Among Thieves totk-1

by Douglas Hulick

  Iron finished before me and handed the wooden plate back to Rall’ad. I ate a last bite, threw the remains in the gutter, and pushed back into the street.

  We were a handful of paces away from Rall’ad’s stall when Iron said, “He was one of yours?”

  “Used to be,” I said. “Now he’s too scared to look at me.”

  “You expected any different?”

  I chewed on my mustache. “No, I suppose not,” I said after a bit. “Still, it’s hard seeing it end like this-watching myself being so hastily shoved aside.”

  “It never gets easier,” said Iron. “Take my word on that.”

  I nodded, remembering what Degan had told me about his order-how degans sometimes served for years until the debt was paid. Was it easier for them, knowing they’d be walking away on their own terms, their deal kept, or did that make it harder? And what if the Oath required them to turn on their friends and associates? There was no one to blame except themselves and their honor. Even with Kells, I at least had the knowledge that I was saving him through my betrayal; the degans had no such luxury.

  I shuddered at the thought. That was more weight than I would ever want to bear.

  By the time we reached Fifth Angel Square, the crowds were out in force. Iron kept up with me far better than I would have expected, smoothly sliding his solid frame around knots of people even as I ducked behind and through them. I expected him to leave a wake of disruption behind him; instead, he left barely a ripple of notice.

  As I walked, I looked up occasionally to catch a glimpse of Elirokos at the center of the square. The Pardoner’s weathered statue still looked like a one-armed beggar to me, but now I found I could sympathize with his predicament. Battered, broken, his glory literally falling off him in pieces, he still stood tall and pointed the way to redemption. The carved souls under his care had vanished with his missing arm, but that didn’t mean they were forgotten. I could see the weight of his burden reflected in the artfully carved lines of his face, the droop of his eyelids, the slight lean of one shoulder. If ever an Angel knew despair and failure, it was this one.

  I nodded at the statue with a new appreciation. When this was all over, I decided, I would have to pay my respects at his shrine.

  Mendross was in the middle of his closedown as I walked up. It was late enough in the day that most of the people who came to the bazaar to buy fruit had already been, so he was busy shifting bags, filling crates, and yelling at his son to do his share of the work. I could already see that the small handcart they used to sell their oldest produce on the street was nearly filled.

  “Damn it, boy,” groused Mendross, his tone grown casual from the nightly ritual. “If you don’t move your ass, we’ll never sell any of this. Anchaka’s cart is already packed and away. If I end up with a pile of rotting-Sweet Angels and emperors, what the hell are you doing here!”

  I smiled as the fruit seller caught sight of me and almost dropped the basket of dates in his hands.

  “Being very unpopular with my former Ears, it would seem,” I said drily.

  Mendross licked his lips and glanced at the crowds creeping through the bazaar around us. “You have to leave,” he hissed. “Now.”

  I crossed my arms and stared at the fruit seller. I was getting tired of everyone I’d known in Nicco’s territory giving me the flick. Nicco might be after me, but it didn’t mean I was poison to whomever I touched.

  “I’ll go,” I said, “when I get the package I left with you.”

  Mendross looked at Iron and hesitated. As much as I would have liked to step off with the Ear, I knew Iron wouldn’t stand for it. Instead, I nodded to let Mendross know it was all right to talk.

  “That’s just it,” said Mendross. “People have been coming around asking questions about you.” He set down the basket and stepped closer. “And about… it.”

  “About it?” I said. Who knew to ask Mendross about the journal? “Who’s been asking?”

  Mendross shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Tall cove, dark cloak.” He swallowed. “No face.”

  Shadow? Shit!

  “Did he ask you for it?” I said.

  “No, no-just if I had seen you with it. And if I had an idea where it might be.”

  I let out my breath. “Who else?”

  Mendross opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to speak.

  “Well, there’s always me,” said Bronze Degan from behind me, “but I don’t know if I count.”

  I spun around, a smile breaking across my face.

