The City of Thieves

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “It’s a scout.” Teelah knelt to inspect the wolf’s corpse and sniffed at the air. “The pack is nearby.”

  As Berengar and the others hurried to their horses, a flock of crows burst from the trees. The riders started from camp with the swarm at their backs. Berengar clutched the reins tightly, lowered his head, and rode ahead. More howls rang out behind them, and the crows enveloped them, biting and clawing as they passed overhead. Teelah’s horse reared and threw her to the earth. When Berengar looked back at her, the wolves were almost on her.

  Just before the pack descended on her, Lucien turned his horse around and galloped toward the goblin. Ignoring the danger, he charged at the wolves. “Take my hand!” He reached out to Teelah, and her hand closed around his at the last moment. Lucien pulled her onto the saddle, and they raced to rejoin the others with the wolves nipping at their heels.

  Morwen glanced back at them over her shoulder and looked to Berengar in alarm. “They’re not going to make it!”

  Suddenly, a horn reverberated through the forest. Hooded archers appeared among the trees. Berengar expected the worst, but the archers trained their fire on the wolves, allowing Lucien and Teelah to escape unscathed. The swarm of crows cawed as one, took to the sky, and flew away.

  More archers appeared to block the path ahead, and Berengar pulled back on the reins to bring his horse to a stop.

  “Halt!” The cloaked figures emerged to surround them.

  Berengar put his hand on his blade’s hilt. “Let us pass.”

  “We give the orders here, stranger. Who are you, and what are you doing in these woods?” The archers took aim, and Berengar let his hand fall away.

  Morwen rode beside him and shot him a look that suggested he let her do the talking. “Many thanks for your help. We are peaceful travelers, seeking safe passage to Dún Aulin.”

  The archer remained unmoved. “They don’t look peaceful to me, lads. The one with the eye patch looks like a brigand to my reckoning.”

  “Can’t be too careful,” another replied. “I say we lock them up and be done with it.”

  “You will do no such thing.” Lucien prodded his horse to the front. “You will let us pass unharmed.”

  “And who are you to command us, imp?”

  “I am Lucien, sovereign of Leinster—your king.”

  The archers exchanged looks and laughed like the men in the tavern at Newtown.

  “Wait.” One archer trained his bow on Berengar. “I know this man. Esben Berengar, he is!”

  The laughter died as quickly as it started.

  “Lower your bow, you fool. There’s someone who’ll want to see this one.” He nodded to Berengar. “If you truly are the Bear Warden, you should come with us.”

  The archers led them to a cave nearly hidden from sight. Torchlight illuminated the narrow entrance, which widened as they followed its course. Finally, they emerged into an immense cavern where sunlight stole inside through an opening above to mingle with the lantern and candlelight.

  “Incredible.” Morwen’s voice betrayed a sense of awe.

  An entire community lay stretched out before them. There were people everywhere in numbers too many to count. They followed the archers up a stair and over a bridge while those below fetched water from the stream. Hammers and nails echoed across the cavern’s walls as teams built homes from sturdy wooden boards. Others harvested vegetables from the topsoil and carted them off in wheelbarrows.

  “These must be the villagers from Ferbane,” Morwen said to an archer.

  “Aye. As well as those from Tulach Mhór, Durrow, and the surrounding lands.”

  Despite the dangers within the Elderwood, the people appeared happy and unafraid. Children ran by, laughing and playing, while men and women told stories or sang songs.

  “There are goblins among you,” Lucien noted in surprise.

  The remark drew chuckles, and a few archers lifted their hoods to reveal goblin faces underneath. Sure enough, Berengar noticed several goblins toiling alongside the men and women about their labors. “This was a goblin village long before men set foot here. They gave us shelter when the raids on our settlements began. All who wish to live in peace are welcome here.”

  Lucien observed the creatures they encountered in disbelief. “I didn’t know there were so many nonhumans in all Leinster.”

  “We have broonies, clurichaun, pechs, pixies, and even a friendly giant who have chosen to make this home.”

