by L J Andrews
This man, Bale, was a fool but Kawal was intrigued when the swindler dug into the pocket of his silk vest and removed a bloody towel, though instinct demanded Kawal rest a ready hand on his weapon.
Bale scoffed as he assessed the general’s paranoia. “You will be pleased when you know whose blood this is, General. Don’t fret.”
Kawal said nothing but gripped his sword and watched as Bale peeled back the soiled linens. The skin had already begun to rot, and the smell overpowered the sweet spice of incense in his room. Kawal pressed the back of his palm to his mouth and peered at the scalp of sun-highlighted dark hair. But it was the wooden box Bale held before him that caught his full attention.
Kawal released the hilt of his blade and studied the box. His hair stood on end, but curiosity, or the subtle pulse of power when Bale opened the lid overpowered the defensive instinct. Kawal’s brow furrowed. A simple necklace? Then all at once his lungs ceased breathing and his heart seemed to forget how to pump.
“What is this?”
“I believe you have writings on the amulets of the Mount.”
Kawal’s eyes widened as he took the stone. “This can’t be—”
“It is, I assure you.”
“The depictions didn’t look like this.”
“No, they wouldn’t, for this one is unknown. We call it the emberstone. And it’s power rivals the three Lightborn amulets still lost to the Bloodlands.”
Kawal embraced the warmth of the stone—it was unusual and sent a surge through his heart—but he refused to show his interest to Bale. “How can you be sure it’s authentic if no one has heard of it, you fool?”
“You sense if for yourself, I can see it in your expression.”
Kawal never dropped his gaze from the polished stone. He swallowed and reached for the stone, but Bale slammed the lid.
Rays were blessings of power from the Mount, but most people believed mystics were lost and rays were simply a myth. Kawal knew different. “I’ve studied the Lightborn at great length. What voice could a fourth amulet possibly hold?”
Bale chuckled and gripped the edge of his tattered vest. “I have it on good authority that there are stronger powers that can influence all the Lightborn mystics.”
“Myths and lies. There is no great power over all god-blessed rays.”
“So, sure General? Perhaps you are right, but it doesn’t diminish that you sense something about the emberstone. You have desire in your eye, and I’ve come to barter.”
Kawal laughed through a sneer before he ripped a knife from his thigh and threatened the point against Bale’s neck. Kawal’s intended threat caught in his throat when the frigid chill of sharp steel found a place against his own neck from behind. He peered over his shoulder and met the shadowed face of a hooded man in a crimson cloak.
Bale took a brazen step closer, so his chest pressed against Kawal. “I might have lied about bringing my banesman. They are excellent at remaining invisible.”
Kawal shook his head and tossed his knife in a clatter against the marble floor. “You walk a dangerous line, swindler. First, by bringing an amulet out in the open. Second, you dare threaten me when I have the entire Jershonian and Mulekian armies at my command.”
“I’m a man who knows what he wants and how far I’ll go to get it.”
Kawal stepped away from the deadly banesman. They were named as fallen Shen warriors and were masters in the art of warfare and weaponry. He’d studied under the Shen as a boy along with other nobles, but the banesman were a class above. They killed for money, and if a banesman was set on your trail it was easier to set your affairs in order than try to run.
Kawal sniffed and pointed to the box. “If you truly believe this is an amulet of the Mount then you are either mad for bartering such a possession, or you are working under the watch of Sha’run to find traitors. Now speak quickly. Your life depends on it. I care little if your banesman is skilled, he cannot stand against my entire platoon.”
Bale folded the scalp back in the linen and slicked his wiry hair from his brow. “I assure you the Blood Emperor, Sha’run has no knowledge of me, or my possessions. I understand what is at risk should I ever be traced to this piece. You can imagine the lengths I have gone to retrieve it.”
“How did you find this when I have the scroll of the amulets?”
Bale shook his head. “My banesman can be very persuasive. Mount priests are sniveling weaklings and can bend at the smallest threats.”
