Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1)

by Robinson, Garrett

  But no danger presented itself. If anything, Gem took to her well, mayhap because she had not beat him as he feared. Soon after they began their walk through the streets, he spoke, and once he started Loren thought he might never stop. It reminded her of Annis, and she felt a twinge of sadness.

  “Auntie will quite like you, I’m certain,” said Gem. “You with your fine cloak and climbing. They’re quite useful things. Though you should not expect her to enjoy your eyes.”

  Loren looked at him askance. “My eyes?”

  “Green,” said Gem, as though that were the only explanation needed. When Loren looked at him without understanding, he sighed. “Folk remember green eyes. You don’t want anyone to remember you. No one remembers me.”

  Loren let it pass without an answer.

  Their path wound north and west, and for a moment she feared they aimed for the district where Corin had released her. But it was not long before Gem swerved suddenly left, ducking through a hole in a fence where a board had been removed.

  Loren followed him to find a small yard floored by dirt and straw rather than cobblestones. It was empty save the two of them, but a foul smell lingered on the air that told her this place had once held many pigs. The building attached to the yard lay empty, its back door fallen from iron hinges and lying on the ground. No one looked to have lived here for quite some time.

  “Where are we?” Loren’s nerves prickled at the possibility of a trap.

  “This is Auntie’s place.” Gem walked to the gaping back door, leaned his head in, and cried, “Fresh blood!”

  After a few breathless seconds, Loren heard the quiet pitter-patter of feet.

  Then they came.

  Children poured from every crack and corner. Some spilled through gaps in the fence, others from the home’s doorway and windows. A few even climbed down from the roof. Soon, dozens of children filled the yard, all more than a head shorter than Loren, all small and looking starved. Their wide eyes mirrored Gem’s as he stared up at her.

  “Er . . . hello.” Loren thought she ought to be frightened but could see no threat in their wan eyes. “Which of you is Auntie?”

  “None of these,” scoffed Gem. “She—”

  “She is here.”

  The voice came from the house, where a woman stood in the frame. And a true woman she was—Loren immediately felt gawky and childish. Auntie wore a tunic with short sleeves that did not reach her elbows, over which she had donned a pale green vest that clung tightly to her supple frame. Her arms bore olive skin, with fine-fingered hands that looked free from grime or callus. Loren curled her own fingers into her palms, for they felt so suddenly peasant-like.

  Auntie’s eyes captured her most. A light hazel, unremarkable in itself, but their intelligence dazzled the mind. They flitted back and forth, up and down, assessing her surroundings, observing everything. Loren felt underdressed. She grew even more self-conscious at the sight of Auntie’s face; slender with high cheekbones, long, entrancing eyelashes, and framed by hair cut short, almost like a man’s. Her hair was so blonde as to be almost white, except near the scalp where it darkened toward black. Loren had never seen anything like it, or like Auntie herself.

  “Well, don’t gawk forever, girl, lest I think you wish to marry me.”

  Loren’s eyes widened and quickly turned away as her cheeks flushed full crimson. “My apologies, my la—”

  “Just Auntie. None of that ‘lady’ nonsense. Ladies are who we steal from, and quite well, too.” She lifted her hands to brush against the front of her vest, displaying its fine pattern. “It is how I gain such niceties and keep the children fed.”

  Loren did not know what to say, so silence it was. But Auntie spoke not, and Loren realized she bore the burden of introduction.

  She bowed low. “I am Loren, of the family Nelda. I thought . . . I had hoped you might help me. And, mayhap, entertain my company, at least for a while.”

  “I hardly see how I could help you if I did not,” said Auntie with a wry twist to her mouth. “Presence is oft required for assistance, unless one is paid to leave. I know many a bard who plays worse than they are capable for just such a purpose. But come, tell me: What do you require? You seem a capable girl, and unless I miss my guess you are well acquainted with that bow on your back. And mayhap the knives at your belt and in your boot.”

