Thief's Desire

by Isabo Kelly

There was a long, quiet pause. Then Kevin asked, “What are you saying?” His brow set in deep lines over his narrowed green eyes.

  “Not my daughter,” Tiya whispered.

  “Signs were given in the prophecy to predict the coming of this child. A little over two years ago, we saw the first indicators her birth was imminent. Six months ago, we witnessed the final signs. The signs to indicate that the child had been born.”

  “Henry, there were probably thousands of children…hundreds of thousands born six months ago,” Jacob said, his voice even and reasonable. “What makes you think Arlana is the one?”

  Vic saw the distress on both Tiya’s and Kevin’s faces and understood Jacob’s reluctance to believe. She’d doubt it, too, if she hadn’t looked into Henry’s eyes. There was more to the story, things he hadn’t told them yet. She could see that as clearly as she could see his conviction in the truth of his belief. She sucked in her bottom lip, thought about their situation. And a fearful certainty crept into her mind.

  There were too many coincidences. Too much effort had gone into Arlana’s kidnapping. Whether she was the prophesied child or not, someone else besides Henry believed she was the one. That was enough to make their situation much worse than they’d expected.

  “The stronger magicians knew the instant she was born,” Henry answered Jacob. “There was a wave in the magical energies, an unmistakable wave. It was the final sign. Lord Caul was one who felt this change. Those who knew what to look for knew when she was born, as well as where. Not the exact place, but the area. Fordin Barony.”

  “But I’m sure there were many children born in Fordin around that same time, Henry. You can’t be certain. You said yourself you didn’t know the exact place. The barony is big. You must be wrong. You couldn’t know.” Tiya’s voice held a hint of panic, an undercurrent of pleading.

  “My lady, her power would be hard to mistake. We have no doubt. Especially…”

  “Especially?” Jacob urged.

  “Especially now that she’s been kidnapped,” Vic said, meeting Henry’s gaze.

  The young magician nodded solemnly. “There’s more,” he said just above a whisper. “She’s an innocent now. As such, she’s neutral. She can be corrupted.”

  Tiya’s eyes flared wide. “What do you mean corrupted? Are you telling me my daughter will become evil?”

  “No. I’m telling you that she can be influenced now. That she’s vulnerable to…”

  At his pause, Tiya leaned forward, looking hard into the sorcerer’s eyes. “Who?” she demanded. “The magicians who’ve taken her? Who would hurt my child?”

  Vic sat a little straighter, suddenly worried that the young mother’s reaction to the news might be a bad thing for the cave walls.

  Henry remained quiet for a long moment then shook his head. “I don’t know the source, my lady. I only know there’s a power to the north, a strong power. One who’s also seen the signs, felt the child’s birth. One who would control her. And the fate of the world.”

  “Tracker,” Vic whispered.

  “What?” Jacob, Tiya and Kevin all said at the same time.

  She looked up. All eyes were focused on her. Taking a breath, she said, “When Tracker first told me that he’d been hired to smuggle the blood magicians into Dareelia, he spoke of the man who hired him. He wasn’t one of the magicians. He was someone…something else.

  “He wasn’t able to give me a description. He couldn’t remember what the man looked like. He said it was like the image simply wasn’t in his memory. He also said that the only impression that had stuck with him was that the man was harmless.” She bit her bottom lip and looked at Tiya. “I don’t think this man is harmless, my lady. He’s the one responsible for Arlana’s kidnapping.”

  The small group fell silent for a long time. Kevin held his wife tighter, the lines on his brow and around his mouth deepened. Tiya looked stunned, her mouth hanging open slightly. Henry never looked up from the cave floor.

  At last, Tiya said, very quietly, “You’ve told us this for a reason, Henry. Besides the fact that, as her mother, I should know these things, why? Why now?”

  “We must see that the child isn’t allowed to stay with this evil influence. Tomorrow is uncertain. If I shouldn’t survive, it’s important that you know the risk, the importance behind our mission. We can’t, under any circumstances, allow the child to be taken by that power.”

  Henry fell silent again, but all understood his underlying meaning.

  Even if it meant the child must die. The words echoed in Vic’s mind as she studied Kevin and Tiya. Finally, with absolute certainty, she said, “We’ll rescue Arlana.”

