The Chain Breaker: Books 1-3

by Holmberg, D. K.

  Cyran grunted. “You don’t know what things have been like since we trained together, Gavin. You’ve changed.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’ve changed. And I’ve been wrong plenty of times.” He turned his attention to the table.

  Gavin headed to the door and paused. Faint sunlight started to stream in the distance. It was going to be a bright, beautiful day. The kind of day Jessica would love and the kind of day that left him feeling even emptier at her condition. He stood there for a long time and looked out, thinking about what had been and unable to shake the thoughts of what might have been.

  “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to need help.”

  He turned to see Gaspar looking at him. The old, grizzled thief had an intensity to his eyes. He didn’t know Gaspar all that well. In the time he’d been in Yoran and staying at the Dragon, Gaspar had never provided him with much reason to feel as if he could be trusted.

  “What kind of help are you suggesting?” Gavin asked.

  “I care about her too,” Gaspar said.

  “The same way?”

  Gaspar grunted. “Maybe if I were ten years younger.” He looked toward the back of the tavern for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. “No, not the same way as you, boy. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. More than a few of us here at the Dragon care about her—and what would happen to the Dragon if she were lost.”

  “Are you sure you want to help?” Gavin motioned to the pile of bodies in one corner. “This isn’t the same kind of job you normally take.”

  “What do you know about the jobs I normally take?”

  Gavin shrugged. “I suppose I don’t know anything.”

  “You’re damn right you don’t know anything. Now, are we going to begin or not?”

  “Now?”

  “If you want my help, then we’re going to start now.”

  Gavin turned. Imogen sat at a table, and Wrenlow waited at the bottom of the stairs, watching her. She leaned against the wall, her fingers tracing the hilt of her slender sword. Cyran sat alone, staring at his hands.

  This was going to be my crew?

  It was more than just completing the job for his mysterious employer. That would be his and Wrenlow’s task. Gaspar and Imogen cared more about what had happened to Jessica, finding the El’aras and what they were involved in. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the two were intertwined. Finish the job. Find the El’aras. Figure out who hired him.

  All without getting someone killed.

  Maybe this was all that he should bring with him.

  Gavin walked over to them. “Let’s begin.”

  Cyran cleared his throat, getting to his feet. “Not me.” He looked around the inside of the tavern. “I don’t know what you’re going to do, though I have an idea. That’s not why I’m in Yoran.”

  “Cyran, I could use an old friend on a job like this.”

  Cyran held his gaze and seemed to debate a moment before shaking his head. “Not this friend. I didn’t come to tangle with El’aras. I helped as much as I could,” he said, gathering his powders and replacing them in his pouch, “but you don’t need me.” He glanced toward the stairs. “I would like to know if she comes around. Will you send word?”

  Gavin inhaled deeply then nodded. Cyran slipped out into the street, closing the door behind him. Gavin looked at the others. Wrenlow would help, but he didn’t know Gaspar or Imogen too well. For Jessica, it would have to be enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Gavin slipped along the edge of the street, his eyes darting all around him. Hamish had a way of avoiding Gavin’s tracking ability. That alone was surprising, but even more surprising was how he often appeared shortly after a job was completed. Gaspar had managed to uncover some rumors about where to find Hamish, which was more than Gavin had ever obtained. It left him skeptical, but it also left him somewhat suspicious. Hamish knew things about him that he shouldn’t.

  Could Gaspar be involved?

  “How does it look?” Wrenlow’s voice crackled loudly in his ear.

  Gavin almost jumped. There were times when he forgot about just how annoying the enchantment could be. Most of the time, it was beneficial, and he was thankful he had Wrenlow giving him advice and the opportunity to ask questions. But there were other times when he wished for silence.

  “It looks the same as it did the last time you asked,” Gavin said.

  “I was just asking. You know, it’s hard for me to be stuck here in the Dragon while you’re out on the street, looking for excitement.”

  “I’m not necessarily looking for excitement. Excitement tends to find me.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a little excitement.”

  “How about we trade positions?”

  There was a moment of silence, and Gavin almost smiled.

  “If Gaspar’s information is correct, you need to head down to the South Street Market.”

  The cloudy day meant they didn’t have to squint against the sun to search. Wrenlow had taken most of the morning to search and had come up with a possible location, though they didn’t know if it would work.

  The way that Wrenlow said it suggested not only that he didn’t believe that Gaspar’s information was correct but that he’d be annoyed if it was. Not that it surprised Gavin. Wrenlow prided himself on his ability to obtain information, and if this was something that Gaspar had been able to acquire much more readily, it would make Wrenlow feel as if he’d disappointed Gavin, even if he hadn’t. Gavin understood that everyone had different access to information. In Gaspar’s case, he was a native of Yoran and connected in ways Wrenlow just wasn’t.

  He slipped forward, tapping the enchantment. “I have a hard time thinking Hamish will simply be found at the market,” he said.

  “I know, which is why I don’t know how much you can trust what Gaspar told you.”

  “I also have a hard time thinking he’s wrong,” Gavin said.

