Westkings Heist: The Complete Series

by Beth Alvarez

  Ahead, the docks and their moored ships loomed, dull shadows against a bright streak of reflected light. The river always gleamed at sundown. White at first, then gold. Without any clouds to catch the light, the sunset would be unremarkable. It would also give way to a brighter night, meaning he'd have stars and the wandering soldier moon to contend with. Nothing I haven't done before. In some respects, it might help. For one, it would make finding his target easier.

  Tahl studied the docks as he approached. Niada was right; they had expanded considerably since the last time he'd ventured northwest. A number of tall-masted ships awaited cargo at the ends of the long piers. Sailors strode between them, some hefting bags and crates, while others merely looked bored. There were no taverns nearby to catch their interest—something Tahl found unusual, but the new construction along the roads might capitalize on the opportunity—but a handful of makeshift gathering places lined the shore. Men sat at barrels to drink and roll dice, most too distracted to notice Tahl as he crept to the river's edge and cut back toward the east.

  Thinking of his last venture toward the promontory gave him a thrill, though without an opportunity to scout beforehand, he had no way of knowing if his plan would work. He knew he had no chance of getting past gate guards, but after his escape with the crown, there was a possibility guards would patrol the entirety of the promontory. But there were ways past guards, and Tahl wasn't about to let the fear of what might be scare him off.

  The Ranton river was low after the dry summer. Wide swaths of rocky riverbank lined the shore like a low beach. To his right, a dun-colored cliff rose. The rocky face reached higher as he ventured onward, towering overhead like the sheer walls of the palace itself. Fewer people wandered this far from the docks, though the few fisherman pulling traps from the water did little more than glance Tahl's way. It never failed to amuse him how simply acting as if you belonged somewhere made people look the other way.

  Near the peak of the bend where the river turned south, Tahl found what he was looking for. The growing dusk hid his movement as he worked his fingers into handholds in the stone and began his ascent. Halfway up the cliff face, he found the hollow where he'd hidden during his escape from the palace. Tahl crawled into the narrow cranny and made himself comfortable to wait for the deepening night. Sheltered on the north side of the promontory, he'd be hidden by thick shadows once the moon rose, and no ships moved on the river to see him when he climbed. He pulled his legs close and flexed his ankles, stretching and limbering what he could in preparation for the challenge ahead.

  When night deepened, Tahl drew a deep breath and peeled the wax from his scar. “Okay,” he whispered to himself as he swung out from his hiding place and resumed his slow ascent. Let's go.

  Chapter 3

  He'd forgotten his climbing claws. Tahl mentally cursed himself for the lack of preparation, but didn't let the frustration last long. He couldn't afford any distractions, and it wasn't as if he couldn't climb without them. They'd merely been an investment toward ease in future jobs, purchased shortly after he'd stepped up to claim the title of Ghost. His fingers still found solid handholds with relative ease, his hands strong enough to support him with next to nothing to grip. More than once, Nia had remarked that he climbed like a spider, skittering up walls where she couldn't find anywhere to put her hands or feet. More reasons to train her better, he concluded as he climbed.

  The edge of the cliff was not far ahead and Tahl steadied his breathing as he made his approach. Instead of swinging up over the ledge and putting himself back on solid ground, he clung to the cliff face and waited. If there were guards on patrol, he'd hear one eventually.

  Long minutes crawled past. A small quiver began in his arms and Tahl shifted to easier handholds. He could hang in one place for some time, but that didn't make it pleasant. A fine mist of sweat beaded on his brow and his heart beat a little harder. He deepened his breath but kept it steady, his ears trained on the sounds of the night on the ridge above.

  Nothing.

  Satisfied, he slid up over the rocky edge and rolled onto the scraggly grass. It was nowhere near as soft as it had been when he'd escaped with the crown. It prickled through the thin fabric of his shirt and Tahl rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off the itch. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and peered past the fence. Evidently, Emperor Atoras still considered the headland safe. The sprawling field was devoid of people—at least, as far as he could see. At the far end of the pasture, a small grouping of animals stirred, their white coats gleaming like stars in the moonlight.

