Queen of Thieves Box Set

by Andy Peloquin

  Not only because of me. Grim resolve mingled with the stabbing guilt. The Bloody Hand and its thugs are the ones to blame. They are the ones who brought this chaos and misery on our city.

  The Bloody Hand had threatened the wellbeing of Praamis. They'd been the ones to set Old Town Market alight—or they had ordered it, even if a Praamian carried out the deed. They had raided the Night Guild, killed dozens. Because of them, she had been forced to summon the Duke's aid. She was only in this predicament as a result of their actions.

  For that, they will pay.

  The Arbitors were unfortunate to stand between her and Rhynd, the leader of the Bloody Hand in Praamis. She needed to escape if she was to wreak vengeance on the man who had ordered her house burned. If she had her way, Rhynd would die a slow, painful death. Ethen had spent hours at her bedside, teaching her the poisons of House Scorpion. She'd learned enough from him to prolong Rhynd's agony for days.

  But first, she had to get out of the Black Spire. She'd do what she must to break free--hopefully, that wouldn't mean leaving more corpses behind her.

  She stepped over Rafe. The dying Arbitor reached for her with fingers like sausages left too long on the fire. His eyes, a vivid green, remained fixed on her as she leapt over the silent corpse of Thund. He tried to speak, but only a hollow croaking emerged from his ruined throat.

  Grimacing, Ilanna wrapped a strip of cloth around her hand and reached for the still-smoldering dagger on Rafe's belt. Though the fire had consumed the leather grip, the steel remained undamaged. With a grim nod, she slipped the tip of the blade into the base of Rafe's skull. The Arbitor gave a shudder and lay still.

  She closed her eyes. Be at peace.

  Swallowing, Ilanna lifted a torch from the wall and continued her descent. She paused only a moment to retrieve the tin hawk. The smell of burnt meat followed her down the steps. Without a breeze to clear the air inside the staircase, she could not escape the stench of death.

  Her resolve hardened with every step. She would do whatever it took to get out of the Black Spire and save Errik, Darreth, Allon, Jarl, and the others. No matter how many Arbitors had to die. Rhynd and the traitor would pay for what they had done. Their actions had brought death and ruin to the Night Guild. They had taken something from her she could never get back. For that, she would make them suffer.

  She quickened her pace. Sunrise lay an hour or two off. The ache in her leg muscles told her she'd descended far—perhaps half the distance to the ground. But she had a long way to go. If she didn't get out of here before dawn, she doubted she'd have a chance of—

  The peal of an alarm bell shattered the silence of the staircase.

  Chapter Thirty

  Startled, Ilanna leapt back up the stairs, catching herself a heartbeat before her left foot landed on the step that would trigger the fire trap.

  What in the frozen hell? Her mind raced, going over the pattern. She'd kept the count, she was certain of it. The stair she'd stepped on should have been safe.

  Dread writhed like a worm in her gut. Traps upon traps.

  The Duke—or the Serenii that had originally built the Black Spire—would have a back-up plan in case a clever thief figured out the secret of the stairs. He had thrown in an extra trap, one that triggered the alarm bells. Now, the Duke and his Arbitors knew she was coming.

  She muttered a string of curses, clenching her fists in frustration. She'd come so far only to have her escape foiled.

  No. They haven't stopped me yet. She still stood, alive and unhurt, a dagger in her hand. She didn't care how many Arbitors awaited her below—she would keep moving until she had won her freedom or died in the attempt.

  Determination burning in her chest, she continued her descent. She winced with every toll of the bell. Every shred of self-control went into maintaining her steady pace down the stairs. Fear told her to run, to flee toward safety at full speed. The panic would get her killed. She had to keep her mind focused on counting each step and avoiding the traps.

  An icy hand gripped her neck as she stepped on another stair and a second bell rang out. Did her ears deceive her, or was the note higher? A few dozen steps below, a third alarm filled the air with an even higher tone. Her dismay blossomed into full-blown panic. The bells warned the Arbitors below of her approach. They had no need to rush up the stairs to meet her—they knew exactly where she stood, and how fast she descended.

