Thieves' World: Enemies of Fortune

by Lynn Abbey

  He would have liked to believe that she kept him so “busy” because she knew his reputation for being a lady’s man, and was afraid he would stray. Unfortunately, he got the distinct impression that when she wasn’t using him in one way or another she didn’t give a good damn what happened to him, or what he did, as long as he was handy when she needed him again.

  Kaytin felt spent, but how could he possibly tell the woman he’d chased for years that one really could have too much of a good thing? In fact, Kaytin fully believed that if he begged for mercy she would find someone in the same minute who she believed could keep up with her.

  Not that Kaytin believed any one man could.

  Kadasah’s energy seemed to be boundless, and every time she killed one of the followers of the Lady of Blood, her sexual appetite became even more insatiable than usual.

  And she had killed a lot of them lately. Or at least it seemed like a lot to Kaytin; of course his fatigue and Kadasah’s embellishments had blurred the actual numbers, but he was pretty sure she’d killed at least two in the last four weeks.

  She would scour the area between the ruins of the Temple of Savankala and the Street of Red Lanterns, hunting for her prey. Sometimes when none of the Bloody Hand had surfaced for a while she would go into the tunnels after them with a stealth almost magical. So Kaytin knew damn good and well that she could be quiet when she wanted to!

  Ever since that bloated, silk-clad pud Kadasah called her patron had given her four times her normal fee for the little added information she’d gleaned from their near-death experience in the tunnels, she didn’t need any encouragement at all to go right down into the ground. More times than not dragging poor Kaytin right along behind her.

  Kadasah seemed to be highly motivated by money—a fact that defied all explanation, because she never seemed to have any, and she certainly didn’t have anything to show for it. She chose to live in the decaying outbuilding of an abandoned redbrick estate in the hills beyond the walls. The roof of this building was only a few half-rotted timbers with an old oilcloth stretched across it. The door had ropes where hinges should have been and a hole in the middle of it big enough to throw a cat through. There was no furniture, not even a stick. At night the only light was from a red lantern she’d stolen from the street with the same name. It hung from a tattered piece of rope tied to one of the before-mentioned half-rotted rafters, and every time she refilled the lamp she had less rope. When Kaytin asked why she didn’t just put up a new rope she explained that the one she had still worked.

  There was a big stack of old blankets piled haphazardly in the middle of the floor, which she called a bed.

  She owned exactly one stew pot, a skillet, a wooden bowl, and a spoon, all of which she kept in a wooden box by the front door of the three paces by three paces structure. She kept their food supplies in there as well, when there actually were any. And she—they—would stay here for days at a time, eating whatever might be in the box and whatever Kadasah could kill. Not, of course, including the cultists, though sometimes he wondered.

  Kaytin had given up asking what the current burned animal hanging on a stick might be, deciding it was easier to eat it if he just didn’t know what it used to be.

  Kadasah kept more in her saddlebags than she did in her house, except of course when the saddlebags were in the house. What she could pack into those bags never ceased to amaze Kaytin. It seemed that whenever she needed something for her “work” it was always contained within one of them.

  Kaytin didn’t know just how much her “patron” paid Kadasah for the pieces of skin laden with scars or tattoos she left as proof of her kill—she had certainly never told Kaytin an exact amount—but he had a feeling that they could be living in the lap of luxury in some apartment in Sanctuary instead of out here in the filth.

  He wondered just what she did with all the damn money. She gave him only barely enough to jingle in his pocket—Kaytin didn’t mind being a kept man at all, but he would have liked to be at the very least well kept.

  It was true that they ate and drank a lot in the taverns and bars of the city, but they didn’t eat that much, and he doubted even they could drink that much. Besides, she made a frequent habit of sneaking out without paying her bills at all. Sometimes she’d even purposely start a brawl just to keep the barkeep’s attention drawn away from the fact that she was leaving.