  Either they did not fear the animals would be stolen, or Atoras simply didn't learn.

  Guess we'll see which one it is. Tahl brushed prickling bits of dried grass from his dark hair and slid over the fence with ease. Some small part of him was disappointed by the lack of a need for acrobatics, but sense drowned it out. Not every heist was dangerous. Some weren't even challenging. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of a challenge, this job wasn't about prestige. It was a personal mission, and something he felt he owed the old woman who had shown him kindness.

  Tahl trotted across the field, mindful of his footing in the dark. He doubted he was clumsy enough to hurt himself walking across grass when he spent most nights vaulting from rooftop to rooftop, but injury often came with complacency. The horses did not seem to notice his approach, or if they did, they didn't care. If Ebitha's horse was among them, the gelding would recognize him and mounting up wouldn't be hard. If he was wrong, then all he had to do was leave. But nobody else in Orrad collects white horses, so I'm not wrong.

  His confidence proved justified when one of the horses lifted its head. They all looked the same in the dark, but the ghostly outline of the horse's head seemed right. Tahl clicked his tongue softly, hoping to entice the animal. Its ears swiveled toward him as if interested. A hint of hope and anticipation sparked in Tahl's chest. If he could get the horse out of the pasture, getting it back to Ebitha's stable before dawn would be easy. He'd have to find tack to get the animal past the gate guards—a halter and lead, at the very least—but those could be found anywhere in the west fields.

  Tahl lifted a hand to invite the horse closer. Instead of pacing toward him, its head swiveled the other direction. Something buzzed against the edge of Tahl's senses.

  Almost imperceptible against the dark of night, a shadow moved.

  The horse whickered and paced backwards. Tahl darted in to catch its mane at the same time the shadow moved to the horse's other side.

  A guard?

  No, a thief.

  Tahl spat a curse.

  The sound caught the stranger off-guard and the cloaked figure recoiled. Around them, the other horses startled and milled. Tahl's target horse—Ebitha's gelding, he was sure of it now—tossed his head and huffed.

  Before Tahl could murmur reassurances to the animal, the cloaked thief vaulted onto the horse's back and dug booted heels into its sides.

  The gelding spooked and bolted, the stranger's cloak billowing as the horse streaked toward the west.

  “Of all the horses to steal tonight,” Tahl snarled beneath his breath as he caught another animal and swung onto its back, “why mine?” He gripped the beast's mane in both hands and squeezed with his legs. The animal turned and tossed its head as it trotted westward. Deeply regretting how rough the bareback ride would be, Tahl kicked hard.

  The other rider was small and light. A woman, Tahl decided; she'd been smaller than him, and though he had grown, his stature was not impressive.

  Ahead, Ebitha's horse had already slowed. The thief clung to the horse's neck for dear life as it trotted onward. An inexperienced rider, it seemed. Tahl urged his borrowed horse into a faster canter. The wind whipped at him, the gusting air and charging beast beneath him stirring unpleasant memories of his almost-blundered escape. The long-healed injury in his calf ached at the thought and he chased it away, drawing up his legs, preparing to move.

  The thief's horse caught the hoofbeats c
losing in behind it and picked up its pace. Tahl nudged his mount's flanks and its stride lengthened. Three beats later, he drew up beside the thief and his hand snapped out to grab her arm. The woman cried out when Tahl yanked and the two of them tumbled to the ground.

  Silver flashed out from underneath her cloak and Tahl rolled backwards, separating them before the knife made contact.

  The horses ran a short distance before they slowed and looped back in opposite directions, like the petals of a flower peeling backwards in bloom. Tahl shook himself. Now was not the time to be distracted by details.

  The knife flashed at him again and this time, he snapped a dagger from his belt and deflected the blade.

  “Take any other horse,” Tahl said, his eyes tracking the animal he wanted. “This one's mine.”

  “Yours?” The thief almost choked on the single word, offense thick in her voice.

  Tahl tried to dart past but she moved like lightning, lunging at him with her blade ready. Again, Tahl met it, the ping of metal on metal sharp in his ears. This time, he pushed into his defense and flung her back. The thief teetered in a moment of lost balance and he whipped a foot forward to sweep her legs out from under her. She yelped and went down hard.

