River of Thieves

by Clayton Snyder

  “What makes you think I want this?” Cord asked.

  “I think you want more than you are willing to admit, but if this does not please you,” Oros shrugged, "you may sift through the ashes for whatever riches will sate your bottomless heart. Unimpeded."

  "And if I disagree?"

  Oros looked to the stars. "I cannot be held responsible for the things that fate decrees is your punishment for defying a god."

  "Let me sleep on it."

  "I see your heart, thief," Oros warned.

  "I see your crotch," Cord replied. "Really, wrap that robe tighter."

  Oros let a long-suffering sigh, and as quickly as they'd come, left the firelight. We had little time to consider the conversation.

  "Was that real?" I asked.

  Cord shrugged. "Good pipe, right?"

  "If you like not feeling your feet, great pipe."

  "I hate my feet."

  We took another few draughts, and the moon rose. With it, a figure on the plains ahead, slender, with a graceful walk. I sat up and watched them approach, their walk steady and unhurried. As they neared the firelight, features clarified and coalesced. Skin the color of mahogany. A high forehead and an intelligent eye the color of gold, the other a black pit where one once sat. Fine cheekbones and full lips. A word escaped Cord's lips.

  "Camor."

  They took a seat beside the fire, making a triangle with the three of us. They smiled, and looked at Cord.

  "Cord, my most precious fuck-up." Their voice carried hints of music, the lute and the fiddle, the drum.

  They turned to me and smiled as well. "Nenn. I owe you a debt. I think that if not for you, Cord would be far more broken than he is."

  "What can we do for you, your..." Cord trailed off.

  "Camor is fine. You can listen for a while. Then I would ask a favor."

  They lifted a hand and placed it in the fire, tracing symbols as they did so. Pictures formed in the flames, and we leaned in to see better.

  Cord, on the throne. He glanced at Camor, a question on his lips, but they shook their head and motioned for him to watch. We turned back, and the scene shifted, revealing the back of the high seat. Shadows lurked at the edges, dark things with silver eyes. Behind the façade of rich wood and gold, bodies twisted beyond recognition supported the throne. They cried out for succor, but those cries were lost as the vision shifted again, revealing the adoration Cord received was that of a thousand slaves chained to a vast machine of blood and bone.

  Again the scene flickered. It dipped beneath verdant fields that seemed so enticing, revealing a plot of corpses that fertilized their greenery. Then in, into the home of the happy family, to show the roast they devoured. In this vision their eyes were too wide, their skin too sallow. In a room behind them, stained like an abbatoir, a man sat weeping and clutching the crudely bound stump of one leg.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Truth in the lies,” Camor said. “Watch.”

  The flames grew more intense, and another world, that stone and water came into focus. A thin man wrapped in tight furs slipped between shadows, a blade out. He paused at the edge of an alley, waiting for a guard to pass. Before they did, something the color of spilled ink separated from the shadows behind him, engulfing him. When it passed, only the desiccated husk of a man remained.

  Another world, this one lush and green. Homes sat nestled in treetops, while great lizards trundled below. A small woman, her skin the color of oak, slipped from roof to roof, in a window here, out another. A small pouch at her side grew with each excursion. Darkness waited within the walls of the last home, and I cried out as she slipped inside. The scene paused, but no one emerged, and finally, it moved on.

  The last, a city of such beauty I wondered who or what could have built it. Graceful spires, delicate steel. Water running through it all in a way that made me think of music. A child, no older than I had been when I joined the orphanage slipped in and out of crowds, purses seeming to drop into their hands. A smile marked their lips, the light of unhindered joy in their eyes. They passed an alley, and they were gone. Silver eyes stared from the dim space between buildings, and then that too was gone.

  The images faded from the flames, and we sat back. Camor looked us over, each in turn.

  "Go home, Cord. Go to Orlecht. Oros' imprisonment has driven them mad, and they mean to burn this world to ash. We are jealous gods, and each of you little shits are precious to us. To me."

  "Not to be blasphemous here, but I just had an entire argument about free will versus determinism, Camor," Cord said.

