Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  About the Book

  A brotherhood of treasure hunters. A terrifying enemy. Five young recruits. The race is on.

  Caspan hates his life as a thief on the streets, so he leaps at the chance to join a secret order sanctioned by the King.

  The Brotherhood seeks the lost magical weapons of an ancient race that will help them fight the Roon, the invading army who creep ever closer. Defeat seems inevitable. Unless Caspan and his fellow recruits – Roland, Lachlan, Sara and Kilt – can set aside their differences and use their new skills to help turn the tide.

  With swords strapped to their belts, riding magical beasts called Wardens, they leave the sanctuary of their training ground for their first mission. Will it be their last?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title

  Dedication

  The Four Kingdoms map

  Chapter 1 A chance encounter

  Chapter 2 The test

  Chapter 3 The House of Whispers

  Chapter 4 New friends

  Chapter 5 Training begins

  Chapter 6 Wardens

  Chapter 7 Relics and magical items

  Chapter 8 Like master, like Warden

  Chapter 9 The secret of steel

  Chapter 10 The shadow of the North

  Chapter 11 A thief’s past

  Chapter 12 Raven

  Chapter 13 The smallest brother

  Chapter 14 The team is forged

  Chapter 15 The Thirsty Wayfarer

  Chapter 16 The journey north

  Chapter 17 Roon

  Chapter 18 The Tomb of Ro Dool

  Chapter 19 The flight from Saint Justyn’s

  Chapter 20 The Hold

  Chapter 21 Prince Dale

  Chapter 22 Assassin

  Chapter 23 Enemy at the gates

  Chapter 24 Night raid

  Chapter 25 The siege of Darrowmere

  Chapter 26 To kill a prince

  Chapter 27 The fight for Darrowmere

  Chapter 28 Prisoners and victors

  Chapter 29 Heroes of Darrowmere

  Chapter 30 To the Brotherhood

  Chapter 31 Frostbite’s return

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the Book?

  To my brothers, Gavin and Warren

  Caspan ran for his life.

  The cry of alarm brought confusion and panic to the market square, as the teenage footpad weaved through the caravans and food stalls, away from the man whose purse he had tried to take. Caspan was sure he had spotted members of the City Watch converging on the area, and he was determined not to get caught. The punishment for theft in Floran was death, and he was rather fond of keeping his head attached to his neck.

  It wasn’t until he slipped out of the crowd and reached an alleyway that the thief paused to check if he was being pursued. Catching a flash of red in the corner of his eye, he turned just in time to see a scarlet-cloaked guard on a guild-house balcony across the square level his crossbow at him. Caspan ducked instinctively, the bolt a hiss of death that zipped a hair’s-breadth above his head. Then he was off again.

  Only to crash into a guard, whose eagle brooch identified him as a captain of the City Watch. Their eyes locked, and the man reached out for Caspan with a gauntleted hand. But the thief was quicker, lashing out with a knee to the man’s crotch. By the time the captain crumpled to the ground, Caspan had sprinted to the end of the laneway. He scaled the facade of a building and took to the rooftops.

  Caspan cursed his carelessness. There was only one person in the world he trusted: himself. He’d grown up as a street urchin in the twisting alleyways of Floran, surviving by his cunning and sleight of hand. By the age of fifteen, he’d become one of the most skilled thieves in the city. He could move with the stealth of a stalking cat, and possessed slender fingers that could untie any purse-string and manipulate a piece of wire to pick any lock. He could steal the glistening jewels from the night sky if he so desired. Nothing was beyond his skill. At least, that’s what Caspan had always thought … until today.

  He’d reckoned that the elderly man, whose attention had been focused on a rack of sable-lined capes, would be an easy target, but not so the two hooded men accompany­ing him. The men had the look of swords-for-hire, best avoided. Caspan had waited until they’d strolled over to one of the stalls on the opposite side of the square before making his move. But it had been the elderly man who had caught Caspan red-handed, grabbing him by the wrist as he’d tried to untie the leather cord that attached the coin-pouch to his belt. Caspan had been momentarily surprised. This was the first time he had ever been caught. A woman serving in one of the nearby stalls had cried out in warning, prompting Caspan to drive the heel of his bare foot down on the man’s toes and escape from his grasp. He tore the coin-pouch free and ran.

  The thief made his escape across the rooftops. This was what he always did whenever he was in trouble. He knew the rooftops of Floran better than anybody, and could travel from one side of the city to the other, ­following the map of routes he had drawn in his mind. He worked his way deftly across perilous slopes of tiles and shingles, skirted his way along narrow brick ledges that would unnerve even a mountain goat, and leapt across gaping chasms between buildings. One false step would mean certain death, but it didn’t alarm Caspan. All he felt was a rush of pure adrenaline. He felt at home amongst the church-spires and chimneys, the entire city sprawled beneath him. Up here the street urchin was lord, sitting atop his enormous terracotta throne. He observed the coming and going of people below, choosing his targets at his leisure. He felt secure, safe.

