Among Thieves totk-1

by Douglas Hulick

  Which meant that if I wanted Degan’s help against them, I would have to do the same. The only problem was, I suddenly didn’t want to take the Oath anymore.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You don’t want to do this,” said Degan.

  No kidding. But it suddenly wasn’t about wanting anymore; it was about needing. I needed to take the Oath.

  “I have to,” I said.

  “No, you don’t,” said Degan.

  “Oh?” I said. “And how do you figure that? You’ve as much as said you can’t talk to me about Iron Degan or his business because he’s under Oath to whoever that woman is. And it seemed pretty clear in the sewers that unless I’m willing to take that same step, I won’t be getting any answers from you on the matter. So, yes, I’d say it’s a matter of need.”

  “I told you before, I don’t know what Iron or his boss are up to. Your taking the Oath won’t change that.”

  “But you suspect,” I said. “You have some ideas about what’s going on.”

  Degan paused. “I have suspicions,” he said. “But they’re based on who Iron is, not on anything I know.”

  “And…?” Degan looked down at me in silence. “My point exactly,” I said. “You can’t even tell me your suspicions without the Oath.”

  “Drothe, do you realize what taking the Oath means?” said Degan. “For you? For me?”

  “It means I owe you,” I said. “Big. Really big. And that you can call in your marker at any time. I also know that I get you, not just as a friend, but as a degan, working for me on my payroll. And I get what you know about Iron and his boss, even if it’s just an educated guess.”

  “And you’d be willing to take that deal?”

  “Yes,” I said. Maybe. It was hard to say, not knowing what Degan knew, but I wasn’t going to get anything from him if I didn’t take the Oath. That much was clear.

  Degan nodded thoughtfully. “And what if I told you that was the street version of the story? What if I told you there was more?”

  “How much more?”

  “When I say I can ask for anything,” Degan said, “I mean anything. And I expect you to serve it up on a plate, because that’s what I would do for you if I took the Oath. The Oath means I’m willing to put my life on the line, not only for you, but for your interests as declared in the Oath. I’m your man until I die or the Oath is fulfilled. And I expect the same of you when it comes time to call in my side of the bargain. You have to do what I say, without question, without hesitation, even if it goes against what you want or believe in. Even if it means you stand a good chance of being killed. Because we exchanged the Oath, and that’s the burden each side carries for the other-me for you, and you for the Order.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What do you mean, the burden I carry ‘for the Order’? What do I owe them?”

  A ghost of a smile touched Degan’s lips. “Just this: If I complete my part of the Oath and die before calling in my ‘marker,’ or I die in your service, your Oath passes on to the Order of the Degans.”

  “The entire Order?” I said, feeling my insides going into a free fall. Angels, how many degans were there, anyhow?

  “To the first degan who decides to call it in.” Degan leaned in toward me. “Even, maybe, Iron Degan. How would that turn out, do you think?”

  Not well, I realized. But that involved a lot of ifs. It also brought up another question.

  “What if someone refuses to fulfill his end of the Oath?” I said. “It has to have come up.”

  “It has,” said Degan.

  “And?”

  Degan straightened up. “In many ways, the Order of the Degans is the Oath. It’s what makes us degans. Some of us have been known to give ourselves over for years in fulfilling an Oath. How do you think we would react if someone recanted on his end, especially if one of us had lied, cheated, killed, and maybe even died, to fulfill his part of the agreement?”

  I shuddered. “That’d be a lot of pissed-off talent,” I said.

  “And that’s only the beginning.”

  That didn’t sound good-as if any of this could.

  “We’re an old order, Drothe,” continued Degan. “And the Oath is an old binding.”

  I felt my jaw dropping open and stopped it. “Are you saying there’s glimmer involved?” I said.

  “I’m saying it’s an old binding. I don’t pretend to understand it, but there are stories.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  Degan eyed me coolly and remained silent.