  Loren gave a small gasp and glanced down. Her cloak still hid the dagger. And the knife in her boot remained invisible, for the leather was too thick to show a bulge.

  “It is the way you hold yourself.” Auntie pushed off from the door frame and came out into the yard. The children parted like water in a pool, closing in behind her to complete the effect. Auntie walked in a slow half circle to stand behind Loren. She placed one gentle hand on Loren’s left wrist, the other on the right of her waist. “This hip juts out slightly. That might be a stance of rest, but this hand you hold a bit farther from your body than the other. It is ready to leap to the hip and draw forth the knife.” She released Loren and came around in front of her again.

  Loren swallowed. “And the one in my boot?”

  Auntie smiled warmly. “I have never known a forester who didn’t carry a knife there. Those who wander the woods for long hours cannot keep their tools in drawers and cabinets like us city folk.”

  The answer left Loren with even more questions—how had Auntie known she came from the forest? She had to swallow again to continue. “As for your question. I seek a girl within the city. I thought . . . you might . . . ”

  “That the children and I would have eyes in all quarters, and that we might help you find her?” finished Auntie. “Aye, that is as may be. And what of the other thing? You spoke of keeping company for a time.”

  Loren looked around her uneasily. The idea seemed suddenly ridiculous, surrounded by these children who had grown up lifting coins from unwary victims. “I thought mayhap you could use a willing hand. Though now that I stand before you, I see you have many to spare.”

  Auntie stepped forward and took Loren’s hands in hers, raising them to her chest. She gave Loren a smile filled with enough secret promise to utterly entrance her.

  “Willing hands are never in enough supply here. Especially when attached to one who, unless I am mistaken, has traveled far and done much using them. I love my children after all . . . but sometimes a woman grown serves better.”

  “Does that mean you will have me?” Loren swallowed again. “I will learn all you can teach, as quickly as I might. You will find me an excellent worker and a quick study—”

  Auntie cut her off by drawing her hands away and letting Loren’s fall limp to her sides. A sad smile dusted her lips. “Ah, that it were so simple. But Loren of the family Nelda, you must understand something. I am mother to these children in all but blood. My first duty is to them. I hold myself the sole caretaker of their well-being.”

  “Of course,” said Loren, looking at the urchins that surrounded them.

  “Then you know I cannot simply accept any person who offers to serve us. First, you must prove that you will help the family, and not make yourself a drain upon us.”

  “I would never,” said Loren, shaking her head.

  Again, that small smile. “I believe you. But if belief were food, none of my little ones would ever go hungry again. And so I must beg you a task. A small something to prove yourself. A token of faith, a proof of skill, and something to fill the bellies of my children.”

  Loren’s heart raced, and she smiled. “I think you mean to tell me that someone’s purse sits overfat, and I must lighten it for them.”

  Auntie grinned. “I knew you for a clever girl. Just so. And if you fetch this thing for me, you may consider yourself my . . . well, not my daughter, for you and I are near of age. But family nonetheless. My children and I will spare no trouble in helping you find your friend.”

  Loren could not remove her smile. An auspicious start, indeed. Her first task as a thief other than what she stole from her vi
llage.

  “Only point the way, and I will do as you ask.”

  Auntie smiled. “I thought you might.”

  twenty

  Gem led her through the streets as light faded from the sky. Torches sprang to life all around them, and townspeople readied themselves for the approaching night.

  The woman you seek spends her time near the northern gate, Auntie had told her. She often frequents the square outside the Bottomless Mug, or the common room of the tavern itself. But if you are wise, you will not approach her within the building where too many eyes will sit upon you.

  The northern gate? Loren had asked, thinking of the constables’ station, lying between the northern and western gates.

  Yes, Auntie had said, thin eyebrows arching. Is that a problem?

  Loren had forced herself to look carefree, shrugging indifference. Nothing I cannot overcome. Go on. Her heart sank lower by the moment.

  You will find her in a pink gown and will know her by long yellow curls. Darker than my hair, but not by much. She carries a purse at all times. I need it.

