Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  The lieutenant stood at her shoulder, observing her with an uncharacteristically somber expression. Words flitted just beyond his silence. He unbelted his sword and slid it beneath the bed with a polished boot, delaying the inevitable.

  She turned another page, forcing him to speak first.

  Finally, he seemed to gather strength enough to address her. “Alvena, you will need to come with us to Raestra,” he ceded.

  Upon the bed, Vale had taken a seat nearby, unfastening his boots with suggestive glances toward his partner.

  Alvena blew out her cheeks, finishing with a jut of her bottom lip. So they indeed believed Ilsevel might still squash Saebellus’ will.

  Adonis tried to offer a pitiful sigh. “Alvena, Ilsevel may have given us permission to keep you in our custody, but if we leave you unattended, do you truly think she won’t seize you?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’d like to seize,” Vale interjected below his breath.

  Alvena’s fingers curled tightly about the spine of the book. Ilsevel was just waiting for her moment, like a Kamorian panther stalking an innocent little bunny in its hole.

  “So this matter is settled. In several weeks, after we finish our affairs here and Turlondiel returns with her prisoners, we shall go to Raestra. The sights of war are terrible indeed, but you must endure such an experience or jeopardize your life.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’d give my life for right now,” Vale muttered again.

  She nodded her head slightly, as though only imparting a partial nod would properly convey her disgruntlement. But she believed Adonis’ conjectures were correct.

  After all, if she was being honest with herself, her feeble kitchen knife would do her no good against Ilsevel’s guards.

  Vale finally laid back, gesturing to Adonis to come near. He made no attempt at subtlety this time. “Come here,” he purred. “I need you. Lately, you have been spending all your nights with that bastard!”

  Adonis kicked his boots beneath the bed and tsked. “Please tell me you’re not still bitter about Sellemar.”

  “…I am more than still bitter. He splattered poor Kraesin across the floor and nearly had me following him through the Gates!”

  Alvena saw Adonis shift a little uncomfortably and smiled to herself. Sellemar had nearly killed Vale? This was the first pleasant news in weeks.

  “Speaking of Sellemar, I heard you intruded on his meal with Ilsevel when we were dining a few days ago.”

  Alvena remembered when Vale had staunchly left their table because he suddenly felt the need to “vomit.” Apparently, he had not, in fact, been ill.

  Adonis crossed his arms and Alvena mimicked the tightness of his fold. “Ilsevel has not ceased her complaints and that female is dangerous,” Adonis warned. “Apparently, you were quite rude to the both of them.”

  Vale’s chin tipped up. “My two least favorite elves in my favorite eatery,” he replied tartly. “Now enough about Sellemar before I lose my desires altogether!”

  Adonis’ rigidity melted away and he settled onto the other side of the bed. “Vale, Alvena is present. I will not make her uncomfortable.”

  Alvena glowered at the boorish captain. ‘He’s doing enough for the both of you,’ she thought resentfully.

  Vale rolled onto his side, reaching out languidly to stroke Adonis’ leg. “Use your magic…” he persisted. “If you can use it for Saebellus’ wars you can certainly use it for us.”

  “Speaking of Saebellus,” Adonis immediately reproached, further deflecting Vale’s advances, “you still have not told him about Hadoream. You cannot side with Darcarus on this matter—your loyalty to Saebel should come first. If you do not tell Saebel the truth, you are betraying him.”

  Adonis had chosen the perfect moment to manipulate his partner. Alvena could see Vale’s eyes spark, seeking a swift compromise. “You are right, of course. I will tell Saebel… You just have to allow me time to warn Darcarus. I swear.”

  Tell Saebellus? Warn Prince Darcarus? What did Vale know?

  Adonis watched the encroaching trail of Vale’s fingers and allowed himself a conceding smile. “Alright,” he submitted. “I suppose that is fair.”

  Vale’s lips twitched and he sat upright. “You have the disposition and patience of a god,” he breathed. He slithered forward, putting a hand to Adonis’ chest.

  Alvena’s eyes widened, their conversation forgotten. The book slipped off her lap and landed with a thunk. Were they going to have relations right in front of her?!