  In fact she stole most everything they needed. The only time Kaytin had ever seen Kadasah willingly part with money was to buy new weapons from the Black Spider.

  Kaytin remembered the day well. He had found the shop shortly after it opened and happened to have been there to see the owner’s own prowess with the weapons he sold.

  When later that day Kadasah had proudly shown Kaytin the new weapons she had bought to replace the ones that had been taken by the followers of Dyareela, he had looked at them, yawned, shrugged, and told her he’d seen better, and at better prices.

  She demanded to know where, and he took her straight to the Black Spider.

  “Can I help you?” Spyder asked from behind the counter.

  She turned to look at him and smiled. “New weapons.” “But your weapons look new,” he said looking at her, one eyebrow cocked in suspicion.

  “Aye, but my friend tells me they aren’t as good as your weapons,” Kadasah said slamming a thumb Kaytin’s way.

  Spyder had smiled at him. “Good to see you again, Kaytin.”

  From that moment on it was as if Kaytin had gone invisible. As Spyder showed Kadasah all the weapons, she moaned and groaned in damn near orgasmic ecstasy. It was embarrassing to see her gush in such an uncharacteristic manner.

  Spyder hadn’t even had to work at talking her into the most expensive bastard sword and hand ax in the entire store, with a trade-in of course. She didn’t blink an eye at the cost nor did she try to steal the things. And when she had handed over her weapons, paid the difference, and had them fastened to her person, she was in no hurry to leave. She didn’t suddenly remember that she had come there with Kaytin and say, Come on, Kaytin, let’s go, and by the way thanks for bringing me here, and I love you with all my heart and soul.

  No, she never even acknowledged his presence. In fact, it soon became painfully obvious why she wasn’t showing that she was connected to Kaytin at all as she began to flirt outrageously with Spyder, not that Spyder for his part seemed to take any notice. She engaged him in conversation about weaponry and even played dumb. She started telling him stories, bragging about her riding abilities, all her battles and her talent with both sword and ax. She even, once again, told the tired story about how she’d killed three men with one ax blow.

  At first Kaytin had thought it was all some trick, some way for her to get her money back, because he had never known Kadasah to flirt with any man including—maybe even especially—him unless she wanted something. But no, she never once started to steer the conversation into, “You’re in a bad section of town, and I am the best bastard sword fighter in all the Kingdom, maybe the known world, and for a small fee …” No, she was actually flirting with him as if Kaytin didn’t exist at all.

  “I’m wondering,” Spyder asked, “why you didn’t enter the tournament?”

  “Tournament?” Kadasah had asked curiously.

  Spyder had then told her all about the damnable tournament. In fact, it seemed they might stand there talking all day, but then Spyder’s mysterious and beautiful mate came strolling down the stairs, saw Kadasah’s rather blatant display, and Kaytin swore he heard the woman growl.

  Kadasah took one look at the woman and the way Spyder looked at her and seemed to realize she was wasting her time. She said her good-byes and left. Kaytin had followed her, as he always followed, even though in that moment he had known … . Nothing had changed between them. She was using him before, and she was using him now. Kaytin meant nothing to her; he was just, well … her man whore.

  To add insult to injury she had chided him all the way home for not telling her
about the tournament, which she was sure she could have won.

  He had been silent, pouting, for all the good it had done him. If Kadasah had noticed at all, she did a fine act of hiding it.

  There was very little he could do about the position he had put himself into. His mother had disowned him, and he had no place else to go. As little as Kadasah had, Kaytin had even less. His mother had been in such a rage over his affair with Kadasah—it was so hard to hide things from people with the sight—that she’d thrown him out with only the clothes on his back, screaming after his departing form that she had no son.

  Kaytin didn’t even have a marketable trade. The only job—if you could call it that—he’d ever been any good at was listening in on other people’s conversations, blending in, being relatively unnoticed, and reporting the things he heard back to his family. And now … well, none of them were actually talking to him.

