Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  ‘What did you hand her?’ the Master asked.

  ‘Whisper’s soul key,’ he replied. ‘I found it in the mud when we were doing the obstacle course. It must have slipped off Kilt’s neck. I meant to give it back to her earlier but forgot.’ He shrugged as he continued towards the headquarters. ‘Oh well, it’s not as if there’s been any harm done. Nobody’s running around like a madman accusing people of being a thief.’

  Scott gave Caspan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. ‘You’d better get to the hall before Roland eats everything.’

  Caspan smiled in return and followed after Roland. He only took a few steps before he stopped and looked back at the Master. ‘Sir, thank you for believing me.’

  Scott nodded, then turned his attention to Kilt. ‘Come here, young lady,’ he called. ‘I think you have some explaining to do.’ Kilt glared scathingly at Caspan before making her way over towards the Master.

  ‘Did I miss something?’ Roland asked, waiting for Caspan by the side door.

  Caspan shook his head. ‘Just Kilt being her normal self.’

  The boys walked along the corridor leading to the Great Hall, but eating was the last thing on Caspan’s mind. He was troubled greatly by what Kilt had said. Was she just being spiteful, or did the others – who he regarded as close friends – really distrust him?

  Stability was something he hadn’t had for many years now, and he was afraid that this new life he had been offered – with friends, magical guardians and the House of Whispers – wouldn’t last forever. He kept thinking he’d wake up one morning and find that he was back in Floran, his encounter with Raven and subsequent recruitment into the Brotherhood being nothing more than a dream. Caspan wished he could put such insecur­ities behind him, to move forward and embrace all the opportunities the Brotherhood offered, but they always lingered at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was born of his instinct not to trust anyone. It had served him well back in Floran, but now he was part of a team. He hoped it wouldn’t be his undoing. He wanted desperately to be accepted, but he feared Kilt’s hatred of him might force him back into his shell, to become a lone wolf once more.

  Roland glanced at him. ‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

  ‘I was just thinking about Kilt.’ Caspan exhaled a frustrated breath. ‘I don’t understand. I’ve never done anything to offend her, yet she really dislikes me.’

  Roland cocked an eyebrow. ‘Dislikes? I’m sorry, Cas, but she hates you.’

  Caspan looked wounded. ‘Thanks. That’s all I need right now – you making me feel better about myself.’

  Roland smiled proudly. ‘Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?’ He tilted his head in thought. ‘Now that you’ve raised the topic, though, she hasn’t liked you from the get go.’ He clicked his fingers, his eyes narrowing. ‘In fact, if my memory serves me correctly – and it usually does, because I’m incredibly clever – it all started when she first learned that you were a member of the Black Hand. You know, when we had our first meal in the Great Hall? Maybe she was robbed by a member of your order.’

  Caspan nodded. ‘But why hold me personally ­responsible?’

  ‘That’s the beauty of prejudice. There really doesn’t have to be a reason.’ Roland waved his hand before him. ‘I can picture it now. Kilt was visiting Floran, strolling along the streets and having a wonderful old time. She’d just stepped out from hosting a meeting of the Society of Losers and was merrily hurling abuse at everyone she passed.’ Caspan laughed and pushed him playfully. ‘What? I’ve got to keep this true to life. Now, don’t disturb me, please. I think I’m getting close to the bottom of this.’ Roland waved his hand again, envisaging the scene. ‘So there she was, walking along, scowling and cursing at everybody, when all of a sudden … wham!’ He clapped his hands so suddenly that Caspan almost jumped in fright. ‘It happened: she realised she was the greatest puddenhead in the sad history of puddenheads.’

  Caspan grinned and shook his head. ‘What about the Black Hand?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m almost there. Anyway, no sooner had this dawned on her than a hand – a hand in a black glove, I should add – slipped stealthily out of the crowd and, before she knew it, lifted her coin-pouch, stealing all her family’s savings, with which she was going to buy a new personality.’ He chortled. ‘Well, what a hullaballoo she made of it! She swore that, from that day onwards, she’d hate every pickpocket in the world, and particularly the Black Hand.’ He looked at Caspan. ‘What do you think?’