  “I am too lucky. Every time I look at Saebel’s debacle with Ilsevel, I am reminded of this.” His hand frisked down Adonis’ chest as though Alvena was not sitting mere yards away, gawking in horror. “Imagine if you had not let those smugglers fuck you. I’d be a lonely—”

  With a sudden flash in his eyes, Adonis’ relaxed features lost their soft curve and he punched Vale squarely in the jaw.

  Alvena nearly clapped, equally shocked and delighted by the blow.

  The Sel’ven tumbled across the bed, almost spilling over the side. “That was cold and insensitive,” Adonis growled, knocking Vale’s grasping hand away.

  Vale put the hand to his chin as he crawled back toward the bed’s center. “Damn it, Adonis! I was complimenting you! It all worked out for the best!”

  Adonis tossed his head, raising his chin in solid indignation. “You can drink a bottle of Ulasum’s tonight.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vale cooed in terribly sweet supplication. “You’re right. I’m an insensitive bastard and I didn’t mean for my words to bite. Let me make it up to you. Please?”

  “I believe I told you to poison your tactless tongue.”

  Vale slid forward, cautiously reaching out a hand and placing it on Adonis’ thigh. Alvena watched Adonis smack it sharply and Vale drew back. “I will do whatever you say,” he whispered.

  She saw Adonis smile faintly, but he kept his expression hidden from Vale.

  “Anything you say,” the captain tried again, replacing his hand on Adonis’ leg and drifting it up his thigh.

  And suddenly they were gone.

  Alvena started, jerking her head from left to right, but only an empty room met her searching eyes.

  With a terrible, dawning realization, she remembered how Hairem would grieve in frustration, saying that after every battle, Saebellus’ army would simply… vanish.

  So this was the male who had single-handedly allowed Saebellus to win the war.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The curtain of the tiny room was drawn; only the howls of wind and the tink of ice against the glass signaled the blizzard’s presence. Inside, the air was hot and muggy, so thick that Hazamareth felt she could almost drown in it.

  She gave a deep, pleasured inhale.

  Tsuki was rebinding his wound, his calloused hands snagging on the soft gauze as he wound it around his chest. “Doesn’t this room feel chilly to you?” he asked. “Maybe I should throw in another log.”

  Hazamareth snorted once, the only necessary signal for her disapproval.

  “Fine,” Tsuki begrudged, and pinned the final edge of his gauze to the rest of his haphazard creation. He dropped back against the headboard, jarring Hazamareth and nearly causing her to drop her book. “Three days and I already feel the beast is lost. If Vethru cost us our bounty, so help me, I’ll make an exception to hunt him next!”

  “Stop fretting, Tsuki,” she remarked, her finger sliding fondly down the old parchment. She turned the next page, admiring the fine sketch on the left. There were not a lot of words, but that was fine by her. She had never cared much for reading. Still was not particularly good at it. “We’ll leave this place when we can. The beast has been killing someone every day—when he stops, we’ll know he’s fled and then be but a day behind. Anyways, our experience with their kind says he is not going to relinquish such easy hunting grounds. Especially when he believes he’s lost us across the channel.”

  A knock resonated through the wooden door a
nd Tsuki snatched up the crossbow. “If that is Vethru again I’m going to just land one straight between the eyes. No speech,” he growled. He swung his legs out of the bed and stalked stiffly across the room.

  Hazamareth gave a crooked smile, amused more by his sauntering gait than his words. She knew Vethru would not be on his feet for some time. Without the ability to regenerate, his recovery might be weeks behind theirs.

  Still, Tsuki opened the door a crack, leading the welcome with the tip of his crossbow.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” a man mused from the other side, and Tsuki was forced to retreat as the door was pushed wide.

  Hazamareth dropped her book, ears perking at the familiar voice. “Rel!” she exclaimed, brows rising into her dark hair. “Good gods, it has been many moons! How did you find us? Aren’t you about done working for Saebellus? Has he given you that old book yet?”