  "You, blasphemous? Perish the thought. But there's this—I have never forced one of my own down a path, and I won't now. If you refuse this burden, so be it. There are a million other thieves and assassins in the world. One of them's bound to get lucky."

  "Luck? Luck?" Cord sounded indignant. "Fuck that, you need skill. I'll do it."

  Camor smiled.

  "For a price."

  Camor's smile exploded into a laugh. "I would expect nothing less. Get it done, and we'll talk."

  "Deal." Cord spat on his palm. Camor did the same, and they shook.

  Then, the god just... disappeared.

  "Huh," I said.

  "What?"

  "Well, they could have just done that instead of walking all slow toward the fire."

  "You're high. Besides, theatrics are important."

  "I'm a big fan of getting to the point."

  "I have so much to teach you yet."

  "Can you teach me what it's like to have five minutes of quiet?"

  He laid back on his bedroll. "Fuck you."

  "Fuck you too, buddy."

  We fell into silence, and sleep claimed us.

  ***

  We strolled into the village just past noon the next day, the undead army that came to destroy the town no longer armed with blades and pikes, but hammers and saws. The sounds of hammering and sawing and digging filled the air. The temple had already been all but dismantled, the pieces used to build some sort of wheeled contraption on a tall scaffold, others used to create small booths. Some townspeople kept a respectful distance, others acted as though the dead were simply newcomers. None of either group spared us more than a passing glance, and they made a wide circle around where Cord and Lux sat beside a pile of corpses.

  "What the fuck is this?" I asked.

  Cord grinned. "I call it an amusement park."

  "What's amusing about it?"

  "There's rides, for one. And a dunk tank."

  "I don't know what any of those things are."

  "It's because you wouldn't know culture if it bit you in the ass."

  "Maybe. But I also know you have a knack for annoying people in the most efficient way possible."

  "That too," he conceded.

  Rek and the Lux looked up at our approach, Rek raising a hand in greeting. I looked at Lux for a moment, heart in my throat. I was suddenly ecstatic there hadn't been any killing—well, not any killing of people I cared about—and I swept her up, planting a massive kiss on her lips. She swooned a little, then straightened, a smile creeping across her face.

  "Made a decision, then?" Lux asked.

  "Yep," I said, and reached for her hand. She clasped my fingers tightly, and we went to join the others.

  The corpse pile became clearer as I inspected it. Every priest in town was piled together in a lifeless heap, Frollo's body on top, suspiciously large holes where their hearts used to be. Not a single undead occupied the pile.

  "What happened here?" I asked.

  Rek shrugged. "The dead stopped a few yards from the town. Figured you guys must have been successful. These idiots still wanted to fight, and when we didn't, they tried to attack us."

  "Extra-crispy dumb," Lux said, and pointed to a blackened limb poking from the pile.

  "Yep," Cord nodded in agreement.

  "Got your heart," Rek added.

  "Thought you might have. The townspeople?"


  "They're wary, but Lux here whipped up a couple of charms to make them feel better, and once they saw the dead were building and not killing, they relaxed. They might still run, but I don't think there will be any violence here."

  "What about the old man?" I asked.

  "Who?"

  "Ferd?"

  Rek shrugged.

  A scream from the far end of town interrupted him, and we turned to see. A figure rode between the shops, townspeople scattering before the newcomer. It drew closer, and I sucked in a breath.

  "Is that?" I asked.

  Cord nodded. "Yep. Horrific man-thing."

  "At least it's not a horse," Rek muttered.

  It approached at a trot, long legs stuttering against the cobbles of the street. Its torso sat high, and as it drew close, I saw the Harrower had twisted a man to do his bidding. Its ribcage rode the top of the body, long limbs moving from knobby joints. Legs ended in four-toed hands, and the movement reminded me of a crab. Nearer still, and I made out the flesh was stretched over bone and muscle, as if too small for its body, and nailed in place. Strips of gore glistened in the light, and it left a trail of wet redness behind as it moved. Its face was a torn rictus of agony, eyes rolled to the whites. I tore my gaze away and spotted Ferd atop a blanket strapped to its back. Dried blood streaked his lips and beard, and he swayed dangerously atop the beast. He tugged the reins, and it skidded to a stop a few yards from us.