  Heart in her throat, Ilanna dashed down the stairs at a breakneck pace. Only her reflexes and agility, honed over years of training on the Perch and the rooftops of Praamis, kept her from falling as she leapt over the steps concealing hidden traps. She careened off the walls, dropping the torch to use her right hand to maintain her balance. Her grip on the stolen dagger in her left hand tightened until the handle pressed into her palm.

  As she ran, her mind ran through every possible scenario. The confines of the staircase gave her a slight advantage, but the Duke had scores of men he could send up to capture her. She had one way out, one way to freedom. Her only chance lay in reaching the ground level of the Black Spire before the Arbitors charged up the staircase.

  Hope surged in Ilanna's chest as the stairs ended in a flat landing. No Arbitors stood within the staircase. No silver-armored men barred her way to freedom. None she could see, at least. How many waited beyond that door, that was a different matter.

  Thinking fast, Ilanna wrapped the leather sling around the handle. She slipped behind the door and forced herself to take deep breaths. Any sound at this point would alert the Arbitors to her presence.

  Taking a deep breath, she pulled the door open and gave a gentle tug on the strip of leather. The door swung slowly toward her. Pressing herself deeper into the shadows behind the door, she tightened her grip on her dagger and waited.

  Nothing happened. For long seconds, only the sound of her throbbing pulse reached Ilanna's ears.

  Had she made a mistake? Had she misjudged the Arbitors? No, the Duke's men would be waiting for her just outside--

  "What the bloody hell's going on?" A whisper drifted toward her.

  Ilanna froze. She willed her heart to slow its furious beating.

  "Ain't no one there!" another louder whisper pierced the silence.

  She waited, tension knotting her shoulders and neck. Come on, she begged silently. Take the bait.

  "Slowly, forward."

  Armor clanked beyond the door, and the sound of heavy shuffling boots grew louder.

  "Eyes sharp, lads," came the command.

  "Sure it ain't Alech playing another prank, Cap'n?" the first voice came again.

  "No." The tone of quiet authority in this voice was unmistakable. "Even Alech's not stupid enough to trigger that many alarm bells. Only one person it can be."

  Ilanna's throat constricted. She'd dared to hope the empty staircase would trick the guards into believing it a false alarm. Please, she begged in her mind, please don't make me do this.

  The heavy wooden door swung toward her, pressing her against the stone wall. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain motionless.

  "Swordsman's taint, Cap'n! Those bells is bloody loud."

  "We'll turn them off once the prisoner's caught. For now, keep your mouth shut and your eyes peeled."

  Boots scuffed on the landing beside her. Nothing but a few planks of wood stood between her and an indeterminate number of men dead set on capturing her. She doubted they'd hesitate to kill her. The laws of Praamis gave them the right to defend their master's property from intruders.

  The first heavy footfall sounded on the stone stairs. The clanking of armor and the heavy breathing of wary men filled the narrow staircase. Ilanna almost held her breath, but years as a thief had taught her the inevitable exhalation always made more sound than slow, steady breathing. She closed her eyes and listened to the Arbitors filing into the staircase. Eight pairs of boots, perhaps more.

  "She's a clever one, this thief," the Captain said. "Got past enough traps to trigger the bel
ls."

  She risked peering around the door. Her eyes fell on the broad, armored backs of the Arbitors climbing the stairs. Her mind whirled. Wait until they climbed out of sight, or catch them off-guard? If she escaped before they saw her, she wouldn't have to kill--

  The last Arbitor in line made the decision for her. He turned, hand outstretched toward the door handle, and stopped at the sight of her. His mouth opened.

  Ilanna moved before he made a sound. His cry of alarm cut off in a high-pitched cry of pain as she buried her dagger in his inner thigh. Dark blood gushed over her hands. Her small stature worked to her advantage. She ducked beneath his outstretched arms. Then she drove her shoulder into his gut with all the force of her legs. He fell backward atop the Arbitor a step above him.

  A meaty thunk echoed in the staircase and another Arbitor screamed. Ilanna hurled herself toward the door as the stone wall spewed a wall of green flame. The fire turned the blue uniforms and bright silver breastplates an eerie jade. The men writhed and screamed, staggering up the stairs--right onto the final trap.

