Mountain of Daggers

by Seth Skorkowsky

  Stopping at a butcher’s shop before it closed, Ahren traded his boot knife for two pounds of fresh goat’s meat; an arrangement the tired butcher had been eager to accept. Ahren dropped the cloth-wrapped ball of meat in his satchel and headed toward the Nobles’ District.

  The tightly packed buildings grew further apart, allowing soft wind and crisp moonlight to pour across the cobbled streets. A knot tightened in his gut as Ahren passed the large, rich homes, many of which hid behind smooth stone walls and arched gates. Soldiers in black and golden tabards patrolled the quiet streets.

  Ahren stopped beneath a slender flowering tree and stared across the lane. A blockish house sat alone behind a five-foot wall capped with a spiked wrought iron fence. Light peeked from behind its barred windows and four-story tower rising slightly above the building’s flat roof. It appeared exactly as it had ten years ago; the night Tretan died.

  Scarcely a day passed that Ahren had not thought of his old friend. Growing up in the foul city streets had made them closer than any real brothers could ever be. Tretan had the ability to make anyone like him. Between his smooth allure and Ahren’s nimble quickness, they were the best pickpockets Griggs had ever seen.

  But Tretan wanted to be more than an Alley Cat. To gain respect, he challenged the then Master of Thieves to a duel. When Tretan saw the Grysiem Tigress on the list, he ignored everything else. They’d always heard the rumors and tales that the Count was a demon-worshiper and murderer of children, but Tretan wasn’t afraid. Ahren came along as a lookout while his friend broke into the house. From atop the wall, he’d watched Tretan sneak into the near-impregnable mansion. He remembered the shouts and commotion from inside. He remembered Tretan’s terrified face as he raced back across the yard, cradling a wooden box, and Count Resuom’s marsh tiger chasing him down. He could still hear the screams.

  A dark coach rumbled up the street and stopped before the oaken gate. A cloaked figure in a wide hat stepped from the carriage and clacked a brass knocker on the door. It creaked open and the man slipped inside. Ahren spied a hooded man on the dark lawn before the gate door closed. The count was entertaining company. At least the tigers would be in their pen.

  After the coach drove away, Ahren darted across the street and circled the wall into a shallow alley. Peeking over the stone top, the small grounds appeared empty. Short hedges lined the simple yard. Wide steps rose to the house’s main door. The sturdy bars across the windows left the rear servants’ door the only other entrance. An old twisted oak tree grew up beside the house, casting shade over half the property. Near the rear of the house, a pair of marsh tigers impatiently paced back and forth in an iron cage.

  Removing the bloody bundle from his bag Ahren unstoppered the vial of lopiune and poured it into the meat. Still watching the grounds, he massaged the drug into the cold flesh through the cloth, careful not to let it touch his hands. A single draught of the potent philter could render a man unconscious for hours. Ahren hoped he had enough.

  Once sure no one could see him, he climbed the wall and over the spiked fence. Keeping to the shadows, he crept closer to the tigers’ cage. A low growl resonated as the huge cats watched him with hungry green eyes. Ahren studied the cage door as he neared. A flat metal arm arched from the iron door to the house, allowing the Count to open it from inside. Crouching several feet outside the bars, Ahren tore the chunk of meat in two and tossed them into opposite ends of the cage. With quick snarls, the beasts gobbled them up.

  Staying low, Ahren circled back to the lone tree and climbed the thick trunk. Pulling himself onto a sturdy branch, he crawled up and onto a second floor balcony. He knelt behind the stone railing and quickly picked the lock. Carefully, he creaked the double-door open and peeked inside. A massive stuffed bear stood in the corner, its mouth open in a fearsome growl. He slipped through and shut the door behind him.

  Ahren crept across the thick rug to the door across the room and listened. Distant voices murmured on the other side. He peered through the keyhole to see an empty hallway. Holding his breath, he cracked open the door.

  His chest tightened in panic to see a face staring back at him. A huge, ornately framed mirror hung along the back of the hall. Letting out a sigh, Ahren searched the reflection of the hall behind him. The passage continued another twenty feet before stopping at a carved door. A wooden railing ran the length of the right side, broken only by a stairway leading up and another down to a large open chamber. The soft chanting of multiple male voices rose from the room below as their upcast shadows danced upon the dark-paneled walls through a gray haze of incense.