  Caspan always worked alone. It was the one cardinal rule he never compromised. There was no honour amongst burglars, particularly amidst the cutthroats and criminals that comprised the thieves’ guild of Floran, the Black Hand, to which he had belonged since the age of eight. His fellow footpads would rather place a stiletto to his throat as he slept and steal his purse than prowl the alleyways in search of their next victim. Floran had taught Caspan a valuable lesson: he lived in a dog-eat-dog world in which only the lone wolf survived.

  Having worked his way across the city, Caspan got the shock of his life: two people were hot on his trail. He recognised them by their cloaks as his mark’s companions.

  For another quarter of an hour he raced across the rooftops, employing all the skills of his craft, trying to lose his pursuers. But they were like bloodhounds, and they eventually beat Caspan at his own game, cornering him on the edge of the stall-covered Bridge of Swans, which stretched across Lord River, the central waterway that ran through the heart of Floran. Caspan considered leaping into the river below, but it was quite a height, and he doubted he would survive.

  ‘You’ve something that belongs to our friend,’ the smaller of the cloaked strangers said.

  Caspan spun around and frowned. He hadn’t realised that one of his pursuers was a woman. He tried to peer beneath her cowl, but her features were drowned in shadow.

  He squared his shoulders boldly. ‘These streets are mine. I take what I want, when I want.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Not on this occasion.’ Her voice was composed, almost nonchalant.

  The second stranger moved to the right of Caspan, a hand resting on the hilt of the longsword dangling by his left side. A basket-hilted broadsword hung by his other thigh, a red sash tied around its cross-guard.

  A dual-wielder, Caspan thought. Great, that’s all I need. The stiletto tucked into his belt would be no match against those blades. He turned and looked down at the river.

  The woman held out her open palms,
showing that she meant no harm. ‘I wouldn’t advise doing that.’

  Caspan watched the river’s dirty currents swirl beneath him, his heart racing. ‘I don’t have any other option. You won’t take me alive.’

  ‘That’s a bit extreme,’ the woman remarked.

  ‘If I surrender, you’ll take me to the city gaol. The punishment for theft is to be beheaded. I won’t allow that to happen.’ Caspan steeled himself in preparation to jump.

  ‘Nor will I.’

  Caspan hesitated and glanced back at the woman. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have no intention of handing you over to the city officials.’

  ‘What? So you’re going to kill me, here and now? That’s not much of an alternative.’

  ‘Not at all.’ A smile appeared beneath the stranger’s cowl. Caspan could find no trace of malice in it. ‘All I want is for you to return what you stole from my friend.’

  ‘Then you’ll let me go?’

  The woman nodded. ‘More or less.’

  ‘That’s not a straight answer. I need to hear you say “yes”, and swear that you’ll stand by your word.’

  She placed her right hand over her heart. ‘I swear by all that is sacred that I will not harm you. There, are you satisfied?’

  Caspan jerked his chin at her companion. ‘What about him?’

  The man in question yawned and sat cross-legged on the roof, seemingly more interested in the view from the bridge than the events unfolding before him.

  ‘He’s mute, so I’ll speak for him. He won’t draw his sword on a boy.’ The woman tilted her head slightly. ‘That is, of course, unless you give him just cause to.’ She smiled again when Caspan took a step away from the edge. ‘I must say, I haven’t seen skills like yours in a very long time. They could be put to far greater use than being wasted on petty theft.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The last thing Caspan expected was to be paid a compliment.

  ‘Not only did you steal the money pouch from one of our order, which I very much doubt that even I would be able to do, but you took off across the rooftops like a monkey. You scaled walls and leapt across buildings as if they posed no obstacle at all. You made it look effortless. You show a lot of promise. With the correct training, you could become a master thief.’

  ‘And yet I couldn’t escape from you.’

  She shrugged dismissively. ‘Not many people can.’

  Caspan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who are you?’

  The woman gestured to her companion. ‘This is Thom, and I am Raven.’ She pulled back her cowl.

  Caspan was struck by Raven’s beauty. She looked to be in her early twenties and had hair as black as sin, which cascaded down her back. Her features were exquisite, as if shaped from porcelain.

  Raven produced a water-skin from her belt, took a long swig and passed it to her companion. She turned to Caspan. ‘We are members of a secret military order.’

  Caspan swallowed nervously. Had he known this, he would never have gone near these people. He sent a silent prayer that he was still alive and tossed her the pouch he had stolen. Raven tucked it under her belt.

  ‘Which unit?’ Caspan asked.

  Raven glanced at Thom. Silent words seemed to be exchanged between them before she shifted her gaze back to Caspan. ‘We are simply known as the ­Brotherhood.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of them before.’ Caspan was curious as to why Raven had suddenly lowered her voice. It wasn’t as if anybody was going to eavesdrop on their conversation up here.

  ‘Not many people have,’ she continued. ‘The Brotherhood is a covert group that acts independently of the King’s armies. We are an order of professional treasure hunters.’

  Caspan cocked an eyebrow. ‘So what do you do, pilfer the burials of the Dray?’

  Raven nodded. ‘That … and other things.’