  Son of a bitch. Half of me was worried that Degan was playing me, trying to scare me off; the other half was just as worried he wasn’t.

  “What’s your angle in all this?” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The degans,” I said. “What’s your angle? How do you come out ahead making deals like this? You said yourself, some of you spend years fulfilling your Oaths. How does getting one service in return even begin to make up for all of that?”

  Degan’s eyebrows crept up. “Why, we ask for the right service. From the right people.”

  “The right service for what?”

  “The right service for the Order.”

  I felt my hands balling themselves into fists at my side. “Dammit, Degan!” I snapped. “No games!”

  “I’m not playing any. All I can tell you is that the Order of the Degans is content with what it gets in exchange for its services, both when it comes to members hiring out for money or taking an Oath.” Degan paused, then added, “We don’t take Oaths from just anyone, after all.”

  Which hinted at volumes, but said nothing.

  “Would you take an Oath from me?” I said.

  “I’d rather not.”

  I didn’t know if I was flattered or frightened by the answer, let alone by what it implied.

  Degan read my expression and nodded. “Now you understand why I don’t want you to take the Oath. Because of our friendship and what the Oath may mean to it. Better for us both if you step away and let things in Ten Ways-and with Iron-run themselves out.”

  “Except it’s about more than just Ten Ways now,” I said. “There’s the whole question of Larrios and Athel and the book and my relic. Iron Degan and his boss didn’t storm Fedim’s shop because they liked crappy pottery-they wanted whatever Larrios had. And now I find out they’re trying to start a Kin war between Nicco and Kells in Ten Ways, too? That can’t just be coincidence!”

  “You don’t know for certain that the two are connected,” said Degan. “Larrios and the book and your relic may have nothing to do with Ten Ways.”

  “You mean like the scrap of paper we pulled off Athel?” I said.

  Degan opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.

  “Look,” I said. “You’ve scared the shit out of me with all of this about the Oath, all right? The idea of taking the Oath, of being bound to perform a service I can’t refuse…” I shook my head. “I don’t even go that far as a Nose-not with anybody. And then you tell me I would have to keep the Oath with Iron Degan if you died and he got to me first? That alone’s enough to shy me away from taking it.”

  “Good,” said Degan, his shoulders relaxing.“Because-”

  “Except,” I said, “that I wouldn’t be taking the Oath with a degan-I’d be taking it with you. I trust you, not only to keep your end of the bargain, but to not take advantage of my end, either. Hell, you’ve covered my blinds so many times, if you wanted to screw me, you’d have done it by now.”

  A pained expression crossed Degan’s face. “My covering your blinds is worlds different from calling in the Oath, Drothe.”

  “You’ve made that painfully clear,” I said. “But, really, it all comes down to trust. I trust you. I trust your Oath. And if I thought there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask you to do this. But whether you take the Oath with me or not, I’m going to keep pressing, and that means I’ll likely come up against Iron Degan and his boss at some point. When that happens, I’d rat
her have you at my back than not.” I held out my hand, palm up. “I want to exchange the Oath with you, Degan.”

  Degan stared at me so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “We’re both a couple of fools,” he finally said. “Fools of the first order.” His hand came down and clasped my forearm, even as mine closed on his. Then he let go. “Come on, then.”

  “Where?”

  “Where we won’t be interrupted when we exchange the damn Oath.”

  I followed Degan through the streets of Ildrecca as the sun lightened the sky in the east. He didn’t seem to be searching for a specific location so much as walking off his frustration.

  His disquiet almost made me want to stop, to say that we could forget the Oath, that I would manage on my own. Almost. But I didn’t think I could do this without him, especially if I was going to be facing Iron Degan. And what I had said was true-I trusted Degan. I had to believe that he wouldn’t let me take the Oath if it wasn’t worthwhile, that he wouldn’t betray me when it came time to pay. There was too much riding on it to believe otherwise.