  “But giants are cannibals! They eat the flesh of their enemies!”

  The archer laughed heartily. “Where did you hear a silly thing like that? Ours only eats vegetables and fruits.” The ground shook when a gangly giant with long, thin limbs shambled past them, carrying stones for the builders. “He’s very gentle, really. The little ones love him.”

  Teelah appeared equally surprised. “You live together in peace?”

  “The forest is beyond the protection of Leinster’s scouts,” a goblin archer answered. “We must look out for one another if we are to survive.”

  For the first time since Berengar had known her, Teelah smiled.

  Lucien shook his head and muttered to himself in disbelief. “I don’t understand. I thought they were all monsters.”

  Godfrey put his hand on the young king’s shoulder. “Your forebear, King Lorc, had a peace with nonhumans.”

  “He was a heathen.”

  “Perhaps he was wiser than you think.”

  Lucien fell silent, deep in thought.

  They came to a lone tree where a group assembled around them. Men and women whispered among themselves until two figures stepped forward to greet them. The first threw back his hood to reveal a jovial face framed by brown curls.

  Berengar recognized the second at once. “Niall.”

  “I take it the Ceremony of the Cursed Blade didn’t go as planned. Still, I’m glad you two managed not to get yourselves killed in my absence.”

  Niall’s companion fixed a pair of mirthful eyes on Lucien. “I must say, you’re looking rather hairier these days, cousin.”

  Lucien glared at him. “Tristan.”

  “It’s good to see you’re free of Valmont’s hold, though I suppose we have Warden Berengar to thank for that.” Tristan stopped short when he noticed Morwen. “And who is this charming creature?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Berengar warned.

  Lucien eyed Tristan suspiciously. “Where have you been? Drinking and whoring, no doubt.”

  “Retrieving this before Valmont’s thieves could get their hands on it.” Tristan unwrapped an object covered by a shroud to reveal the missing half of the cursed blade.

  Lucien regarded him with utter disbelief. “How did you manage to acquire the missing piece?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve made quite a name for myself as an adventurer.”

  Lucien folded his arms across his chest. “An adventurer? A trouble seeker, you mean. You’re always needing a real hero—like Warden Niall—to rescue you from your mistakes. You may be regent for now, but once I come of age, I’ll make sure the kingdom knows you for what you are—a drunkard and a fool.”

  “You should show him a little gratitude,” Berengar said. “While you were off getting yourself captured by fairies, that drunkard risked his life to try to find the cursed blade.”

  “No harm done. I am a drunkard and a fool, though not always at the same time.” Tristan ruffled his cousin’s hair, earning him a reproachful look from the boy-king. “Come, let us share food and drink, and you can tell us all about your adventures.”

  They settled at a long, unfinished banquet table under the solitary tree’s shade. A wide assortment of grain, fruit, cheese, and vegetable baskets lay spread out for them. Servers came and went, bringing new plates of food and refilling wooden goblets with wine or ale. Everyone gathered around the crowded table, and there was laughter, music, and dancing in abundance.

  After all they had endured since setting foot in the Elderwood,
the others seemed glad for the opportunity to relax. Even Azura was unconcerned by the presence of goblins, and while she kept a reserved distance from them, she readily conversed with various other creatures, most of whom treated the fairy like royalty.

  A goblin woman laid a steaming plate before Lucien, who made no move toward the food.

  “Eat up, cousin!” Tristan exclaimed from across the table. “Here—have some wine.”

  Lucien ignored the wine. “A king should be sober-minded.” He regarded the unfamiliar food with skepticism, obviously more than a little reluctant to try anything prepared by goblin hands. Finally overcome by hunger, he took a small bite. The king chewed the food for a moment, and an expression of pleasant surprise came across his face. “This is good.” He grabbed a handful from another plate. “Very good.” Soon, his plate overflowed with heaping portions. “This is fine fare, especially for food prepared by…” He stopped short when he caught sight of Teelah. “Forest dwellers.”

  “Do you ever say something that’s not meant as an insult?” Berengar asked, and Lucien went quiet.