  And so Loren had struck out with Gem as her guide. With every step, she had to shove herself into another, resisting an ever stronger urge to flee. Mayhap she could find Annis on her own after all.

  But then the two of you would be alone, she thought. And you would be on the run rather than a thief learning her craft.

  Loren pressed on.

  As they drew farther and farther west, Loren pulled Gem aside. “It may be that some near our destination seek me out,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “If there is any way forward that will hide us best from prying eyes, let us take it.”

  Gem pursed his lips. “What manner of someone? Constables, or elsewise?”

  Loren thought of Gregor and his men. “We would do well to avoid both sorts.”

  Gem’s eyes widened slightly. “Beset on all sides, are you? Very well. I suggest the roofs. Not far from here, we may find a route that will take us all the way west with hardly a heel on a cobblestone.”

  Loren followed eagerly as Gem turned their course due north. They ducked into alleys that grew ever more narrow and dark, until Loren felt the press of walls on either side.

  To take her mind from their ominous surroundings, she asked a question that had sat with her for some time. “Did your mother name you Gem? I have never met someone with that name.”

  Gem shrugged without turning to look. “I know not what my mother named me. Jarmo was the first name I knew. But when I found Auntie, I chose my own. Who has ever heard of a thief called Jarmo?”

  Loren had never heard of a thief called Gem, either, but she did not tell him that.

  Soon, Gem brought her to a low building. Its roof reached so near the ground, Loren could almost touch it from tiptoe. She boosted Gem to reach it, and made use of a nearby barrel to climb up herself. Gem led her on, up one side and down the other to where the next building’s roof sat a few feet away. Loren leapt the gap easily and followed him to the next.

  Gem had spoken truly: The rooftops ran in an almost uninterrupted path west. Every so often, the wide gap of a street blocked their progress, and Gem led her either north or south to circumvent it. Only once did he lead her back to the ground. Then they ran across several streets in a mad dash, Loren looking in all directions for any sign of the constables or Damaris’s men.

  On the roofs she felt herself relax and even allowed herself to enjoy the night air as stars sparkled above. The press of the city seemed far away. She could imagine that the soft shingles underfoot were the natural rise and fall of the forest floor. She easily ignored the sounds of the people below and focused instead on the night sky above. That, at least, had not changed from the Birchwood to Cabrus. Loren still saw mighty Dorren making his fiery way across the sky, and from him drew comfort.

  When Gem called a halt to their journey, it seemed almost too soon. Loren crawled with him to the roof’s edge. Together, they sidled along the shingles until they could peek down at the people below.

  Night thinned the crowd, but still a fair few walked in the torchlight. Among them she saw a few constables in their red leather armor, but scattered far enough to avoid if she were careful.

  Her eyes fixed on a figure in a pink gown, golden curls spilling from her head.

  “There!” she whispered, pointing.

  “I see her,” said Gem. “What now?”

  Loren inspected the square. There sat the Bottomless Mug, a noisy establishment through whose windows firelight poured to bathe the street below. The woman sat outside the glow, upon a bench placed in the square amid a cluster of grass and flowers. Other nightgoers passed by, some men in fine cloth inclining their head toward the woman. Loren realized that in the rush of explanation, she had never thought to ask the maiden’s name.

  “She sits unattended and alone. I can easily come upon her unawares.”

  “But the open space that surrounds her,” said Gem. “The constables will easily catch you.”

  “They will not have time to react. Besides, I can outrun them. I will make for the roofs again.”

  Let the constables try and follow her up here.

  Gem frowned. “I do not like it. But I see no other choice. She does not look of a mind to move.”

  “Very well, then. Come, let us—duck!”

  She shoved Gem’s head into the shingles, and he gave a muted cry of protest. The woman’s head had turned toward them, and Loren feared their discovery. But as she cautiously raised her face from the shingles, she saw that the woman’s gaze had simply wandered. Now she looked away again, oblivious to the thieves stalking her from the rooftop. Then, as Loren watched, the woman stood and made for a dark alley at the side of the Bottomless Mug.