  Tiya looked at her for a silent moment. Then the shock began to fade from her bright blue eyes and she nodded.

  “We’ll rescue Arlana,” Jacob echoed. Outside the sun had set, leaving only the fire light inside the cave. It cast the faces of their small group in soft, warm shadows that set a sharp contrast to the seriousness of their discussion. The must and wood smoke scent of the cave now mixed with the smells of roasting meat and boiling stew.

  After another long silence, Jacob said, “I think it would be good if we all got some rest. Tomorrow will be a hard ride. With luck, if we push, we should reach Georna village by early morning the day after tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow then,” Henry said, standing. “Good night.”

  The young sorcerer walked to his trail blanket, shoulders slumped. He didn’t bother to eat, but collapsed into a restless sleep.

  Tiya and Kevin left for one of the small fires after wishing Jacob and Vic quiet good nights. Alone, Jacob turned to her. “Are you hungry? Whatever they’ve got cooking smells pretty good.”

  “I am hungry,” she agreed. “But, Jacob…”

  “What is it, little thief?”

  She frowned, unable to put her fears and concerns into words. She wasn’t entirely sure what bothered her the most. Obviously, the stranger and what he might represent. The GeMorin that were almost certainly waiting between the cave and Georna castle. The fate of the world, she supposed. Her own life. Jacob’s life. But how to explain the gnawing in her gut that had nothing to do with the fate of the world and everything to do with the shock on Tiya’s face? She couldn’t explain it to herself. With a sigh, she gave up and said, “Nothing. Let’s get some food.”

  That night, she dreamed.

  She lay atop a tall stone altar covered with black cloth. Around her, red candles blazed. Beyond the circle of their light, the surrounding darkness was an impenetrable, heavy black. For a heartbeat, she squinted at the candles.

  Then she tried to move. And failed. Only her eyes would obey her mind’s commands. She tried vainly to lift her arm, to move her foot, to turn her head.

  Panic.

  She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t so much as move her lips. Even breathing was difficult. Her chest hurt with the pain of forcing air into her lungs. Her nostrils clogged with a too-sweet scent that made her stomach roll.

  Out of the darkness, a shadow emerged. A black robe and cowl hid his features, but she knew who he was. She didn’t see the flare of white skin and hair until he stood at the foot of the altar.

  He smiled, his colorless lips parting, a baring of teeth more than a sign of humor or amusement. “You have witnessed the ritual,” he whispered.

  In her mind, she screamed, calling for Jacob, for anyone. For help. She hurled threats, pleas, curses at the white sorcerer. But no sound escaped her motionless lips.

  As she watched, he pulled a knife from his sleeve. Unlike the sacrificial dagger, however, this knife had a golden hilt embedded with emeralds. Her heartbeat raced. She looked back at the sorcerer and saw Malkiney now wearing the robe.

  He grinned, his eyes glistening with a rapture she knew to be insanity. He stepped forward, twisting the knife in his fingers, giggling in spurts.

  “No one survives seeing the ritual, Flash,” he said, his voice high and frantic. “No one.” He giggled and raised
the knife high above his head.

  Her mind strained against terror. She tried again, desperate to move, to scream. Her eyes bulged. In the back of her mind, she shouted that this had to be a dream. But her attempts to wake failed, and the knife fell slowly toward her chest. Around her, chanting resonated, rising in volume even as the knife fell. She felt the blade sink into her chest…

  And sat up with a strangled cry.

  The cave was quiet, dark, but for a small torch flickering in the back. Her pulse raced and cold sweat beaded her forehead. She closed her eyes, breathing deliberately, slowly. You were dreaming, Flash. Nothing more than a dream.

  She didn’t notice Jacob’s arms close around her shoulders. Only when he spoke softly in her ear did she realize he was sitting beside her.

  “Victoria? Are you all right?”

  Her heart still pounded, but the rush of blood and adrenaline began to ease. Her body trembled in the aftershock of terror. She nodded and whispered, “I was dreaming.”

  His arms tightened, pulling her against his chest. She shuddered and pressed her face against his smooth muscles, absorbing his heat, breathing his familiar, welcome scent. After a time, her heartbeat returned to normal and her breathing eased.