  We finally turned into a series of alleys called the Cloisters, running along the border between Stone Arch and Lady of the Roses cordons. The alleys were unique in that they had a series of peaked arches running across them at regular intervals, providing not only artistic support for the buildings on either side, but easy bridges for anyone running the roofs.

  Degan led me down one alley, into another, then stopped. We stood beneath an ivy-covered arch. He turned around.

  Degan drew his sword without preamble and held it by the blade, just below the guard, point down. He placed his other hand on the bronze-chased guard. I gathered I was supposed to do the same, and did so.

  The metal was warmer than I expected. I wondered if it had picked up some heat from the sunlight and Degan’s body, or if there was another explanation. Then again, maybe my palms were just feeling chilled from the sweat gathering on them. Either way, it didn’t matter much at this point.

  I looked up at Degan. He stood straight and formal, his eyes hooded in shadow. The look of near-amusement I was so used to seeing on his face was gone. Now he regarded me as he did everyone else on the street-without mercy or friendship. He was no longer my friend; he was Bronze Degan. For the first time in a long time, I remembered what that truly meant. I felt the fear he inspired in others, in those he did not call friend. I felt the weight of the Oath.

  I swallowed and tried to clear my throat. It didn’t help. “So, how do we do this?” I asked.

  “What is the service you wish me to perform?” he said.

  Into it that quickly, then. I pulled my gaze away from his and stared at the sword while I ordered my thoughts.

  Up close, I could see that the bronze inlays on the guard were immaculate. There was no hint of tarnish or greening there-even around the dents and scratches it had earned in hard service. Fine swirls and broad strokes intermixed in an almost-sylvan pattern against the steel of his guard, suggesting creeping vines, or maybe windtossed grasses. The blade itself had a milky quality to it, as if someone had just breathed on the steel and paused before wiping off the condensation. Below the seeming haze were tiny lines and arcs, slightly darker than the rest of the steel, running throughout the blade. Black Isle steel, forged at the monastery of the same name, renowned for its strength and near-legendary ability to hold an edge. It was the best steel that money-or anything else, for that matter-could buy.

  I studied the sword and noticed for the first time that a faint teardrop had been etched into the blade, just between where Degan’s hand was holding it and where the steel met the guard. I looked back up at Degan.

  “I need you to help me settle things in Ten Ways,” I said. “No matter who is involved or what the outcome, I need you to stand beside and protect me. And I need you to tell me what you know about what’s going on down there, and help me find out whatever we may not know.” I paused a moment, then added, “Basically, I need you to cover my blinds and keep my best interests at heart. Again.”

  Degan clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times. “Is this all you require of me?” he said.

  I thought about it. There was plenty more I could add, but I was afraid the more specific I got, the more limited my options might become. Better to keep things loose and mutable, rather than locking myself into something I couldn’t amend later. “Yes,” I said, “that’s all I require of you.”

  Degan nodded. “Very well. I am willing to be so bound by my Oath as a degan to serve you, in faith as well as in deed. Are you willing to be bound likewise to my service, whenever I should request it and for whatever reason, unable to refuse or evade me? And will you honor this Oath with my brethren, should I perish before I am able to reclaim my payment?”

  Visions of Iron Degan calling in my marker, a toothy grin on his broad face, ran through my mind. “You’d better not die,” I said to Degan. A small smile flickered onto his face, then vanished. “Yes, I’m willing to be bound by all that,” I said.

  Degan nodded curtly. “Since the first days of the degans, through to the present, and until our Order is broken and its members turned to dust, so will it be. As I am bound to your service, so are you bound to mine. My sword stands as a symbol of this covenant.”

  With that, he turned the sword in his hand so the point was facing up, brought it to his lips, and kissed the steel. Then he held it out to me. I followed suit. The metal was cool on my lips and tasted of oil.

  “So be it,” said Degan. He wiped his blade on a sleeve and sheathed it.

  We stood in silence.

  “That’s it?” I said at last.