  “Fortune smiles,” said Loren. “Come! Quickly!”

  They rose and crouch-ran across the rooftop toward a gap above the alleyway. The woman in pink disappeared into the shadows below. Loren spotted a wooden gutter.

  “Remain here. No need for both of us to risk ourselves. I will return shortly.”

  With that, Loren shimmied down the gutter like a squirrel. Her leather boots came down silent on the cobblestones, and without a moment’s hesitation she ducked into the alley.

  The woman in pink stood a few yards within, her back still turned to the alley’s gaping mouth. The purse hung from her hip like a prize, dangling by thin strings. Loren stole forward like a mouse, sliding her dagger from its sheath.

  This was her first time cutting a purse, but she knew the idea. Grip the purse and slash the strings in a single slice, and the quarry might never feel the tug. In a crowd she might have jostled the girl unawares to hide it, but this would have to do. And if the woman spotted her, what could she do? Pursue Loren in that gown?

  Only a yard remained.

  Loren held her breath, trying to still her heartbeat.

  Her hand reached out for the purse.

  The woman whirled, her hand snapping shut on Loren’s wrist. Loren nearly shrieked from fright as she met the girl’s face.

  Then the girl’s eyes glowed, and her face began to change.

  Before Loren’s startled gaze, the girl’s eyes turned from deep blue to light hazel. Her skin darkened, and her cheekbones shifted higher. Her hair seemed to shrink into her scalp, turning paler except at the roots, where it was black as night.

  It lasted only moments, and then Auntie stood there in the pink gown, an iron hand clasped around Loren’s wrist.

  Loren’s mind screamed a word: weremage.

  “What an excellent presentation,” said Auntie in a cool tone. “You have done exactly as you should.”

  As Loren tried to understand, she heard the clump of heavy boots behind her. Auntie’s grip kept her from turning, so instead she looked over her shoulder.

  A tall, muscular constable with a cruel face appeared in the alley’s mouth. Bern. Behind him appeared another constable—not Corin but a man she’d never seen, with naked steel in his hand.


  “I must thank you for finding us,” said Auntie over Loren’s shoulder. “Your reward will go so far toward filling the children’s bellies.”

  In a flash, Auntie drew Loren’s arm behind her back and pressed a knife to her throat. Bern smiled and took a firm step into the alley.

  “We meet again, thief,” said the constable. “It seems that with every encounter, your list of crimes grows—”

  Loren heard a shrill shriek above, and her eyes went skyward. Bern, too, looked up just in time to get both of Gem’s bare feet in his face. The pickpocket landed full on the constable’s head, slamming the man back into the building’s wall where he fell to the street, stunned.

  Loren’s mind reeled with shock, but she quickly recovered. Her free hand seized Auntie’s wrist, dragging the dagger away from her throat as she threw her head backward. She judged the blow well, for Loren felt Auntie’s nose crumple against the back of her head. Blood spattered across her cowl as she pulled away and Auntie hit the cobblestones. Her hand wrapped around the tip of Loren’s bow as she fell, and Loren heard the twang of the string snapping.

  Loren looked down in horror. Auntie grasped furiously at her nose as she lay there, but her other hand wrapped the bow. My bow, thought Loren. Chet’s bow.

  She could not risk a retrieval. She had no time. Loren nearly ran for the alley but saw the other constable standing there with his sword. Bern, too, rose from the ground, looking around as if dazed. Gem ran toward Loren, snatching her hand and dragging her deeper into the alley.

  “Run!” he cried.

  Loren needed no second urging. They hit the alley’s end and cut left down a smaller one just as Loren heard the slap of boots behind them.

  “The rooftops!” she shouted. Gem understood and led her around another two sharp turns before they found a gutter to climb. Loren gripped the boy under his arms and flung him skyward, letting him grip the culvert just under the roof’s edge. Then she launched herself up hand over foot and in a few moments gained the shingles.