Mountain of Daggers

by Seth Skorkowsky

  His delicate blue eyes shimmered with excitement. She always loved his eyes right before a run. “Quite.” He kissed her, pulling her close against his chest. “I wish you were coming with me.”

  “Marten will take care of you. You’re not still angry with him for our Thieves’ Duel, are you?”

  “Not at all. I’d just prefer you.”

  She kissed him again. “Father said I have to do something for him. Once I’m done, I’ll watch you from the rooftops.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Me?” She slapped him playfully on the chest. “These are my streets more than yours. I’ll be fine.”

  Marten stepped into the bar, rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin, then headed to where Ahren and Katze stood. “Are you ready?”

  Ahren gently kissed Katze’s forehead before turning to the weasel-faced man. “Yeah.”

  Marten adjusted a coiled rope hidden beneath his loose cloak. “Let’s go.”

  Katze watched the two thieves head into the night streets. The bell tinkled as the door closed behind them, and she turned to where her father cleaned the bar. “You wanted to speak with me?”

  Griggs didn’t look up as he scrubbed a stain caked onto the wooden counter. “Yeah. I’ll need to report that Ahren and Marten left, shortly.”

  Her brow rose. “All right. But what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “Tonight is important. But it’s nothing we can discuss right now.” Griggs finished his cleaning and tossed the frayed rag over his shoulder. “Have you ever paid attention to the view from the safe room?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked around the counter to wait on a table of customers across the room.

  Confused, Katze glanced over to the low hidden door behind the counter. The heavy cask normally blocking the entrance had been moved aside. The room was used for hiding merchandise or thieves trying to avoid chasing guards. The barrel was always left in front of the door unless someone was going in or out. She looked back to see her father leaning over the crowded table, his back toward her. Still puzzled, she followed his hint, weaving behind the tall counter and crouching at the gap between the barrels. She hooked her finger through a tight knothole, pulled the hidden door open, and crawled inside.

  A hanging weight on a pulley closed the door behind her, plunging her into near darkness. The crevice was no more than two feet wide, but stretched the length of the building. Strips of thin light shone between the wall slats of the neighboring back room. The heavy stink of mildew and dust filled the uncomfortable crevice. Careful not to brush the walls, Katze rose to her feet and peered through one of the narrow cracks into the adjoining room.

  Skeroff sat alone at his table, muttering silent words before scrawling his quill over a parchment. A knock rattled the door and Griggs stepped inside.

  “Ah.” Skeroff stabbed his quill back into the inkpot. “I was just finishing your letter of recommendation. Once the Masters read my report, I’m sure they will follow my advice.”

  “Thank you, Skeroff.” Griggs sat down and poured himself a healthy drink. “You’re too kind.”

  “Rewarding those who prove themselves is essential. You’ve earned a generalship. I only hope whatever city you’re assigned will be useful for moving merchandise.” He handed the parchment to the barkeep.

  Generalship? Father’s always said he would never leave Lichthafen. Does he really hate Skeroff that much? She shifted closer to hear them better.

  Griggs scanned the letter before handing it back. “I came to tell you Marten and Ahren just left for the moneylender’s house.”

  “Excellent. Once Marten has proved his loyalty, he will make a fine addition to the Tyenee. Your recommendation was critical in his choosing.”

  The Tyenee already has enough members in this city. And Father’s never completely trusted him. Why not choose Jan or Adolph instead?

  Griggs knocked back his cup. “He’s a good man.”

  “And you’re sure he knows what to do?”

  “I was very specific. I wish it didn’t have to come to this, though.” He glanced over to the exact spot Katze was hiding.

  The handsome general brushed back his blonde hair and sipped his drink. “Neither do I. But defiance cannot be tolerated. Ahren has much respect and influence in more than just Lichthafen. If he questions his master, his peers will follow.”

  “I understand. We agreed.” Griggs poured another drink. “Ahren must die.”

  Katze’s chest tightened. How? She couldn’t breathe for fear of letting out a cry. How could Father say that?

