by Tanya Huff
The silence was absolute but Terizan hadn't expected an answer. She didn't need a god to tell her when she was doing the right thing. Brushing bits of plaster dust from her clothes, she left the Eye to keep watch alone.
***
"So what did the Tribunal say?"
"What could they say?" Terizan bit into a cheese dumpling and sighed in contentment. "The priests of Cot'Dazur complained that the stolen icons had been stolen back and the Tribunal pointed out that they'd fulfilled their part of the contract and what happened to the icons after they were handed over was not their problem."
"But they don't have the contract."
"The priests don't know that. If they did, they'd cause trouble. So, as much as they'd like to come down on the thief with both feet, the Tribunal is not going to do anything that may push whoever took the contract into telling the priests that it no longer exists. Although they have nailed shut the trap door in the ceiling of the Sanctum."
Poli studied her from under darkened lashes. "So they suspect it was you?"
"They've never liked me much. They think I'm ambitious." Her grin pulled to one side by her swollen lip, she was aware her expression seemed more disdainful than amused. "You know, Poli, this whole thing was a set up from the start. The Tribunal had no reason to send me after the Eye, anyone could have done the job. But, even pinched and prodded by the god, no one else could have stolen the contract out of the Sanctum or have got the icons back from Cot'Dazur."
Equal to the announcement, Poli nodded calmly. "Of course, the Tribunal planned on double crossing Cot'Dazur all the time."
"No, I don't think so. Had any other thief stolen the Eye, Cot'Dazur would, this minute, be absorbing the power of the small gods. I think I was their solution."
"You think you were the gods' solution?" Poli reached across the table and patted her arm. "Think highly of yourself, don't you, sweetling."
"Actually, yes. But it's also the only explanation that makes sense. The way I work it out, seven gods owe me a favour. Eight if you consider that I didn't destroy that pretty picture of Cot'Dazur when I had the chance."
Poli sat back looking a little stunned. "Eight gods," he said at last. "All owing you a favour." He blinked twice then managed to recover his poise. "Well, I suppose that it's a good thing they're small gods."
Terizan flashed him a triumphant smile. The rash was gone, her bruises were healing, and the immediate future looked bright. "But there are eight of them."
"Should I be worried?"
"You? No." She took her time eating another dumpling, savouring the moment. As Tribune One had implied, there were a number of things about the guild that had never met with her approval. They were small things, for the most part, but it was, after all, the small things that made life worth living.
Bless Keydi-azda.
AUTHOR'S NOTE ON "THE LIONS OF AL'KALAMIR"
This story was original to the first Terizan collection, the original Stealing Magic by Tesseract Books back in 1999. The cover was by Heather Bruton, it was produced in both hardcover and trade, and, as with many volumes by small Canadian presses, is very hard to find.
I had someone say to me after having read “The Lions of Al'Kalamir,” that Terizan isn't actually very nice. Okay, first, all things considered, I think her actions here are completely justified. And second, she's a thief. She's complex, and strangely moral, and clearly ambitious, and she's one of my favourite characters ever, but she's a thief and by definition that makes her not very nice.
THE LIONS OF AL’KALAMIR
"Is it just me or are there more Kerbers in the city lately?"
"More Kerbers?" Terizan popped the last bit of labneh laden flatbread into her mouth and leaned back as she chewed. "I hadn't noticed."
Poli made a small moue of distaste. "Chew or talk, sweetling, not both at the same time."
"Sorry." She swallowed before continuing. "I only notice people who have something that might be worth stealing. Kerbers have nothing that's worth the risk."
"What about their weapons? I thought the Kerber's blades were the best."
"They are, but I don't think so highly of my skills that I'd try to take a weapon from a Kerber." As one of Poli's delicately arched brows arched even higher, Terizan grinned across the table at him. "Okay, maybe I do think that highly of my skills, but I'm not completely crazy."
"So it's safe to assume that the Kerber advancing across the cantina toward us is not on vendetta?"
