The God Thief (The Master Thief Book 3)

by Ben Hale

  “You lost him?” Beauty asked.

  Roarthin scowled. “He’s an ancient being walking in a strange land. We thought he’d be easy to track.”

  “He disappeared,” Thalidon insisted.

  “Where would he go?” Beauty asked. “The only reason he’s here is to stop Skorn.”

  “Unless he has another agenda,” Thalidon said, lowering his tone as an abbot strode by.

  Beauty mulled that over. Thalidon and Roarthin were both skilled mages, warriors, and trackers. If that wasn’t sufficient, their suspicions added to her own.

  But what did Ero want? Ero had carved out nearly a fortnight on his own, but where would he have gone? Then a thought crossed her mind that made her jaw tighten. She’d assumed Ero was an ally, but what if he was an ally of Skorn? They were brothers, after all.

  “Why don’t we ask him?”

  Thalidon rumbled a laugh. “Thieves don’t usually choose the direct approach.”

  “Barbarians do,” Beauty said, striding to Ero’s quarters. She caught the handle but found it locked, so she struck the door.

  “Just a moment,” came the reply.

  The seconds passed but still he did not come. Just as Beauty was considering bashing the door in, Ero called again. This time the handle gave and she strode in. Dressed in his ceremonial white robes, Ero stood on a balcony overlooking the crowd and Le Runtáriel in the distance. He turned at their entrance and smiled.

  “My guardian returns,” he said. “Was your journey pleasant?”

  “Where did you go?” she demanded.

  He gestured to the table, where food had been set. “Care to join me for a meal? I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  Beauty jerked her head. “No more delays. I want the truth.”

  “Of course you do,” Ero said, his piercing gaze turning shrewd. “But what you ask I cannot give.”

  “Did you meet with your brother?” she asked.

  Ero burst into a laugh. “You really have begun to doubt me, if you believe that.”

  Beauty read the truth in his expression. Ero might have his own agenda, but he was no friend to Skorn.

  Thalidon grunted. “You disappeared for two weeks. Why?”

  Ero shifted to face him. “You dwarves are always so blunt. Well I shall be blunt in turn. What do you know of the Eternals?”

  “Jack mentioned it,” Roarthin said. “Seems you are one of them.”

  “We protect Lumineia against threats,” Ero said.

  “Like Skorn?” Beauty asked.

  “No,” Ero said quietly. “We protect it from threats outside Lumineia.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Thalidon asked.

  Ero cocked his head to the side. “There are many realms,” he said. “And we protect Lumineia from them.”

  “What do the Eternals have to do with your absence?”

  “My presence here leaves other duties unattended,” Ero said. “I completed them and then returned. I cannot abandon the Eternals, even for Skorn.”

  “You’re hiding something,” Roarthin said, his tone doubtful.

  “You wanted the truth,” Ero said. “Now you have it.”

  “You expect us to believe you?” Thalidon asked.

  Ero kept his gaze on Beauty. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I don’t,” she said.

  “Your guildmaster trusts me,” Ero said, his tone gaining an edge. “Is that not sufficient?”

  Beauty held his gaze but did not respond. Without a word she turned and left, and the dwarves followed her out. Once they were in the hall, Roarthin shut the door and the trio strode to the eighth circle, out of earshot.

  “I don’t believe him,” Thalidon said.

  “I don’t either,” Beauty said.

  Roarthin grunted. “I don’t like being lied to—especially by an ancient. It’s all too familiar.”

  “Keep your eyes open,” Beauty said. “Skorn is going to come for him and we need to be ready. I’ll be at his side while you cover the main entrances.”

  Ursana appeared at the end of the hall and strode to join them. The lightness to her step faltered as she caught sight of Beauty’s expression. She frowned as she approached and came to a halt before her.

  “What happened?”

  “We can’t trust Ero,” Beauty said.

  She nodded. “What’s the plan?”

  “I want you on the roof of the temple,” Beauty said. “Keep an eye on the crowd, but I suspect that when Skorn comes, he’ll come at night.”

