Thieves' Honor

by David Combs

  The beast limped forward. The foul stench of sweat and blood filled the wizard’s nose. As if clearing an annoyance, the creature kicked over the deadfall and stakes that Tyrell and Galen had placed It roared in triumph before the mage.

  Tyrell saw a flicker of movement on a tree limb, just as Galen inched out onto a limb, and cut the rope to another of the log traps. The wizard realized that this was the coup de grace of which Galen had been so proud. The karg, standing in the middle of the road with its arms upraised, was completely oblivious to the trap that it stood squarely in the middle of.

  Two giant tree trunks swung down from their lashings from either side of the path, slamming into the beast’s body. With a sickening crunch, the mage watched as the monster’s ribcage suddenly narrowed on impact under the crushing force. A gout of blood erupted from the karg’s toothy maw, and with a wet gurgling noise its knees buckled. As it fell, its arms draped over the logs. The dead monster was left dangling like some grisly marionette.

  “Do I have to do all the work,” Galen casually called down from his tree branch. “Two riders and the karg to my credit. I want you to know that I do expect a bit more help when we actually face the vampire.” The thief nimbly scaled the tree and began searching the bodies of the fallen riders.

  Nestor groaned, and Tyrell helped him sit up. The big barbarian rubbed his head, grimacing when he touched an open cut.

  “Though we’d lost you,” said Tyrell. “Guess we weren’t that lucky.” He offered his hand to the warrior.

  “Karg didn’t know any better than to hit me in the head. Otherwise, you might be burying me. Of course, I’d be a lot happier if I’d quit seeing three of you. One is bad enough.” He accepted Tyrell’s hand and pulled himself off the ground.

  “See three of this then,” said Galen with a flourish. He handed an official looking envelope to Tyrell. The mage also noticed how the thief’s coin purse seemed to jingle more than it had before. “What do you make of it,” he asked.

  Tyrell ripped open the letter and quickly read through it. A broad smile found his face. “It lists four locations in the city. Two of these are street addresses, and the other two are just landmarks. A sewer entrance and a cemetery.”

  “How convenient,” replied Nestor drily. “Since we now have what Ambrose sent us for, can we get moving before any other nasty things show up with the intention of tossing me around?”

  “Of course. We've got a long way back to Tarnath. Let’s get moving.” The men gathered their mounts and started back towards the city.

  ***

  “We should make the city by late tomorrow evening,” said Nestor as he poked through the bones on his plate. Night had fallen, and the three men enjoyed the peaceful camaraderie around their campfire. Three days had passed since the attack in the swamp, and the way back to Tarnath had seemed much easier. Tempers didn’t flare so quickly now, and they had even taken solo watches on their return journey. Tyrell was thankful that now all he heard from his companions was the young thief’s playful boasting and Nestor’s groans about his bumps and bruises. It was far better than the taunts and threats that had filled their previous conversations.

  “So, why did you disappear on us, Redbeard,” asked Tyrell. “More importantly, what made you come back? I had imagined that you would have been halfway to Del Torac or somewhere farther afield.”

  “Well, to be honest, at first I had every intention of deserting you and leaving you to your fate. Go off somewhere beyond the reach of Tarnath’s authorities, and forget this whole mess. For some reason though, I stayed close to the camp that first day after to see what you two would decide upon once I had left. I thought you might decide to abandon the quest and run too, but you didn’t. When I realized that you intended to proceed with the plan, I was impressed. We may not have liked each other much, but I respected your tenacity and courage, and that in turn made me feel ashamed of my own conduct. My people are a proud clan, born and bred as fierce warriors who never back down. What I was about to do was a disgrace to the memory of my ancestors. I followed behind and watched as you set up the ambush. I figured one more surprise held until later couldn’t hurt.”

  “I won’t lie, Canaith. I wouldn’t have minded another set of hands to help us haul some of those big logs into the trees,” added Tyrell. The two men laughed.

  “So what happens from here,” asked Galen as he pitched the remains of his meal into the fire. “You have to admit that we work very well together. Maybe this partnership of ours isn’t such a bad idea.”