Kawal didn’t believe Bale or the banesman had tortured a true mount priest of the Mount; they were as elusive in the Bloodlands as the amulets, but the thrill coursing through his body kept him from pressing the truth for how the amulet was found. “That flesh. Whose is it?”
Bale grinned so his blackened teeth uglied his face even more. “No more need to wonder what became of the Varonis scribe you so desperately sought not so many months ago.”
Kawal licked his lips and stared at the linen. “A severed scalp does nothing to prove the scribe was killed. If you had the second half of the writings he stole, that would be proof.” Bale’s arrogant grin faded. “What do you ask as payment for the stone?”
“I knew you’d see its worth.”
“Payment,” Kawal growled.
Bale rubbed the botched stump from his missing finger and spoke through his teeth. “I ask for your assistance in ridding the Bloodlands of Thieves Waste. And if a young female of the Tyv Guild should be found, all I ask General, is the woman be given to me.”
Kawal’s brow furrowed as he glanced between the hairy swindler and hooded assassin. “That’s all? I hesitate to destroy the entire Waste. The thieves prove useful at times.”
“Then leave some alive.”
“I’ve never seen a female thief. It seems rather impossible that a woman could hold such a position.”
“She’s a ghost, and Shen trained, I assure you.”
Kawal chuckled and folded his arms. “So, set your banesman on her.”
Bale laughed. “I have, but he…has a few reservations.” Bale glanced at the banesman as his lips pinched tight. Burying any hint of frustration for the hired blade, Bale grinned when he glanced again at Kawal. “Besides, as I said the woman is Shen trained and difficult to catch and track, even more reason I want her destroyed. If the entire Wastes were threatened by the largest army in the Bloodlands, I’m certain her grandmaster Hadeon would send his most skilled thieves out in the open. I ask for your assistance making sure it happens, that is all. I will do the rest.”
It seemed an unfair trade, but Kawal held out his palm for the box. “I agree. You shall have your woman who seems to outwit you, but I demand the amulet in return.”
Bale sneered as he handed the box to Kawal. It took several breaths of staring at the stone before he dared take the amulet from the box and fasten it around his neck. The stone warmed his skin as a pulse like the shock of cannon fire rippled through his soul. If it were truly filled with Lightborn rays, soon his strength would multiply so that even the blood empire of Corian would hold no fear over Kawal. He would fear no one, but everyone would fear him.
Chapter 6
Thieves War
The soft tap of the blade against polished wood matched the click-clack of steel-soled boots stomping the floor. Why he insisted on wearing such gaudy apparel, Isa would never know. Stealth, agility, and lightweight garments seemed the only logical way to don clothing since invisibility was the guild’s ode.
Isa schooled her face into dull indifference though eyes from the others surrounding the table chilled her soul. The Guild Tower relied on cast iron lanterns for light, yet even in the dimness every glance was apparent and bubbled her skin like dripping candle wax. The six—including herself—thieves at the table were the most trusted of the three guilds. Isa eyed the thick ox leaning forward over his elbows in the opposing chair. His head, bald and tattooed in thorny vines, sent a violent throb through her chest. The Phantom Guild were the lowliest of creatures and sittin
g at the table with two menaces of the sect toiled her insides like a wrung towel. If the rumors were true, the two Phantoms at the table took after the brute side. Both shared broad shoulders that seemed carved from the black iron in the slave pits dotting the fields of Corian.
She wished Joshua would sit between the Phantoms, or stab them, but at Hadeon’s command the Tyv Guild was to remain civil, and Isa wouldn’t be the one to disobey an order. Best not to look at their terrible black eyes, though.
Leaning back in the narrow wooden chair, Isa propped her booted feet on the edge of the council table. Dried mud piled beneath her heels and the pacing sound of steel on wood ceased.
A fierce swat of his hand against her boots nearly unbalanced her in the seat. In a flash of curses and metal she turned the onyx dagger in her palm readying to strike, but swallowed the bulge of surprise as the cutting edge of a sword rested against the hallow of her throat. “Don’t,” Joshua warned, both cool eyes narrowed like the ashen sky in the distance. “You will drown in a pool of your own blood if you make another move.”
