Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer

by James Shade

  The past month had changed Cristel. Well, it wasn’t the time so much as the visits from Father Matteo. Jaeron’s friend came to comfort, console, and gently try to persuade the women of Paisley that they could find a better way of life outside of prostitution. Failing that, Matteo was able to help heal some of the lingering emotional traumas of the women, Cristel amongst the most needful of that healing. Avrilla did not believe that the woman was ever going to be something other than a prostitute, but she saw that lately Cristel no longer seemed to feel that it was a life in which she was trapped.

  A flash of mint green caught Avrilla’s attention, breaking her reverie. The dress Cristel wore clashed with Avrilla’s own in a way that was nearly nauseating, but she needed a way to learn more about her paying companion for the evening. She bowed politely to Fria and the men who had approached them as their conversation paused.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and slid through the crowd to catch up to Cristel.

  Sixty-Nine

  Jaeron went to the Cathedral to listen to the choir and prevent himself from going to the Twin Owls theatre. He sat in still contemplation and prayer, trying not to think about his sister at the ball. Overall, he had not been successful, but finally he found himself following along with a hymn he recognized.

  The quiet singing reminded him of the scroll of lyrics he had in the pouch at his side. Avrilla had written them out for him after she had finished her invitation forgery the day before. He pulled the pouch onto his lap and opened it. Inside lay the roll of parchment and the wooden soldier. He stared at the wood, shining in orange and gold in the light of the thousand candles that illuminated the church.

  Jaeron took a deep breath of the incense wafting down from the altar. He smiled.

  “You didn’t catch me unawares this time, my friend.”

  He turned to see Matteo sliding into his pew. His friend returned Jaeron’s smile.

  “It’s good to know that you take some advice seriously.”

  Jaeron tilted his head.

  “It looked like you were daydreaming again.”

  “No.”

  “But not praying either?”

  Jaeron shook his head. Matteo knew him well.

  “No.”

  “Tell me.”

  Jaeron handed Matteo the scroll. As his friend read the lyrics, Jaeron told him the missing parts of the story. Matteo already knew about the letter from their nanny, Sarah. Jaeron went on to describe how they found the music box from the old apartment. Finally he described the strange spell that allowed him to perfectly recall a song he had not heard since childhood.

  “Matteo, I have a notion… I think…” he stopped and looked in his friend’s eyes.

  “I want to tell you something, and I need you to tell me if it sounds crazy.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think the song is a true story. I think these priests exist, or did exist fifteen years ago. I think they have something that belongs to us – me, Avrilla, Chazd. Something from our birth parents.

  “I think our Nana Sarah knew our parents, or knew why we were adopted. I think she knew these priests. And somehow, I think it’s related to Henri and Liadee’s deaths.

  “And I believe… that the priests were Undeified.”

  It felt strange, but oddly a relief, saying it out loud for someone. Jaeron had been hinting at the conclusion for his siblings, but never stated it so plainly.

  Matteo stared at him. “Jaeron, I trust your instincts. You have always been sound and logical. I don’t think you are deluded. But, you have admitted you are under the influence of some sort of enchantment. Have you considered that your reasoning might not be entirely your own?”

  Jaeron had wondered the very same thing. Ever since the afternoon Rodin had brought them the music box, he had been asking himself if his mind was still his own. It kept him awake at night. He could not be sure, but it felt different when the music played. It felt like his head was full of cotton and he was thinking things behind a veil. It was similar to the feeling he got when Avrilla used her ‘voice.’ He tried to explain it to Matteo.

  “All right, Jaeron. What do you want to do about it?”

  Jaeron laughed. The sound came out short and sad.

  “How come I suspect that you already know?”

  “You want to make these journeys, follow this song.”

  Jaeron nodded. “But not yet. Not until we’ve taken care of Gerlido, Sukul, and Brale.”

  “You still feel that is Teichmar’s calling?”

  “I do, Matteo. I can’t deny that it’s personal, and I want a measure of justice for our loss. But I feel it to my soul that Teichmar wants this done. If I didn’t, I would be gone already.”

  “And Avrilla and Chazd?”

  “I want to ask them to come with me. But I already know their answer.”

  Matteo was quiet for a time. Jaeron began to think that he was letting their conversation stand. Then he spoke again.

  “There is something else you can do.”

  Jaeron saw a strange look on the priest’s face, as if he had eaten something that turned.

  “What?”

  “We could break the spell and see if you still want to go.”

  ~

  After Avrilla’s talk with Cristel, she returned to Karl. She smiled politely and played her charms as Karl moved her around the great hall of the Twin Oaks. She curtsied, offered her hand, and fluttered and blushed appropriately at the comments from the men in attendance. Her interactions with the women were more stilted. Other than Lady deChel, and more recently Danine, she had not found much in common with women.

  She and Karl took turns keeping the curtained room in view, pretending to enjoy the party otherwise. No, not pretending. She was having a good time. Even when she forced Karl into an awkward dance, she enjoyed herself. She also thought that regardless of his embarrassed nervousness at her touch, Karl was having a good time, too.