  The horse circled wide. Tahl clicked at it again and darted forward to catch it. Nervous, the horse snorted and stamped.

  “Shh,” Tahl breathed, knowing he didn't sound as soothing as he hoped. “Hey, boy. You remember me.” He twisted his fingers in the gelding's snowy mane and softened his knees to spring onto its back.

  Something struck his back, hard enough it hurt, but too high for its target. His kidney? She'd tried to punch him in the kidney? Instead of leaping onto the horse, Tahl lashed backwards with his foot and took the woman off guard. Her breath left her in a rush and the horse shied. Refusing to let go, Tahl let himself be dragged along. He found his footing a few steps later and swung onto the gelding's back. His arm swung back to swat the beast's rump with the flat side of his dagger. “Get up!”

  The horse leaped into action, a moment too slow. Hands snagged Tahl's leg as he sailed by and the thief almost dragged him from his seat.

  “Would you give up?” he shouted, hooking his arm around the gelding's neck as the animal surged toward the western gate. The thief latched onto his leg moved a hand farther up to clutch his thigh. She wasn't going without a fight.

  Tahl's eyes darted between the cloaked woman and the rapidly looming western gate. There would be no escaping that way, the main entrance guarded by two tall stone watchtowers guaranteed to be swarming with guards. Instead, Tahl shifted to let the woman's weight drag him farther to one side. The pull turned the horse a shade to the north. If they could vault the fence while running parallel to the cliff's edge... It was the only place Tahl knew they could get away.

  “Get off!” the woman snarled. She clawed her way up Tahl's side inch by inch. Her hand closed around his arm and he tried to fling her off without losing hold of the horse. Confused and alarmed, the gelding slowed to a tooth-rattling trot, then halted altogether. Abruptly, Tahl's grip gave way and they both fell to the ground.

  The woman was on him in an instant. “You bloody thief!” Another knife—not the same one as before—appeared in her hand. She slashed toward his throat, but he struck her arm and the blow went wide. He hitched his hips and writhed, sinuous as a snake, and slid out from under her.

  Across the field, lantern light appeared at the foot of one of the guard towers.

  “Would you be quiet? Tahl whispered.

  She struck at him again and he caught her arm. Though her strength surprised him, she couldn't stop him from wrenching the knife out of her grasp. Her breath caught as it left her fingertips and he wrestled her to the ground.

  Voices rose from the towers. Ebitha's horse lifted his head and trotted toward them.

  “Brant's bloody branches,” Tahl spat.

  More lanterns lit. The horse would have to wait until another day.

  “Get off me,” the woman whispered through clenched teeth.

  He wanted to wring her neck. “You started this!” Still, he released her and staggered to his feet. He hadn't realized he'd gotten out of breath.

  Shadows milled at the foot of the towers. Men moved toward the gate. Tahl fought a groan and sprinted toward the northwestern corner of the pasture. He could escape down the cliff face if he had to.

  Dry grass crunched behind him and he threw a glance over his shoulder. The cloaked thief was close behind him, casting worried looks toward the gate as guards poured in.

  All he had to do was outpace her and escape would be easy. They'd catch her, drag her off for questioning, sentence her the way all other thieves were sentenced. The thought put an uncomfortable lump of cold dread in his belly.

  The last thing he wanted was for another thief to die. He'd sentenced more than his share to an untimely end, creating a name for himself and waiting while others fought to steal it. The Ghost was supposed to unify the thieves in Orrad, not kill them. Rival as she was, she had to be good to make it into the pasture. Climbing the cliff face was no small feat, and the only other way in was to make it past the emperor's guards. She could be useful, he mused.

  As if she hadn't just cost him this heist? He snorted. He owed her nothing. Yet the way her breath came in short, panicked bursts behind him tugged at his heart. If he outpaced her, then her blood may as well have been on his hands.

  What a time for chivalry to rear its head, he silently groaned.