  Jacob settled back onto their mat, pulling her with him. Stroking her hair, he coaxed her back to sleep, whispering, “Don’t worry about the nightmares, love. I’ll keep them away.”

  Chapter Twenty

  By first light, Vic and the rest of the group were awake and ready to travel. The day promised to be bright and cloudless. The morning air was cold and painfully dry. Bird song trilled peacefully overhead.

  They rode fast. The wounded rode in the center of the group, with the most seriously wounded riding double with a healthy soldier. They changed horses often to compensate for the extra weight an individual horse had to carry. They stopped twice during that harrowing day, but only briefly.

  Vic scanned their surroundings as they passed a forest that grew denser with each mile. The road steadily climbed up into the mountains, taking them into the middle of the range. No hint of ambush.

  As night fell and further travel became impossible, they set a hasty camp in a grove. The trees gave protection from the elements, but cold still seeped into her bones despite the thick folds of her cape and tunic. They didn’t start even a small cooking fire for fear of giving away their position. Instead, the group huddled together under their travel blankets, using each other to keep warm. Sentries changed frequently, allowing everyone a chance at rest.

  But Vic couldn’t sleep in the cold with her nerves tensed and ready for any sign of attack. She leaned against Jacob, hugging his arms where they wrapped around her stomach, listened and watched.

  When the sky finally began to lighten, she blinked gritty eyes, having dozed no more than a few minutes all night. Jacob looked just as haggard, the loss of sleep evident in his handsome, beard-stubbled face.

  The group was up and riding before the sun had fully peaked the eastern slopes. That day, the sky was thick with dark gray clouds. Their heavy mounds added to Vic’s agitation, making her feel like she was slowly being pressed into the earth. Around them, the forest had lost its colored plumage, leaving only the deep green of pines. Beneath the canopy of trees, the forest floor was dark and impenetrable.

  The faster they rode, the closer they drew to Georna castle, the more her apprehension grew. It was too easy. They were so close, she could feel it. And it was too easy.

  Not more than a league from Georna village, things stopped being easy. GeMorin charged out of the forest, surrounding them almost before they noticed their presence. Even the horses hadn’t noted the silent passage of the warrior goblins until it was too late.

  Vic clung to Gale’s mane as the mare skidded to a halt. All around her, the shouts of humans and squeals of horses echoed off the mountains. She pulled her wrist knife, but despite the week on horseback, she couldn’t fight and stay on the mare at the same time. For the first few minutes, she clutched Night’s Gale’s neck while the war-trained mare battled the swarming teams of goblins. And, to her credit, the mare was winning.

  But one sideslip too many sent Vic tumbling to the ground. Instinct born of years of climbing buildings and dodging knives allowed her to roll and rise to her feet in a single movement. On the ground, she found her balance in time to face the first GeMorin. The goblin was only a few inches taller than her, but she was as broad as Jacob. If she blocked a blow from the goblin’s saber with her dagger, it would shatter her arm. Not a good plan. Instead, she resorted to ducking and avoiding, weaving and dodging the razor-edged blade.

  The GeMorin was quick. But Vic’s survival instincts worked at a furious pace. Her initial terror fell subservient to tactics. Her vision sharpened, her senses heightened. She felt the saber pass inches above her head, the heat from the goblin’s body filling the space between them. Her own breath hit the frigid mountain air in puffs like smoke. She watched, waited, avoiding the deadly goblin blade. And when a minute opening in the goblin’s defenses appeared, Vic was ready before her mind consciously registered the warrior’s lapse. She slipped behind the GeMorin and buried her knife in the base of the goblin’s neck.

  Vic spared a glance around the struggling masses, hunting for Jacob. She’d lost sight of him the instant the attack had begun. Fear surged into her blood, clenching her gut, when she couldn’t find him. Then another GeMorin closed and she redirected her focus on staying alive.

  This goblin was larger than the first, but his overconfidence worked in her favor. He didn’t expect the little human to be trouble. She answered his arrogance by sending her dart knife into the GeMorin’s throat.

  “Vic!”

