Aharon now eyed these images a moment, hoping he wasn’t about to elicit their subjects’ wrath, before sliding the wooden bench aside and exposing an empty slab of wall. Also revealed was the large, two-handed hammer Siris had left for him earlier today, a blunt and heavy tool designed to smash rock. Moreover, this wasn’t the only aid the jester had provided, and Aharon was forced to admit that he probably couldn’t have proceeded without the man’s help.
Initially, he’d been surprised by—and suspicious of—Siris’s willingness to assist with the scheme, and namely because if Neco so much as suspected his involvement, he’d kill the jester without a second thought. Much like himself, however, Siris’s motives appeared rooted in a desire for vengeance, a result of his lingering grief for Padus. Whatever his reasons though, Aharon had agreed to trust him only because Aya had insisted he could.
Sending another glance to the window, he determined it was now slightly past Thirteenth-hour, meaning the celebration in the Hall should be well underway. Fortunately, many of the acts Siris had solicited to perform involved the accompaniment of music, sounds Aharon was counting on to drown out any noise he was about to make. Moving into position, he hefted the hammer and focused his gaze on the faint scorch mark Siris had left to indicate where he needed to aim.
Under typical circumstances, Aharon thought he probably could’ve pounded away at the wall all night without causing much damage, for the stone blocks were large and thick and had been nestled in place for centuries. Interestingly, however, he’d recently been informed that lightning had the capacity to corrupt and weaken a stone’s composition, and provided this was true the section before him should now crumble with significantly greater ease.
Bracing himself, he tightened his grip on the hammer and swung, aiming for the scorch mark. Not certain what to expect, he then nearly lost his footing when the head of the hammer smashed clear through the stone, creating a generous hole and lending proof to the jester’s claims.
Three more hits and he’d broken through to the other side, creating a passageway large enough for him to crawl through. Tossing the hammer away, he retreated to collect a candle—even managing to locate one that was dark blue, the color of Thieves—before returning to the hole and sending a look within.
Beyond the wall lay the forefront of the Great Hall, or more specifically, the stage area. Upon crawling through the opening he’d just created, Aharon could now enter the space beneath the stage, which was sizable and typically reserved for storing celebratory adornments such as banners, tablecloths, and various other items typically only put to use when the royal family hosted an event. Generally, one could enter this space only through a small door located at the side of the stage, or by way of the trapdoor in its ceiling. Having now made his own entryway, Aharon moved through the hole, holding his lit candle out before him.
He immediately began hearing faint sounds of music, the volume increasing as he pushed forward and leaving him confident that his strikes with the hammer hadn’t been noted. Glancing about and seeing nothing but cobwebs and dust-covered wooden trunks, he continued on and began casting his light about in search of the trapdoor. Finally spotting it, he halted beneath it and paused a moment, forced to crouch since there wasn’t enough room to stand.
Listening, he heard the music continue, and then shift into another song. Uncertain how much time he might have, he moved to set his candle aside and then reached upward, grasping the handle of the trapdoor. Ever so slowly, he began easing it upward.
The door opened on the very surface of the stage, and was positioned at its center. Unfortunately, this put his current action in the direct sightline of everyone in the Hall, but also behind the pedestal currently displaying the crown. Only a few paces wide as its base, the pedestal would shield him from much of the audience, but not its entirety, a fact which forced him to rely on the distraction of Siris’s entertainments.
Propping the trapdoor open just enough to gain a quick view, Aharon swept his eyes about before ducking back down. The pedestal sat dead ahead, approximately five paces from his position. Beyond the stage, a handful of musicians regaled the audience with their voices and instruments, while numerous tumblers writhed and leapt all about them. Farther back were the tables upon tables of nobility, and the dais where Neco sat with those who’d soon become members of his royal council. The lighting in the Hall was painfully bright, but much less so about the stage, since this area wasn’t meant to be the focus of attention until Neco came forward to speak his oaths and don the crown.
Fighting back another onset of nerves, Aharon waited a couple of minutes before risking another quick look. Noting that the setting appeared unchanged, he retreated again and strove for patience.
Wait for the fire-masters, Siris had told him. They’re always guaranteed to mesmerize an audience, and will grant you the best chance of going unnoticed.
As he waited, he dug into his trouser pocket and retrieved a tiny scroll, its message written while he’d been killing time in the vacant apartment on the third floor. Now wedging the parchment between his fingers, his lips twitched into a brief smirk as he envisioned Neco’s reaction upon reading it.