  She noted Tsuki’s eyes had brightened and he had lowered his arm, letting it and the crossbow drop loosely to his side. “If you’re coming back to hunt with us, you picked a damn good time. The creature we’re after is worse than any bloodthirster or lycanthrope you can remember!”

  Relstavum stepped deeper into the room, head slowly swiveling about their surroundings. His boot extended backward as he moved, tapping the door closed. His black eyes flicked once—shamelessly—to Hazamareth’s breasts, and then down to the weapon swinging slowly at Tsuki’s side. A thousand expressions flitted across his rugged face, but before Hazamareth could gather even one, they were gone—replaced with the stoic, indecipherable male they had come to know and respect. Yes, he had abandoned their trade to serve some sniveling warlord, but he was no less the formidable warrior. His hand swept into his vest and emerged partially to reveal an old, tattered tome.

  Then the book vanished once more.

  “Ah, so you’ve been paid,” Tsuki noted. “Then you’re done with Saebellus, I assume?”

  Hazamareth shook her head in disgust. “A decade of work for a book…? Relstavum, you’re simply mad.”

  The man merely inclined his head. “I was on my way to Nordeep when I received a command to convene with the two of you. So I am, in fact, here on business on Saebellus’ behalf.” He stepped past Tsuki, spun about in a billow of ebony fabric, and dropped into a seat strewn with dirty clothes.

  The weathered chair was far from the only disaster. If Hazamareth had known Relstavum was coming, she would have at least gathered the clutter into a single pile.

  Or mountain, if she was to be at all accurate.

  Yet, even surrounded by that chaos, the chair was flattered by the spectacle of the dark, rugged skin and superbly attractive physique that now resided upon it. Not only was the body clean, but it was practically bathing in wealth. Clearly, Saebellus had offered the man far more than the promised book.

  It was moments like these when Hazamareth wondered what it would be like to have work where the reward was tangible gratitude rather than another scar. “So what does your mighty warlord want of us?” she sniffed and tilted her chin away. “We are already working for that prickly little captain of his.”

  She watched as Relstavum reclined, slipping into their environment as though he were once more one of them. He clasped his hands together, raising only his index fingers to form an arch pressed against his lower lip. “You work for Vale no longer—your employment has been transferred to me.” He nudged a mass of clothing aside as he shifted his feet upon their disheveled floor. A cockroach sprang free and made a scurrying dash for Hazamareth’s undergarments. There was silence as the three pairs of eyes followed it. “…My request is very simple,” Rel continued when the abhorrent little beast vanished within. “I still need Jerah dead, but now I also need his body.”

  “Jerah? You named the creature? What in Ramul do you want with his body?!” Tsuki balked, jerking his gaze from the mound. “You do not trust us to do our job?! We have never abandoned a mission, Rel. We’re the ones who taught you that principle in the first place! You were with us for over twenty god-damn years and you dare to suggest us dishonest?!”

  Hazamareth felt a shiver run down her spine and she shot Tsuki a cautious glance. Relstavum’s expression was sharp enough to cut stone. With as great a hunter as Rel had been, she had almost forgotten about the border of madness along which he had always seemed to dance.

  Why, he would burn down the whole inn if he was determined to kill the roach. And they no longer had the Amulet of Rohar to protect them from such a rampage.

  “It is not I who requires proof, but Saebellus,” he replied coolly. “And that is who has employed your services.”

  Hazamareth laughed once, hard and loud and straight of face. It was a fine show of bravado in the face of the necromancer’s glare. “The entire, massive body? You are simply mad, Rel. I just had to half-drag Tsuki through town and I feel as though I broke my spine.” She paused, eyes narrowing, tone lowering. “Are you certain it is not you who wants the body?”

  Her boldness faded as Relstavum’s expression remained unnaturally fixed. A chill clouded his gaze—amiability shoved aside. “Tsuki is strong,” he replied softly. “I have seen him carry five times his own weight.”

  And Tsuki, the vain bastard, was too flattered by the exaggeration to deny it.

  “Twenty percent will be added to compensate for the inconvenience this addition shall cause you. With the exorbitant coin you were promised already, this should more than extinguish any qualms.”