  Skeroff gave an approving smile. “Good. Once Marten returns with word that he’s dead, we will hold a wake in his honor and I will send word to Porvov of his fate. Then we will speak of it no more.”

  “Some of the other generals won’t be happy to hear of his assassination.”

  Skeroff nodded. “Sentimentality can outweigh judgment. I’ll say he died on the job. No one needs to know the truth and the Black Raven’s legend will be forever unmarred.”

  Griggs took a long sigh. He turned his head toward the wall behind which Katze hid, looking straight into her eyes. “You know what is right.”

  Katze felt his words. Ahren was in danger and she had to save him. Quietly, she crept back to the hidden door.

  #

  Loud snores resonated beyond the closed bedroom door as Ahren worked his picks on the iron strongbox. Clouds sailed briskly along the heavens outside, occasionally shielding the moonlight from the open window. The lock clicked and Ahren returned his tools to their soft leather pouch. Hinges squeaked as he lifted the lid, revealing three bulging sacks crammed inside.

  Careful not to spill any of the coins, Ahren lifted the first heavy bag and peeked inside to find it filled with silver sasiks. The next bag held copper and the final one gold. A leather book rested at the chest’s bottom. A quick flip under the pale moonlight revealed the names and debts of Vizeil’s clients. The moneylender’s records could prove even more valuable than the healthy treasure. Ahren slipped the journal into his satchel then placed a single raven’s quill into the empty box. With a small smirk of satisfaction, he lifted the now lighter chest and returned it to a niche in the wall beside the fireplace. The hole only half concealed the strongbox. Ahren then carefully set a leather stool before the spot. While the box was still technically exposed, the stool’s placement gave a near perfect illusion of nothing but a solid wood wall behind it.

  Ahren crept to the open window and peeked outside. The dark streets lay empty. He scanned the rooftops, hoping Katze might have come, but didn’t see her. Disappointed, he stuck his hand outside and fluttered his fingers. Marten slinked from the shadows and stopped just below the window.

  Ahren heaved the first bag outside and lowered it as far as he could before letting it fall. The slender man caught it and set it on the ground beside him. Ahren dropped the other two sacks the same way before crawling out onto the sill and scaling the two floors to the street below.

  Marten was already gone when he reached the bottom. Ahren quickly grabbed the remaining bag and hurried to the edge of the street where his partner was already loading their treasure into a barrel laying on a small cart.

  “Everything go all right?” Marten glanced out over the streets behind them.

  Ahren stooped to push his bag into the straw nest inside the barrel. “Flawless.” He set the lid over the top and began tying the barrel firmly down. “Let’s go.”

  “There’s just one thing,” Marten said, stepping closer behind Ahren.

  “What’s that?” Ahren asked, still cinching the knot.

  A hard thwack came from behind him. He whirled around to find Marten standing just inches away, holding a long knife. Confusion glazed over the thief’s eyes.

  “Marten, what are you doing?”

  Another thwack sounded and the blade fell from the weaselish man’s hand and clattered on the cobblestones. He staggered and fell. Ahren caught him, then saw the two
arrows jutting from Marten’s back.

  Horrified, he looked up to see Katze crouched on a nearby rooftop, clutching her bow. Why? Marten’s knife lay at his feet. They’d ordered my execution.

  Ahren looked back up to Katze watching him from the rooftop. A soft wind pulled at her black curls and billowed her cloak. The relief on her face washed away to rage. She spun around and ran across the rooftops toward Griggs’ tavern.

  He let Marten’s body fall, grabbed the wagon cart handles and ran. Her eyes said it all. She wanted blood. The rooftops didn’t lead straight there. He could beat her.

  The wooden wheels squeaked and rumbled across the uneven stones as he raced through the empty back streets. How could Skeroff do this? Did Griggs know? Could he have ordered it? Anger welled, driving him faster. The cumbersome cart only slowed him. He left it in a narrow alley. He’d come for it later. If the Tyenee were truly after him, he’d need every bit of the money to keep Katze and him safe.

  Sweat ran down his face as he reached the bar. Several young men stood by the door, enamored in their own drunken chatter. Ahren darted through the neighboring alley and headed to the rear entrance. Panting, he drew his dagger and clutched the leather grip as he threw open the door to Skeroff’s meeting room.