  “Our assault wasn’t exactly graceful,” said the wizard. “Nestor and I served as distractions while you crept around, and waited for the right moment to strike. I’m not slighting what you did,” he added hastily at Galen’s burgeoning scowl. “The entire ambush site was your doing, and I commend you on that. I just don’t think I like the idea of being the bait in the trap.”

  “And nothing personal - anymore, at least” added the warrior, “but I want to finish this vampire business, and be my own man again. I want only to settle my debt with Ambrose so that I can walk the city streets without worrying about a noose around my neck.”

  “That’s just it, though. We aren’t finished with Kellen yet,” protested the thief. “Not until Darian is gone. So, since we still have more work to do together, why shouldn’t we pool our talents, and make a little extra money while we’re at it?”

  “Spoken like a true cutpurse. You are a credit to your craft, Galen.” Nestor yawned and stretched out on the ground. “Take the first watch, will you lad? Seems as though your head is already full enough of dreams tonight.” Snores soon broke the stillness of the night.

  Tyrell smiled, as he looked at the wisp of the moon. Darkness had come swiftly this evening. He pondered Galen’s proposal as he listened to the sounds of the night. He would certainly need to find a new source of earning his keep once this business was behind them. The accusation of thievery would undoubtedly destroy his reputation and credibility among Tarnath’s elite. He chuckled. He could never go along with Galen’s idea though. The last thing he needed was to become the thief he had been branded as.

  The rhythmic chirping of the insects ended abruptly, and Tyrell saw that Galen had noticed it too. The thief looked into the dark forest. “I think we’ve got some company,” he whispered. A shuffling noise and a snapping twig sounded from the shadows. “Whatever it is, it isn’t trying to be very quiet.”

  “Could it be an animal? Some predator inspecting our campfire?”

  Galen shook his head. “The movements are too deliberate. Too clumsy.” He nodded at Nestor and drew his own blade. “Better wake up our sword arm. I expect we’ll need him.” Tyrell touched the warrior’s shoulder only to find that the barbarian was already awake. Nestor was on his feet with his sword at the ready in a heartbeat.

  “It’s nice to see that Ambrose picked such capable men,” said a whispery voice from the shadowy woods. “I am anxious to see what that fool’s concept of a hero is.” Six humanoid shapes shuffled out of the trees with slow, lumbering steps. From behind them materialized a powerful figure on a mighty horse. A heavy black cloak obscured the rider’s features, but the red eyes that gleamed from within the shadows of the being’s hood left the trio no doubts that they stood before Darian. As the creatures shambled forward the smell of death filled the glade around them. The sense of evil that surrounded him caused each man to shiver. “Kill them, my pets,” the vampire hissed, “and bring me my list of lairs.” There was a sudden flash of light and a puff of smoke that blinded the three companions. When they could see again, the horse and rider were gone.

  “So, that was Darian,” said Galen. “Did he give anyone else the creeps?” The thief stared into the darkness in a vain attempt to see where the vampire had gone.

  “Watch yourselves,” yelled Nestor. “Beware the zombies!” The barbarian charged past Tyrell and Galen and brought his sword down on one of the shambling corpses. Galen tried to dodge around the fray to
search for traces of the vampire lord’s horse, but he was unable to get past the reaching arms of two of the undead brutes. Frustrated that Darian was getting away, the thief gripped his blade and faced off against his foes.

  Nestor found himself in immediate trouble. The zombie he had chopped into tore the sword from his grasp, flinging it across the campsite. Undaunted, Nestor threw a punch that would have dropped a horse, but the zombie barely staggered. It and its fellow waded in against the warrior, pummeling him with their dead limbs.

  Tyrell put the fire between himself and the two monsters that advanced on him. The mage concentrated on the dancing flames, taking command of the inherent magic of the blaze. He bent that energy to his will and dampened the fire. He remained cautious that he merely suppressed the heat rather than extinguish it. He smiled as the two zombies marched straight through the glowing coals towards him. Tyrell threw the magic back into the tongues of fire. The sudden rush of power made the flames leap up with a white-hot intensity that reduced the walking corpses to ashes.