Isa exhaled a throaty huff and tossed her weapon, so it banged on a ceramic pot against the wall. “It’s past three in the morning, I’m tired, Joshua. I was simply relaxing, and I urge you to try it someday. When is this meeting going to begin anyway?”
Joshua angled his sharp features, so she caught sight of the jagged scar carved in the left side of his neck. “If you hadn’t spent the night on the field, you wouldn’t have any complaints for the hour. Do not forget Isabelle, the guilds are summoned because of your stupidity. Now, you will respect this council room like the rest of us until Master Hadeon arrives. Sit, girl.”
Each tip of her fingers flinched as her red temper sliced through her system. The final, degrading word bit from the tip of his tongue like acid sliding down her throat—girl, said like it was the most sinister label one could bestow. Most days she dreamed of wiping Joshua’s haughty expression from his bearded face. She glanced at the all-male table—no sympathy for her plight to be found in any of the sour eyes.
“That isn’t why we were summoned.” She slunk into her chair again and didn’t meet Joshua’s eyes as she picked at her chipped fingernails. Pieces of skin flapped around the nailbeds from an unfortunate habit of gnawing until only pink color remained. Yet, she treated them as though each curve were pristinely manicured.
Joshua rolled his eyes and kicked her dagger across the floor. The weapon thudded against her heel.
“Do enlighten us.”
Isa glared; her bottom lip pressed into a tight line. Her head swiveled like a door on rusted hinges as she took in each eye at the table. “We’re here because we are the first circle to the masters, and there is a threat against all three guilds.”
At least that was the hurried message given by the stammering servant who’d been sent to retrieve her at the disgusting hour. Isa couldn’t remember the puffy-cheeked woman’s name if her life depended on it—Sarah, Shaia, Sienna—it didn’t matter. Isa followed without argument—when Hadeon called, you obeyed.
Joshua dragged a hand through his dark locks as he shook his head. “A threat that would not exist if you had finished the man a year ago.”
Isa’s fists balled until the sharp edges of her chewed fingernails dug into her fleshy palm. “Bale lost his finger and his men, it’s not my fault the old fool asked for a death sentence and crossed the guilds by sending a banesman. If you remember right, I saw the cloak first and set the warning. You should be thanking me. Besides, Hadeon instructs against unnecessary bloodshed, you know this, Joshua.”
“It was a rouse attempt, a ploy to get us out in the open. No true banesman would have been seen. And don’t forget who was the one to run him out.”
“Don’t boast about your kills, Joshua. It’s unbecoming.” Isa spoke with narrowed eyes to aggravate the man since boasting about her skills was one of her favorite pastimes.
Joshua shook his head. “You know, Isabelle, I think you had something to prove by keeping Bale alive. What was it? Restraint? Power? Skill?”
“I followed orders.”
“You found no qualms in shredding a Phantom,” one Phantom whispered in a voice that added to the chill of the room.
Isa swallowed. Her pulse picked a tumultuous pace in her ears when she glanced across the table. She would not show her apprehension. As the youngest, and only female thief, her life depended on her cunning, confidence, and strength. Though at times like this hidden fears threatened to break free. “Nor would you if your life were threatened. If I were you, I would be asking why a member of my guild joined with such a man as Bale in the first place. You cannot deny your guild would have torn the traitor limb from limb at the first chance. The way I see it, I did you a favor. Bale was a sniveling worm, no threat to my life, in turn, no need to kill him.”
“Unless it is a threat to our guild,” Joshua said. His rippled arms crossed over his black leather gilet and his forehead furrowed. “Bale’s connections, his greed, those are the threat, Isabelle. Your arrogance clouds your judgment. Such a task should never had been left to the hands of child.”
Isa slammed her palms on the table. The force jolted through her sore wrists as white lightning flashed outside. Perhaps, Joshua had a point—sparring beneath the moon after curfew might have been a foolish idea, but the shadows of night were her solace. Her body ached in every crevice and joint, but she wouldn’t let present company know. “I am no child, Joshua Rayhab. My seventeenth year has half passed and my run in the wetlands last year was successful—along with every consecutive run since. Your own arrogance is what burns you most. How difficult it must be for you to have a younger, female, be your equal in skill.”