  The men emerged from the curtain in time for the formal proceedings of the ball. The lead members of the Equine Council, which included Lord Alinfont, made speeches thanking guests, buyers, and breeders, and the local Islar officials. There was a presentation of an oil painting, a portrait of the prized stallion from the prior year’s show, to one of the ranchers. This was followed by an announcement about the activities scheduled over the next days.

  Avrilla took the opportunity to confer with Karl.

  “We can’t keep track of all four of them.”

  “No,” Karl agreed with her. “But we’re not going to get close to Gerlido. He’ll have guild people near him. This is your family’s plan. What’s your call?”

  Avrilla looked around, tracking down each of the other three guests from the secret meeting. The ranch owner sat in a chair on the small stage with his fellow Council members. They were sure to be the last to leave. Cristel had her hands all over the tax official, skirting the edge of decency in such a public place. For his part, though, the man was doing nothing to dissuade her. Which leaves…

  “I think we take the Captain.”

  Karl followed her gaze across the room.

  The captain was in full military dress, the royal blue and silver of the Bormeeran nation. Easy to spot amongst the other colors of the room, neither Avrilla nor Karl lost him as they made their way through the crowd. His escort was another of the other girls from Paisley. She was dressed in an outfit of silver and white, more fitting for a bride than the ball. The Captain seemed not to notice the faux pas.

  “How are we doing this?”

  Avrilla checked their position in the room. They were closing in on the musicians. The Captain was just beyond them, closer to the wall than the central floor.

  “If you can start a conversation with him, I’ll talk to the girl. She’s one of ours.”

  “Then what?”

  “We head toward the doors.”

  The entryway to the ballroom was still staffed, but the door attendants were idle, bored now that no more guests
were arriving. None were leaving yet, either. She could convince the Captain to go with them, but it was going to be tricky speaking with the cavalryman without anyone else hearing her voice. One thing her ability was not was subtle.

  Avrilla stepped away from Karl and moved around the opposite side of the players. A few women had taken a rest against the wall there and she thought she could approach the young courtesan from that angle. Karl came off the dance floor and made his way directly toward the Captain.

  At that moment, two men came through the outer doors without announcement headed toward Karl. No, not Karl. The Captain. They were in combat dress, the mixed leather and plate armor of the light cavalry. The three men exchanged quick words, the Captain gave a quick bow to his hired companion, and they left.

  Karl recovered, moving out of the way without the appearance of intent in talking to the military man. He made his way back to her side.

  “What now?”

  She shrugged. There was only one answer. “We switch targets.”

  The Captain’s exit had prompted a crowd of other guests to follow in his wake. Whether they made the decision because they were bored and politely waiting for a cue, or like the tax collector, intently interested in post ball activities, a mass of people had gathered at the doors trying to leave. Selnius deBraut and Cristel were among them.

  Avrilla could not spare Karl’s feelings on the way out. She wedged herself under his shoulder and propelled him across the hall through the crowd. Cristel’s dress stood out like a green beacon, even under the reddish glow of the street lamps outside.

  By the time Avrilla and Karl got through the doors, Cristel and deBraut were walking along the curved path out toward the main street that ran in front of the Twin Owls. Avrilla was helping Karl down the bottom step when she realized that the couple was not waiting for a carriage.

  “Come on,” she whispered.

  “I see them. You go ahead. I will catch up.”

  Avrilla did not like it, but saw little choice. Karl was moving slowly after so much time on his feet. They would never catch up to Cristel and her patron if she waited on him. She hustled down the path, moving as fast as the fancy gown would allow. Once free of Karl, she halved the distance between herself and the couple. They were intent on their destination, but Cristel knew how to play with her patrons, winding them up for a finish.

  When Avrilla was within a block, the couple was stopped in a kissing embrace.

  “Cristel!” Avrilla called out, startling both the woman and the man with her.

  “Lady deStrebor?”

  Thank Mara the woman remembered her alias!

  DeBraut looked from one woman to the other.

  “Cristel, do you know this woman?”

  “Master deBraut, my apologies. This is Lady Julia deStrebor. We are…”

  “Old friends,” Avrilla completed the thought.

  DeBraut looked unconvinced, not to mention annoyed at the interruption.

  “A pleasure, m’lady. But we do have plans and must be along.”

  “Certainly, I understand, Master deBraut. I just-”

  “What’s going on here?”

  The voice behind her was low, demanding. Avrilla turned to see a rough looking man a few years older than Jaeron. He was dressed in street leathers, but his shirt and breeches were clean, new.

  “It’s nothing, Landon. A minor interruption,” said deBraut.

  A bodyguard. By Teichmar, could this night get any more complicated?

  “Better move along and let the couple be…” the man named Landon was not giving her a suggestion. His hand came to rest on his sword and his eyes came to rest on her chest. “Or you could entertain me for a while.”

  None of them had paid any attention to the carriage approaching, so they were all surprised when another voice took issue with Landon’s crudeness.

  “The lady already has a date for the evening.”

  Karl! Thank the gods.

