Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer

by James Shade

  “Might’ve worked, if I were a believer, son. But I spent my life worshiping the old gods, when I got ‘round to worshiping at all.”

  Tabbil paused and drew in a deep breath through his nose. He closed his eyes as the pain ebbed slightly. Then he realized that was not a good sign. He had things to say before he died.

  “Listen now, Jaeron. Listen.”

  His voice was weak and he hoped he was speaking well enough to be heard.

  “Twas the Black Fangs killed your father. I should have known, after that business between Henri and Gerlido. But needed... to confirm it, I guess.

  “Almost sure it was the Fang lieutenants, Brale and Sukul.”

  Jaeron’s face grew blurry, but Tabbil could tell he was nodding at him. But the boy kept pawing at him and looking around, still thinking that there was some way to keep him from dying.

  “There’s more... Henri–” he coughed again and tasted a bit of blood and bile in his mouth. It was close to over.

  “Henri was blacklisted. Tryin’ to find who killed your mother... Something Ortelli may know.”

  Tabbil wondered why he was gripping his hands so hard. He opened them, and let his arms relax. He thought he heard someone calling his name, but it was so faint. Tabbil did not fight the overwhelming drowsiness. He was satisfied. He had told Jaeron everything. Almost everything.

  “Jaeron,” he whispered. “I’m sorry... should have been a better uncle... a better friend. Tell... tell Henri, I’m sorry.”

  Fifty-Six

  Jaeron cradled the old man’s body in his lap, staring at the morning as it blossomed over the rooftops of the Temple Ward. He knew he should move, do something. But it was just not possible.

  Two deaths in two days. A numbness crept through his limbs. Jaeron thought it started in his heart.

  He missed hearing the footsteps on the stairs behind him. He was startled by the sudden gasp from his sister.

  “Jaeron?” Avrilla’s voice trilled with fear.

  He turned, speaking softly so she could hear him. “It’s okay, Avrilla. I’m okay.”

  She knelt at his back, leaning forward over the stoop. “Uncle Ardo?”

  Jaeron felt his sister trembling and reached back to wrap his free arm around her.

  “What happened?”

  “He found out who killed father.”

  “Is he…?”

  Jaeron nodded. He could not vocalize it yet.

  “What do we… Who?”

  Jaeron felt the tension building in his sister’s back. Too many questions. It was beginning to overwhelm them. But Jaeron had been building a defense against despair and confusion for a long time. There was only one answer that made sense.

  “We need to get Matteo. Bring him to the Cathedral.”

  “But what-?”

  “Avrilla. Please. Just go get Matteo. He will know what to do.”

  She nodded, trembling as she stood. She rested her hand on him for a moment. Then she wiped the tears from her eyes, sidestepped around the old fence’s body, and broke into an easy run down the street.

  Jaeron watched her go, grateful for her trust in so easily following his directions.

  ~

  Avrilla stroked a lock of gray hair off Ardo Tabbil’s forehead. The stone surroundings of the Cathedral sub-basement kept the mortuary cool, even in the face of the humid conditions that had developed after the past two days of rain. In fact, Avrilla felt chilly as she looked down at the last family member she and her brothers had.

  Despite the bruising on his face, the Teichmar mortician and acolytes had made her uncle appear peaceful. They had removed the bloody mess of his clothes, bathed his body, anointed him with scented oils, and redressed him in a simple, white robe. Matteo and Father Nojel recited prayers and read passages from their voluminous, gilded book.

  At some point during the proceedings, Chazd had arrived with Coatie Shaels, both of whom had sat quietly with her in the corner until the priests were done. She had leaned against Chazd and he put his arm around her and hugged her tight. She felt warmed just at the memory of that moment.

  Avrilla looked across the length of the stone table where Ardo lay. Jaeron stood still at the body’s feet, staring at their Uncle’s face. She could see his mind was somewhere else.

  Her brother had not said much since they arrived at the Cathedral. He accepted the few condolences from the Teichmar clergy and participated in the prayer service that Matteo held. Beyond that, he seemed lost in his own world.

