Silver's Redemption (Soul Merge Saga Book 3)

by M. P. A. Hanson

  Theria’s black eyes bored into her silver ones.

  “I am stronger, faster and more powerful than any other hellhound.” She began. “Don’t leave your most valuable weapon on the side-lines because you’re too afraid to use it.”

  There was no time to reply, as Cicero, Loke and Willem returned surrounding Marten and Theria melted away into the shadows so as to observe silently.

  “What do you want?” Marten looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and a chalky pallor that would better suit a ghost. Silver would bet she knew the reason for his weariness.

  “How many more assassins have there been?” She asked

  “Seventeen,” He didn’t question her knowledge, only replied in a slow manner that made it clear he had no idea what she would do with the information.

  “And the boy?”

  “Tommy doesn’t remember anything. He’s conscious but not always sane. The healers say the dark memories will continue to plague him for the rest of his life.” Marten looked sad. “The others don’t suffer like he does, and Romana is distraught for fear that it was her shields that broke his mind like this.”

  “He doesn’t remember, yet he is plagued by memories.” Silver smirked, even as she didn’t reveal to Marten that Romana was most likely right about the reason for the boy’s suffering. “Interesting combination, don’t you agree?”

  “When he remembers he loses his sense of self and lashes out at everyone, believing them to be his captors. When he comes out of that state he blocks the memories from his mind again.” Marten clarified for her. “It’s the effect of the magic coupled with the trauma. He’s not the same man he once was, even when he isn’t trying to kill us.”

  The boy’s memories would be the key to finding Alda, if only she could reach them.

  “I want custody of the boy.”

  Marten’s response was immediate. “Never.”

  Silver frowned. “If you hand him over to me I’ll heal him as I retrieve his memories. If you make me come and get him I’ll rip the memories from his skull and leave him a rotting corpse in the sewers.”

  She watched as the kingling’s fists clenched and unclenched. He knew he couldn’t stop her, but his pride didn’t want to admit it. This went on so long that she slouched against the wall as she watched him fight his internal battle; all of this struggle over one boy?

  Though he was a man now, Silver reminded herself.

  “Prove you can help him recover.” Marten finally growled.

  “It will take time but I can teach him to control the memories.” Silver said. “I have no way to prove my ability to do so, but I need that boy and no matter what you say I will get him.”

  Marten growled. “That man is a good friend; I don’t want you ‘helping’ him by torturing him.” She scoffed, “So if I give him to you, you promise not to harm him in any way.”

  “Unacceptable. Going into his mind won’t be easy on either of us. I can promise not to kill him or torture him unnecessarily. That is all.” Silver retorted.

  It took a while longer, but Marten eventually nodded.

  “Where do you want me to have him taken?” It was a none-too-subtle attempt to discover where Silver now resided.

  “Here, you have a day before I storm your castle, kill everyone in my path and take him.” That would give her time to sort out whatever the dark guilds wanted.

  Marten’s eyes flashed with anger. “Why do you want him so badly?”

  “Why is the boy so special to you?” Silver countered his question with a question.

  “He’s a friend.” Marten hedged.

  “There’s more.” Silver pressed. “What are you not telling me?”

  The king of the human realms gave her an assessing look. “I’m not sure you’ve given me any reason to trust you.”

  “I saved your kingdom.”

  “You saved your own skin.”

  Silver scoffed. “I died!”

  “Not for long enough,” Marten muttered under his breath, and surprisingly the comment cut. “I suppose you’ll find out when you trigger one of his episodes anyway; Tommy is a halfling like me with the animal traits.”

  “How many of you are there?” She was surprised, the last time she had checked fewer than three dozen halflings existed in the world. Less than a half of those had the animal traits.

  “We had no idea until he first snapped. He’d hidden it from everyone though he must have had it since adolescence.” Marten looked tormented. “He would have suffered worse than me with no way to control it.”

  “What’s his beast?” Silver was honestly curious.

  “I’m not revealing all of his secrets.” Marten scowled. “I’m leaving; I have a man to turn over to a monster before tomorrow.”

  Silver’s rage at being addressed such was unfounded considering the number of times she’d been called a monster before. Yet she grabbed Marten by the shoulder and turned him around to punch him in the face anyway.

  Blood spurted and then flowed from his now broken nose.

  Marten swore a blue streak, but made no move to hit her back.

  “Think about who the monster is when I save your puny lives a second time.” Silver ranted. “Think about whom the monster is when you ask my people who saved them from starvation that my mother would have left them to or when Romana is alive to exchange vows with you before the Ancients. You have no right to judge me after all I have done and will do for you.” Silver spat in the blood splattered ground at his feet before turning on her heel and storming off into the woodlands that surrounded the caves.

  Theria didn’t follow at first, and for one insane moment Silver hoped she was draining the soul from Marten’s body.

  But she needed the kingling alive, and she needed him to work with her.

  Her mind quickly supplied that he didn’t need to like her to work with her.

  Why had he so suddenly called her a monster? What had caused this?

