blocks away.

  “Christiana’s,” I said. “I need to get to court, or at least get word to the emperor’s people, and she has the connections to do it.”

  “And you think she will?” said Degan. He sounded more than a bit dubious.

  “Are you kidding? She’ll balk and bitch and threaten, but she’ll do it. How often do you get to do the emperor this kind of a favor? It’ll do wonders for her at court. Besides, the idea of being able to put me over that big of a barrel, and the price she’ll be able to ask for doing it, will be too good for her to pass up.” I looked over at Degan. “What?”

  He was smiling. “Just noticing the family resemblance.”

  “Bite your tongue.” But I grinned, too.

  The fighting wasn’t getting any closer, so we moved out into the street. Four more blocks and we would be in Nicco’s territory. From there it would be a zigzag path to the section of the Dancer’s Highway I wanted to try. With luck, we’d be out of Ten Ways within the hour.

  We’d gone maybe half a block when I heard a soft, metallic ting in the air. A moment later, a copper owl arced in front of me. It bounced on the street once, twice, before landing in a puddle of mud.

  Oh, hell.

  Degan was in front of me before the coin came to rest, his sword out. I didn’t move. There was no point. I looked around Degan into the empty street and waited.

  Shadow stepped out of a patch of his namesake, as if forming himself from the very darkness. Degan adjusted his shoulders and raised the tip of his sword to compensate for Shadow’s height. Otherwise, he didn’t move.

  Shadow stopped five paces away. The dark cowl turned toward Degan.

  “I’m not here for you,” he said in his deep velvet and iron tones.

  “I know,” said Degan.

  “You know who I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will you move?”

  “No.”

  Shadow crossed his arms. “Then we have a problem.”

  “One of us does,” said Degan. “The other just has to figure out what to do with the body.”

  I reached out and put my hand on Degan’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” I said. I looked past Degan to Shadow. “I’m too valuable to dust right now.”

  Shadow didn’t dispute the claim. “Walk with me,” he said instead. “We need to talk.”

  “What’s to talk about?” I said. “I know what you want. I know what you can do to me. I’m impressed. But you’re still not getting the journal until I say otherwise.”

  “You?” said Shadow. “I thought that was Kells’s decision.”

  “We’re still discussing that.”

  “I thought you might be too used to running on your own to go back to the leash. I see I was right.”

  “Clever you,” I said. I moved to step around Degan and Shadow.

  “If you want to get out of Ten Ways, I can help,” said Shadow. “If you talk with me. If not, well”—he held up open hands—“the legions have closed the Dancer’s Highway, and I have men at most of the other breaks in the perimeter near here. I’m sure you could still find a way out, but who knows what—or who—might be waiting on the other side?”

  I stopped. The longer it took to get out of Ten Ways, the less likely I’d be able to get word to the emperor in time. That was, if Shadow even let me leave.

  “Assuming we talk,” I said. “What happens when I tell you to go to hell and refuse your offer?”

  “You leave,” he said. Shadow stepped back a pace and gestured down the street. “But at least walk with me and hear what I have to say.”

  Degan glanced at me, his eyes questioning. Kill him? they said. I shook my head. No. Talking would be marginally less dangerous than trying to dust him.

  “All right,” I said. “You lead. We’ll be a step behind.”

  “The degan wasn’t included in the invitation,” said Shadow.

  “Fine,” I said. It was proper Kin protocol, anyhow. If Shadow walked alone during negotiations, so should I. Theoretically, he was treating me as an equal by doing this. I wasn’t particularly flattered, given the circumstances.

  “Follow by half a block,” I said to Degan. He frowned but nodded. I set out with Shadow.

  “You have to know that Kells will fall without my support,” he said after a few paces.

  “He hasn’t been doing too damn hot with it. Your stepping away may help more than it hurts.”

  “We both know better than that. With the empire surrounding the cordon, Kells has no place to retreat. He might have been able to back out of Ten Ways and hold Nicco at bay before, but not now.”

  “It’s a good thing he has such a stalwart friend in you, then,” I said.

  “I would be an even better friend if I had more resources.”

  “You know the deal,” I said. “Save Kells and the rest of us first. Get the journal second.”

  “Except as you so adroitly pointed out, it isn’t completely up to Kells, is it?”

  “I’m Kells’s man,” I said. I didn’t trust myself to say more.

  “Yes, you are—and one of his most trusted.” Shadow kicked idly at a small piece of timber in the street. It went clattering along ahead of us, stopped against a rain barrel. “Which makes me wonder why he would send you out of the cordon at such a critical time? You, the only man who knows where Ioclaudia’s journal is hidden. That’s quite a risk to be taking.”