  Jaeron had told her and Chazd what their uncle had said about his killers. He gave Jaeron two names, Sukul and Brale. Lieutenants of the Black Fangs. It was not much to go on, though Chazd had paled giving them the information about the boarding house his music teacher had told him. Chazd had tried stammering out an apology, but Jaeron stopped him, enfolding him in a crushing hug.

  She searched her brother’s face for clues about what he was thinking, but there was no discernible expression. Avrilla could see that it was different from the neutral face Jaeron wore in the performance of his sword forms. Different from the quiet calm he displayed at Teichmar services. This was more somber and less sure.

  “Coatie,” she said, “who are the Black Fangs?”

  Her voice sounded loud in the small stone room and she dropped her volume to just more than a whisper to compensate. Chazd looked between her and Shaels, interested and eager. Matteo took a step back and toward the chamber door, but he did not leave the room. Avrilla thought she saw Jaeron flinch, but he stayed so still she could not be sure.

  Shaels cleared his throat, then seeing that neither Jaeron or Chazd were going to comment, he began talking quietly.

  “The Black Fangs are a second rung guild. They may be… no, they are the most powerful second rung guild in the city now that Ortelli has retired the Spoiled Vassals. They were our fiercest competitor.

  “Their guildmaster is a man named Gerlido Krosch. Like Ortelli and I, he came from Dun Lercos during the purges after the death of the queen. His guild had a handle on something before they arrived, which might mean they still have connections to a guild in the capital.

  “The Fangs are into protection, gambling, and drugs. They sell a lot of gindi. Ortelli and I never figured out where it came from. They don’t have a large membership, but they are brutal. You can count on the fact that Gerlido hires no gentleman thieves.”

  “And what about Sukul and Brale?”

  Coatie nodded at her. “They are Gerlido’s lieutenants. Sukul came with Gerlido from Dun Lercos. Brale’s a local.”

  Coatie paced around the room, obviously wrestling with something.

  “I don’t know all the facts, but I don’t think Henri… your father was killed because of your jewelry job. I think it happened because of an old grudge. Gerlido had warned Henri years ago – you were small then – to stay out of the guilds. I think it had something to do with your mother.

  “Didn’t make sense then, but it does now. I think Gerlido or one of his men killed your mother and Henri tried to figure out who did it. Gerlido had him punished for it. You wouldn’t remember, but he suffered a terrible beating. Probably would have killed him if it hadn’t been for your Priests.”

  Coatie bobbed his head toward Matteo.

  “He was reformed - kicked out of all guild interaction. Then he changed his tactics. Embraced being poor. Kept you children fed and clothed, though. And trained you.”

  Shaels splayed out his hands. Avrilla understood. He did not know any more.

  “I need to talk to Ortelli,” Jaeron finally broke his silence.

  “He can’t help, deAlto. In the eyes of the Guilds, he is retired.”

  “I’m not looking for help. I need information.”

  “He won’t talk to you, Jaeron.”

  “Coatie, make this happen. It’s important.” Avrilla felt the warm hum in her throat and the rush of power pulse through her core.

  Jaeron’s eyes widened, but he kept silent. Behind her, Matteo stum
bled back into the heavy oak door.

  “Teichmar! Guide and protect us.”

  Avrilla spun around and moved to him, taking his hands in hers.

  “It’s me, Matteo,” she whispered. “You’ve known me for years. I’m your best friend’s little sister… It’s me.”

  She spoke slowly, quietly, forcing herself to hold back even a dribble of her magical ability. She looked into the young priest’s eyes, their horizon blue-grey lost in the torchlight.

  “I don’t understand,” he whispered.

  “We don’t… I don’t either,” she admitted. “But can we discuss this later?”

  Matteo nodded. Still holding one of his hands, Avrilla turned back around. Shaels was looking at them, confused but nonchalant. He turned to Jaeron.

  “I will set something up. This is important.”

  “If it was Sukul and Brale, or even Gerlido, that killed my father, I’m going after them.” Jaeron’s voice was solid, no trace of the sadness she had heard earlier.