  The young general sat slumped in his chair, his blonde locks spilled over his face. Crimson blood spread across his open doublet and silk shirt. A single arrow protruded from his heart.

  “He ordered your death,” Katze said from beside the open doorway. “I heard him.” She turned to Ahren, tears creeping into her eyes. “He sent Marten to kill you.”

  Ahren pulled her to his chest and held her tight. “You saved me.”

  “I love you, Ahren,” she sobbed. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” He hugged her and kissed her head. “Katze, did your father know about this?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Katze, did Griggs know?”

  The door to the barroom opened and Griggs walked in, holding a bottle and three tankards. “Saint Vishtin,” he breathed, staring at Skeroff’s body.

  Ahren pulled Katze back, and squeezed the dagger still in his hand.

  “Someone killed him?” Griggs said. “Thank Arieth you two are all right. Did you see who it was?”

  “No,” Ahren cautiously replied.

  Griggs sighed and set the cups down on the table. “It must have been Marten. I figured that bastard might try something after Clauser’s death. The Tyenee will expect vengeance, of course.”

  Katze stepped around Ahren and closed the still open door. “Marten is dead, Father. I shot him as he tried to kill Ahren.”

  “Oh my,” Griggs replied with mocking surprise. He uncorked the bottle and poured a heavy dose of Rhomanic vodka into the tankards. “Are you hurt, my boy?”

  Ahren shook his head. “I’m fine.” He watched as Katze set her bow aside and took a cup from her father’s extended hand.

  “It’s a pity.” Griggs plopped into one of the wooden chairs and eyed the corpse. “We got along so well. Skeroff’s final letter to Porvov was a request to give me my own city. Me, a general.” He raised his tankard in salute to the dead man slouched across from him. He took a long drink then stopped. “Ahren, did you get the money from Vizeil’s?”

  “It’s a few blocks back. I left it…when I heard what happened.”

  “Then bring it here. I’ll send part of it, along with Skeroff’s letter to Porvov on tomorrow’s ship. I suppose I’ll wait until the next one to tell them about his assassination. Might make the Lords of the Tyenee suspicious if they received such news on the same day.”

  “What are you going to tell them?” Ahren asked.

  “The truth of course.” Griggs chuckled. “The curse of Lichthafen has taken yet another general. Katze, my wonderful daughter, avenged Skeroff’s murder. What else is there?”

  A cool smile crept along Ahren’s face. “Nothing. With luck, the Tyenee will assign you here. Since no one else seems to want the job.”

  Griggs took another drink. “I’m counting on it.”

  Shadows beneath the City

  Ahren braced himself inside the coffin-like box.

  “Saint Vishtin, this thing is heavy,” a guard grunted, carrying one end of the long, brass-bound crate.

  “Put it over there,” his deep-voiced partner said.

  The men carried it several feet before setting it down with a careless thud. Listening to the two men shuffle back and forth, Ahren remained still, suppressing his urge to peek outside. Katze never ceased to laugh that the Black Raven, the greatest thief in Delakurn, didn’t like the dark. He had told her the story of Dolch, the thief master with the powers of demonic darkness whom he had crossed years before, but Katze had waved it off as silly paranoia. Reluctantly Ahren succumbed to her pleas to extinguish the lamp he burned beside their bed at night.

  Muted thunder echoed outside.

  “Damn it,” one of the guards growled as they slid another crate on top of Ahren’s.

  “Hurry up and get the rest before it starts raining.”

  Ahren’s pulse quickened as the men worked. The hair on his legs tingled as if the blackness was slithering along him, smothering him. A thud came from outside as another crate was unloaded followed by several smaller boxes.

  “That’s it. Let’s go.” The heavy warehouse door groaned shut and the men’s wagon squeaked away.

  Ahren slid a latch beside his head and peered out a tiny hole. A wooden box rested inches beside his, preventing him from opening the side door to his crate. Turning over, he checked the peephole on the other side and found a support pillar standing beside him. There was no way he could open the door with enough room to escape. He rolled onto his sweating palms and peeked out the hole at his head to find it clear. Holding the leather strap so the door wouldn’t fall open, he unlatched the small door and lowered it quietly to the floor.