  He was standing in the square, just outside the statue’s shadow, a wicked grin creasing his own face. “After all,” he added, “I’m not trying to kill you.”

  “Give it time,” I said, laughing. I noticed he was wearing a new hat-deep red, like his doublet and pants-touched with a peach plume. I also noticed he was carrying a canvas sack.

  “How the hell did you manage to get away from-” I said as I moved toward him, but a hand coming down on my shoulder interrupted me.

  “Not so quick,” said Iron, stopping me in my tracks. “We have an arrangement.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I said. I tried to shake his hand off and failed.

  Iron nodded. “Aye. I just want to make sure he knows it,” he said, indicating Degan with his free hand.

  I looked from one degan to another. Neither was looking at me, and neither was smiling. My good mood, so fast in coming, died just as quickly.

  Behind us, I heard Mendross making a hasty retreat into the curtained back portion of his stall. Lucky bastard.

  “What arrangement?” said Degan.

  “He’s promised to give the journal to her,” said Iron, taking his hand off me. “And I’m here to make sure she gets it.”

  “You mean Solitude?” said Degan.

  “Aye.”

  Degan looked down at me, and then back up at Iron.

  “I can’t allow that,” said Degan.

  “What?!” I took a step forward. No one stopped me. I took three more, until I was right in front of Degan. “What the hell do you mean you can’t allow it?”

  “Do you know why Solitude wants that book, Drothe?” he said, almost patiently.

  “Yes,” I snapped. “Do you?”

  Degan raised an eyebrow and said, so quietly that it barely carried, “So she can kill the emperor.”

  I took an involuntary step back. “You knew?” I said. “All this time, and you knew? You son of a bitch!”

  Degan shook his head. “No. Not like that. I didn’t know what Solitude wanted to do. I didn’t know how the book fit into it. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t know for certain.” He looked up at Iron. “Not until now.”

  “You know it’s what needs to be done,” said Iron.

  “I know it’s what you think needs to be done,” said Degan. “I’m of a different mind on the matter.”

  “You’re in the minority,” said Iron darkly.

  “Numbers have nothing to do with right or wrong!” snapped Degan. “An Oath’s an Oath, whether you stand alone or you’re backed by a hundred others.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “An oath? As in, an Oath?” I scanned the bazaar, looking for large men with unique swords. Aside from the two near me, none were obvious. “Are you telling me there are more degans involved in this?”

  “We’re an old Order,” said Degan, watching Iron. “Two hundred and eleven years since our founding. You don’t think we’ve stuck around that long just to trade promises for service, do you? Believe me, there are better ways to make a living.”

  Iron moved a step closer. “That’s enough, Bronze. Let’s not talk out of school.”

  Degan chuckled drily. “No, let’s.” He dropped the canvas sack at his feet, leaving his own hands free. His gaze never left the other degan. “We degans have a ‘higher’ purpose-one we were founded to uphold. Except we can’t seem to agree on exactly what that purpose is anymore. It seems things have gotten muddied over time. It seems,” he said,
his voice growing hard, “that some people have decided it’s easier to become cowards than keep their honor intact.”

  “Don’t confuse stubbornness with loyalty, Bronze,” said Iron. “There’s nothing cowardly in recognizing the truth.”

  “And there’s nothing noble in destroying what you’re sworn to protect!”

  I felt my stomach drop. “You’re talking about the emperor,” I said. “The degans are fucking sworn to protect the emperor?”

  “No,” said Iron. “Not the emperor-the empire. There’s a difference.”

  “Not in this case,” said Degan.

  “Especially in this case,” said Iron.

  “If you kill him, the empire will collapse,” said Degan.

  “And if we don’t,” said Iron, “it will eat itself alive.”

  Degan gritted his teeth and wrapped his hand around his sword’s grip. “You don’t know that.”

  I’d seen that look before. He wasn’t going to give.

  Crap.

  “It’s a moot point,” I said to Degan. “I’ve made a deal with Solitude. For good or ill, it’s going to her.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “I’ve-”

  “No, you don’t understand,” he said. He took a deep breath and met my eyes. “I’m not giving you a choice in the matter. You’re giving me the journal. Now.”