  Quietly, Ahren slithered out into the hall and toward the door, staying low so no one on the first floor might see him.

  “I heard something,” said a voice from the room below.

  Ahren froze. His fingers dug into the jade carpet.

  “I heard it too,” another replied.

  “Could it be Farehf and Ulka?”

  “No. They’re in their cage. Go. See what it is.”

  A cold layer of sweat formed along Ahren’s palms. He scurried across the hallway and slipped through the ornate door as he heard the men below spread out.

  Shutting the door behind him, Ahren found himself in a small room. A lit candelabrum rested atop a massive table draped in rich velvet. A carved white skull rested on a shelf beneath a mounted tiger’s head. Across the room, a slender pair of double doors opened to a round balcony over the chamber below. Ahren’s eyes locked onto a small wooden box accented with gold inside a niche along the wall.

  Rising to his feet, Ahren approached the familiar box when he heard footsteps at the door behind him. He dove and hid beneath the table just before the creaking door burst open. Peering through the gap beneath the tablecloth he could see a pair of brown shoes beneath gold and emerald robes. Ahren’s hand slid to his dagger as the feet approached, stopping inches from him.

  Shouts and hoots erupted from downstairs.

  “Halred,” someone yelled. “Get down here.”

  The feet whirled around and ran out of the room. Ahren glimpsed a hooded man holding a pronged knife hurry down the stairs, leaving the door open behind him.

  Something smashed downstairs, followed by more cries and cursing. Ahren reached for the box, but stopped. It was too easy.

  Ignoring the growing commotion, he studied the small alcove containing the casket. He saw no trigger pin or wires, but as he ran his fingers along the wood, he felt a narrow slit across the top, running behind a small lip along the front. It was a trap.

  Removing a thick leather-bound journal from a nearby shelf, Ahren jammed it upright in the alcove to catch any dropping blades. Blindly, he felt along the rear of the box and found a notched wooden peg jutting from the niche’s back wall. Hooking his thumbnail under the peg he carefully slid it back into the wall until it caught on the notch and stayed in place. He licked his lips, then gently removed the box and set it on the floor.

  The racket downstairs grew louder as glass shattered somewhere in the house followed by hoots and running footsteps. Staying wary of the open doorway, Ahren removed his picks. Sweat beaded along his brow and ran into his eyes as he desperately tried to unlock the box.

  “What have we here?” someone shouted with a laugh.

  “Clear the table!”

  The lock clicked and Ahren opened the lid with trembling hands. A gold and jeweled figure of a tiger-headed woman nestled inside a velvet cushion.

  “Let me go!” a woman screamed.

  Ahren’s head snapped up as he recognized Katze’s voice.

  “Hold her still!”

  The lock clicked shut as Ahren closed the casket, and left it on the floor. He crept to the balcony overlooking the room below. Five hooded figures in green robes wrestled Katze onto a wide marble table while two more tied her down. She thrashed and fought, driving her heel into an attacker’s chin before they managed to tighten her ropes.

  “What has the Huntress brought us?” asked a hooded ma
n in a tiger mask; the only figure in the room not restraining the woman. He pulled a golden candlestick from Katze’s bag. “A thief. A greedy rat in the house of cats.”

  “Let me go, you bastard,” she spat through clenched teeth.

  Ahren couldn’t help but feel a rise of satisfaction in seeing Katze caught and bound. His eyes widened in horror as the masked man unsheathed a leaf-bladed dagger.

  “It has been a long time since our altar tasted blood. Truly the goddess has given us a gift.”

  Katze froze staring at the polished blade, then erupted in a wave of fierce thrashing as the man raised his arms.

  Ahren’s breathing quickened as the eight hooded men circled the altar table.

  Their leader stood above her head and lowered his dagger straight in front of him. “I give you to Tsarasch, Maiden of the Hunt and Tiger Queen.” The other worshipers joined in a low drone that rose higher as their masked leader drew the blade toward her throat.