  Lightning erupted outside through the narrow windows, filling the huge room with fleeting light. Shadows flickered along rows of crates and stacked barrels. A loud crash of thunder shook stone walls.

  He peered around to ensure he was alone, and then slid from the confining box that had held him for six dreadful hours. Stretching his legs and back, Ahren surveyed the massive room. No thief in over two centuries had successfully entered the Royal Warehouses. Carved, emotionless faces stared down at him from the tops of the stone columns, cast orange from torches beside the main door. Wavy, leaded glass sealed the windows along the upper walls. Nobles and wealthy merchants paid too high a price for housing their goods only to have them spoiled by the elements.

  Soft taps drummed the ceiling above as rain began to fall.

  Squinting in the dim light, Ahren walked the aisles between stacks of crates, and bolts of fabric. He wished he could carry one of the burning torches, but the moving light in the windows could alert one of the guards along the palisade outside. Dark shadows seemed to move and flood around him as he searched. Another flash of lightning burst, sending the shadows scurrying away. Gold glinted on the second floor loft. Ahren made his way to a steep stairway and hurried to the top.

  Dim light, cast through the narrow arched windows circling the second floor, made it much easier to see. Pulses flashed through the cloudy skies outside, illuminating the other warehouses crowded within the fortified walls.

  A small gilded chest rested atop a stack of large polished trunks. Lifting the heavy box, Ahren set it on the floor and removed the tools from his pouch. He slipped the wire picks into the gold-trimmed lock and worked. The closing shadows crept nearer as if curious. The growing patter of rain on the roof nearly drowned out the click as the lock opened.

  Carefully, Ahren opened both sides of the rounded lid. A black leather bag, stitched with gold thread rested inside. Its contents softly clacked as he lifted it out. Squeezing the soft calfskin, he felt six distinct round lumps like acorns. The buyer said there were to be five. Ahren untied the golden cord holding the bag shu
t and slowly pulled it open. A bright beam of light peeked out the tiny opening. Quickly, he drew it closed. The gems were definitely inside. But he couldn’t open the bag in view of the windows. With a smile, Ahren drew out a long raven’s quill from his pouch, dropped it into the empty chest, and relocked it before returning the box atop the trunks.

  A deafening boom of thunder rattled the window panes as Ahren slinked back down the stairs. Wind whistled outside as the rain grew harder. Clutching the leather bag, he crawled back into the crate and pulled the trapdoor shut. The unsettling darkness immediately closed in; Ahren opened the leather pouch.

  Iridescent rays of light burst from the pouch, flooding the wooden box, scattering the shadows. Ahren reached inside the soft leather and drew out a faceted gemstone. Light, equivalent to a single candle, glowed within the crystal’s walls, bursting from each of its many faces like a prism in the sun. Squinting, he peered into the bag to see five more brilliant gems resting within the black velvet lining.

  The extra plamya stone was an unexpected surprise. A burglar could find many uses for a light without flame. It would make a fine gift for Katze.

  Ahren dropped the gem back into the bag and cinched it before opening the crate. He knelt beside one of the other boxes from the shipment he arrived in, and unlocked it. The gray uniform of a Lichthafen guard lay tightly folded inside. Bright bursts of lightning erupted outside as Ahren stripped off his clothes and dressed in the cold, heavy chain mail and hard boots. He cinched a sword belt around his waist, then stuffed his clothes into the box and locked it.

  Pulling the heavy guard’s helmet over his head, he headed back upstairs. The hard boots clonked across the wooden floor as he approached the back window. He peered through the streaked, wavy glass to see dark rooftops silhouetted behind the perimeter wall. A single guard stood huddled out of the rain, beneath one of the tower overhangs. The grounds below appeared empty of patrols. Ahren waited until the guard turned his attention out toward the city, then opened and closed the leather bag of plamya stones. Somewhere on the seemingly empty rooftops Katze would have seen his signal.