Midday. That thought was like another spike in his brain. The meeting. The meeting was going to start him on his journey to becoming a master thief. And if the sun wasn’t lying—it normally didn’t in Lukin’s experience—he was late.
Boiled shitcakes. He spun, bounded to the door, and flung it open. He ran out, crashing straight into someone, and they both went down in a jumble of limbs.
He flushed when he saw who it was. He had ended up on top of Macy, the prettiest barmaid in the Oakseed. “Sorry.”
“Do you plan on lying on top of me all day?”
“Course not.” He started up then paused, trying on a cheeky grin he’d been practicing. “Unless you’d like me to.”
“Get off me, you rogue.”
“Your loss.” Lukin rolled off her. As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice how nice the squishy parts of her body felt. Once on his feet, he helped Macy up.
She swished dust from her dress. “What got into you? You flew out of your room like a ferang demon escaping an ice cave.”
“I’m late.”
“Yet now, you seem to have all the time in the world.”
“What can I say? I work hard, and I play hard.” Lukin had spent time and energy trying to impress Macy, so far to no avail.
“You’re sixteen and a layabout. What do you know about working hard?”
“I told you I was twenty.”
“Good job I never believe a word you say.”
“If you want to come into my room, I’ll demonstrate that I know how to play hard.” Lukin winked. “I may only be sixteen, but I’m all man.” An adventurer knew women. That was also part of the job description—a part Lukin had so far failed to qualify for.
“What kind of thing is that to say to a lady?”
“There’s a lady around?” Lukin glanced around, a mock-confused look on his face.
“You’re incorrigible.” Macy slapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here. I’ve work to do.” A little smile had crept onto her face. Under other circumstances, I’d drag your cute little behind into your room and give you a right seeing to.
“Under what circumstances?” Lukin asked.
“What are you talking about?”
She hadn’t actually said the last remark. Which made sense—she wouldn’t say something like that. But Lukin had heard it... or seemed to. Is it my imagination? “Nothing. It’s been a queer morning, all round.” He rubbed the side of his head. “I have no idea what the barkeep put in last night’s booze. And if you can’t trust a barkeep, well, life isn’t worth living, is it? I’d better be off. We’ll resume at a later date.”
Lukin raced along the landing to the top of the stairs, grabbed the banister, and vaulted down the first five steps then took the rest three at a time. On the main floor of the tavern, Lukin almost collided with another barmaid, dodging around her at the last moment. Without slowing, he apologized over his shoulder.
He paused outside as a thought struck him, then he stuck his head back into the tavern. No sign of Flechir. That was good, at least. The last thing he needed was the old man interfering.
Lukin slowed to a walk, not wanting to draw attention, seeing as though he was on his way to a secret meeting. So what if I’m late, anyway? Having the meeting before the afternoon had even begun hadn’t been Lukin’s idea. Everyone knew adventurers didn’t leave their beds early, and master thieves were likely the same.
The streets of Soirbuz were as crowded as always, and while Lukin didn’t deny anyone’s right to go about his or her business, he wondered whether everyone had to be so loud about it.
Luckily, he didn’t have to go far. He turned left onto Burgundy Avenue and took the first right, and the entrance of the Fox in the Henhouse was at the next corner. Inside, the place was as empty as the Oakseed, with only a single barmaid—looks-wise, not worth a second glance—lazily sweeping the floor.
Empty. Guerin must have left already. Festering dragon breath. He cursed himself as a Tockian idiot. He had pestered Sonny to set something up, and when his friend finally came through, Lukin had messed up. Perhaps he could have drunk a little less the night before. Considering the strange things that had happened since he’d woken, perhaps he should have drunk a lot less.
A shadow moved in the far corner, and Lukin explored farther into the tavern, only then seeing a black-cloaked figure sitting at the corner table.
Lukin slid into the chair opposite. “You must be Guerin.”
The man didn’t move, his hood pulled low over his face. The beer in front of him was untouched.