  "Okay then," Cord said. "Everybody on the boat."

  We turned and started the walk toward the docks. Ferd's mount let out a screech and a shadow passed over our heads as it leapt, landing once again in our path.

  "What is it with this guy?" Rek asked.

  I squinted. "Harrower, if I had to guess. But it looks like he fucked up his throat calling this thing."

  Fred tipped his head to one side. "You. You have stepped into my path. Is it not enough to harry you to the ends of the world? Is it not enough that you have pulled my would-be empire down around my ears?"

  "Who the fuck is this?" I asked.

  "YOU DON'T KNOW?" Ferd screamed. Blood spilled from his lips, and he coughed. He moved them again, and no sound came aside from a wheezing gurgle.

  "No fuckin' idea," Cord said. "Lux?"

  "Right, roast weirdo coming up," she said.

  She stepped in front of us, hands aflame. Blue balls of fire launched from her palms, leaving behind a woosh and a searing heat that dissipated as they streaked toward the beast. Ferd juked the flayed man to one side, and it lashed out, smacking Lux in the face with thick fingers. It knocked her back, and she sprawled out, spitting in disgust.

  I stepped in, Rek to my left, and as the monster lunged for the big man, I ripped my blades through its rear leg. Blood gouted from the wounds and the horror gave a keening cry, spinning toward me. Its jaws snapped, lightning-quick, catching a bit of my armor. I lashed out, opening one of its eyes. Vitreous fluid spilled down its cheek as it screamed.

  The monster wobbled suddenly, then collapsed, Rek's big axe chopping two legs from it. Lux swooped in, placing a palm on its head with a look of disgust. She spoke a word in her arcane language, and black fire exploded behind its eyes. Smoke curled from it as it withered.

  A weight hammered into my back, and I stumbled forward as Ferd beat at my head and neck with furious fists. I fell, teeth chattering as I collapsed onto the street. Another keening wail came as Ferd opened his mouth. The sound was corrupted however, the damage to Ferd's throat causing it to sound like a rusty hinge.

  "Somebody get this weird fucker off me!" I shouted.

  "On it!" Cord shouted, and the weight disappeared, the wail cutting off.

  I worked my way up on unsteady feet. My head rung from the noise and the beating. I looked around, to see the others standing nearby, then down at Ferd's motionless form. Cord had beaten the man unconscious with one of the beast's legs, and now the Harrower lay in an unceremonious heap, face obscured by the wounded flesh.

  I shook my head and we made our way back to the boat.

  "Gret's balls, Cord," I said.

  "You needed help," he shrugged.

  "I didn't mean bludgeon him with a leg."

  "Hey, I get results."

  "He's got a point," Rek said.

  "Maniacs," I said, as we arrived at the boat. "You could have just stabbed him."

  "Where's the fun in that?" Cord asked.

  "So, are we just leaving him here?" I asked.

  "What do you think he's going to get up to?" Cord asked.

  "I mean, he's a Harrower."

  "That Cord just humiliated," Rek said. "Would you stick around after that?"

  "Good point," I agreed.

  We gathered our things and boarded, pushing away from the docks with Rek's usual skill. No crowd gathered to see us off, no cheers of joy. Lux slipped below deck to install the heart in the Harrower engine, while Cord staggered downstairs to sleep. When she'd finished, Lux and I found a cabin, and spent some time doing the opposite.

  Later, when night fell, we stood on the deck together, and listened to the river rush by. The wind whispered through the sails, and clouds hid the moon and stars. Rek piloted with a steady hand, and Cord rode the crow's nest. Ahead, the city. Ahead, uncertainty.

  But here, family.

  This Asshole Again

  When Ferd came to on the other side of Tremaire's lake, he'd spent an hour probing the raw red scar on his throat. Finally, he found his feet, screamed an unintelligible word at the trees, and began to walk. Somewhere in the western reaches of the forest (and he'd been fortunate here--the beasts didn't love the Harrowers) Oros opened a gate, and showed him the way.