  Galen relied on his speed to keep himself out of harm’s way. He poked at the undead with his sword as he dodged and twisted out of their reach. Although he did no significant damage, his minor hits aggravated the monsters enough to follow the young thief as he led them deeper into the woods. The cutpurse had scouted the area when he and his friends had set up camp and knew exactly where he was leading the monsters to. A monstrous fallen tree lay stretched like a slumbering giant deeper into the undergrowth. Galen lured the zombies to the obstacle while he then nimbly scampered up to the top. As the dead men began a slow ascent, the thief looped a coil of rope around his waist and threw the other end over a branch above. He tested his weight on the rope and looked behind him. Beyond the tree, a deep gorge fell hundreds of feet to a rocky slope below. The trick was to get the zombies to fall in.

  As the creatures gained the top of the tree, Galen ran parallel to them along the fallen trunk, and then jumped wildly into the air. His momentum carried him around in a wide circle around the trunk of the tree whose branch he had looped his line, and he ended up swinging in behind the two walking corpses. He lashed out with a double kick that caught them solidly in their backs and launched them with flailing arms into the depths of the ravine below. The young thief landed nimbly on the fallen log, grinning to himself as he watched his opponents splatter on the rocks below. Satisfied, Galen turned around and set about freeing his rope.

  A thunderous punch in the ribs dropped Nestor to his knees. He grabbed one of his foes around the legs and lifted with a surge of rage. He tossed the miserable wretch far away from him where it landed with a wet thud in the grass. The other zombie hit the barbarian again before he could recover, though, and Nestor fell over on his back as the world spun around him. Never in his life had the mighty warrior suffered through such intense beatings as he had since this whole mess had begun.

  The zombie bent over, taking hold of Nestor’s throat in a crushing, viselike grip. The barbarian pulled at the thing’s wrists but only succeeded in tearing away dead flesh. He tried to call out, but no sound emerged from his constricted throat.

  A flaming log suddenly smashed the zombie in the side of the head hard enough to make it lose its grip on the warrior. The rush of air in his lungs restored Nestor enough to shove the foul creature away from him. A hand gripped his arm and hauled him back to his feet. The warrior turned to see Tyrell at his side. The wizard watched as the two zombies slowly regained their feet, and oriented once again on him and his ally.

  “Are you okay,” the mage asked.

  “I’ll survive,” croaked Nestor. “Where’s Galen?”

  “He led a couple of these monstrosities off into the dark. We need to finish these two off and see if he needs help. How do you want to take them down?”

  Nestor saw his sword in the grass nearby and scooped it up. “One piece at a time,” he growled. “Leave them to me.” He started to step forward to attack when Tyrell grabbed his arm.

  “We’re in this together, remember?” Nestor looked at the advancing monsters, and then back to the mage. A deep sense of respect filled the warrior, and he proudly shook Tyrell’s hand.

  “Together then,” he said. As one, the two men turned to face the dead men.

  Tyrell summoned the magic within a nearby willow tree which shook with fury at the abomination that shuffled beneath its boughs. Slender branches entangled the zombie as it reached for the wizard, and hauled the beast off the ground. Mighty tree limbs thrashed back and forth with the force of a titan’s club, reducing the monster to a gray paste.

  Nestor was less graceful with his attack. He bellowed and charged at his zombie. The warrior lowered his shoulder into the beast’s chest as he raced by, and blasted the creature to the ground. He pivoted so that he stood over the fallen monster and brought his blade down in one wickedly powerful chop. The zombie split down the middle from the force of the attack, shuddered once, and died. Nestor wiped his brow, said a brief prayer to his gods, and joined Tyrell over by the place where Darian’s horse had stood.

  “Not a single sign that he was even here,” the wizard said. “Is his magic so strong that he can spirit himself away without a trace?”

  “Forget about that, Tyrell. We’ll beat the bastard.”

  “You don’t understand, Nestor.”

  “What’s to understand? Of course, his magic is strong. He’s had centuries to perfect it. However, no one said you were to go toe to toe with him throwing spells at each other. We’ll find our victory working as a team. You just proved that to me a moment ago.”