  Ripping his dagger from its sheath, Ahren swung over the railing and leaped into the chamber. The man below him screamed, bones cracking as Ahren drove his feet into the devotee’s back. Landing atop the crumpled body, Ahren slashed his dagger, slicing the masked leader’s hand and knocking his blade across the room.

  Stumbling back, the leader’s mask slipped, revealing Count Resuom’s withered face. “Stop him!”

  The green-cloaked men on either side of Ahren ripped curved, double-bladed knives from their sheaths and lunged. Twisting his body back, Ahren grabbed the first man’s extended arm and jerked him across to the other side and into the other attacker’s claw-like blade. Ahren shoved the men away and leapt up onto the altar table astride Katze.

  “Behind you!” she cried.

  Ahren kicked the attacker behind him then slashed the ropes binding Katze’s wrists. “Get out of here!” He slipped his dagger into her freed hand and rolled off the marble table in time to punch one of the charging worshipers. Drawing Flagref’s dagger from his belt he parried the man’s next attack.

  Katze cut her ankles free and jumped off the altar.

  A ringed fist smashed into Ahren’s mouth. Stumbling back, he managed to dodge a blurring blade. Swinging his dagger upward, he drove it deep into the man’s gut. Hot blood burst over his hand.

  Footsteps raced from behind him. Ahren turned to see a worshiper closing in with a raised scimitar. Ahren pressed against the table, unable to get away in time.

  A slender leg swept the charging man’s feet, sending him to the floor. Katze sprang on top of him and sliced his throat.

  Ripping a spear from the wall, another zealot charged screaming into the room. Ahren grabbed a lamp from a shelf beside him and hurled it at the attacker’s feet. Glass shattered and flaming oil exploded across the floor, setting the man’s clothes ablaze. Fire licked up a hanging tapestry and spread along the lushly rugged floor.

  “Come on,” Ahren shouted to Katze, motioning to the stairs. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Billowing black smoke filled the room as they raced to the second floor. Ahren turned left and hurried down the hallway to the room from which he’d entered. He threw open the balcony doors and turned, but Katze was gone.

  He ran back to the hall to see Katze in the other room picking the ornate box up from the floor. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “Leave it!”

  An amused grin spread across her lips. She cradled the box in her arms and ran toward him.

  Count Resuom charged up the steps with a loaded crossbow in his bloodied hand. Lowering the weapon, he aimed as Katze raced past.

  “Katze!” Ahren screamed. He hurled Flagref’s blade past Katze’s head and into the old man’s chest. Dropping the crossbow, the count staggered into the railing to catch himself. Wood creaked then broke under his sudden weight, sending the count over the side and into the flames below.

  Together Ahren and Katze raced to the balcony. Two bloodied and hooded devotees rushed after them. Ahren slammed the balcony doors shut and pushed his weight against the men’s angry pounding.

  “They’re getting away!” one of them screamed from the other side. “Release the tigers!”

  “What do we do?” Katze hissed, bracing her shoulder against the violent door.

  “Hold on.” Bracing his leg against the stone railing, Ahren pressed his back to the door and pulled the silver padlock from his bag. He hooked the shackle through the door’s handles and clicked the lock closed. “Now go!”

  Still holding the awkward box under one arm, Katze lowered herself over the railing and dropped to the bushes below. The door behind him rattled and shook, but held fast. With a grin, Ahren swung over the rail and dropped to the hedge beside Katze.

  The tigers’ cage door squeaked open. Ahren turned to see the two beasts lying on their sides watching him with careless eyes. Rolling to his feet, he pulled Katze from the thick bushes and they ran to the outer wall.

  Shouts and cries echoed from inside the house. Smoke trickled from several windows as orange light flickered from behind the shutters. Panicked guards called “Fire!” from the streets outside as Ahren and Katze scaled the wrought iron fence and hurried away through the alleys. Alarm bells chased them from the Nobles’ District.

  #

  “Thank you for saving me,” Katze said as they neared Griggs’ tavern. She still held the heavy box under her cloaked arm opposite Ahren.

  “I couldn’t let those bastards take you away like they did Tretan.”

  She swallowed. “But you gave up the duel for it.”