Lukin licked his lips. “If you are going to sit there silent and mysterious, I might as well have a drink while I’m waiting.” He reached for the beer.
Guerin’s hand snaked forward, and a knife flashed, stabbing downward. Lukin jerked his hand back, and the blade vibrated in the table. The knife would have hit his hand if he had reacted more slowly.
“That wasn’t friendly.” Lukin was glad to realize he wasn’t falling to pieces with fear. He could check “coolness in dangerous situations” as one of his adventuring qualities. He’d been in dangerous situations before, but Flechir had always been there to take care of things. For future reference, Lukin made a mental note not to interfere with the beverages of hooded strangers in case they got frisky with sharp weapons.
The beer did smell good, though. And Lukin’s head badly needed some medicine of the freshly brewed variety. He twisted around, but unfortunately, no one was serving. The man still wasn’t drinking. Does he have a second knife under that cloak?
“I’m taking a fifth off your fee for being late.” Guerin’s voice was a hissing whisper.
At least that confirmed the stranger actually was Guerin. Lukin would have been embarrassed if the man had been someone else. “First, you need to convince me. Master thieves don’t take on any old job.”
“You’ll do it.” Guerin pressed his hands against the table. “You aren’t going to tell me I’ve been waiting here for no reason, are you?”
Lukin shook his head, once again wondering if he needed to worry about a second knife.
“I need something stolen.”
“I commend you for choosing the best thief in Soirbuz.” Lukin hadn’t, as such, actually stolen anything yet. However, he was ready and willing, with an adventurer’s confidence in his own ability. And coolness in dangerous situations. Mustn’t forget that.
He does seem as dumb as promised.
“I’m not dumb,” Lukin said, automatically defending himself. Then, he realized Guerin hadn’t actually said anything, as with Macy earlier. “I said I’m not dumb because sometimes people think I am when they first meet me.” Trying to cover up the statement about being dumb, he knew he was just making it worse, but he couldn’t stop himself. “But I’m not. Dumb, I mean. Even if you might have thought I was.” Just stop talking, you idiot. Of course, he hadn’t finished digging. “Just wanted to make it clear that I’m not dumb, so you know you can trust me with, you know, this... whatever you have planned for me to do.”
I didn’t want an absolute imbecile, but he’ll have to do. Whether he succeeds or fails doesn’t matter.
Lukin kept his mouth firmly shut. He was definitely picking up Guerin’s thoughts. Am I a thought mage without realizing? What the other man had just thought was nearly weirder than Lukin being able to hear it. Not the part about Lukin being an imbecile—that part made sense—the part about Guerin not caring about the success of the theft.
“I was told you could do a job for me.” Guerin yanked his knife from the table and tapped its tip against the beer glass. The wastefully full glass with beads of condensation lovingly hugging it. “I need you to steal a goblet from Lord Jearg’s mansion.”
Lukin straightened in his chair. “Come again?” Outside the Lord Protector himself, Lord Jearg was the most powerful man in Soirbuz. His heavily guarded mansion was not a place to send an imbecile.
“It’s in a hall on the west wing, top floor. It�
�s made of silver with a large reddish crystal on the front of it.”
“If I succeed in breaking into Lord Jearg’s mansion, I’ll be tripping over better valuables.” A solitary silver goblet was hardly worth going to all this trouble. Unless. Guerin had mentioned the gemstone. Was that the valuable part?
“I need you to steal that and nothing else.”
“But if—”
“That and nothing else,” Guerin repeated. “You won’t receive any fee if you steal anything else. The Order were clear on that point.”
“The Order?”
Guerin shook his head. “Forget I mentioned them. It’s not important. You’ll be dealing only with me.”
He could only have meant the Armentell Order. The crystal in the goblet had to be one of the magical color-changing ones. Sonny had told Lukin that if he was ever in possession of a color-changing crystal, he should play the Order against the Protector’s clerics and thus collect a king’s ransom for it, provided neither side killed him for it first. Both sides wanted them that badly. Lukin licked his lips. “And the fee would be?” He expected it to be juicy.