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” Morwen said. “I don’t think he’s mean-spirited. Not really. I sense he carries a great deal of sorrow and loneliness, but also courage and virtue. I grew up in a royal court, and I know how lonely it can be. He probably has few friends.”

  “I think your magician’s intuition might be off this time. Lucien’s a noble—and a royal at that. I’ve only met a handful that ever cared about anyone but themselves.”

  “He did rescue Teelah, in case you’ve forgotten. Why is it you’re incapable of seeing the good in him?”

  Berengar sighed. “Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of Lady Imogen.”

  Morwen’s brow knotted in curiosity. “What do you mean?”

  “Imogen was nothing like Laird Margolin. She was decent—kind, even. The people loved her. Good people died to put her on her uncle’s throne, but once she had it, she became just like him. She promised to bring peace, but she brought only more of the same.”

  “You should try giving people a chance. They just might surprise you every now and then.”

  Teelah turned away from a conversation with another goblin to face Lucien. “Why did you help rescue me? You could have left me to the wolves.”

  “A king should defend the helpless and the weak.” Lucien seemed to note the response disappointed her. “Why did you aid me at the stream?”

  She shrugged. “They’re paying me to help keep you alive.”

  Lucien also appeared disappointed by her reply. “Gold. I should have expected nothing less from a common mercenary.”

  “I do what’s necessary to survive. Do you know what life is like for a goblin in Leinster? We once shared these lands with you. Now we’re hunted like animals. I lost my entire family before I came of age, all because of your laws. I’ve learned to look out for myself.”

  “They’re not my laws. They were written before I was born.” Lucien’s expression softened. “My mother died in childbirth, and my father not long after. I’m an orphan too.”

  While more than a few of their hosts observed them with interest, others in the community continued with their tasks and conversations. Berengar, busy filling his belly, relied on Morwen to relay all that had occurred from the time they encountered Niall at the Coin and Crown. Once she finished, Niall and Tristan recounted their exploits in turn.

  “Some time ago, Vicar Flaherty came to me, concerned about a change in the king. Imagine my surprise when I learned my pious cousin had suddenly become a mischievous little fiend. Naturally, I took it upon myself to investigate further. As it happens, I have some friends in very low places who helped me uncover the truth. Once I learned what Valmont was planning, I fled the capital, telling no one to avoid alerting his spies.

  “Little did I know the reports coming from the Elderwood were true. It seems the druid Cathán survived the purges and has set about terrorizing the wilds. I would have lost my head more than once if Niall hadn’t come after me.” He lifted his goblet toward Niall, and the two clanked their cups.

  Niall picked up the story from there. “According to legend, the four treasures are scattered across Fál. We sought out the Seer of the Black Pool to find the monastery at Dál Birn and fought off monsters and thieves alike to acquire the cursed blade’s twin. Valmont may have half of the cursed blade, but it’s of little use to him without its mate. The stone of destiny is at Tara, but the Dagda’s cauldron and Lugh’s spear remain unaccounted for.”

  Berengar gritted his teeth. “I have some bad news on that front. A thief we interrogated at Newtown told us the Brotherhood has located the missing piece. They must know you’re here.”

  “That is unwelcome news. Valmont is more dangerous than you know. It seems he has an agreement with Prince Mordreth.”

  “Mordreth?” Morwen asked.

  “Mordreth the Merciless,” Azura explained. “One of Annwyn’s sons. His wickedness and cruelty are legend among my kin.”

  “Mordreth has a twisted obsession with Nora,” Niall went on. “During the Shadow Wars, he tried to trick her into becoming his wife so he might rule Connacht. If Valmont reforges Azeroth’s sword, Mordreth will send his armies to invade Fál and claim her by force.”

  Berengar lowered his tankard. “That would be a declaration of war.”

  “Aye. Our time is short. If your thief escaped Newtown, he’ll bring word to Valmont. With the Brotherhood and the Acolytes in his employ, the odds are stacked in his favor.”

  “That’s never stopped us before.”

  Niall allowed himself a sideways smile. “No. It hasn’t.”

