The Princess's Ransom

by Margaret Gregory

two horses were tethered to a tree branch and swordswoman and sorceress were running forward in the shadows. A realistic illusion of a horse and rider could be seen and heard, thundering down the road.

  With first traces of dawn in the sky, Leanne could see her quarry crawling back up to the road from the ditch and was onto her before she could stand. The flat of her blade winded the thief who fell to the road fighting for breath.

  Leanne deepened her voice to a semblance of a man’s growl. Her almost six foot of height leant credence to the impression. All that was visible of her was an unbearded squarish jaw.

  “Where are the jewels and the gold?”

  The thief made no answer except to struggle as her ambusher began to cut her jerkin with ruthless thoroughness.

  “Be Still!” Finora ordered in a commanding voice. The thief trembled, unable to move, feeling as if a powerful hand pinned her to the ground while wet fabric was torn from her body.

  There was enough light for Leanne to see and recognize the tiny hand, the thief guild sigil, tattooed near the girls left armpit. They had the right woman. As she searched through the shredded jerkin, the brightening daylight revealed a crown shaped birthmark on the girl’s right side. There was shock on Leanne’s face as she met Finora’s eyes; they both had identical marks.

  “I want the truth, girl!” Leanne spoke, sounding vicious, but the thief no longer looked scared.

  “Leanne, you daughter of the beast folk, leave me alone!” the thief spoke, angry now. “Remove your foul spell, Finora!”

  “Remove it yourself, little sorceress,” Finora taunted casually. Her delicate triangular face, visible under the hood, betrayed no friendliness.

  “You know I can’t do magic!”

  “No? You did quite well this night past,” Finora told her casually, indirectly informing her younger sister how much they knew.

  “I stole the spell,” the thief admitted, but true to her own code, did not tell the whole truth; unlike other magically ungifted, she did not need a potion to make it work.

  “And I am not going home, not for you, not for anyone – not even the King himself!”

  The words were defiant.

  “Maeven, little sister,” Leanne reverted to her own voice and lowered her hood revealing dark hair cropped very short.

  “You’ve got little choice. Father wants you back – needs you back. That is the only reason he went along with your little swindle. He may be an insane tyrant but he is not stupid. I am sure that he expected something like this. Have some sense – in hours the town will be too hot for you.”

  “So he sent you to find me,” Maeven sneered, “and like obedient little children, you went.”

  “No,” Finora interrupted. “He wants us back too but until our current indenture is up – we’re safe enough; thanks to his own convoluted laws! No, we came to give you some advice – go home – before his men find you and drag you back. We won’t tell him what you’ve been up to and if you go now you will come out of this better than you deserve.”

  Maeven swore using a stream of guardroom obscenities; Finora blushed, Leanne did not react.

  “Fool – after three years of disowning you – he wants you back; enough to spend lots of gold trying to find you. If he’s that desperate there will be a means to turn it to your advantage,” Leanne stressed.

  “What’s it about? I won’t go back and marry Lord Toadface! I won’t…”

  “Lord Tormore had an unfortunate accident,” Leanne interrupted and hearing these flat emotionless words made Maeven wonder…

  “What’s it about?” Maeven asked again.

  Leanne sighed. “I don’t know. Rhovert does but he’s not telling.”

  Maeven spoke dismissively. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve made my own life. I have enough money now to live on for a long time. I have my plans – I won’t be found. You two, of all people can’t lecture me.”

  “The life of a thief, for the Lady’s sake!” Finora protested. “At least the Order of Swords and the League of Sorcery are respectable careers, even for the likes of us.”

  “I have the protection of my Guild,” Maeven boasted, projecting confidence.

  “I wouldn’t count on it, little sister,” Leanne warned. “When details of this morning’s raid reach your Guild, do you really think they will want to keep you?” Leanne shook her head with vexation. The rising sun glinted off her silver swordswoman’s earring.

  “They plan all raids,” Maeven hoped to mislead her sisters.

  “Even if they did sanction the raid, which I doubt,” Finora added her belief, “They won’t like hearing that you used magic. They don’t dare risk the wrath of the Sorcery League. We guard our good name.” Finora absently fingered the diamond studded neck clasp that was the symbol of a sorceress.