  I stayed silent but let my hand brush against Tamas’s rope on the back of my belt, just to make sure it was still there.

  “A suspicious man,” said Shadow, “might think Kells is scrambling to find a way out of our bargain. And a very suspicious man might think Kells has you working on a way to keep the journal away from me, at least until his plans are finalized. What would you say to that?”

  “I’d say suspicious men spend too much time thinking,” I said.

  A low, rolling laugh tumbled out o
f his hood. “Maybe,” he said, “but it’s too late for me to get out of the habit now. So, instead, I’ll share some of what I’ve been thinking. I can’t see Kells having you destroy the journal—it’s too valuable for that. Nor can you hide it indefinitely—sooner or later, someone will decide they’d rather it stay lost than end up in an enemy’s hands. The easiest way to accomplish that is to kill you, but if that happened, Kells wouldn’t have an out. Starting a bidding war for the book would be plain suicide. Which leaves you approaching someone on behalf of Kells behind my back.”

  “You’ve got me,” I said, forcing sarcasm into my voice. “I’m planning to sell it to the emperor.”

  Shadow started laughing again.

  We turned left onto a small side street, then right into an even narrower one. Darkness closed in tighter, seeping out of overhangs and recessed doorways. A baby began crying somewhere, its shrieks drifting down from the upper stories of a building. Someone swore sleepily, and a moment later the crying faded to soft whimpers. My nose detected faint hints of cat piss and mildew in the air.

  “I don’t like betrayal,” said Shadow finally, his voice going flat. “Not when it’s aimed at me.”

  “Who does?” I said. “But it’s the risk you run when you cut deals in the first place. Giving your trust means taking a chance it will be broken.”

  “Exactly.”

  Something about the way Shadow said the word made me stop in the middle of the street. It was too final; too pleased with itself.

  Shadow stopped two paces farther along. He turned to face me.

  “You have a choice,” he said.

  “What, between you and Kells? You aren’t going to like that answer.”

  “No.” The hood shook back and forth. “Between Kells and Baroness Christiana Sephada. Which of their trusts are you willing to betray?”

  I felt my heart tighten in my chest. I stared, too shocked to hide it. We’d buried this deeper than deep. Only Ana, Degan, Joseph, and I knew. How . . . ?

  “Come,” said Shadow, reading my expression. “You aren’t the only one who knows how to ferret out secrets. You have a history with the woman, Drothe. It’s there to see if you look hard enough and haunt the right shadows. . . .”

  Had he followed me sometime in the last week? How do you see, let alone hide, from a shadow?

  “And it isn’t something as simple as blackmail,” he continued. “Blackmailers don’t call on their victims the way you call on her. I don’t know if she’s your patron, paramour, or partner, and frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is that she means something to you. How much, I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out.”

  I took a shallow breath even as my mind raced. “Patron, paramour, or partner,” he had said, but not “family.” That meant he didn’t know all of it. There might still be a chance. . . .

  “I’ll make this simple for you,” said Shadow. “If I don’t get the journal now, not only will I cripple Kells and his organization—I’ll also take my displeasure out on Baroness Christiana Sephada, widow of Baron Nestor Sephada, of Lythos. But if I do get it, well, then, everyone remains happy, healthy, and whole.” He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand, sending his cloak billowing to one side. “There, that ought to be straightforward enough for you.”

  It was. It meant I had only one choice.

  Shadow had to die. Now.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I slid the knife from the wrist sheath into my left hand and lashed out. At the same time, my right hand yanked Tamas’s rope free, letting it uncoil like a whip.

  Shadow was less than a pace from me, but he still managed to sweep the edge of his cloak up as my blade came forward. There was a moment of resistance before I felt my blade bite and bind in the fabric. I quickly drew my arm back to keep it from being caught up in the folds of the cloak. As the knife came back, I swung the rope forward.

  I sent it in a wide arc, aiming for his waist. I’d never used the damn thing before, and I wasn’t about to get fancy; I’d just take a shot at the center mass of his body and hope it worked.

  Shadow was already stepping away. As the rope came around, he raised his cloak like a shield and spit out a string of sounds that reminded me of a drunk with a mouthful of food. When the rope connected, it felt like I’d swung an iron bar into a brick wall. The cord stiffened along its entire length, sending vibrations up my arm that nearly made me drop it. At the same time, I heard four distinct cracks as the runes went off. Shadow staggered back, nearly falling, and I lunged before I’d realized he’d moved out of range.

  “Degan!” I shouted as I recovered and closed on the Gray Prince. “Degan, now!”

  Shadow was good. He regained his balance even as I came forward. By the time I was close enough to try for another strike, he had the edge of his cloak snapping and dancing before him, making it hard to find an opening. Shadow backed away and I followed. I needed to stay close, to keep this a knife fight; if I gave him enough room to draw a sword, I’d be in serious trouble, night vision or no.