  “Warden Berengar?” The question came from a goblin woman. There was something familiar about a youngling beside her who regarded Berengar shyly.

  “Do I know you?”

  “This is Magg,” the woman said. “When the hobgoblins caring for her were slaughtered, you found shelter for her. She is alive because of you.”

  Berengar shifted uncomfortably at the expression of gratitude. He was more accustomed to receiving accusations than praise. “It was the least I could do.” He stared at the young one, the only survivor of Gnish’s tribe. Hard as it was to believe, despite everything that had happened with Margolin, Imogen, and the whole sordid affair, maybe something good had come from it.

  Teelah’s brow arched upward, and although she said nothing, it was clear she finally accepted that the friar’s story about how Berengar had helped the hobgoblins of Alúine was true.

  An arrow whizzed past Berengar’s head and struck the tree behind him. Another man looked down at his chest in shock, and his smile faltered as blood covered his white tunic. More arrows landed, turning over goblets or striking the table. Berengar tackled the goblin woman and youngling out of the way and shielded them with his body.

  “We’re under attack!” He looked to the cavern’s entrance, where men clad in armor appeared.

  “Send word to Winslow,” one declared. “Tell him we have found his prize. Find the warden. Kill the rest.”

  The Acolytes. They must’ve tracked us here.

  A thief in a hooded cloak accompanied the company’s leader. “The fragment is here. Find it.” More thieves appeared behind him and spread out across the cavern.

  Morwen crouched behind the table to avoid incoming fire. “Is there another way out?”

  Tristan nodded. “There’s a tunnel that leads to the surface.”

  Berengar drew his sword. “Get everyone out. We’ll hold them off.”

  Niall unsheathed his blade and one of two twin daggers at his side. “Just like old times, eh?”

  “Try to keep up.”

  They charged into battle alongside the sentries stationed near the cavern’s entrance. Goblin and human bowmen exchanged arrows with the Acolytes’ archers while monster hunters armed with torches and swords poured inside. The cave’s occupants ran for their lives as the monster hunters set everything in their pa
th afire, and before long the community was ablaze. Berengar cut down every man in his path to stem the flow of hunters into the cavern. Niall fought alongside him with the grace and speed of a trained swordsman, using the combination of his sword and dagger to bloody effect.

  Tristan shouted for Lucien to accompany him, but instead the king hurried to fight beside Teelah.

  “Kill the imp!” an enemy fighter bellowed.

  Morwen and Faolán did their best to provide cover for retreating villagers, though the community’s large size made it a difficult task. Fortunately, nonhuman creatures joined in the struggle to hold the enemy fighters at bay. The giant stepped in front of Lucien to shield him from arrows. Broonies, too small and agile for the hunters to catch, scurried between the fighters’ boots, slowing their movements and causing them to stumble. Likewise, pixies flew around the monster hunters, who missed the tiny creatures with wide sweeps of their blades. Even the clurichaun pelted the enemies with ale and wine, cackling as they did so.

  Niall slipped his dagger under a man’s helmet and severed an artery before bringing his sword up to defend against an enemy swordsman. “Fall back to join the others!”

  Berengar knocked Niall’s foe off his feet, allowed his friend to deliver the killing blow, and dropped back. The cave’s inhabitants were almost out. Just a little longer. Defenders and attackers fell left and right until their bodies covered the ground. Fire spread through the cavern, devouring homes, tables, and food stores. Everything the people had worked so hard to build vanished, lost to the flames.

  “Berengar!” Morwen called. “We have to go! Now!”

  He took an enemy’s sword arm off at the elbow, turned, and pursued her into the tunnel as the stairs collapsed behind him, burying the entrance. It was a short jog out into the fresh air, where the others waited.

  Tristan sat on the ground, head held in his hands. “They took it.”

  Berengar narrowed his gaze. “What did they take?”

  “The fragment of the cursed blade. The thieves stole it off me.”

  Berengar made no attempt to hide his anger. “Blast it! Now Valmont has the means to reforge the sword.”