The song changed again, and then once more, before Aharon eased upward for another look. Gazing outward, he immediately caught the flash of fire, drawing his focus to the men and women now cavorting about the floor before the musicians, flipping and leaping through the air even as they twirled their flaming batons.
Aharon continued staring at the fire-masters, suddenly transfixed by a wave of uncertainty—and, if he was to be honest, fear.
This is it, he then told himself. Now or never.
Forcing away his anxiety, he pushed upward and didn’t pause while slipping up through the trapdoor and executing a fast crawl toward the pedestal. Not hearing any shouts of alarm or outrage, he held himself against the marble pillar for a moment, confident his body was presently shielded, before snaking his arm upward along the length of the pedestal.
Quickly finding the satin cushion at its summit, he reached farther while dropping the scroll from between his fingers. Finding the edge of the crown, he then tugged it toward him, over the side of the cushion and along the body of the pedestal. Shoving it down the neck of his overcoat, he then listened, heard nothing alarming, and slithered back toward the trapdoor.
Given his haste, he plummeted through the opening headfirst and landed on his face. Also, his hand came down on the candle, which not only burned his palm but extinguished his light. Too overwrought to dwell on either misfortune, he hurriedly turned about and crawled as quickly as he could back toward the hole.
Emerging into the oratory moments later, he scrambled to his feet and brought a hand to his stomach, feeling Neco’s crown resting beneath the linen of his coat.
I did it. I stole his crown from beneath his very nose.
Reminding himself that he wasn’t free yet, he then hurried toward the door.
Mercifully, reaching the outer grounds wouldn’t force his steps anywhere near the Hall, instead calling for a rapid retreat down the corridor and into the royal library. Executing this maneuver without incident, he continued moving to the rear of the spacious chamber, prised open a window and vaulted through, landing on the sand below.
Sunfall had arrived swiftly, and it was now nearly dark as he began racing across the rear practice fields. Finding the area blessedly deserted, he passed over the expanse without spotting a single knight and eventually came to the outer wall, positioning him at the very rear of the grounds. Not yet hearing any uproar from the palace, he assumed his crime hadn’t yet been detected, although he anticipated this happening at any moment.
The wall before him was a dozen paces high, and easily climbable—for him, at least. He’d performed this maneuver countless times in his youth, initially just to prove that he could and to show off to Neco, but then later to escape the rigorous practices his father forced him to attend. Granted, some years had passed since his last attempt,
but this seemed not to matter as he quickly began pulling himself upward, his fingers and feet effortlessly finding the wall’s familiar grooves and edges.
Wishing he’d had the foresight to reposition Neco’s crown because it kept getting in his way, he nevertheless reached the summit in minutes. Pausing to catch his breath, he looked back and again neither saw nor heard any signs of commotion from the palace, leading him to hope that his luck held out for just a short while longer.
Turning back, he gazed downward briefly, then shifted and dropped himself over the side of the wall. As experience had taught him, the pond below was shallow, but plenty deep enough to cushion his fall.
Surfacing, he waded out of the water and performed a quick check to make sure he hadn’t lost anything during his plummet and brief swim. Finding all in order, he then hurried into the vast gardens that encompassed the pond, their shadowy depths silent and unmoving.
While the surrounding foliage made up just one of Malat’s several public gardens, this garden in particular was vast and took him nearly ten minutes to exit. Finally emerging onto the city streets, he immediately took note of the heavy presence of Justice, spotting its troopers in every direction. Presumably, they were hunting for Fajen.
Darting into the nearest alleyway, Aharon followed it to its end, scaled a wall, and kept to traversing these backstreets for several blocks. While confident he could get himself to the docks by way of avoiding the outer streets entirely, he still didn’t think doing this unseen would be easy.
Continuing along the alleyways, he was forced to stop and wait several times while a nearby presence of Justice passed by, and upon finally nearing his destination he estimated nearly an hour had passed since he’d left the palace. This made it a near-certain bet that Neco’s missing crown had now been discovered, meaning he really needed to be on his way.
Jogging onto the docks, he scanned the lettering on the ships as he moved, and eventually slowed before a vessel bearing the name Air Dancer. Before its lowered plank stood a lone figure, a long, gauzy shawl wrapped about her head and shoulders.
Aharon moved toward her, and reached to take the sword and satchel she’d collected and brought from the bushes where he’d dropped them.
“Thank you, Molli,” he said.
The handmaiden gazed back with a look of relief. “I’ve been waiting some time, and was beginning to fear the worst. Was there trouble?”