  “As you order,” she said, pulling the large crossbow from her back. “How soon do you expect him to come?”

  “Any day now,” Beauty said. “After what happened in Herosian, Gallow will come—soon.”

  “Because they failed to kill Ero?” Ursana asked.

  “That was not his only goal,” Beauty said. “Skorn wanted to ascertain if Ero was his brother and not an imposter.”

  “And by now he knows the truth,” Thalidon said.

  Roarthin scowled. “He’ll come for Ero—before Ero comes for him.”

  The dwarves nodded and strode toward the end of the corridor. “We’ll watch the entrances,” Thalidon said.

  “It appears Jack’s plan is working flawlessly,” Beauty said. “Skorn is playing into our hands.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Ursana said with a smile.

  Beauty laughed sourly and turned to her, suddenly realizing that they were almost the same height now.

  “Every time I think I know Jack, he surprises me,” Beauty said.

  “Isn’t that what makes love interesting?”

  “You think I love him?” she asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  The honest question made her sigh with regret. “What do you know about love?”

  “A recent acquisition,” Ursana said blithely.

  Beauty smiled shrewdly. “And I take it he’s in Azertorn. An elf, perhaps?”

  Ursana’s smile widened. “Barbarian, actually, and he’s just passing through. But don’t change the subject. You should tell Jack how you feel.”

  “I will—when you tell Gordon how you feel about his family.”

  Ursana muttered to herself and turned away. “An unfinished conversation, then.”

  She strode to the end of the corridor and ascended, leaving Beauty to sigh and rotate back to Ero’s quarters. To her surprise he stood in the doorway, calm as a summer nightingale. He smiled at her expression and motioned to Ursana’s retreating back.

  “It appears she is more honest than you are.”

  “She has yet to learn the cost of honesty,” Beauty said.

  “Honesty with the one you love costs little.”

  “Does your kind even love?” Beauty asked.

  He smiled. “We are not so different from you.”

  “So who do you love?” she demanded.

  His smile was sad and fleeting. “One who withheld her heart.”

  “And did you voice your favor?”

  “I should have,” Ero said, his features somber. “But I lacked the courage.”

  “Perhaps we are not so different,” she said after a moment’s silence.

  He flashed a sad smile but the sudden appearance of an abbot interrupted them. “The patrons are getting anxious, your grace.”

  Ero turned to the abbot, all trace of his vulnerability gone. “Bring them in,” he said.

  For the rest of the day Beauty stayed by his side as he spoke to adoring admirers, throngs of patrons, and the occasional skeptic. Ero spoke to all with equal grace, flawlessly dealing with conflicts and doling out coin with shocking excess.

  As she watched Ero she listened to the monks. They were rife with tension and anger, especially about the high abbot’s involvement in Herosian. The bulk of the clergy harbored a seething resentment toward Ero, their hatred growing with every coin he poured into the hands of patrons.

  Over the subsequent days Beauty noticed that not all of the clergy felt the s
ame. Visible in the approving looks cast at Ero, and the scorn on their expressions when they overheard others muttering about him, a handful of the abbots sided with Ero.

  Led by a woman named Paro, the loyal segment of the church began surreptitiously watching over Ero, inserting themselves into mutinous conversations, attempting to disrupt the growing tide of anger. As the unseen power struggle heightened, the patrons continued to flood the city, compelled to worship or to request coin from the benevolent Ero.

  As the gold reserves of the powerful Church of Light reached a critical low, Beauty took to watching her charge with increasing vigilance. Within a week of their return she began to fear another strike from within, and ordered the dwarves to retreat from the entrance to guard his chambers. Throughout day and night the four thieves watched Ero, and frequently changed personas in case anyone was watching them.

  Tensions continued to rise, and Beauty reached out to Paro, meeting with her in secret to plan. Ero noticed the rising concerns and requested hours of solitude, locking the doors and going unseen for hours. Rather than relieve the pressure, his times of absence served to heighten it. Realizing the time had come, Beauty managed to convince the city guards to dispel the crowds at night, creating an opening for Skorn to appear.