  Hazamareth clenched her teeth. “This beast is different, Rel.”

  The man’s long, dark fingers tapped in unison upon the arm of the chair, growing in speed at her words. His eyes had been so very calm, so very sane when he had arrived.

  But that was gone.

  “And what do you always say?” he whispered. “Different or not, they all die the same.”

  ‘Maybe not this one.’ But she did not voice her doubt aloud.

  Tsuki, however, was determined to dismiss their previous failure to slay the beast. “They all die the same,” he affirmed, and dropped down once more beside her. “Thirty percent, Rel. Then you can consider the beast already dead.”

  It was the wise response… Any other would have made them the roach.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The city of Nordeep, where Geldin Laeris’ Brotherhood maintained its headquarters, was a week’s march north across snow-covered plains and ice-laden trees. After Sanae, of course, where they had taken the damn cow.

  Fucking Feber.

  Despite that Sanae was a deviation from their true destination, Jikun had been willing to compromise that much—if nothing else than to pacify Navon’s jealousy. The male was growing more unbearable by the day.

  “Navon,” he barked. “Where is Eldaeus?”

  Navon pointed wearily at a drooping redbern tree. “Where do you think, Jikun?”

  On Sevrigel, such foliage would have been a mere sapling, but here, the towering giant was the largest tree for leagues. There was a brilliant flash of color near the peak, and Eldaeus’ head rustled into view. “Jikun! Navon! It is a city! A small city, but it is a city!”

  And then he promptly crashed through the frozen branches to narrowly avoid landing on his head.

  Jikun hardly spared a moment of flat regard before he found his legs propelling him past the groaning Faraven and up the small crest of the hill.

  “Nordeep,” Darcarus spoke with satisfaction as Jikun inhaled the sight.

  “Beautiful,” Jikun instantly approved. A strong stench of human waste and burning wood wafted to the sky, but by all the gods, it was better than anything they had encountered yet.

  He had learned to lower his expectations.

  The walls of the city shone like silver-tipped marble in the evening light, glinting, Jikun imagined, from the ample number of soldiers manning the walls. There was a beauty to the order of military presence. “Now this is far more promising, Navon. And you wanted to go shit in trenches with a band of farmer boys.”
He snorted his disdain at the Helven’s sad attempt to keep him occupied and stepped briskly down the hill and across the tree-speckled field.

  “Ouch-ch-ch-ch! Wait for me!” Eldaeus called from somewhere behind.

  But Jikun paid him no heed—gone were the pathetic expanses of thatched huts they had traversed through along their way. This was the first city they had encountered with genuine potential to lead them to Relstavum. Although this prime settlement was not elven, it was a testament to what heights of power one man could achieve.

  And evidence of how much he had to offer.

  Navon reached his side as they passed through Nordeep’s southern gate—a massive, iron portcullis drawn up into the thick, pale stone. The guards on either side of the short tunnel acknowledged their passage with no more than a brief flick of their eyes, and in a few short steps the four elves emerged onto the cobbled roads.

  “Eldaeus, stay close. Navon, watch him.”

  Although the Helven’s physique was stiff with disapproval, his pale hand caught Eldaeus by the back of his leather jerkin, restraining him from an inevitable prance down the bustling street. “This is not what Sel’ari would want.”

  “I do not answer to Sel’ari,” Jikun replied coolly.

  Darcarus tutted, exchanging a brief roll of the eyes with Jikun, and then stepped casually to the front of their company.

  Since the Pass, respect for Navon’s opinions had befittingly dwindled.

  Darcarus smoothed down his half-opened shirt—two more buttons had freed themselves from the now-tattered cotton. If his rakish attitude persisted, soon he would meld seamlessly into the humans’ squalor. “Excuse me, my lord,” the prince called to a tattooed, barrel-chested man lingering near the city gates.

  Jikun was quite certain the man was not even the shit a lord scraped off the sole of his boot. But he refrained from correction.

  “Could you be so generous as to point me in the direction of the Brotherhood?”