  So his life was playing decoy for Kadasah, and being her love monkey.

  He could probably get a job as a bartender or a dockworker and rent a place in town. There were other women, many women, women who had loved him, who would take him in.

  There was only one problem.

  He loved Kadasah with every fiber of his being. He would willingly stay with her forever, even in this hovel.

  If she didn’t frog him to death.

  Kadasah belched loudly then yelled—just to make sure he was awake no doubt, “Hey, Kaytin! You want some scrambled eggs?”

  “Yes,” he said in a small, tired voice, trying not to think about where she had gotten the eggs and what condition they might be in. It hardly mattered. Whatever they had been before, they’d be cinders when Kadasah was done with them. He had heard once that charcoal was good for your digestion. If that was the case, he’d never have to worry about any ailments of the stomach.

  He heard her starting to cook. She’d obviously been up long enough to get the fire going. She was whistling a happy tune as she clanged the one spoon against the one skillet, and it sounded like doom to him.

  They had just left the pub after a couple of pints and a bit of bread and cheese. Normally Kaytin would have scoffed at such a bland meal, but after three days of Kadasah’s cooking it had been like a little slice of heaven.

  “You never listen, or you would have known about the tournament,” Kaytin said, wishing this argument wouldn’t have started up again. He climbed onto the back of his mule.

  “People purposely kept the news from me because they knew that I would win,” Kadasah said, now accusing the general population as she climbed onto her red stallion, Vagrant. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Kadasah asked as she started riding toward the ruined Temple of Savankala.

  “For the hundredth time I did tell you. Kaytin talks, and you do not listen.” The truth was he hadn’t told her about the tournament because he knew she would enter if she had known about it, and although she was a spectacular fighter, even he didn’t believe she was as good as she thought she was. Since she really did only half listen to him she wasn’t likely to catch him in his lie.

  “I do listen … most of the time,” she said, then added, “you should have told me more than once and when I was sober. They said the prize was some jewel worth a lot of money.”

  “Maybe we could have bought a new tarp,” Kaytin muttered with mock enthusiasm.

  “What’s that?” Kadasah asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You know, Kaytin, if you didn’t prattle on so, saying meaningless nothings and mumbling, I might actually listen to you when you were talking.”

  “Are you listening now?”

  “I am,” she assured him.

  “Did you hear what those fellows at the table behind us were saying about the ship?” Kaytin asked excitedly.

  “Yeah, big deal …”

  “Kadasah, the ship wasn’t like anything anyone has seen before. It was in perfect condition. Its cargo was still intact. There was no one on board, not alive and not dead.”

  “So? It’s just a ship, big froggin’ deal,” Kadasah said as she reined Vagrant to the left as they turned a street corner.

  “So … you don’t find it even a little interesting?” Kaytin asked, more than a little disappointed.

  Kadasah shrugged. “Not as interesting as that,” she said in a whisper. She nodded her head to the right where a man was looking around covertly before ducking between two buildings into a narrow alley.

  “Who is that?” Kaytin asked.

  “That’s a member of Naimun’s entourage, and he lives in the castle, so what is he doing in this part of Sanctuary just before the beginning of the early watch?” She jumped off Vagrant, who immediately came to a complete standstill. Then she looked at Kaytin as if demanding that he do the same thing.

  “We never do what I want to do,” Kaytin mumbled as he watched Kadasah fold herself into the gloom of early evening. “No, no, that’s all right. I’ll just stay here with the animals, no need to worry about Kaytin.” He glared at the horse. “She loves you more than Kaytin,” he muttered accusingly, and he could swear the horse smiled. Kaytin sighed. “Even the animal he laughs at Kaytin’s pain.”

  Kadasah. recognized the man from her days in the palace. He might have dressed down, but he still stuck out like a sore thumb to her hunter’s eye. She might not listen, but, she saw plenty well.