  Caspan scratched at a flea-bite on his neck. His eyes never left Raven’s. ‘The punishment for stealing from Dray barrows is death.’

  Last year, six members of the Black Hand had plundered burial mounds in the fields north of Briston, the royal capital, only to be caught and hung. It had been the first time the order had ventured outside of Floran. And the last.

  The Dray was an ancient race that had long left the Four Kingdoms. Nobody knew where they went, or why, but signs of their once great civilisation could be found scattered throughout the kingdom of Andalon.

  Raven raised a finger in conjecture. ‘For ordinary thieves, yes. But we’re anything but that.’ She paused and studied Caspan’s expression. ‘The Brotherhood has the official sanction of the King.’

  Caspan’s eyes flashed with intrigue. Never before had he heard of a company of thieves that had royal approval. ‘What is it exactly the King wants you to find?’

  ‘That’s a secret.’ Raven smiled enigmatically. ‘But you could always join us and find out. Your thieving skills would make you a valuable asset to our order.’

  Suspicion rang like an alarm bell in Caspan’s mind. ‘Why would you do that for me?’

  Although wary, he was lured by her offer. The streets of Floran would no longer be safe for him, given that a City Watch captain knew what he looked like. Caspan was now a marked man and could be arrested on sight. It would only be a matter of time until his neck rested on a chopping block.

  ‘As I said, you show great promise. We’re always on the lookout for talented thieves.’

  Caspan glanced at Thom and then back at Raven. ‘But I have no military training. The cadet academies don’t open their doors to street urchins.’

  It was the law that, upon turning fifteen, every teenager had to enrol for a year of training in one of the kingdom’s cadet schools. Here they would be taught how to wield a sword, use a bow, care for their weapons and armour, and how to bridle, harness and ride horses. Andalon had been at war for over three decades with the Roon, a savage race of giants that lived north in the frozen wastes of the Wild. King Rhys had introduced this measure to ensure that his realm would have a steady supply of trained craftsmen and combat-ready soldiers.

  But street urchins weren’t accepted into the academies. The stench of the gutter precluded them from military service. Caspan and the hundreds of other urchins who struggled to survive in the sewers of the realm didn’t have much to look forward to in life.

  Raven gestured for Caspan to sit down. Although he complied he was still uncertain as to where this chance encounter was leading. Thom offered him the flask, but he declined. The swordsman shrugged, tossed it back to Raven and yawned again.

  ‘The Brotherhood will be accepting new recruits shortly,’ Raven explained. ‘Most will come from the cadet academies, but we also accept candidates who present themselves with letters of recommendation from former and active Brotherhood members.’ She considered Caspan for a moment. ‘I think you would make a suitable candidate.’

  Caspan snorted. ‘But I’m a petty criminal! Your order would sooner arrest me than open their door to someone like me.’

  Raven regarded him earnestly. ‘Who is more suitable than a footpad to join a unit of professional thieves? Believe me, I wouldn’t be recommending you if I didn’t think you had what it takes to join the Brotherhood. Besides, philanthropy is good for the soul.’

  They chatted for some time, during which Caspan was certain Raven was assessing his character. She questioned him about his background and his aspirations in life. In the end, Caspan was sure that she had taken pity on him. He had no family and no greater ambition than to simply make it through each day. Finally Raven announced that, if he was willing, she would provide him with a letter of introduction. Caspan eagerly accepted her offer.

  ‘You must be in Briston on the last day of this month,’ Raven concluded. ‘At evening, a Brotherhood Master will meet with prospective recruits. Present him with your letter.’

  Caspan raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean by “prospective”?’

  Raven waved a hand dismissively. ‘There will be a small test you
’ll need to pass before being allowed to train with the order.’ She saw the suspicious look on Caspan’s face and smiled reassuringly. ‘I wouldn’t be filling you with false hope if I honestly didn’t believe you had ­potential.’

  Caspan nodded as he surveyed the rooftops that were so familiar to him. ‘I’ve never been to Briston before.’ He glanced at Raven. ‘How will I know where to meet the Master?’

  Raven shrugged. ‘I’ll draw you a map.’ She regarded him for a moment. ‘It’s not as if you have much to lose.’

  Caspan followed her gaze to consider the rags he was wearing. She was right. He had everything to gain from this venture. ‘And what if I fail the test?’

  Raven smiled wryly. ‘You just make sure you don’t.’

  The trio parted shortly after. With his letter of introduction and map tucked under his belt, Caspan collected his meagre belongings and left Floran that very night. He headed off under a starlit sky, believing that the world was his for the taking.

  Fortune rarely smiled on him. Caspan had been left an orphan at the age of eight, when his parents died of the plague. With no other family member to care for him, and his house being taken over by a despicable merchant who claimed his father had owed him money, Caspan had been forced to live on the streets. The Black Hand had offered Caspan food and shelter – as long as he could supply them with stolen coin. It was a hard and dangerous life, and he longed to better himself.

  Caspan had always believed that his thieving skills would one day earn him enough coin to leave that life behind. But never, not even in his wildest dreams, did he think he would be rewarded with an invitation to train with an elite unit of treasure hunters.