  She swung at the sound of her name, in time to see a third goblin bearing down on her. The warning gave her the seconds she needed. She rolled passed the broad swing of a bloodied saber, surged to her feet, and saw Garath’s sword emerge from the goblin’s neck. She acknowledged his help with a grateful, brief nod and turned back to the fight.

  Around her, GeMorin tumbled from the forest in impossible numbers. As one fell, another appeared to take its place. When one wavered, a second would join. The king’s soldiers were losing. There were at least three GeMorin to every soldier still standing.

  The bloated, purple body of one guard confirmed that the GeMorin were using their fangs. Vic fought the bile in her throat and tried once more to find Jacob. She slipped into the edge of the forest, moving quietly over the leaf-covered ground. Her natural facility for silent steps let her approach from behind without calling attention to herself. A flick of her wrist planted a knife into the base of a GeMorin skull. When the warrior dropped, she looked into the astounded face of Kevin Fordin. He gave her a sword salute and what was almost a smile before charging back to the road.

  She moved to follow, hoping to find Jacob, but she never reached the road. A GeMorin stepped out of the trees and into her path, a tower of menace and rage.

  “You killed my mate, cowardly human!” he bellowed.

  Before she could take in the unexpected words, the goblin attacked, forcing her to throw herself back in an awkward roll. She didn’t have time to reach her feet before the raging warrior was on her, his sword held high, his lipless mouth wide, huge fangs dripping clear liquid down his chin.

  She rolled sideways, barely avoiding the downswing of the curved blade. A tree root jolted her to a painful, awkward stop, jamming her arm in the bargain. She looked up to see the goblin hovering, his mouth gaped, his chest rising in rapid, shallow breaths.

  “Only cowards attack from behind,” he growled. “You will die the hard way, human. No warrior’s death for you.”

  Her gaze snapped to his fangs, and she knew how he wanted her to die. Her wrist knife flew without conscious thought. The GeMorin batted it away with his wrist bracer. A second knife flew before the first hit the ground, but the warrior only gave it a passing grunt as he knocked it away. She scrambled backward, came up hard ag
ainst the tree.

  He bellowed a triumphant call and leaned closer. She pulled one of her calf daggers just as the goblin’s face settled in front of hers. Hot, rank breath battered her face. She slashed at his neck, but he clamped her wrist in a vice grip, rendering her arm immobile and useless. He locked gazes with her, and opened his mouth wide.

  Her breath stopped at the sight of those fangs moving to the defenseless skin of her arm. She swung her free hand desperately, futilely. The warrior caught that arm and held it motionless without even glancing at the offending limb. She kicked at his groin. She might as well have kicked a rock. She tried sweeping his feet from under him. Pain shot through her leg on contact. She would have been more successful trying to fell a tree with her foot.

  Vic stared at the fangs, realizing with a shock of clarity that she was about to die. And she was helpless to prevent it. For the first time in her life, Vic Flash had no escape. A scream of protest died in her throat, terror robbing her of reaction. Her mind reached out to Jacob, calling the image of his rugged face before her mind’s eye. A single memory to cling to in the last moments of her life.

  Concentrating all the energy she had left on holding that picture, several seconds passed before she realized that the goblin’s fangs hadn’t reached her arm. When wetness splattered her face, her eyes snapped open to see a sword protruding from the GeMorin’s neck.

  The goblin fell away, and Vic looked into the face she’d been clinging to. Jacob’s eyes shone with rage. And fear. She’d never before seen Jacob afraid.

  He glowered for a heartbeat, then jerked her to her feet. Without a word, he dragged her back to the road, slashing through the GeMorin as if they were bits of foliage. He pushed her toward Night’s Gale, who’d just finished pulverizing a goblin with her front hooves, and threw her onto the mare’s back with amazing ease.

  The GeMorin continued to converge on the group in an unending wave. From Gale’s back, Vic saw that the numbers of their small band had been slashed. Above the clashes and grunts and screams of battle, Jacob bellowed, “Ride!” He slapped Gale on the rump, and the mare leapt forward, nearly throwing Vic back to the ground. Behind her, she heard Jacob bellowing the same order to the remaining soldiers. “Make for the village! Ride!”