  She tracked him down the narrow alley and wasn’t too surprised at all when he seemed to be taking a back way to the ruined Temple of Savankala. She slung herself into a doorway to hide when she saw him stop as he entered the seemingly deserted temple ruins and looked around, no doubt to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

  It was nowhere near cloak weather, but she found herself wishing she had her black one just because it would have helped her hide in the shadows. She continued to follow him only when she was sure he hadn’t seen her.

  If he isn’t up to no good, then why is he so worried? she thought. Kadasah was pretty sure that she knew what he was up to.

  She’d tried to tell those hardheaded, sheep-shite-for-brains idiots who were holed up in the palace that the Dyareelans were back in force. That they had planted people in Arizak’s own court, but none of them would listen. Not to her. She was unstable in their eyes. Kadasah grated against everything they believed she should be. She wasn’t a proper Irrune. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

  Her quarry disappeared from in front of her. She knew exactly what that meant because she knew about this opening into the Dyareelan tunnels.

  She went back to where she had left Kaytin and Vagrant, took the horse’s reins, and started leading him back the way she’d just come. Kaytin got off his mule and followed.

  “Well?” he asked in a whisper.

  “We’re going to take a shortcut to the ruins tonight.”

  “Was it who you thought it was?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it. He turned and I got a good look at his face. It’s him all right. I can’t remember his name, but it’s him—one of Naimun’s boys. He went right down into the tunnels, too, so either he’s going after them—which I sort of doubt since he was alone—or he’s one of them.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “We’re going to wait for him to come up, and then we’re going to grab him, take him to Arizak, and make him confess—give up his buddies, too. I’ll prove I wasn’t just talking shite.”

  “Kaytin hates when you say ‘we,’” Kaytin whined. “You say ‘we’ and I get hurt. My own sweet love, let us not make the chief’s problem our own. They will not listen to you no matter what proof you bring, for they have branded the woman with the purest heart in all of Sanctuary as a deceitful, drunken, troublemaker.”

  “Frogs, Kaytin, I don’t have time for your crap. Come own.”

  Kaytin followed, dragging his mule behind him, his chin nearly resting on his chest. He knew this was not going to end well.

  They waited, and they waited, and then they waited some more, until it was pitch da
rk and near the late watch. Kaytin was convinced that Kadasah had either dreamed the whole thing or the man had left from another opening. Then they heard a shuffling sound, there was a sudden motion, and there he was.

  He appeared to be alone, not that Kaytin suffered from, any notion that Kadasah would have stayed in hiding if twenty of the Bloody Hand had come boiling up out of that hole.

  She struck a match and lit the rag hanging from the bottle she held in her hand, and then tossed the bottle down the hole just to be on the safe side. It wouldn’t do any real damage, but it would at the very least stop anyone from coming out of the hole for the next few minutes.

  As the man turned to face her she pulled the sword from her back. There was a small explosion, and then a very gratifying plume of flame erupted from the hole at her back.

  The man drew his own sword.

  “You again,” he hissed. “Kadasah, I told them they should hunt you down, but it’s just as well they didn’t. No one believed you, and now I get to kill you myself. I will go back to the palace holding your head up high, and all will praise me.”

  “Listen, pud, no man has ever bested me with sword. I’ve killed everyone I ever intended to kill, but I don’t want to kill you. I need you alive, to be my proof,” Kadasah announced.

  “You live in a dream world, Kadasah. You cannot kill me for I am a servant of Dyareela! I shall drain your blood for the Dark Mother.” He ran at Kadasah, and she easily parried his blow. Then she slapped him in the back of his head with the flat of her blade, driving him to his knees, but he jumped up and charged at her again. Kaytin leaped forward, stuck out a foot, and tripped the man. He went flying, landing at Kadasah’s feet, and before she could stop herself instinct took over and she slammed her blade through the back of the guy’s neck.

  “Frogs!” Kadasah exclaimed as she pulled the blade from the wound.