Isa suspected Joshua was preparing to cut out her tongue when a towering, dark Ladroa Guild member shot to his feet. “Enough. I did not ask to be subject to the ridiculous squabbles of Tyv. Now, this room will fall into silence or I will be forced to cut your corpses, and I will not hold back.” His narrowed gaze went as black as his absent soul. Though in daylight Ladroa—men and women alike—had the acute ability to transform into some of the handsomest people Isa knew. Their bloody hearts were masked by sweet words and beautiful faces. Once the twilit nights chased away the sun it seemed the moon revealed true natures. Isa wished the gathering had been called at noonday the way the man’s face twisted and contorted unnaturally.
Joshua flushed in frustration at the demeaning tone, but already the Ladroa had his abnormally long fingers wrapped around the hilt of a stone blade. The weapon likely weighed more than Isa and caused brutal damage to flesh. She stared at the grains of the table and bit the tip of her tongue to keep from arguing until her mouth coated in coppery blood.
The Mount must have smiled upon her for after a few silent, pressurized minutes the door to the council room creaked and opened. Three bodies filled the doorway, all seeming determined to enter the room first. In the end, Joshua and Isa bowed their heads when Hadeon plodded through the frame at the head.
“And I half expected to mop up gore. Miracles never cease. I told you Abalon,” Hadeon said as he flicked his glance over a shoulder toward the Phantom master. “Our guilds can stomach one another.”
“That may be, but I am close to my limit,” Abalon muttered. Isa avoided his certain gaze.
The master of the brutal guild had successfully created a look that should’ve existed in nightmares. His tongue was spliced in the center, his eyes stretched, and the whites dyed a sickly, rust color with the black pupils dilated as wide as thumbprints. Abalon was the only Phantom Isa had seen with hair, even the women shaved their heads. When he sat one space away, she swallowed the burning aroma of dry scalp without flinching.
“He has hair to hide the thorns of his kills inked on his head—there are so many it would be impossible for empire patrols to ignore such a man,” Brigita, the head cook for Tyv, had theorized with Isa long ago. The rumor wasn’t necessarily true, but Isa didn’t plan to be the first to question h
is reasons for coating his head in stringy locks.
Isa bent without a sound and retrieved the dagger still nestled near her foot. On the way back up she caught the tilted watch of Kish, the master of the Ladroa Guild. If there were spirits and demons in the underworld, Kish would be one of them. Isa’s tongue swelled when his chiseled, handsome face turned into a pleasant grin as he studied her. The moon couldn’t reveal Kish’s darkness. He was so cunning he could outwit the heavens. She imagined the green of his eyes would rival the leaves in the thick of spring; bright and rich enough she might fall into a trance. Kish tucked his peppered, chestnut hair behind his ears, focused and attentive as the sultry smile on his face widened after Isa stared too long. As she said, a demon from the underworld. She imagined such creatures wouldn’t be filthy or terrifying, but be strikingly beautiful with smooth, velvety voices to lure souls to the pits of desolation. Kish satisfied her eyes, but Isa knew well the blood staining those strong hands. Women, children, elderly. If gold were involved, no one stood in his way.
Hadeon clapped his hands on the table, and Isa fluttered her attention toward her master. His scarred nose twitched, probably from Abalon’s pungent aroma, and he stroked his beard three times before speaking. “You all know why this council has been summoned. The swindler and con artist, Bale has convinced General Kawal of Jershon to come against Thieves Waste. Our humble forest will be filled with soldiers by the blood moon should we do nothing.”
“I’ve stated plainly, Hadeon. This is your mess to clean up,” Abalon growled, his flashing eyes falling to her. Isa glowered in return.
Even Kish’s chuckle had a satisfying sound that tightened her chest in warm knots. “Abalon, you say such things because you hold a resentment that this stunning creature destroyed one of your traitors before you could sink your greedy blade through his heart.”