  Caspan laughed again. ‘Apart from the fact that you’re a complete and utter nitwit?’ They turned a corner and made their way down a short flight of stairs. ‘Maybe you’re right, and she was accosted by one of the Black Hand. That would certainly explain why she dislikes me.’

  Roland raised a finger in conjecture.

  ‘Okay, why she hates me.’

  Roland gave a satisfied nod. ‘Good. Remember, we have to stick to the facts.’ He shrugged and adjusted the folds of his cloak vainly. ‘It might also be that she’s jealous you’re friends with the most handsome boy in Andalon. That would be enough to make anybody green with envy.’

  Caspan rolled his eyes before regarding Roland solemnly. ‘I’m going to ask you something, and I want a truthful answer.’

  Roland grinned. ‘I know exactly what you’re going to ask – did I deliberately splash the girls at every available opportunity during the obstacle course?’ His grin grew wider. ‘Most absolutely. And I’d gladly run the entire course a second time just to do it all over again. Opportunities like that can’t be squandered.’ He saw the serious expression on Caspan’s face. ‘That’s not it, is it?’

  Caspan shook his head. ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘There’s no beating around the bush with you.’ Roland gave him a confused look. ‘For sure. Why?’

  Caspan shrugged. ‘It’s just something Kilt said.’

  Roland dismissed his concern with a flick of his hand. ‘I wouldn’t worry about anything she says. But the rest of us would trust you with our lives.’ For someone who was always jesting, there was a rare sincerity in Roland’s voice that Caspan found reassuring. ‘Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask my grandmother if she’ll send you her secret sausage recipe. Is that proof enough?’

  Caspan laughed. ‘There’s no need to go to that extreme.’

  ‘Seriously though, Cas, you’ve never done anything that would make me doubt you.’ Roland frowned. ‘Although now that we’re on the subject, I’ve often wondered who ate the final mince pie at dinner three weeks ago.’

  Caspan shoved him jokingly. ‘You and your obsession with food!’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ Roland punched him jovially on the shoulder. ‘Come on – I’ll race you to the Great Hall. I didn’t like the way Lachlan was eyeing the quail platter.’

  Laughing and hooting, Roland tore off down the corridor. Caspan took off after him, determined to beat his friend to the hall and to get at least one piece of quail.

  Apart from the Masters and Gramidge, the initiates saw few other people at the House of Whispers. Occasionally they’d wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps and unfamiliar voices as members of the order returned from their missions. The following morning, Caspan and his friends would find two or three strangers wrapped in black Brotherhood Cloaks seated at one of the tables in the Great Hall, deep in conversation with one of the Masters. The recruits rarely had an opportunity to speak to these treasure hunters before they retired to their private quarters for a much needed rest. They usually headed off again before the onset of evening, to explore another Dray tomb somewhere in Andalon or Salahara.

  One morning, Caspan and Lachlan went down to the Great Hall earlier than usual, determined to get in some extra sword practice before their lesson with Master Morgan. Caspan was surprised to find that Raven was sitting before the hearth, warming her hands as she chatted with Master Scott. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard his approaching footsteps and greeted him
with a wide smile. Raven gestured for the boys to come and join them.

  ‘Master Scott was just telling me how impressed he is with your training,’ she beamed, extending her hand in welcome to Caspan, who shook it eagerly. She looked him up and down. ‘Ah, it’s good to see you again, Caspan. Mind you, I can barely recognise you.’

  Caspan smiled. ‘Things have changed a little since we last met.’

  ‘And all for the best, I’m sure.’ Raven reached her hand out to Lachlan. ‘I’m Raven. Caspan and I are … well, old friends.’ She grinned as she glanced at Caspan, then shifted her gaze back to Lachlan. ‘Now, seeing that you’re tall and have shoulders as broad as an ox, I’m assuming you must be … Lachlan?’ He nodded and shook her hand. She looked at the Master and tapped her index finger against her cheek in thought. ‘Meaning we’re still waiting on Sara, Kilt and …?’

  ‘Roland,’ Scott said, with an amused grin. ‘Although, I don’t think you’ll forget his name so readily once you’ve met him.’