  She sent several messages to Jack but didn’t hear back. Each night she went to sleep with her sword under her pillow, and woke at the slightest sound. Each day she watched the abbots for betrayal, and the patrons for Gallow or her father. When the pressure was too much, she ascended to the roof and spoke to Ursana, who had mounted her crossbow and lay beside it. With the bow’s magic she could bend a bolt to strike anywhere around the building—including inside. Her chosen spot by the opening in the roof allowed her to see the breadth of the great hall and the hundreds of patrons waiting inside.

  Three weeks after her return to Azertorn, Beauty sank into bed exhausted—and woke when a crossbow bolt streaked into her room. She snapped up and watched it quivering in the wall, reading the message as if it was painted on the wall.

  They are here.

  Chapter 36: Ancient Enmity

  Beauty leapt out of bed and yanked her boots onto her feet. She’d taken to sleeping in her clothes and was now grateful she had. Her sword slid into its sheath with a comforting rasp and she darted to the door. When she stepped into the hall Thalidon stumbled through the door on the opposite side.

  “What time is it?” the dwarf growled, rubbing his eyes as he pulled his cloak about his shoulders.

  “After midnight,” she said. “Where’s Roarthin?”

  “Guarding Ero,” he said. “I was about to trade him on watch.”

  Another bolt streaked through Beauty’s open window, thudding into the door. This one came with a parchment around the shaft. She reached up and removed it, unrolling to read it aloud.

  “Two score. East Gate. The guards let them in.”

  Thalidon cursed. “The abbots are helping them.”

  “Get to Paro,” Beauty said. “Have her gather the loyal and meet me at the great hall.”

  The dwarf darted down the hall and disappeared, and Beauty sprinted to Ero’s chambers. When she turned the corner Roarthin raised his axe to her. He scowled and pointed the weapon at the crossbow bolt embedded in the wall next to him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “They’re here,” she said, glancing down the dim corridor.

  She opened the door but Ero was already dressed and striding to her. Instead of fear it was anticipation in his blue eyes. He flicked his hand and the glowing staff blossomed from his palm, extending in both directions, shimmering into solid form.

  “We’ll need to put on a show,” he said. “Or they’ll think I want to be taken.”

  “They might just kill you here.”

  “Kidnap or killing, the wait will be over.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. The past few weeks had built her tension to the breaking point and her hand virtually trembled with the desire to fight. She turned on her heel and led Ero into the hall, where Roarthin fell into step behind them. Together, they hurried down the hall and descended the curving stairs, where Beauty noticed a disturbing lack of guards. At the base of the stairs Thalidon appeared with Paro.

  The woman had traded her abbot’s robe for soldier’s garb. She cinched a scabbard to her belt and tied her hair back. Ero smiled at her shift in appearance.

  “You are much more attractive as yourself.”

  “I wasn’t always an acolyte of Ero,” the woman said.

  “I fear there is something you should know before it begins,” Ero said.

  “That you aren’t Ero?” Paro smiled. “I guessed as much when you gave away the entirety of the church’s fortune.”

  “I am indeed Ero,” he replied. “But I am no god.”

  Paro raised an eyebrow but Beauty stepped in. “Answers come later.”

  She stepped to the arched opening that led to the great hall and the others filed in behind her. The giant star-shaped chamber contained hundreds of pews facing the stage where Ero had first appeared. The night sky was visible through the opening, and Beauty caught a glimpse of Ursana on the lip, her crossbow aimed toward the figure standing on the stage.

  Skorn.

  “New staff, brother?” he asked.

  “I hear a rock troll broke your blade,” Ero replied, stepping past Beauty.

  “Specimen fourteen has surpassed our expectations,” Skorn replied. “But I suppose you know that.”

  “You took longer than I expected,” Ero said.

  “I had difficulty believing it was really you,” Skorn said. “After all you said about not interfering in the affairs of Lumineia, you came for me.”

  “You look worse for wear,” Ero said.