  Tyrell smiled sadly. “I’m not the wizard everyone thinks I am.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve seen you work your craft, and do things that most people would never believe possible.”

  “I can manage a few simple manipulations and illusions, but I never could master truly powerful spellcraft. Certainly nothing like what he will be able to throw at us. I have some kind of a mental block. Something I’ve lived with for a very long time now. Ever since….” His voice trailed off as he looked at the gloves on his hands. He sighed. “I’ve been told before that I have the ability, but that I kept myself from reaching my true power.”

  “Dammit, man. I just watched you make a tree beat a zombie into sludge. You surely have the aptitude, so just let yourself reach it.”

  “I want to. I want my skills to grow and develop. I just can’t keep from restraining myself though. The only time I ever tried to reach those more powerful levels of magic, I . . . lost control of the power.” Nestor could see the anguish on the wizard’s face and knew that these words came with difficulty. “The spell had disastrous results that still haunt me. It left scars on me that I will carry forever.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you this. You saved my life tonight, and that’s not something I would easily forget. We may have had some fierce moments against each other, but know this. Mine are a proud people. If one man saves another there is a bond of honor formed between them. Whether we are thieves or not, I am a man of honor and will see the end of this with you. I’ll do anything I can to help you overcome these fears you may have.” A wide grin split the barbarian’s face. “Hell, I might even end up liking you by the time this is all over.” Tyrell laughed, and the two men shook hands.

  “Well, this is a touching scene,” called Galen from a tree branch up above. “Now that we’ve all kissed and made up, can we maybe work on getting ourselves out of here without dying horrible, gruesome deaths?”

  Nestor glanced at Tyrell and gave him a sly wink. “I‘ve accepted the mage as my ally. You, little monkey, I intend to knock off your branch. Galen jumped to the ground and sprinted away from the barbarian. Nestor, swift as running deer, took the young rogue down with a flying tackle, then gave him a good-natured thrashing. Finally, as they were all too full of adrenaline from the battle, they decided to break camp and rode with haste towards the city.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The trio
reached the city gates just after dark the next day, riding casually through the winding streets to Kellen’s home. Galen leaped from his horse, taking the short stairs in a single bound ahead of his friends. “I hope that Lorelei is here to greet us again,” the young man called to the others as he pounded loudly on the front door.

  “Lad’s had those copper tresses on his mind since the Fen,” quipped Nestor.

  Tyrell chuckled. “Marble skin and twinkling firebrands for eyes, if we trust the visions of our lovesick pup. Hope that he isn’t disappointed when that door opens up.”

  The door was opened by a squat, grimy, old woman who squinted to see who disturbed her. “Whaddya want,” she growled in the young thief’s face. Galen stumbled back in surprise and would have tumbled down the stairs had Nestor and Tyrell not been there to catch him. The woman held her broom in front of her as though she would attack any who came to close.

  “Good evening, madam,” said Tyrell. “We are employed by Lord Ambrose, and have some business with him.”

  “His lordship’s not here at present, and you’ll have to excuse me as we’ve our own pickle to deal with right now,” she replied. She tried to slam the door shut but Nestor held it open.

  “What sort of ‘pickle’, madam? We seem to have had several of our own since making Ambrose’s acquaintance. There’s the chance that our predicaments are one and the same. Perhaps we could be of some assistance.”

  The servant looked at the three road-weathered men over and grunted. “This way then,” she beckoned as she retreated into the hall, “but mind you don’t get mud on the floors.”

  “I swear she’s half goblin,” whispered Galen.

  “Careful, lad,” said Nestor. “I think she may be sweet on you.” The barbarian chuckled, though the scowl on Galen’s face clearly showed he was not amused.

  The three men were led into the study, which was still in shambles from the zombie attack. Lorelei sat in a chair, and forced a smile when she saw the trio. A cup of tea quaked in her hands, threatening to spill its contents onto the floor. The old woman went to her side, whispered something into the girl’s ear, then scowled at the companions.