  Landon twirled around and drew his sword as a single movement. Karl faced him, the sword from within his cane already unsheathed. Avrilla felt honored. But Karl was tired. She had seen the pain in his eyes on the stairs and could only imagine how much worse it was having had to dismount from the carriage so quickly. Landon was fast and seeming eager for a fight. Avrilla recalled what Shaels had said about Gerlido’s men.

  The hireling moved before Avrilla had a chance, lunging with a downward slash that Karl managed to block. Where he found the energy, Avrilla did not know, but her brother’s friend used the rebound of the block to riposte against Landon’s sword and follow with a slashing attack of his own.

  She gritted her teeth in frustration, wrangling with her dress to get to the blade she had hidden earlier. Karl’s form was not bad, but Landon had dodged the attack without effort. Avrilla could not fight in the gown, but that did not mean she could not end this. In two strides she moved behind Landon, trying not to let the dress rustle. The men exchanged another pair of blows. Then Karl’s hip gave way, bringing him to his knees.

  Avrilla struck, driving all of her body into the thin blade. As she moved, she shouted, “Get in the carriage!”

  Landon fell to the ground a fraction of a second before she did. The exertion of both the physical attack and the release of so much magic was too much for her. Her vision darkened from the edges and clouded with a swarm of swirling orange lights. Avrilla lowered her head in an attempt to prevent herself from passing out. It took a few seconds.

  She stood up, still woozy and nauseous. She looked around. No one was in sight, except for Landon laying very still, her stiletto sticking out of his back. Heart shot. Master Yarvin would have liked to see that.

  Avrilla retrieved her dagger, Landon’s sword, and his belt pouch. She patted him down, searching for a hidden coin purse or other bauble, but came up empty. Then she walked over to the carriage and looked inside. As she suspected, Karl, Cristel, and deBraut were all sitting inside waiting for her.

  “Karl, could you drive us to the bordello?”

  Chazd’s friend bobbed his head vigorously and climbed out of the carriage and into the driver’s seat where Avrilla joined him.

  “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

  The man did not say anything, but after the carriage had traveled a couple of streets, he responded.

  “No apology necessary, Avrilla. I think you just saved my life. What do we do next?”

  “We send Cristel home to bed, and then I think I will have a long discussion with our other passenger.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Seventy

  The sun was not yet shining through the window slats when Gerlido was awakened by a pounding on his door.

  “Gerlido!”

  The guildmaster rolled out of bed into a low combat position. Without needing to look, he retrieved a knife from his bed and a set of heavy iron knuckles from his dresser. He made his way down the short hall in pitch blackness while the pounding continued.

  “Gerlido!”

  The call came again and this time he recognized the voice. Sukul. What in the name of Malfekke is he doing here at this hour?

  The guildmaster threw the three bolts and pulled open the door. He dragged Sukul across the threshold and slapped the door back closed.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve got to get out of here. The Guard will be coming soon, if they aren’t already on the way.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know the details, but last night after the ball, deBraut turned himself in to the Islar Guard and confessed the entire arrangement. Lord Alinfont has already been arrested. Our Cavalry associate is already on the move with his men, but I imagine it won’t take the Guard long to contact someone in the Bormeeran Army about him. Your arrest has been ordered.”

  Gerlido’s eyes twitched. DeBraut. Thrice-damned accountant!

  “Why did deBraut go to the Guard?”

  “No one I’ve talked to knows. But we found Landon dead this morn
ing. Stabbed in the back.”

  Not the Guard, then. They would not kill a man that way. Most of them, he amended.

  Larsetta? It would be a tactic she would use. Gerlido began to think it was time to finally confront her.

  “Sukul, get someone in the prison to talk to deBraut. I want to know what happened to him last night. Then silence him.”

  He turned, staring at the comforts of his room. “You were right to come get me. I can’t stay here. Meet me back at the gambling hall. And bring Brale.”

  Without acknowledgment, Sukul turned and was gone. Gerlido allowed his Tainted nature to fully transform him. He punched two holes in the plaster walls and tore apart his sitting room chair before he pulled himself back. He packed a sack with his personal items, grabbed his weapons, and fled Northgate back toward Dockside.

  ~

  Two hours later, Sukul and Brale entered the shell of the Black Fang gambling hall.

  “Well?” Gerlido demanded. He hated waiting and hated hiding even more. Until he understood what was going on, he knew he could not take action.

  “One of our guards got to him. DeBraut admitted it was a woman that convinced him to go to the Guards.”

  It was Larsetta! He wanted to strangle her. He could picture squeezing her neck, watching her eyes bulge.

  “He was with one of the whores from the Paisley house when the woman approached them. Landon intervened and then a man showed up. DeBraut said they were at the ball–”

  “What?”

  “He said they were from the ball.”

  “And this woman from the ball convinced him to turn himself in?”

  Sukul nodded. “That’s what the prison guard said.”

  “It’s not Larsetta.”

  “Sir?”

  Gerlido waived his lieutenant away. He needed to think. A couple from the ball? The brothel on Paisley had been Ortelli’s. Gerlido slammed his hands down onto what remained of a dice table.