  “You can’t just go to war with the Black Fangs,” Shaels said.

  “Why in the pits of Malfekke not?” Chazd interrupted the discussion.

  Jaeron turned on his brother, “Chazd, enough. Let the man finish.”

  “It’s easy for him to say, Jaeron. It’s not his uncle, not his father who’s been killed!”

  “Chazd!”

  Coatie moved between them, putting his hand on Jaeron’s arm. Avrilla saw that he was not looking at Jaeron. He was focused on her younger brother.

  “You don’t think I know what you are going through? All of a sudden you are the only one whose life has been wrecked? Who’s had to turn to the guilds because your father died?

  “I lost my father and brother when I was younger than you. I lost a life of luxury, an estate overlooking the Dun Lercos vineyards on the mouth of the deTrellar River. I saw my mother driven from her home amidst debt and disgrace.

  “I learned my way amongst the guilds and understand the way this works from the ground up. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Avrilla watched her brother’s face. The words were penetrating.

  “Sorry for that,” Jaeron said. “My brother is taking our Uncle’s death very hard. He doesn’t mean any disrespect. You said we cannot just go to war with the Black Fangs... why not?”

  Shaels cleared his throat.

  “Because if they view you as a real threat from outside the Guild structure, they’ll band together and destroy you.”

  Jaeron frowned, about to protest, but Shaels continued.

  “You have to understand the elemental force that keeps the Guilds in place. The real nature of what you were trained and groomed to become.

  “Most people think it’s the money. Some get beyond that and believe that it’s the power – the politics and protection. That’s closer to the truth, but not the kernel. The real cement that binds all the Thieves together is fear.”

  Shaels circled the deathbed.

  “What keeps them working together is that they fear everything. The government, the nobles, the business guilds, and most especially they fear each other. More so the guilds in Islar, but also the others from other cities.

  “We are all bravado, claiming we run the city and the guards are our dogs. No product sells, no one eats, nothing works without our help. But if any one of those groups decided to get rid of us, they could do it. If we didn’t work together.

  “So, we work together. It doesn’t matter if we like each other or trust each other. The unspoken code is if someone outside the Guilds really starts applying pressure, we all fight back.”

  “What can we do then?” Jaeron felt defeated.

  “You need to become a recognized guild in Islar. Not a third rung contender, operating at the permission of the others. But a second rung member of the Guild council. Then you can petition the Grandmaster for a formal challenge, guild to guild against the Black Fangs, and all the others will stay out of it. Until the Grandmaster says it’s done.”

  “How do we do that?” Avrilla asked.

  “You need an introduction. An existing guildmaster needs to sponsor you as a new guild and then you need a second. Even though he’s retired, Ortelli has enough favor with the Grandmaster to attend a council. He can second the sponsorship, but he can’t introduce you.

  “It needs to be a strong guild. It doesn’t have to rival Gerlido’s, but it should be a respected guild. Ideally, one of the older guilds that has seen a generation or two in the city.”

  “Which leaves us where?” Jaeron said.

  “Let me arrange your meeting with Ortelli and then we’ll figure that out. I have some ideas. And you have a funeral to prepare.”

  Fifty-Seven

  Victor Ortelli sipped the cool ale he had just pulled from his tap. The bitterness of the hops cut through the clean taste just at the end of the drink. His latest brew was good, but not as good as its predecessor. He would have to add back in the one part in twenty of the oat malt, he decided.

  Gryk deWoll quietly cleared his throat. Ortelli turned his attention to his steward.

  “What is it, Gryk?”

  “Your guests are here, sir.”

  Victor raised himself out of the broad-winged leather chair and set his stein on the bar. Why in the hells did I agree to meet deAlto? He crossed the great hall into the dining room. The double doors to the garden were open. Ortelli strode across and out into the sunshine.

  Jaeron deAlto stood near Coatie Shaels. His ex-lieutenant moved from flagstone to flagstone, examining each new blossom in Victor’s garden. The man was uncomfortable. He had no interest in botany. Jaeron, on the other hand, looked pale and angry. His eyes were focused solely on Victor.