  “That’s it,” said Degan.

  “No clap of thunder, no lightning, no wailing spirits in the shadows? After all you told me, I expected something a little more dramatic.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. Next time I’ll hire a Mouth to fill the streets with fog and glowing lights.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “There won’t be a next time.”

  “There usually isn’t,” said Degan.

  I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand to remove the last lingering hints of honing oil. “So?” I said.

  Degan turned and resumed walking down the alley, this time slowly. I fell in beside him.

  “Iron Degan,” he said, letting the name hang on the air for several paces. “He’s proud. As a man, as a degan. He doesn’t exactly cozen to the idea of some members of the Order selling their swords for coin, rather than solely for the Oath. It’s something most of us have done at one point or another-you have to live, after all, and coin tends to spend better than reputation in the long run. But, except for one or two occasions, my brothers and sisters have been able to keep the distinction between paid work and the Oath separate.”

  “ ‘One or two occasions’?” I said.

  Degan glanced down at my rapier. “Funny,” he said. “That doesn’t look like a degan’s sword in your scabbard.”

  I chuckled. “Right,” I said. “Mind my own damn business. So what would Iron Degan have the Order do?”

  “Find a cause and fight for it. Serve a worthy master or mistress. Hold ourselves above petty squabbles and enforcement-for-hire. Iron had his share of clan wars and slaughter-for-profit when he was growing up; he wants to put that behind him. He’d rather serve the goal than the man.”

  “So he’s seeking a higher road?”

  “As much as anyone can who fights and kills for a living.”

  “Which means he’s sworn himself to an idea or a cause, and not just a person, in Ten Ways.”

  Degan shrugged. “It’s Iron. He’s given the Oath to someone he believes in. That person either is the cause for him, or his link to it. But whoever that is, they aren’t a run-of-the-mill Kin, or even a promising Upright Man. As I said, Iron is proud, and as a degan, he wouldn’t let himself serve a minor cause. Whoever he’s sworn to, it’s no small player.”

  “Bigger than an Upright Man?
” I said.

  We stopped short of where the Cloisters let out onto Plank Street, keeping to the shadows for a little longer. Ahead of us, the street was filling up with morning light and foot traffic.

  “That’s my guess,” said Degan.

  I leaned back against the alley wall, feeling the sudden need for support. “Degan,” I said, “are you telling me we’re up against a Gray Prince in Ten Ways? A fucking Gray Prince?”

  Degan kept his eyes locked on the street as he said, “Now you understand why I wanted you to walk away.”

  I barely heard him. I was too busy contemplating the wall behind my head, wondering how hard, and how many times, I would need to bash my skull against it to make this all go away. No more than five, I decided-maybe six to be safe.

  Go up against one of the Princes of the Kin? People talked about them in whispers, spoke about them as legends more than as flesh and blood. How the hell do you take on a legend? Even an Upright Man like Nicco knew better than to cross that line. And here was Degan, who seemed to have figured all of this out before me, agreeing to do it, anyhow-no, not just agreeing, but taking an Oath on it. My friend was insane.

  But then what did that make me? Degan had been telling me to walk away, to let it go; yet my gut still told me to follow it through. Why?

  Because of the Dark King; because if whoever was backing Iron Degan got his way, he’d bring the empire down on us all over again. I didn’t want to have to face the empire, to choose between fighting or hiding, to have to look over my shoulder for White Sashes for the next five years or give up the Kin life altogether.

  And, ultimately, because I was a Nose, I wanted to know what the hell was going on, who was trying to play me, and make them pay. If the empire stepped in, that might never happen.

  “Any idea which Prince it might be?” I said. I thought back to the sewers. “Was it the woman we heard with him in Ten Ways?”

  “I don’t know,” said Degan. “Maybe, but that could just as easily have been a lieutenant. Gray Princes don’t usually run on raids from what I hear. But I do have a few avenues I can follow, now that I’m committed to the matter.”