  I pressed hard. I slashed and stabbed with the knife, snapped the rope like a whip, and slashed again. The rope didn’t even come close, but I got a certain amount of satisfaction seeing his cloak smoldering where the knots had hit it the first time.

  All I needed was one gash, one deep scratch, and it would be done. The poison on the knife worked fast, and once Shadow was cut, all I had to do was fight defensively and wait for him to fall over. Except he was blocking every move with his cloak, and I was beginning to worry about the venom’s being rubbed off by the fabric.

  “You’re a fool,” said Shadow as I feinted right, then shifted left. He twisted and slipped his leg out of the way just before I could connect with the rope.

  “Said the man without a weapon,” I grunted as I dropped the rope, took a quick circling step, and grabbed his cloak with my left hand.

  I had him.

  Shadow laughed. His right hand swept past my face even as I was bringing my dagger around for the final thrust. I caught sight of a small stub of candle in his fingers, saw him crush it as it went past. Then my world erupted in agony.

  Light as bright as day ignited in front of my face, shining through my night vision and into my head. Everything else vanished. There was only fire where my eyes had been—twin pools of sharp, merciless pain.

  When awareness returned, I was screaming. I felt my hands clenched before my eyes, smelled the filthy pavement as it pushed up against my face. My mouth tasted like blood and sewage, and I spit to clear it out.

  That was when I heard it—the sound of metal on metal, sword against sword. Degan and Shadow.

  I drew my hands down and blinked experimentally. Bright amber specks and dark blotches floated before me, the whole thing edged with shifting rainbow highlights. The ghostly image of an elegantly gloved hand, fingers holding a bit of wax and taper, kept drifting across my vision.

  And pain. Still lots of pain.

  From somewhere in front of me came the sounds of shuffling steps, quick breathing, and the rasp and clash of swords. It didn’t seem as fast and furious as I would have expected. Then I heard a soft, fading hiss. Degan cursed. More steps, another cautious pass of blades.

  Was this the first clash, or had they been at it for a while? Pain can do funny things with time, but my guess was that I hadn’t been out very long; Degan wasn’t one to dally when it came to killing someone. Still, the longer it went, I suspected, the worse it would be for me.

  I shook my head and knuckled my eyes. Spots and darkness.

  I’d been blinded when using my night vision before, but never like this—never with glimmer, never this close, never so bright.

  I heard another hiss. Degan grunted, and almost immediately there followed the ring of intense swordplay. Someone was pressing someone, but I had no way of knowing who. Worse, I could hear them getting closer. I quickly edged back, hoping that if I did inadvertently trip someone up, that someone would be Shadow.
r />   A moment later, I heard Shadow gasp. I held my breath, waiting for the body to fall.

  Degan sniffed. “Close,” he said.

  “Very,” agreed Shadow.

  They resumed.

  Damn it! What the hell was going on? This should have been over already, which meant Shadow had pulled something else out of his cloak. But what? What was the damn hissing?

  I needed to see. I needed to fix this. Now.

  I rolled over onto my stomach and pressed my face to the street. It stank of mud and shit and rotting onions. I wrapped my arms around my head, shutting out the rest of the night. The stench intensified horribly; I nearly gagged, but I needed to keep all the light I could away from my eyes.

  Darkness had been my balm that first night, when Sebastian and I had come home. Christiana had lit a lamp and been waiting, had met us as the door to the cabin when we threw it open. Sebastian hadn’t warned me about the light yet, about what it would do to my eyes in the night; I had looked right into it and screamed at the pain.

  It had been the darkness of the forest that comforted me, that helped bring my vision back, with Sebastian’s coaching and my own concentration. I only hoped darkness would do it again now.

  I blinked in the circle of my arms and stared hard. My eyes began to water from the smell of the street. The pain returned full force, filling my eyes, my head, my awareness.

  Steel on steel to my right. A hiss. A yell.

  I became aware of a new rhythmic pain, and realized I was hitting my head against the ground. I thought about stopping, but didn’t dare. Each motion, each strike, brought a faint flare of orange to my vision. I dug my fingers into my forearms to keep them from scrabbling at my eyes, and I continued battering the street with my forehead. One more, I kept telling myself, one more. One more strike and I would either see or die—just one more.

  And then, suddenly, a wave of color was before me—light and shadows, shapes and textures. I blinked and watched as the lines resolved themselves into an amber-hued sandal print.

  Sight! And a raging headache behind my eyes, but, first and foremost, sight.

  I unclenched my fingers and pushed myself up from the street, gasping to clear my lungs.