  He sighed but said nothing.

  “I saw the dagger you used to kill the Count. I know what it was worth. You even used Hetstier’s lock so we could get away.”

  Ahren grinned. “I was hoping to keep that dagger,” he chuckled.

  They continued down the narrow streets in silence until reaching the tavern. A roar of cheers and applause erupted as they stepped into a small room through the back door.

  Griggs set a handful of cards on a table, his eyes barely concealing his relief. "Welcome back.”

  Katze held the gold-trimmed box above her head. “I have it!” she declared and plopped it hard onto the table.

  Griggs nodded in approval. “Ahren, what have you brought?”

  Ahren chewed his lip. “That’s it,” he said, holding out empty hands and motioning to Katze.

  Boos and chuckles poured from the half-dozen thieves packed into the backroom.

  Katze worked a pair of wire picks into the lock. “Ahren forfeited to save my life. I share this with him.” The lock clicked and she opened the box. “This is our victory.”

  The cramped room went silent. A single black feather rested on the velvet cushion inside. Katze turned to Ahren, her mouth open in puzzled disbelief.

  A wide smile stretched across Ahren’s lips. “I’m happy to hear that.” He removed the jeweled figure from his satchel and set it on the countertop. “And the new Master of Thieves doesn’t mind sharing.”

  Shouts and laughs exploded as lost bets were reclaimed and coins changed hands. Raised mugs toasted the new Master of Thieves. Ahren slipped through a gauntlet of praise and jokes and entered the barroom where he took an empty booth in the back.

  Katze slid in beside him, carrying a pair of drinks. “Very clever,” she said, offering him a stein.

  He smiled and raised his tankard. “To the Mistress of Thieves, may she find it in her heart to forgive me.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I never did welcome you home.”

  Ahren met her soft black eyes. “I missed you too.”

  The Seventh General

  Squawking gulls circled over the bustling Lichthafen harbor. As the fading sun retreated far to the west, stars twinkled on the horizon. Cool air wafted from the sea, carrying the stink of mildew and dead fish. Ahren peered through the chipped arrow slits of one of the towers along the harbor walls at a sleek, freshly docked ship. The tied, sky blue sails announced it had come from Porvov, the great city in distant Rh
omanny, seat of the Holy Church of Arieth, Crown Jewel of Delakurn, and—to a known few—headquarters of the Tyenee.

  Narrowing his eyes against the failing light, Ahren studied the passengers descending the gangplank; their dress, their age, and above all, their demeanor. Experience had taught him that generals of the Tyenee were as diverse as the cities they manipulated from the shadows. Yet even the friendliest of their faces held the same flicker of ruthlessness. So far, among the fops, skittish merchants, and noisy families, no one had met the qualifications.

  A hefty-set man in dark green marched confidently from the ship. Copper buttons glinted from his heavy brocade doublet, and the twisted steel of his basket hilt rapier hinted that the ornate weapon was intended for more than just show. It had to be him.

  “My shift’s almost done,” Josik whispered. “You’ll need to be out of here before my relief comes, or it’s both our heads.

  Ahren turned to the gangly guard beside him. His short brown beard almost concealed the sunken cheek from which it grew. “Don’t worry.”

  Josik snorted. “I’ve got three daughters and an expecting wife; don’t talk to me about worrying.”

  “Fair.” Ahren shrugged, and handed the soldier five silver coins. “Maybe this will ease your heart. I’m done here anyway.”

  “Thanks.” Josik dropped the coins into a rawhide pouch and gestured down the winding stairs. “Always a pleasure, my friend." They hurried down the tower steps to an iron-bound door. The guard peered outside, then motioned it was clear.

  “When is number four due?” Ahren asked, stepping out into the dark city streets.

  “Two months. The midwife predicts it’ll be a girl.”

  “Four daughters,” Ahren laughed. “May Arieth have mercy on you.” He winked to the despondent guard and headed down the street.

  "May you pass safely through the mist,” Josik called behind him.

  “Did you see him?” Katze asked, stepping from an alleyway.

  Ahren brushed the dark curls from Katze’s face and kissed her. “I think so. How’s your father?”