  Raven raised an eyebrow. ‘He leaves an impression, does he?’

  The Master smirked. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘So how have you been?’ Raven asked the boys as they sat down beside her and Scott. ‘I’m sure the Masters have been taking good care of you. I’m keen to hear all about your training.’ Raven noticed the soul key tied around Caspan’s neck and leaned forward for a closer look. Grinning, she sat back in her seat. ‘Trust you to choose a drake. From what I can recall, you’re not exactly scared of heights.’

  Caspan chuckled, thinking back to when she and Thom had chased him across the rooftops of Floran. ‘This is Frostbite,’ he said, fingering the metal figurine fondly.

  ‘I hope she’s not too hard to handle?’

  ‘He,’ Caspan corrected.

  Raven smiled and raised an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry, he.’

  ‘Caspan’s doing remarkably well,’ Master Scott said. ‘All of the initiates are, in fact.’ He regarded Lachlan. ‘You have to see this one with a sword. I’d hate to face him in a fight.’ Lachlan lowered his gaze modestly. ‘And Caspan’s the most skilled thief I’ve seen in a long time. He can scale walls like a lizard and pick any lock.’ Scott tousled Caspan’s hair. ‘Yes, we’re very proud of our new initiates.’

  Raven looked expectantly at Caspan. ‘Well? Are you going to tell me about your new life here?’

  For the next half hour they chatted. Raven listened intently to all that Caspan had to say, particularly about the strong bond he had formed with Frostbite. It wasn’t long before they were joined by Sara, Kilt and Roland, who soon took over the conversation, trying to impress Raven with tales of his daring exploits.

  Eventually it was time for their sword-training session. Not wanting to be late for Master Morgan’s lesson, Caspan begrudgingly said farewell to Raven. She told him that she had to leave for a mission in the duchy of Dannenland before evening, but she organised to meet him after lunch down at the archery range at the edge of the forest.

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve settled in well,’ Raven said, when they met later that day. She was sitting on a stump near the bales of hay they used as archery targets.

  Caspan nodded as he nocked an arrow to his bowstring. ‘I’ve made some really good friends.’ He pulled back the string, took aim and shot. Raven applauded as his arrow thudded into the hay, close to the red bullseye painted on it. Caspan was going to tell her about the hard time Kilt was giving him but decided against it. He didn’t want that spoiling his fun.

  ‘You’re not a bad shot,’ Raven said. ‘Care to take me on?’

  Caspan rested his bow across his shoulder. ‘For sure. What are the rules?’

  ‘Three shots each. The closest to the bullseye wins.’

  He stepped back and motioned for Raven to go first. ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘You sound confident.’ She grinned as she rose and picked up her quiver and bow.

  He shrugged indifferently. ‘Only because I am.’

  ‘Oh, really! Well, we’ll just have to see about that.’ Raven selected an arrow from her quiver and took aim at the target. She steadied her breathing, the smile on her lips slowly fading into a thin, determined line. Then she took her shot, her arrow almost scoring a direct hit. Raven glanced at Caspan, the smile reforming on her lips. ‘Think you can do better?’

  Caspan smirked as he stepped forward and placed an arrow on his string. ‘They don’t call me Bullseye for nothing.’ He drew back the string, feeling the tension and power build within the yew bow, and shot. The arrow hit the bale of hay, but almost two feet away from the painted target.

  Raven gave him an amused look. ‘Bullseye, was it?’

  Caspan cleared his throat, feeling the blood run to his cheeks. ‘Yeah, well, I … er, thought I’d let you get off to a good start.’

  ‘So generous of you.’ Raven readied her next arrow and shot. Again, her aim was accurate, the arrow thudding into the bale barely an inch away from her first shot. She turned to Caspan. ‘When you’re ready.’

  His pulse quickening, Caspan selected another arrow from his quiver, moved two steps forward and took aim. Unlike sword fighting, in which he was making slow but steady progress, he’d taken quickly to archery. Normally, when he practised down here of an afternoon, he’d land several shots directly on the centre target. Now that he was keen to impress, however, he doubted he’d get anywhere near the bullseye.