  “He’s conflicted over handing over Tommy to you.” Theria read her mind. “You are a child of the Ancient’s and as such your vow means little as they likely will not punish you for breaking it. Yet he needs some sort of reassurance that his friend is safe. He knows he has nothing to ensure that he gets that, however, and thus he is lashing out at you.”

  Theria’s calm evaluation soothed Silver down from the edge of a killing rage in a way nothing else had ever been able to. As the black hellhound walked up beside her, Silver stroked her hand over the smooth armoured scales that covered her head.

  “I need to go and deal with the dark guilds before their patience runs out.” She told the hound. “Thank-you for your input, now go and do the second task I set you.”

  She began to walk away, but Theria wasn’t finished. “Marten smells like jaguar, as you’d expect, but he also smells like another animal,”

  Silver stopped dead. “You know what Tommy’s animal is.”

  “The scent of a bear was mixed with the smell of jaguar, blood and pain.” Theria confirmed. “I think Marten has been using his jaguar side to keep Tommy contained rather than tell people about his animal traits.”

  A dangerous thing to do between normal elves, but when the strength given to them by their human halves was taken into account along with Marten’s age. “Marten is losing?”

  “Not yet, but I think Tommy must be pretty powerful to make Marten feel so much pain.” Theria replied.

  “On your way to find the wytch, tell Lena to prepare a magically reinforced cell. But make it comfortable.”

  Theria nodded and Silver began the run to Morendor. Using her speed, she made the distance in a few minutes, and the entrance to the sewers took but a few moments longer. The moment she stepped inside, she was greeted by the sight of a small girl, no older than seven, dressed in rags with dirt streaking her cheeks.

  “Silver Eyed Wytch, if you’d kindly follow me.”

  She appeared unsurprised by Silver’s sudden appearance and turned sharply on her heel with
out waiting for a response. Bemused, but not underestimating the girl, Silver followed, her senses working overtime to try and compensate for the echoes that rang throughout the brick tunnels.

  They walked at human pace steadily downwards for over an hour, and gradually Silver began to realise that they had left the sewer system and entered an older, but better kept and far less putrid, set of tunnels.

  “Where are we?” She asked the girl.

  She didn’t turn, but her answer was easily audible anyway.

  “There was a town that used to exist here before the queen decided to build her step-son a new city. When the decision was made to build over the top of that town they didn’t bother to demolish it, for the queen merely ordered that the valley be filled over with soil. The town was covered completely. But when it was done, and a sparkling city stood ready and waiting for the prince to arrive, she realised that when she had visited that town years ago she had dropped a single priceless earring, part of a set that had been handed down through the women of her family for years. This upset her so much that the king asked a favour of the dwarf lords, who burrowed beneath the city, then excavated part of the town until they found it.”

  Silver vaguely remembered hearing the story somewhere before, yet she had never ever considered what it meant.

  “The tunnels go on for miles, for though dwarves sense jewels and gold they dug up all manner of expensive items before they found the earring. The Thieves’ Council has been here ever since they left and sealed the place behind them.”

  “Obviously they didn’t do too well at sealing it if a few humans could get in.” Silver remarked.

  “I don’t think there’s a building in the world that the humans on the council couldn’t get into.” The girl retorted.

  Silver didn’t have a reply to that, and thankfully she didn’t need one, as at that moment the tunnel opened wide into what was basically a town square.

  There was even a statue of the late king in the centre, albeit slightly modified. The thieves had hung the statue with a grass skirt, monocle and crown, and Silver appreciated the sense of humour.

  Looking around, she noted the clear wealth of the place. Morendor was pretty in an understated, clean sort of way, but the thieves had hung the buildings with gold and black silks, the buildings were painted with care and the people they passed dressed in rich fabrics.

  The thieves’ guild looked to be doing fairly well for themselves, so why contact her?

  Entire streets were cleared of dirt, yet sometimes as they walked they would pass places where the street just ended, cut off by a wall of bricks where she supposed the dwarves had stopped digging.

  They kept walking until they reached what must have once been the town hall, tall and imposing, it was definitely made of stone, yet the window ledges had been painted gold and the solid wooden door had a golden fox head knocker and handles shaped like claws.

  The girl knocked twice and Silver heard movement beyond it, an eye appeared at the porthole, before the gold trimmed heavy door opened to admit her.

  “Silver Eyed Wytch, the Council wishes to speak to you immediately.”

  She was quickly ushered inside of the building; a single butler had the bravery to ask her if he could take her cloak. Her long dark stare quickly had him running away.

  She approached doors made of what appeared to be solid gold, the thieves had obviously profited in the years after the war with Kobos, and once again it made Silver wonder what exactly they wanted with her. One of her hands tightened on the hilts of the throwing knives strapped to her thigh as she contemplated the likelihood of their betrayal while the other ran across the strap that crossed over her body holding her swords to her back.

  She was almost at the doors when a man came flying out of them, a butler ran in through the open doorway, stepping neatly around the body of the man who was still weeping into the marble of the floor.

  Silver didn’t wait for an invitation to enter, she simply strode in.

  The Council room was lavish to the extreme. The air was filled with the aroma of burning spices, and apart from a small area where the doors opened and closed the floor was piled high with gold, silks and legendary objects. None of it had been purchased, of course, and that only made Silver more respectful of the skill of the five men and women before her.