“Five, no, taking into account the deduction for being late, four ruby kopecs. Still generous, I’m sure you realize, though nonnegotiable.”
Lukin sucked a sharp breath. Each ruby kopec was worth one hundred topaz kopecs. And twenty shards for each topaz kopec. That meant eight thousand shards. A standard beer in a tavern was four shards, so the one job would be worth—Lukin’s brow crinkled—two thousand beers. Or perhaps a present for every pretty barmaid in Soirbuz.
Lukin was imagining how grateful those barmaids would be when a sudden thump on the table broke him from his reverie. He looked up to find Flechir with his fist on the table, the glass overturned, and beer spilling across the table. Of course the old man has to interfere just when I’m making something of my life.
“What are you doing here?” Lukin jumped to his feet to avoid the beer spilling onto him.
Guerin stood and brandished his knife. “You should probably leave, graybeard, before someone gets hurt.”
“You are right that someone might get hurt.” Flechir shoved Lukin in the chest, sending him sprawling against a chair. Lukin tripped and fell heavily to the ground.
“Who are you, old man, and what does any of this have to do with you?” Guerin’s words no longer had a sinister hiss at the end.
Flechir was old the way an oak was old, a tree that had stood through a hundred storms and would stand through a hundred more. “Those old enough to have gray in their hair and beards are survivors,” he said. “Some have survived by running away”—Flechir didn’t move his hand toward the sword hilt at his belt, but the way he was standing make the sword dangle prominently—“others by not running.”
“I don’t want no trouble.” Guerin’s voice had a squeaking quality. He made to move past Flechir.
The old man raised a finger. “Leave the knife.”
“If you think I’m going—”
“You can leave this tavern with the knife in the table or inserted into your person. Your choice.”
Guerin stabbed the knife back into the table. Flechir quickly trapped Guerin’s wrist with one hand and pulled off the hood with the other. Guerin’s eyes were close together, and he had a small pointed nose. His black hair was slicked back.
“Now, I know what you look like. Don’t let me find you talking to Lukin again.” Flechir pulled down on the neck of the cloak, showing the ruffled collar of the tunic below.
Under the cloak, Guerin was dressed like a rich merchant. Guerin’s performance as a hard-bitten criminal had been a sham.
Guerin jerked backward, freeing himself from Flechir’s grasp. Pormustin’s not paying me enough to risk getting killed. I’ll find some other patsy. He tramped out.
Lukin righted the chair he’d fallen over. The barmaid had stopped sweeping the floor to watch, and Lukin raised a hand in her direction. “Sorry about that.”
He took a seat as Flechir sat opposite him. “You agreed not to interfere in my life,” Lukin told him.
“No I didn’t. I agreed to stop traveling and let you live in one place for a while.”
“So I could make my own life.”
Since Lukin had been very young, Flechir and he had traveled the length and breadth of Mageles. A year before, Lukin had finally grown old enough to insist that they put down roots.
“Making your own life? Is that what you call sleeping all day and drinking all night? On my topaz.”
“I’m an adventurer.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“I’ll soon have my own topaz.” Before he’d left, Guerin, or whatever his name really was, had thought about his employer. Pormustin. Lukin could cut out the middleman.
“What’s that?” Flechir grabbed Lukin’s wrist and twisted it so he could see the ring. “No markings, but it looks solid gold. Who did you rob it from? You know you’ll lose your hand if you get caught stealing.”
Lukin snatched his wrist away. “It’s mine. I didn’t steal it.” The revelation that exploded inside Lukin’s mind was so obvious that he wanted to slap himself over the head for not realizing earlier. He refrained from hitting himself, though, since he’d already looked like an imbecile enough times for one day.
Of course the ring was allowing him to hear thoughts. He’d never heard of a magic object giving someone thought-mage powers, but that had to be what was happening.
“There’s no way you had enough topaz to buy that. And even if you had, why would you buy a ring? Don’t lie to me.”
Lukin stood. “It’s mine, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you call me a liar. I don’t need you any more. I can take care of myself.”