  An enormous chunk of the ceiling collapsed atop the foremost Arbitors. Blood sprayed as the massive stone crushed the men against the stone stairs. Screams of agony filled the staircase. Men lay on the ground, writhing and shrieking, their armor melted into their flesh. Gut churning at the gruesome sight, Ilanna turned and rushed out of the open door.

  Darkness greeted her with its shadowed embrace. A quick glance around revealed she stood on the battlements connecting the Black Spire to the Duke's mansion. More Arbitors rushed at her from the mansion. She had seconds before they reached her. Or before they raised the crossbows in their hands and loosed.

  She vaulted the stone railing and dropped to the garden two stories below. Time seemed to slow as the ground rushed up toward her. She envisioned herself leaping off a rooftop on the Hawk's Highway—it was no different. She landed on the balls of her feet, knees bending, and she flung herself into a forward roll. Pain flared behind her heels and her legs groaned from the impact, but she lurched to her feet and staggered deeper into the garden.

  Crossbow bolts whizzed toward her. One thunked into a tree less than a hand's breadth from her head. She didn't slow. She couldn't. The Duke's men knew the gardens far better than she. They would be coming after her en masse, enraged by the deaths of their comrades. So long as she kept moving, she had a chance of outrunning her pursuers.

  The thick foliage of Duke Phonnis' gardens loomed before her, and she dove into the nearest thicket as a fresh wave of crossbow bolts peppered the ground around her. She preferred the noise of crashing through the bushes if it deprived the archers a clear shot.

  The memory of hours spent preparing for her Undertaking with Garrill kicked in. She moved with the bushes and branches as he had taught her so long ago. An experienced tracker could follow his prey with nothing more than broken sticks and bent blades of grass. In the dark, the Arbitors would never be able to track her, but she wouldn't risk them finding her way in and out of the Duke's gardens.

  I'll be safe, so long as they don't have—

  As if in answer to her thought, the baying of hounds echoed through the gardens.

  …dogs!

  Fear drove the pain from Ilanna's legs and feet. The dogs could track her on scent alone, and they moved far faster than she. From the howling and barking, the Duke had nearly as many hunting dogs as he had Arbitors.

  She abandoned all attempts at stealth and crashed through the heavy foliage with speed borne of desperation. She had to reach the narrow tunnel dug beneath the Duke's garden walls before the dogs found her. If she could believe the stories, the Duke's hounds had brought down bears and mountain cats. Their razor-sharp teeth and strong jaws would have little trouble with her.

  Where is it? Her eyes scanned the darkness, desperation growing. The barking grew closer with every panicked step. Ilanna's lungs burned and her heart hammered against her ribs. Fatigue thrummed in every muscle, the lack of food and water taking its toll. Her body would give out at any moment. If she fell, she knew the hounds would tear her to shreds before she could get back up.

  Her heart leapt as she spotted the stand of trees concealing the Hound's tunnel into the Duke's gardens. Without hesitation, she dove into the tunnel and wriggled her way through the narrow passage with frantic motions. At any moment, she expected to feel sharp canine teeth sink into her feet. Hand over hand she pulled herself, like a mole burrowing deeper into the earth. She had to get out!

  A glimmer of light shone in the distance. Though dust rained into her eyes and mouth, she forced herself to keep crawling. The baying of hounds grew fainter until, after what seemed like an eternity trapped in darkness, she dragged her body onto the cobblestone street of Old Praamis. Shoving aside the debris placed to camouflage the hole, she leapt to her feet and sprinted away from the Duke's mansion.

  The alarm bells within Duke Phonnis' mansion filled Old Praamis with their piercing chimes. The sound drowned out the shouts and cries echoing from within the mansion. Ilanna risked a glance over her shoulder and caught sight of Arbitors pouring out of the Duke's front gate. She darted around a corner, turning east toward The Gardens. If she could get out of Old Praamis, she could get onto the Hawk's Highway and the safety of the rooftops.