  There was silence on the other end. “If you trust him so much, then head to the market and see what you can uncover.”

  Gavin started to smile. “I’m sure you’ll find something useful as well.”

  “You don’t need to patronize me.”

  “I’m not patronizing. I was just—”

  “You’re patronizing me. I’m not from Yoran. You should be impressed with how quickly I established my own network and less impressed with how well-established his network is.”

  “Have I made it seem otherwise?”

  “A little appreciation every now and again would be nice.”

  “Wrenlow, you are very much appreciated,” Gavin said, laughing again.

  As he turned the corner, he found a crowd forming in the distance. The market.

  The South Street Market was a place where caravans from outside of the city would gather, along with local farmers and other merchants. It was chaotic and boisterous, teeming with life and activity. Gavin had often chosen to use it to hide his activities. It was the kind of place that would be all too easy for someone to slip through unnoticed.

  How would Gaspar have known that Hamish would be here?

  “Do you remember when we first met?” Gavin asked.

  “I remember. Why?” Wrenlow answered.

  “I was just thinking about the crowd we have here.”

  “We didn’t meet in a crowd.”

  “We met outside of a crowd,” Gavin said.

  “Only because you were trying to catch me.”

  “Trying?”

  “Fine. You caught me. Is that what you want me to say? You want me to admit that were it not for you and your willingness to let me live, that I’m—”

  “I wasn’t trying to do anything like that. I was just thinking back to that time.”

  “I think back to it all the time.” Wrenlow’s voice went soft. “Had you not been willing to take me in, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.”

  “I know what would’ve happened to you.”

  “You d
o?”

  “You probably would’ve ended up behind bars. The constables of whatever city you were in at the time would’ve taken you and imprisoned you. You know what happens to little pups like you in prison.”

  “I don’t.”

  “They end up eaten by the bigger dogs,” Gavin barked into the earpiece, and Wrenlow swore at him from the other end.

  Gavin chuckled to himself, heading forward until he reached the outskirts of the market. He plunged deeper into the crowd, and the noise and the chaos surrounded him.

  “Do you see him yet?” Wrenlow asked.

  “I’ll let you know when I see him,” Gavin whispered.

  Now that he was in the crowd, he had to be a little more careful speaking. It wouldn’t do for somebody to question why he was suddenly talking to himself. People would have a different set of questions about the enchantment. Especially in Yoran. Magic wasn’t so much feared as it was forbidden in order to keep the people of the city safe.

  He reached the outer edge of the stalls. Acrobats danced along the side of the street. They were dressed in colorful clothes, bright pants of silky orange with jackets of a vibrant green that rippled in the wind and flowed with their movements. The women wore the same type of clothing as the men, which made sense considering the way they flipped and spun in the air.

  He hesitated, watching one of them somersault in the air. It was exquisite. Gavin had trained a considerable amount of time to be able to use the techniques that he did, so he knew what went into the acrobats’ training and just how much skill that involved. The crowd around them wasn’t nearly as sizable as what they deserved. He flipped a copper penny toward their jar and nodded to the smallest of the acrobats, a man who was balancing on his hands while another was balancing on his outstretched feet.

  Gavin continued on. Every dozen or so paces, he came across some new performer. Some, like the acrobats, were performance-based—singers or storytellers or minstrels. Others were artists offering to paint something for those passing by. Still others were beggars. He was surprised by how much coin even the beggars managed to acquire. If it were up to him, he would’ve given the beggars nothing.

  What value did they have if they weren’t willing to demonstrate some skill for their coin?

  He reached the square and passed through the booths, looking around him as he studied the people. It wasn’t the merchants he paid attention to—it was the people wandering through the crowd. That was where he was going to find Hamish. The man had a distinct look, but finding him among a sea of people was going to be a challenge, even for Gavin. He moved carefully but wandered almost aimlessly, letting his gaze drift along the crowd to search the people here.

  “I’m not seeing anything,” he whispered.

  “What can I say? You’re going by Gaspar’s information. What if he was wrong?”

  “I don’t think he would’ve intentionally led us awry.”

  “What if he was involved in what happened?”

  “I don’t think he was.”

  He didn’t know Gaspar that well, but he recognized the hurt of a man who didn’t care for what had happened to Jessica. It was the same hurt he felt, the same pain he knew, a pain that came from watching her almost die in front of them.

  The market was enormous, and the square was filled with all manner of people in various styles of clothing. Some were like the acrobats he’d come across, dressed in silky and brightly colored clothes. Others had more drab dress. Some women had low-cut dresses, revealing far more than what was typically considered proper, whereas others had their collars buttoned high on their neck. It was a place where people from all over the city, and beyond, congregated. Places like this felt almost claustrophobic to Gavin. There were simply too many people, all of them crammed in and forcing their way through, practically shoulder to shoulder. The noise was chaotic. Thousands of voices mingled as the hawkers attempted to shout over the din of the crowd, and an undercurrent of music came from dozens of minstrels.

  “How can all of these people be from Yoran?” Gavin asked.