  “This way.” He cut more toward the north. The fence was just ahead, nothing but open air beyond the cliff's edge.

  Her step faltered for a single beat. Then her pace quickened behind him.

  Tahl vaulted the fence and bounded the short distance to the cliff's edge.

  “What—” the thief behind him squeaked. She didn't have time to finish before he dropped to the ground and swung over the edge.

  The cliff was not quite so high as where he'd plunged off it before, or where he'd chosen to climb up tonight. The rock was smoother, though, and he struggled to seek handholds she'd be able to follow. He didn't know her climbing capabilities from their short scuffle before. It was safer to think her closer to Nia's level than his. When one foot peeked over the edge of the cliff above and scouted for somewhere to go, he judged his assessment correct.

  “Left,” he whispered.

  Her foot slid left and caught. Slowly, she eased herself down the rock wall.

  If he waited, they'd both get caught. Only willing to stick out his neck so far, Tahl hurried to the bottom and breathed a soft sigh of relief when his feet reached the rocky riverbed. He clung close to the wall, watching the woman's descent. Above, the voices of men came closer. There was no way to know if they'd been seen, but now that he was down, there was little chance they'd catch him. He'd been raised on the coast; he was a strong swimmer and could disappear into the river if he needed to. The woman, on the other hand...

  She panted as she neared the ground. Her descent had slowed even further. When she came within arm's reach, Tahl grasped her by the back of her heel and yanked. A quiet yelp of fright was all that escaped when she fell.

  He caught her and promptly deposited her on the ground. “This way,” he whispered. They'd been headed northwest when the guards would have spotted them. Tahl cut due east, hopping across the stones on his toes. He would have loved to have his split-toed shoes, with their soft, flexible doeskin sole, but there was nothing for it now. The woman followed a shade more noisily in his wake.

  When they rounded the northeastern point of the promontory, Tahl turned to speak. A knife flashed for his throat and he ducked. How many of the bloody things did she have? He darted in low and brought his shoulder up into her stomach. The thief wheezed and he snared her wrist, immobilizing her knife hand and hitching her over his shoulder. Brant's roots, she's heavier than she looked. Tahl fought a wince as he spun to pin her against the rock, his green eyes flashing fire. “I just helped you!�
�� he snarled, voice barely above a breath.

  Defiant eyes met his, an angry spark in their depths. He hadn't realized until that moment that her face was covered, a fine, flexible knit fabric pulled up over her nose. The collar of her shirt, he thought. Blight it, he needed a shirt like that. Silently, he promised himself a visit to the old woman who'd knitted his heist outfit.

  “You cost me my horse,” she snapped.

  “His name is Cotton,” Tahl retorted, “and he's not yours. Move.” He shoved her in the direction he wanted to go. It was a much longer trek back to the city that way, but it would be easier to get into the shabby neighborhoods that framed the city's main port. Those gates were always open; passenger ships arrived all hours of the day and night, and it wouldn't do for visiting dignitaries to arrive by ship only to be shut out of the best parts of the city.

  The thief glowered and put down her heels.

  “Move,” Tahl repeated, his jaw clenched. This time, when she resisted, he grabbed her arm and hauled her over his shoulder again.

  She squeaked and kicked hard, but he'd twisted her specifically so she wouldn't be able to reach him with her flailing legs. Her free hand went toward her belt—for a knife, he assumed—and he caught her wrist before she could reach it. Heavy as she was, Tahl had already decided he'd drag her along if he had to. She'd caused him enough trouble for one night. He wasn't about to turn her loose and let her muck things up a second time.

  Half a mile downriver, he reached his destination. The shack belonged to a fisherman and was nestled on what had to be the only outcropping of solid ground against the cliff face. More often than not, the man spent his nights drinking and gambling beside Orrad's main docks. It was only chance that had put the man in the new guild's pocket, but his tiny house had proven an asset for Tahl's thieves more than once.

  Tahl retrieved the spare key from the underside of a barrel and unlocked the door so he could haul the woman inside. She hadn't stopped flailing or fighting, but at least she had the sense not to scream. Had the guards found them, there was no doubt it wouldn't have ended well.