  Maeven managed to keep her face expressionless.

  “Do you even know who you robbed this morning?” Leanne asked casually.

  “A rich fool!” Maeven dismissed with equal casualness.

  Leanne smiled to herself; their brother Rhovert, acting as King’s Messenger was neither rich nor a fool in spite of the way he presented himself.

  “A word of advice then,” Leanne changed her line of attack. “The King’s Own Guards, who accompanied the man, won’t turn a blind eye to your guild. If you decide you need our help, we will be staying at the Crescent Moon for a few days. Oh, and don’t forget that young children like that whelp at the inn, aren’t affected by a glamour of invisibility; even I knew that.”

  Maeven struggled again and Finora released her spell, allowing her to pull the tattered jerkin around herself as she stood up. She glared at her sisters and walked off without saying goodbye or looking back.

  “Do you think she’ll go?” Finora asked aloud, shaking her hood off and allowing her coiled up braids to fall down to her waist.

  “If she truly values her skin, she will eventually realize she has no choice,” Leanne thought aloud. “But she’s too full of her own cleverness and if she chooses to ignore the fate of unaffiliated thieves in the kingdom…”

  Finora shivered. “Maeven would think it funny; the idea of Father having her executed for thievery. Though from the hints that Rhovert has dropped Father would probably even forgive her for that if she goes back.”

  “A year ago he would not have forgiven her and I don’t think the Thieves’ Guild will now,” Leanne suppressed a shudder. “I am torn between not caring what happens to that selfish brat and what unspeakable thing will happen if she doesn’t go home. Maeven has never done us any favours and I don’t think she really cares what it’s all about. I wonder why we bothered. If it wasn’t for Rhovert’s insistence…”

  “It must be important for him to side with Father …,” Finora interrupted.

  “Let’s go back to the inn. We’ll tell Rhovert we found nothing. I’ll give Maeven that much chance to go by herself.”

  Maeven reached her partitioned off corner in the Thieves’ Guild house without seeing anyone. She quickly changed into a dry pair of trousers and an undamaged jerkin then brushed her almost dry light brown hair off her face and tied it roughly into a short braid. When she emerged, she found Nayfor, the Guild Master, waiting for her. His short, solid form blocked her way.

  “You were at the Crescent Moon,” he greeted her stonily.

  Maeven said nothing, neither admitting nor denying his accusation and trying to decide if he was out to trap her or if he really knew. His next words decided her.

  “The King’s Own Guards are searching house to house; they have your description. Where is the take?”

  “Hidden in the tunnels,” Maeven finally admitted. Nayfor nodded thoughtfully.

  “Downstairs with you then, bring all your things! They will be here before the sun is a hand span higher.”

  Nayfor waited whilst Maeven gathered all she owned including her horde of gems and coins, and then walked off. He did not wait to see if Maeven followed so he did not see her turn pale. She had no
t really believed her sisters’ warning and only now decided that she really did want to know what was going on. What could make her sisters act for her father?

  Her sibs had predicted this raid, surely they had not told the guards… no, there hadn’t been time. Who then? That dratted child who should have been seen and not heard? Did Rhovert guess?

  Nayfor led her downstairs and showed her the bolthole constructed for emergencies such as this. It was no more that an excavated dirt hole, roughly shored up. There were no windows and a long tube a hand span wide provided the ventilation and a log too heavy for her to lift barred the far door – but escaping now would be foolish. The door she had entered through clicked shut behind her; it had locks and bolts on both sides.

  Maeven checked her pocket; yes, she had transferred the special key to it. It looked like any old key but it would, by using a certain incantation, mould itself to open any lock; some added insurance.

  While the day progressed outside, Maeven made plans but not one of them included going home. She had enough wealth to live the kind of life she wanted. This was wealth stolen in part without the knowledge of the guild who usually took a levy of half. The thought made her smile.

  The door opened finally – Maeven scuttled out to find herself facing a semi circle of her fellow thieves.

  “You’re out, Ven,” Nayfor told her coldly. The others were angry.

  “No Guild house in the Kingdom of Thulor will shelter you henceforth.”

  Maeven looked around at the ring of implacable