  Now he lay on the far side of the river again. He'd nearly drowned, again. And this time, he was sure he'd lost his ability to Harrow at this point. His voice had been destroyed beyond all recognition. First the bitch with the knife, then his own attempt at vengeance. Once again, Oros opened a gate. Ferd hesitated at its threshold.

  Why do you stop? Oros asked.

  "I need a moment," Ferd replied. His voice sounded like nails in a tumbler.

  Have you been broken? Do I need to find another champion?

  "No. No. My will remains the same. I will simply need a new approach."

  And what is your will?

  "Vengeance."

  That will do.

  The gate shimmered before him. Ferd stepped through, the gate snapping shut behind him. He hesitated in the face of the swirling chaos, like fractal breaks behind his eyelids. He hated this part. He took the first step.

  ***

  The rite was unironically called The Harrowing. Ferd expected little else from a humorless bunch in the humorless depths of the black spire of Tremaire. His instructor, a large man with folds of skin that hung beneath his chin like a turkey's waddle, paced back and forth in front of him. Voluminous robes hid the bulk of the man, though the disciples of Oros doubted that it was all fat beneath the thick velvet. There were times, they whispered, that those robes moved on their own. There were times, they said, in the dark of the Hive, when the Commune was to be observed, that things reached from beneath the hem. Thick and tenebrous, slick with the plasm of other worlds.

  Now though, the man seemed simply large in the flickering light of the torch at the entrance to the catacomb. He stopped pacing and looked at his ward, the young Harrower trying to focus his gaze on the big man. The new eyes he'd been gifted with had taken some practice in control. Granted, the world still seemed to decay and shift about him, but if he concentrated, Ferd could see the normalcy that hung on everything like a gauzy facade.

  "Are you listening?" Hret asked.

  Ferd nodded. Hret's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then shifted away. "Then you are ready."

  He stepped away from the yawning mouth of the tunnel leading down, and swept an arm out.

  "Begin. Do not return until you have your fetish."

  Ferd stepped forward, unwilling to show fear. That had been his first lesson.
Fear earned you a curse, and in the beginning, Hret had cursed him many times. He'd spent time as a turnip, with boils on his penis, with tiny faces that cried out in fear each time he tried to sit, and as a scrub brush for a wizard whose bathroom proclivities ran from the obscene to the horrifying. He stepped into the dark without a glance back.

  The tunnel swept quickly downward, and his feet moved almost of their own accord at the steep angle. Faces carved into the walls leered and winked as he went, and some reached out with questing hands, probing for weakness. He ducked and dodged, and they called out insults and hoots of glee at his pace, until finally the slope deposited him in a wide chamber. Bones lined the walls, made up the floor and ceiling. A thick red moss held everything together, and as he stepped in, the room wobbled a little, as if he walked a rope bridge.

  Ferd's eyes saw the truth of the place--the great throat he'd passed through, the stone teeth carved with faces. He saw that this ossuary was the guts of some great beast, half in and half out of this world. Faces of its victims crawled across their own skulls, the skin shivering and wrinkling, jaws open and jittering as they burbled mad laughter.

  He paused, listening. He only needed one thing here. A hand from that corner? But as he watched it crawl the wall like an eager spider, it paused long enough to flip an obscene gesture. No, then. Maybe that femur? Ferd walked over and gave it a tug, but the bone was stuck fast, the wall puckering outward with his pull. He released it and the room let a sound like a rippling fart, the noise sending the skulls in the corner giggling.

  "Idiots. Cretins."

  There, in the corner. A lone skull, its face still motionless, the skin clinging like a cobweb. Ferd approached and knelt.

  "Ah there, you boy."

  "Me?"

  "No, the other boy," the skull said.

  Ferd whipped his head around and caught his own shadow passing from wall to wall, as though pacing. The skull chuckled.

  "Yes, you. Pick me up."

  He did as asked. The skull felt warm against his palms, the skin smooth as leather.