“Like you were doing now? You were lapping up what that charlatan was telling you when I entered.” Still a dumbass kid.
“How did you know to find me here?” Lukin knew Flechir would treat him like a seven-year-old forever if Lukin let him.
“A guess.” Overlapping the word came a thought: Sonny.
Lukin had two beefs with his friend, or perhaps ex-friend. Sonny had set Lukin up with Guerin, who only wanted a patsy, and, worse, told Flechir about it.
“Well stop guessing about what I’m doing.” With that, Lukin stamped out of the tavern. He knew the old man was watching, and he went for an I-am-my-own-man walk. However, he feared he didn’t get it quite right and might have done a toddler-temper-tantrum stamp instead—in Flechir’s eyes at least.
Outside, he sniffed the air. Something was wrong. He took a moment to realize what it was. A lack of beer smell. He still hadn’t recovered from not getting even a sip of Guerin’s beer before it had spilled. He couldn’t go back inside the Fox, but the next nearest tavern wasn’t far away. In Soirbuz, it never was.
Lukin glanced down at the gold ring. He still had no idea how it had gotten into his room, but it seemed the kind of thing that would happen to a true adventurer. The ring had arrived for him just in time to prevent the old man from ruining the opportunity he’d won for himself. Guerin might try to hire a different patsy for the job, but Lukin had the jump on whoever that might be.
All he had to do was be the master thief he’d pretended to be and burgle the most heavily guarded mansion in Soirbuz.
Chapter 3
The cold only pained Mortlebee because his heart was impure. That and because I’m naked on the side of a mountain in the middle of the bloody night, a little voice said. He mentally hushed the voice, for it had gotten him into trouble in the first place.
Curing an impure heart didn’t happen in one night, so for the moment, Mortlebee was stuck with more physical methods of keeping warm. On top of a platform of fern leaves, which he had created to form a thin barrier between his skin and the freezing ground, he hopped from foot to foot. He had been doing that a while and was beginning to tire.
He hadn’t realized that cold could cause a bright physical pain, a burning sensation with searing cold instea
d of heat. He hadn’t known his teeth could chatter hard enough to give himself a sore jaw. Those things weren’t what Father had sent him outside to learn, but he found it hard to concentrate on what he was supposed to be thinking about.
When he’d first been sent out, he’d worried about his nakedness more than the cold, concerned about Dell’s sisters looking outside and seeing him. They wouldn’t have seen anything but shadows, of course, unless they had looked out at the exact moment he lit up like a firefly—a giant naked firefly. Magic is violence of the spirit, Mortlebee remembered.
He wasn’t ready to even think about what he had found and swiftly hidden under the heather bushes on the far side of the Eagleview trail.
Too tired to keep hopping, he allowed himself to fall onto his backside. He hugged his knees and rocked back and forth, not letting any part of his body touch the ground for long. Racking shivers ran through his body.
The inky blackness of the mountains cut a jagged pattern out of the starlit sky. A distant wind whistled, and closer, the village stream churned against the rocky riverbed. Orange firelight crept out between the shuttered windows of the houses of the village. The families in Bluegrass would be sitting around fires, cooking their evening meal, small as that might be. Mortlebee’s thoughts weren’t on the food but on the crispy heat of the fire. He’d give everything he had for a moment beside even a small blaze, not that he had much to give—at that moment, not even the clothes on his back.
How long until Father decides I have learned my lesson? “One who is always learning never makes the same mistakes,” the scrolls of Kale taught. Mortlebee rubbed the blocks of ice at the ends of his ankles. His fingers still had some feeling in them since he was using them constantly to warm the other parts of himself—impossible as that task was.
Let’s review how I arrived here, Mortlebee decided. The setting is a pleasant one: a little creek burbles past two young friends chatting. Mortlebee snapped two small leaves off one of the ferns and bent both in half so they stood by themselves. He placed them before himself so the two leaves faced each other. Their conversation is not pleasant.
The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1) Page 2