  “Ortelli, you owe me some answers.”

  “DeAlto,” Victor said. He nodded a quick greeting. “Our agreement was that we would not see each other again.”

  “I’m not here about that! What do you know about Gerlido and my mother?”

  Ortelli felt his heartbeat became heavy, a hammer on his ribcage. He had not expected that question. On that subject, the past should remain the past. Especially in light of what happened to Henri. He looked at Shaels, but saw that the question had taken him as much by surprise.

  Ortelli waved Gryk away. “Come inside, Jaeron,” he said.

  He led the way back to his library study and invited Jaeron to sit down. The boy refused.

  “Our business was concluded, Jaeron. You have your organization. My men brought me your payment. We are even. I don't have any more answers for you.”

  Even as he said the words, Ortelli heard the tone of falseness in them. He knew he would say more.

  “You hid information from us. Information about our father’s death! Did you think we wouldn’t find out? We are not even, Ortelli! Not even close!”

  “Jaeron,” Shaels said. “Perhaps we should get to the questions you have. There’s no need for raised voices.”

  Victor caught a brief instant of self-annoyance, perhaps embarrassment, on the boy’s face and then watched him gather his composure.

  “No. You’re right,” Jaeron said to Shaels. “Master Ortelli, I’m sorry I yelled. Apparently the past few days have upset me more than I realized.”

  Victor found himself impressed. The young thief had humility and manners to match.

  “Understandable, Master deAlto,” said Victor, glancing at Shaels. “Perhaps if we all sat down and started again.”

  Coatie took the cue to pour the men drinks and serve them. Victor was afraid to ask the question, but as things had gone this far, he supposed he may have, in fact, owed the boy more.

  “What do you want to know?” Ortelli asked.

  Jaeron took a breath before answering. He stared into the short, crystal glass he had been given.

  “Did Gerlido kill my mother?”

  Right to it, then. Ortelli drained his glass. He let the amber liquid cool and then burn his throat, but showed no sign of discomfort. Then the retire
d Guildmaster stood and went to his window to look outside.

  “Jaeron, I don't know,” Ortelli said slowly. “But I think it likely that he did. Or gave the order for it.”

  “And my father?”

  “I don’t know that either. It’s possible, but… I guess I'm less sure than in your mother’s case.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

  Ortelli turned back around and moved to sit on the edge of his desk facing Jaeron.

  “What aren’t you telling me? Why did you-?”

  Ortelli cut him off. “Your father and I... Well, we were not friends as I implied when we first met. More like friendly rivals, I would say. We met when we were young thieves, running in the streets of Dun Lercos.”

  Ortelli answered Jaeron's unasked question.

  “Yes, your father lived in the capital – all his life up to that point. Our competition was not to be a better thief, although I suppose that came later. No, we competed for a girl. A woman, I should say. Liadee. Your adoptive mother.

  “Our... struggle escalated. Eventually it grew into demands on Liadee. Unfair demands.”

  Ortelli grew quiet. For a moment he forgot that Coatie and Jaeron were in the room. Ortelli moved away from his desk and approached one of the room’s many bookshelves. His hand floated up toward a decorative bronze orb, a knickknack of little value in comparison to most of the other contents in Ortelli’s study.

  “She became quite the thief in her own right, your mother. She learned from Henri. Learned from me. Perhaps she surpassed us both.”

  “At some point, I think I lost sight of what it was all about. What I wanted. I was building a guild in Dun Lercos and we were on the verge of being put on the rungs. I asked Liadee to do jobs that Henri wouldn’t have touched. I was looking for prestige. For power.

  “I heard later that Henri... had enough of Liadee’s indecision. He gave her an ultimatum to finally choose between us and be done with it.

  “At some point here, Gerlido enters the picture. He was a free agent, but word was he was working with a promising group of assassins. I never directly asked your mother to work with them... but I hinted that it could be good for us. For me.”