  “Most of the people of the South Street Market aren’t from Yoran.”

  “No?”

  “Well, I figured Gaspar would’ve told you, but seeing as how he neglected crucial pieces of information, I suppose you’re going to need to hear it from me.”

  Gavin started to smile. He could imagine Wrenlow sitting more upright at the Dragon, preparing his notes. “Please. Go on.”

  “The South Street Market generally serves people coming in from outside of the city. You get some locals here, but mostly they want to sell their wares rather than buy them. They view it as overpriced.”

  “Is it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not there. You have a good eye for this sort of thing, so why don’t you tell me?”

  Gavin paused at a textile merchant. The booth was set up in such a way to display the fabrics. There were silks, colorful and blowing softly in the breeze. There were some of cotton, and even from here, he could see how delicate the weave had been made. There were others of linen; a rougher fabric he didn’t particularly care for.

  As he leaned forward, listening to the merchant, he tried to get a sense for what they were charging for the fabrics, but he found that it was difficult for him to overhear. The woman bartering with the merchant bobbed her head rapidly. She was far too eager.

  Gavin stood off to the side, listening as the merchant continued to haggle. He didn’t move much on his price, whereas this woman continued to come up. Gavin shook his head. He waited for a little bit longer to get a sense for how much the woman would end up paying, but the merchant was far more skilled at haggling than she was.

  When he moved on, he found a silversmith. That was something he had a better eye for, and he quickly realized the silversmith overcharged. Not that it made much difference. The people around were more than happy to pay exorbitant prices. The quality was decent, though he’d seen better in many of the Northern cities.

  He grunted, stepping away. “If we wanted to, we could make a killing here.”

  “Isn’t that what you do anyway?”

  “Somewhat,” he said, laughing. “Listen. Even you should be able to hear what’s taking place here.”

  “I’ve been listening. I have a feeling they don’t know how to get the best bargain,” Wrenlow said.

  “You could show them,” Gavin said, laughing softly again.

  He continued to meander through the market, pausing at stand after stand. Each time, he found the same. Overpriced goods. The quality adequate, sometimes more than that, but the price always far more than what he would’ve been willing to pay. Of course, if the market was meant for people from outside of the city, it was possible they simply didn’t know they could obtain similar—or better—quality by staying in the city and haggling. Looking around this place gave him a better sense for the kind of man who would spend time here.

  That involved a different type of work. There were some who simply didn’t want to take that time, who didn’t have time to be away. He could imagine some of these people needed to get as much of their market shopping done as quickly as possible, even if it involved taking a little bit of a loss.

  Even the food vendors were overpriced. His stomach rumbled, though he’d eaten before heading out. He wished he’d brought something to snack on, knowing assignments like this could sometimes take a considerable part of the day. A lot of it involved scouting, patience, and being ready for when the opportunity presented itself. In this case, he didn’t know if he was going to be able to find anything more than what he already had.

  “Is Gaspar anywhere around you?” Gavin whispered.

  “He left early this morning,” Wrenlow said.

  Gavin grunted. “I don’t suppose he said anything more about where I was supposed to find Hamish?”

  “If he did, he didn’t tell me. See? What did I tell you? You aren’t able to trust him.”

  “Why would he lie about this? The market isn�
�t—”

  Just then, Gavin caught a flash of a familiar fabric.

  “Isn’t what?” Wrenlow asked.

  “Quiet,” he hissed.

  Hamish’s clothes had a certain cut to them, but it was more than that. He always dressed flamboyantly and preferred colorful clothing; almost always robes rather than more practical pants and jackets. Today was no different.

  Even from a distance, Hamish’s purple velvet robe clashed with his surroundings. His balding head bobbed through the sea of people. Gavin started to weave toward it. He moved carefully, not wanting to get close too quickly. He would take his time, get near Hamish, and then confront him.

  Or not.

  He could also just follow Hamish until he left the market, then continue trailing him to learn more about him—and his employer. Gavin fought his way through the stalls and finally reached the outer edge. Once again, he encountered singers and acrobats and storytellers. They weren’t nearly as numerous here as they were closer to the main part of the city. Hamish continued to weave through the crowd, getting further ahead.

  Where was the old bastard going?

  “What’s happening?” Wrenlow asked.

  “He’s leaving the city. At least, it seems like he’s leaving the city. I don’t know where he’s going, only that he’s wandering outside of the market.”

  “Where would he go from here?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Gavin said.

  He hurried forward and realized that he was making a mistake. The suddenness of his movement was too much. Hamish paused and turned slowly, his deep purple robe flowing around him. Gavin tried to sink into the crowd, to fade back so he wouldn’t be identified, but he wasn’t sure that he acted quickly enough.

  “Balls,” he whispered.

  “He saw you, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t really know. All I know is that he stopped.”

  “Maybe he’s meeting with your employer.”

  “I don’t know that we’re going to get quite that lucky,” Gavin said.

  He tracked through the crowd, staying off to the side, moving as carefully and quietly as he could. Even as he did, Gavin thought that he wasn’t moving as effectively as he intended.