  I blinked. “Are you threatening me?” I said.

  “No,” said Degan. “I’m calling in your Oath.”

  And that was when Iron struck.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Iron surged past me, closing the distance between himself and Degan faster than I would have thought possible for such a large man. Degan caught the movement a fraction of a second later and began to draw his sword, but I could already see it was going to be too late. Damn, I had distracted him. Degan’s blade still wasn’t clear of its scabbard when Iron reached him.

  Iron had come on empty-handed, opting for speed over carnage. Now, his left hand clamped on to Degan’s right, stopping the draw in midmotion. At the same time, Iron’s right fist connected with Degan’s jaw, sending his head rocking back. Three more savage punches followed with smooth, precise rhythm-head, throat, stomach. Degan rolled with them as best he could, bending his body and shifting his shoulders and hips. This moved him enough to make the last two punches go wide, so that they skidded along his shoulder and ribs instead of crippling him.

  People near us were starting to shout now, some pushing to get away, others struggling to move in and get a better view.

  My right hand instinctively went to my rapier even as I skipped two steps back to clear space for the draw. Then I stopped myself.

  Who exactly did I want to help here?

  Iron was pulling his arm back for another swing when Degan twisted his body, bringing his left hand toward the other degan’s face. Iron bobbed his head back. Degan’s hand sailed past, and I saw Iron begin to smile. That was when Degan’s elbow followed through and hit Iron’s face with an audible crack.

  The two men came apart, Iron staggering back from the blow, Degan using the moment to wrench his hand free from the other’s grip. Then the steel came out.

  Now the crowd surged as one, trying to get away from the bared blades. Merchants who had started announcing special fight prices now yelled for the Rags instead. Prigs and Palm Getters, who had begun maneuvering in for a choice lift, instead grabbed whatever spoils they could and faded away before things got truly dangerous.

  And still I stood, hand on my own steel, unmoving. Try as I might, I couldn’t persuade myself to step into the fight. I didn’t care about Iron per se-he was just muscle, here to make sure I kept my end of the bargain. It was what he represented that gave me pause-my agreement with Solitude, the future of the empire, the security of my sister, and my own safety as well. If I helped cut him down, all of that went away. And, to be honest, I wasn’t ready to break yet another promise so soon after making it-that wound was still too raw.

  Except I had a promise to keep with Degan, too. No, not a promise-an Oath. One he took so seriously, he had fought Shadow to keep up his end. Could I do any less? Could I look him in the eye and tell him my word to Solitude was any more valid than his promise to me? Hell, this was Degan-was any promise more important than the one I had made to him?

  Son of a bitch. If only it weren’t the journal; if only it weren’t the empire.

  And still, damn me, I hesitated.

  Degan and Iron moved farther away from each other and began circling, slowly. Degan’s sword was longer than Iron’s by a good hand span, but Iron’s looked to be heavier and had a slight curve to it. Like Degan’s, its guard was chased in the metal of his name, steel wrought with cold iron in a flowing, arabesque pattern.

  I took another step back. Until I knew what I was going to do, I wanted to keep well away.

  Degan reached up to feel his jaw, shifting it back and forth in his hand. He chuckled and spit blood.

  “Did I loosen anything?” asked Iron. Degan’s elbow had split the skin on his cheek. It was ragged and bleeding.

  “Just the stones in my head,” said Degan, smiling. “My teeth are all there.”

  “You’re slipping, to let me get in that close, lad.”

  “Everyone gets one for free-that was yours.”

  Iron shrugged and took a small step forward. His blade slid a hand’s breadth to the left. Degan countered by rotating the guard of his sword out and shifting his hips. Iron studied Degan for a heartbeat, then backed away.

  “I remember that move from down in Byanthia,” said Iron. “You used it against the duke’s captain of the guard, didn’t you?”