  She tightened her grip on the tin figurine nestled in her palm. With this, she had everything she needed. The Duke could keep the rest of her belongings. Her clothes, weapons, and everything in her pouch—the lockpicks, finger knife, quickfire globes, and the other tools of her trade—could be replaced in the Night Guild. The melted hawk was all she had left in remembrance of her son.

  The sight of Watcher's Square brought a sick feeling to her stomach. In less than two days, Jarl and the rest of the Night Guild would stand trial. The Duke had said it with such confidence she had little doubt he would convict and execute every last Journeyman, apprentice, and tyro. His desire to cleanse his honor could very well triumph his adherence to the law.

  But she knew when Jarl and the others would die—the Duke had told her they would stand trial at dawn, and no doubt face execution soon after. Rhynd could kill Errik, Darreth, Allon, Joost, and Veslund at any moment. Hells, she didn't even know if they were still alive. All she knew was that the Bloody Hand thug had taken them at least a day earlier. She had to find them and hope they still lived.

  Much as it pained her to leave Jarl in his prison, she had no choice. Errik and the others came first. Once she eliminated the Bloody Hand and rescued her friends—how, she had no idea, but she would figure something out—she would find a way to free Jarl.

  With a grimace, she turned away from Watcher's Square. I'll be back for you, my friend. I swear I will!

  All she had to do was survive Rhynd.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ilanna slithered down the Perch without a sound, wary for any sign of Arbitors or Praamian Guards. Knowing the Duke, he'd kept a few score of his men in the tunnels just in case. He had finally driven the Night Guild from their home; he wouldn't give up the ground he'd fought so hard to claim.

  Relief drained the tension from her tired muscles. The Aerie stood empty and silent, not a blue- or olive-clad guardsman in sight. She had the high-vaulted room to herself.

  To herself and her dead.

  The reek of decay—a scent sickly and sweet—hit her like a blow to the gut. She covered her mouth with her cloak and tried not to breathe in the nauseating, overpowering stench. Someone had stacked the corpses—Hawk, Bloodbear, and Bloody Hand alike--like cordwood beside the double doors. The bodies had stiffened and gone pale in death. Flies buzzed around the Aerie, feasting on the rotting flesh of people she had known for years—some she'd even called friends.

  With effort, she ripped her eyes from the bodies before the tears flowed. Her fellow Hawks—Master Hawk among them—deserved far better than to rot abandoned and discarded like refuse. When this was over, she would make sure her House Master and the others received a proper buria
l.

  The moment her feet touched the hard-packed earth floor, she sprinted toward the nearest tunnel. She had to get away from the sight of her fallen comrades. And, she couldn't risk a random patrol of Arbitors or Praamian Guards spotting her, not yet. Barefooted, weaponless, wearing nothing but a ripped undertunic, she wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.

  She padded down the tunnel with feline grace, ears attuned for even the slightest sound. She'd always loved the stillness of House Hawk, but now the ominous silence pressed in on her. With few Journeymen and no apprentices, she'd had all the solitude she wanted. The emptiness had made it easy to slip away for a visit to Kodyn and Ria.

  Now, the absence of life and sound served as a reminder of everything she had lost. Denber. Master Hawk. The twins. Ria. Kodyn. A burden settled on her shoulders. Sorrow squeezed her heart, and she struggled for every breath. If she didn't act soon, Jarl, Errik, Darreth, and the others would be more names on her list.

  She paused at the entrance to her quarters, stomach sinking. The door hung from one hinge, the lock shattered. She lifted an alchemical lantern from the wall and shone the beam across the wreckage of her life. Someone had ransacked the room, turning over her bed and emptying drawers. Her clothes lay strewn. The lid of her wooden chest had been chopped to kindling, the contents joining the other items littering the floor.

  "It's gone."

  Ilanna spun, hand darting toward a dagger that no longer hung on her belt.

  Bryden stood at the mouth of the tunnel. "It's all gone."

  Ilanna hurried toward the man—Master of a House devoid of Journeymen. "What happened?"

  Bryden grimaced. "The Duke's men." His face seemed even more pinched and pale than usual. Dark, heavy bags hung beneath his bloodshot eyes. "They ransacked the House. Every House. Took anything of value. All the House's coin…" He swallowed and croaked out. "Gone."