He shook his head. “Just avoiding Justice.” Pausing a moment, he then asked, “Were you there when they noticed the missing crown?”
Her gaze gleamed with amusement. “Yes. The event was followed by the predictable excitement, but there was something more that you might find noteworthy.”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t until he ascended the stage to speak his oaths did Prince Neco—or anyone else—take note of the missing crown. He snatched up your note and read it, then seemed to smile a brief moment before setting the knights on you—or rather, on Fajen.”
Aharon laughed quietly. “I do consider that noteworthy.”
Molli’s look turned curious. “My princess wishes to know the content of your message.”
His smile widened as he replied. “I wish you a lengthy and prosperous reign, my king. Your devoted subject, Flynn Fajen.”
The handmaiden grinned while taking a step back. “May you find much success in the east, Lord Shai, and I hope we meet again.”
He nodded. “Tell Aya I made it out safely, and that I love her. Watch over her, Molli.”
“Always,” she vowed, before issuing a nod and starting away.
Turning to the plank, Aharon started upward and found the captain of the ship waiting for him on deck.
“You’re late,” the man greeted, starting over.
“Sorry,” he replied, “but be advised, we’d best depart as quickly as possible.”
The captain shot him a knowing glance before turning toward the helm, and he began barking orders at his crew as he took position.
Aharon followed after him, doing his best to conceal the fact that he had a crown wedged inside his overcoat. Pausing next to the captain, he then issued the man a brief study, but was unable to narrow his race by way of his appearance or accent. “I was told we’re traveling east,” he then said.
The captain nodded. “My men and I are far overdue, and longing for home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Dhanen’Mar.”
Pondering a moment, Aharon then nodded. While he’d been toying with the idea of settling in Navosa, thinking he’d appreciate its desert clime, the thought of Dhanen’Mar wasn’t displeasing. Said to be a land of superstition, he figured this realm would at least make for an interesting setting, and he could always move on if he found it too strange.
“The name’s Quelin Froy,” the captain now introduced himself, “but you’d best just call me captain.”
After pausing a moment, Aharon responded. “Flynn Fajen,” he said, wondering how long it would take to get used to giving another man’s name.
Captain Froy nodded. “Alright, Flynn. I’ll advise you to keep to yourself, avoid starting trouble, and in no way mess with my crew. Easy enough?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You can find your quarters belowdecks.”
Deeming the conversation over, Aharon sent the captain a nod before starting toward the rail. As he moved, the ship lurched beneath him, beginning the process of venturing from its slip and out toward the open ocean beyond. Somewhat to his amazement, it was only then that he realized just twelve days had passed since his return from the west—twelve days to completely destroy the only life he’d ever known.
Turning to gaze back toward Malat, he envisioned the tumult that must be unfolding as Justice and the royal guard tore the streets apart looking for him. Surprisingly, the thought brought him no pleasure, and after a moment he caught himself shifting his eyes away.
There’s no sense in looking back. Aharon Shai is dead, and that existence is over.
Yes, he decided, better he look forward, toward Dhanen’Mar and whatever future it held for Flynn Fajen. A future that was yet unwritten, and comprised of untold possibilities.
Holding to this thought, he reached up and flipped his Secondary medallion, revealing its dominion of Revenge for all the world to see. For unlike Aharon Shai, Flynn Fajen had no cause to conceal this truth.
Looking back to the water, he stared forward and welcomed whatever was to come.
The Legends of Dhanen’Mar
will continue in
Echoes of Infinity
2019
And
Flames of Prophecy
2020
The Legends of Dhanen’Mar
Auguries of Dawn
Tides of Fortune
Veils of Destiny
Shadows of Illusion
Web of Portents
Shades of Death
Sea of Omens
Path of Stars
Seeds of Betrayal
Legacy of Blood
Dreams of Mist
Binds of Fate
Coils of Eternity
Tangle of Thorns
Trail of Masks
Labyrinth of Myths
Crown of Thieves
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Character Index
Aharon Shai
Thieves/Revenge
Royal thief
Aya Jahi
Justice/Magic
Princess of Ceja
Neco Jahi
Justice/Commerce
Prince of Ceja
Siris Pabst
Arts/Magic
Royal jester
Othos Shai
War/Justice
Captain of the royal guard
Zaun Shai
Thieves/Unchosen
Aharon’s youngest brother
King Sabar Jahi
Justice/Commerce
Reigning king of Ceja
Justice/Commerce
Prince of Ceja
Flynn Fajen
Thieves/Unrevealed
Criminal sought by Justice
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Crown of Thieves Page 18