  “The duke himself, actually,” said Degan. Then, before the words had fully unfolded in the air, he was moving. Degan’s feet became a blur, his sword a line of silver fire in the dying sunlight. Two quick steps and Degan’s blade was inches from Iron, coming in a furious arc toward his shoulder. At the last moment, Degan compassed a small circle in the air with his sword’s tip, turning the cut into a sudden, rising thrust.

  Iron stepped back and dropped to one knee. His sword came up, catching Degan’s blade along its edge. Steel hissed on steel as Degan’s point slid over Iron’s head. Then their guards met with a clang.

  They were in close now; perfect dagger range, I noted, except neither of them had one to hand. Instead, Degan rammed his knee into Iron’s chest even as Iron slammed the pommel of his sword down on Degan’s opposite thigh, just above the other knee. Degan yelled, Iron gasped, and both men collapsed to the cobbles.

  Degan moved first, rolling onto his hands and knees and levering himself upward. He met my eyes as he did, glanced at the sack he’d been carrying, then at me again.

  I looked at the sack. It was amorphous enough to be anything. Had he already gotten what I’d come to fetch, to make sure I’d keep my end of the bargain? Was the journal in the bag, lying out in the middle of the street?

  Unfortunately, there was only one way to be sure.

  Iron was up and in an easy crouch as I began to move forward. Despite his gasping for air, his sword assumed a rock-solid high guard almost of its own accord. He glanced at me, then turned his full attention to Degan. Degan was on his feet now, obviously favoring the leg Iron had struck.

  The sack lay directly between them.

  “Leave it for now, little Nose,” said Iron. Deep breath. “Plenty of time later.”

  “It’s his property,” said Degan.

  Iron chuckled and took another breath. “That sure of your hold on him, are you?” he said. “He’s given his word twice over, now, brother-both to you and to Solitude. Which one do you think he’ll favor?”

  Degan frowned. “Take the sack, Drothe,” he said.

  I have to admit, I was mildly surprised. It was good to know Degan had that much faith in me; that, or he figured he could just take it back again if he changed his mind.

  “Leave it be,” said Iron
more forcefully. “Let it distract him.”

  I looked from one degan to another. “The hell with this,” I said. I took my hand off my rapier and strode forward.

  That was my first mistake.

  Degan sprang to his left and stepped forward, using my body to shield himself from Iron’s view. It would only provide a moment of cover, but for a degan, that would likely be enough.

  Iron, for his part, shot to his feet, spinning in the opposite direction. As he turned, he switched his sword to his left hand, so that when he faced me again, he was able to redirect the momentum into a full-out lunge, blade already extended.

  I started to back away from the lunge, when I felt a hand in the middle of my back. “Don’t,” said Degan in my ear. Then Iron’s blade was arcing around my arm, its curve letting it slide past and come in at Degan at the same time.

  I heard a grunt and the scrape of metal on metal behind me. Iron’s face was less then three feet from my own, and I saw him clench his jaw. Then he was lurching forward into me.

  To say I bounced off him would be putting it mildly. His body connected with mine and propelled me away as if I’d been thrown. At the same time, I felt Degan’s hand shoving me, so that when I came to rest on the street, I was a good three to four paces away from them.

  I rolled over and saw Degan with his free hand locked on Iron’s wrist. He must have reached around me and grabbed it when Iron lunged. Iron was turning, trying to keep Degan’s body between himself and the other’s sword, even as Degan twisted and levered down on his wrist.

  I looked away, scanning the street. There, five feet to my left, was the sack.

  I practically fell over myself in my haste to get to it. I wanted to ask Degan how he had gotten the journal, ask Mendross what had possessed him to give it to Degan in the first place, but all that could wait. Right now, I just wanted to get my hands on the damn thing so I could get rid of it.

  Except when I picked up the sack, I knew the journal wasn’t in there. The heft was all wrong, and the mass inside too malleable when I lifted the canvas. Whatever was in there wasn’t a book.

  I reached in and gingerly pulled out a coil of knotted rope. Each knot had a small scrap of paper tied into it, and around each knot, I knew, though I couldn’t see them, was tied a single strand of my hair.