  Each one of them sat upon a mound of golden coins which were covered for comfort with velvet and silk. She was surprised to see that two of the faces were familiar to her. Keenan, Romana’s thief friend who had helped her escape to the Isle of the Gifted sat on her immediate left, looking regal and apathetic as he gazed downwards at her, his face cast in shadows by the flickering light of the braziers. She had guessed him to be high in the hierarchy but obviously in the past two decades he had moved up further, and showed no signs of aging, likely a tribute to his half fey parentage.

  Leigh was beside him atop the second pile of coins, and though outwardly Silver showed no signs of surprise, or any emotion at all, inwardly her mind was reeling as she tried to think of when Leigh had joined the ranks of the elite thieves.

  Silver had taught the centaur to pickpocket and steal at the same time she’d taught her to fight. But Leigh had obviously taken the initiative and used her skills to garner favour and eventually a position within the guild.

  “A thousand welcomes to you, Silver Eyed Wytch.” A short, bald human with olive skin greeted her. “Rest assured that during your stay you are considered a guest of ours and thus your life and possessions are under our protection until you leave.”

  Translation, she wouldn’t be attacked or robbed until once she was back in Morendor. Yet Silver remained on her guard, trusting the honour of thieves was not a mistake one made and lived to tell about it.

  “It is a change to see honour among thieves,” She commented. “I’m afraid my presence here will be brief. My business here is with regards to the letter you sent to me.”

  Keenan spoke up. “The Council has a proposition for you. You need to find and kill Alda, for reasons unknown to us. But we can assist you… for a price.”

  Their information was good, Silver noted, but then again, the thieves knew secrets were often more valuable a commodity than jewels.

  “We will provide you with any and all information that you request if we have or can acquire it. You would know anything that happened within the city within moments of it happening, and in return, you shall train the guild’s enforcer.” A dwarven woman, thin as a famine victim with the dark skin of the deep deserts began. The many bright and colourful beads she wore in her hair and as ornamentation for her neck and wrists swayed around her as she talked.

  “A guild enforcer has not been heard of in a few centuries.” Silver stated casually. “And I cannot imagine many thieves break your rules, so tell me why you want one.”

  “Because thieves are being hunted down and attacked and we want to stop it before it becomes bad for business.” Leigh replied. “My species prevents me from fulfilling the role as the culprit uses the rooftops, somewhere I cannot go. However, our chosen replacement will not have this problem.”

  Which meant whoever they had picked wouldn’t be a centaur, so Leigh would have a tough time attempting to teach them. The centaur could do it, and had done for Romana, but it would take extra time the thieves clearly did not believe they had.

  “You should warn whoever you plan for me to mentor that I won’t be gentle. They learn or they die.” Silver informed the Council.

  “We are sure he is up to the task.” The bead covered lady replied.

  “We would, respectfully request that you allow him to shadow you.” The final Council member spoke at last. He was a middle aged human with a long pointed beard and amber skin that was creased with age. His almond-shaped eyes had not left her since she entered the room, and Silver got the impression he held quite a bit of the power in the room.

  “And have him send all of my secrets back here? I do not think so.”

  “He
would vow to the Ancients never to tell of your activities to anyone without your permission.” Leigh added, giving her the discreet hand signal that they had developed to say that the deal was solid.

  But where did Leigh’s allegiance now lie? She was on the Council of the thieves’ guild, that meant her loyalty was split. Silver’s once infallible trust in the centaur was shaken.

  “Then you had better warn him; if he steals from me, he’ll lose his hands. If he betrays me, he’ll lose his tongue. If he attempts to harm me or my allies in any way, he’ll lose his life after experiencing more pain than the Ancients could ever dish out.”

  “I understand and accept the terms.”

  Silver had to battle to hide her surprise this time, as it was her eyes may have widened a fraction as she forced herself to turn slowly towards the sound of Keenan’s voice.

  The ice-fey halfling met her stare levelly even as she calmly evaluated the Council’s choice.

  “Human looking, no one would guess at your true heritage. You’re fast enough that you may keep up with a young elf and heal quicker than the average human. It is logical that they have chosen you.”

  “I volunteered.” Keenan retorted, but his eyes narrowed.

  Too late did she realise that not many people knew of Keenan’s true heritage. Romana’s memories had informed her of his abilities, but he would not know that, all he would think was that someone had betrayed him, or she had been spying on him.

  “I vow to the Ancients never to tell of my time spent with you, or speak your secrets, steal your possessions or attack your allies without your permission.”

  “Witnessed.” Silver muttered, sensing a few minor loopholes but no major damage could be done with them.

  “Leigh will escort you to my old caves, tomorrow at midday we will begin.” She could take both him and Tommy to Dalmorin at the same time. “If that is all, I must take my leave, you know how to contact me when you have information.”

  There were no goodbyes, and she hadn’t expected them. Silent, she turned on her heel and refused the guide’s offer to escort her back to the surface. She had memorised the way the first time, and she planned to see just how far these tunnels extended beneath the city before she left to reply to her second invitation.