  Caspan shot, this time getting much closer to the centre, but still a good handspan from Raven’s second arrow. Raven knocked him aside with a swivel of her hips and readied her final shot.

  ‘Remember, this is your last arrow,’ Caspan taunted. ‘Try your best not to miss. It would be terribly embarrassing.’

  ‘If you’re trying to distract me, it won’t work,’ Raven said, deep in focus, perfecting her aim. ‘I’ve had to use a bow many times in the thick of combat. Don’t think your chirpy little voice is going to put me off.’

  ‘Chirpy? What do you mean by that?’

  Raven smirked and shot, her arrow thudding right into the target. She lowered her bow and glanced at Caspan. ‘There. I think I’ve sealed this game.’

  ‘It’s not over yet.’ Caspan rolled his shoulders and nocked his final arrow to his string. ‘I can still split your arrow and win.’

  ‘Oh, really! I’d like to see that.’

  Caspan winked at her and took aim. Just as he was about to shoot, he lowered his bow and pushed Raven to the ground. ‘Get down!’ he yelled. ‘There’s a dragon!’

  Raven lay stunned on the grass, staring fearfully into the sky. By the time she looked back at Caspan he was standing beside the bale of hay, grinning mischievously as he pointed at his final arrow. It was right beside Raven’s third shot, in the centre of the bullseye.

  ‘I guess it’s a draw,’ he said.

  Raven laughed as she climbed to her feet. ‘You dirty cheat!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You ran over there and stuck that in with your hand!’

  Caspan feigned innocence. ‘I did not, thank you very much. It’s not my fault you didn’t see me shoot. As a matter of fact, I think you’re a sore loser.’

  Raven chortled as she dusted herself off and sat back down on the stump. ‘Remind me to never play another game with you. Unless, of course, we’re on the same team.’

  Caspan took a seat on a log beside her. ‘I’m usually a lot better than this. I really wanted to beat you, but I got nervous and it spoiled my aim.’

  Raven nodded. ‘Master Scott told me that you show real promise with a bow. But you need to get used to firing under pressure. If you think it was bad competing against me, wait until you have three very angry clansmen charging at you.’

  The mention of clansmen bought visions of the Caledonish highlands to Caspan’s mind. ‘I can’t wait until we finish our training and start exploring Dray tombs. I really want to see Salahara and Caledon.’

  ‘They’re beautiful places, but very dangerous.’ Raven selected a
n arrow from her quiver and straightened its flight of duck feathers. ‘I only just returned from Salahara, where we’ve been exploring a Dray burial.’

  ‘Oswald told me you were down there.’

  ‘It was close to the Slave Coast, right in the heart of corsair territory. Needless to say, we had a few encounters with pirates and brigands. Fortunately we had Thom with us. He’s quite handy in a fight.’ She returned the arrow to the quiver and selected another one, which she held up to her eye, inspecting the straightness of the wood. ‘Caledon isn’t much safer, with bands of clansmen wandering the highlands. We’ve had to abandon quite a few missions in that country due to highlander patrols.’

  Caspan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve never encountered the Roon?’ He hadn’t discussed the giants with anyone since his conversation with Gramidge several weeks ago, but the thought of them was always lurking at the back of his mind.

  Raven shook her head. ‘Fortunately the Dray never went north of The Scar, so there are no tombs for us to explore in the Wild. Which is just as well; brigands and clansmen are scary enough, let alone eight-foot-tall giants who are covered in tattoos and have no fear of death.’

  Caspan nodded gravely. ‘Good. I hope I never see the Roon.’

  Raven noticed the concern on his face. She put her arrow aside and smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s only a matter of time until the weapons and Wardens we’ve been supplying to the northern legions start to have an impact. You should have seen the bow I recently discovered in Salahara. It was made of black wood and was engraved with magic runes that glowed luminous green. I’ve discovered quite a few weapons, but nothing like this one. Every time you drew back the string, a magical, shadow-like arrow appeared. I shot one straight through a marble column. I’d like to see Roon chain mail try stopping that.’

  ‘Oswald showed us a similar sword, Foe Slayer, during our first Dray relic lesson.’