  Skorn’s lips curled with hatred and he reached up to touch his scarred features. Four claws had raked his face, tearing ragged lines in his flesh. Other exposed flesh was mottled and white, the legacy of severe burns.

  “Jack Myst,” Skorn drawled. “It’s disturbing how one human can be so vexing.”

  “At times he seems more than human,” Ero said, taking another step forward. “But he convinced me that I needed to step in.”

  “You broke your oath for him,” Skorn said. “And now you think to haul me back to your cage?”

  “Perhaps it’s time I just kill you,” Ero said.

  A flicker of motion drew Beauty’s gaze to the other entrances of the star chamber. Talinorian mercenaries glided through one door, and were led by Captain Herrick himself. Another door opened and Gallow strode in, a score of cult members at his back. Then a third door crashed open and a massive figure ducked to enter. Beauty’s heart sank as she met his gaze.

  Oragon.

  A score of barbarians stood with the barbarian chieftain. His black hair hung to his shoulders, obscuring the litany of scars lining his face and neck. The man’s eyes glittered with hatred as he caught sight of Beauty and he raised his massive spiked maul, pointing to her.

  She hadn’t seen her father in years, but the sight still terrified her. He was a brute of a man, grizzled and scarred from thousands of duels, battles, and wars. For one to flee a barbarian clan was akin to betrayal, and fathers were known to hunt their children for decades in order to mete out the requisite death.

  “Is that your father?” Thalidon murmured.

  She nodded without looking away from her father. “Chief Oragon of the Bearkiller tribe.”

  Thalidon sniffed. “Do you really think he’ll kill you?”

  “Like he would a mosquito—and with equal distaste.”

  Another movement drew Beauty’s gaze to the last point of the star, where dozens of abbots and Church of Light guards appeared—with Alidon at their head. The former high abbot had lost weight from his time in prison and Beauty could not guess how he’d gotten out. He locked eyes with Paro and sneered.

  Beauty liked the odds less and less. She had the dwarves, Ursana, Paro, and a handful of loyal acolyte
s at her back. Arrayed against them were the head of the assassin’s guild, captain of the Talinorian mercenaries, slighted clergy from the church, and her own father. Twenty against two hundred.

  Ero seemed to be aware of the threat, and as he spoke to Skorn he glanced about, his gaze measuring. The four groups began to drift forward, sensing Skorn’s conversation approaching its end. Beauty locked eyes with her father and saw death there.

  “You hold the reins of an assassin,” Ero said, gesturing to Gallow. “And I understand he prefers subterfuge for his work. Why not send him for me?”

  “You think I want to kill you?” Skorn laughed. “I will let you die—after you see your experiments destroyed.”

  “Jack Myst has defeated you twice,” Ero said. “And I don’t think you have room for any more scars.”

  Skorn snarled at that. “You dare to mock me?”

  “You think your allies will bring you victory?’ Ero asked. “You always use pawns, and they will never be anything more.”

  Ero’s words elicited scowls from Skorn’s captains, and Skorn glanced their way. “They are lethal enough to kill you . . . and your friends.”

  “Perhaps,” Ero said. “But if I die here, Jack will still defeat you.”

  “You have faith in a thief?” Skorn said, his features darkening. “You were always so superior, and it’s time you were humbled.”

  He signaled his forces and they advanced between the pews, the sound of steel being drawn reverberating throughout the hall. Paro barked an order and the loyal acolytes spread out, while Beauty shifted to face her father’s approach. As Skorn’s followers passed the stage he smiled.

  “I have a prison prepared for you, Ero,” Skorn said. “I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed mine.”

  Oragon advanced at the head of the barbarians, his gaze fixed upon Beauty. His scarred lip curled in a sneer as he approached and he raised his spiked maul. Embedded with steel spikes and animal fangs, the weapon was ugly and brutal, an instrument to maim as much as kill.

  “I know you will fight,” Oragon said, his voice a raspy growl. “And I look forward to it. It’s been years since another offered a challenge.”

  Beauty stood her ground. “Our traditions are perverse and yet you still uphold them.”