Terizan turned so quickly the bench rocked and the hulking figure sitting alone on the far end of their table growled a wordless warning. Wrapped completely in voluminous, sand coloured robes the advancing Kerber noted her attention with a nod and began moving a little faster.
"I don't like the way the robes hide their gender," Poli murmured.
"Since when does that matter?"
"It matters in the approach, sweetling. I know you don't get out much but men and women are not the same."
Terizan's response got lost in the Kerber's arrival.
"I have a message for you." The voice was a sexless whisper, barely emerging from behind the veils.
"For me?"
A gloved hand opened and a swan's feather dropped onto the table.
A message from Swan, the mercenary captain who'd helped Terizan get the better of the Thieves' Guild Tribunal. A message from Swan, who'd offered a thief a place in her company. A message from Swan, who'd... Terizan swallowed and managed to keep her voice nearly normal as she asked, "Should we go someplace private?"
"Someplace less likely to be overheard."
"My place?" Poli offered politely. When both heads turned toward him, he spread his hands. "Well, you clearly want to keep whatever it is you're doing under wraps. If you leave with Terizan people will assume you want her to steal something. If you leave with us both and we go to my rooms, people's assumptions will be confused."
The Kerber nodded. "Confused would be good."
"Confused will be an understatement," Terizan muttered as she stood.
***
Two of the three brothels that had given the Street of Pleasures its name had moved out to the new city along with many of the independents. In remaining faithful to old Oreen, Poli was able to afford a pair of attractive rooms up on the third floor over a wig maker's shop.
"Good idea," Terizan said, gesturing toward the folds of colored gauze over the two tall windows in the sitting room. "A thief'd get tangled up in those."
"Well, yes," Poli admitted, "but that's not why I did it. It softens that harsh afternoon light, spreads the shadows, makes everyone look more beautiful. Beautiful people tip better." He turned to the Kerber and smiled. "Can I get you anything?"
"This isn't a social call, Poli." Turning to the Kerber, Terizan folded her arms. "I'd like to hear Swan's message now. What does she want?"
"You." A deft twist dropped the robes to one side and Terizan found herself caught up in a familiar embrace.
"That certainly looks like a social call to me," Poli commented dryly. "No wait, it's beginning to look like something I'd charge for."
Disengaging enough to catch her breath, Swan grinned down at the woman in her arms. "Actually, I have a job for you."
"My point exactly."
"Poli, shut up."
"I need the services of the best thief in Oreen to end a civil war."
***
"Prince Hasan al'Kalamir is dead. His two surviving sons are fighting over who should inherit. Essien, the elder by some seven minutes hired the Wing."
"They're twins?"
Swan shook her head, the brilliant red-gold of her life braid swaying almost hypnotically with the motion. "No, different mothers. The Prince, may he rot in the Netherhells, raised both Essien and his half-brother Jameel to consider themselves the heir." One corner of her expressive mouth quirked upwards. "They can't stand each other but that's nothing to how they feel about him. Anyway, with the Wing's help, Essien defeated his brother – although didn't
manage to actually kill him – and took the Palace."
"That sounds like the civil war is over," Terizan pointed out. She'd had to fight to hear Swan's story over the multitude of voices in her head calling out the mercenary captain's name – and one or two other more explicit suggestions.
"It would be over except for one small problem. The people of Kalazmir won't accept Essien as their Prince unless he has the regalia which is locked in a secret treasure room somewhere in the catacombs under the Palace. Unfortunately, Essien was a little quick to kill his father's old vizier who was the only other person – besides dear, dead, daddy – who knew where in the catacombs that treasure room was. Is."
"He's got an army he's not using now, why doesn't he send them down to look for it?"
"Because after the first one died, the rest wouldn't go. He tried sending captives, promising them a long and happy life if they bring out the regalia, but they keep dying too. The old prince was rather remarkably paranoid and this place has traps up the ass."
"How painful," Poli murmured. "More beer?"
"Thanks." Swan lifted her flagon as Poli poured. "Anyway," she continued after emptying half of it again, "the natives are getting restless and Essien's decided he has no time to waste. When he asked if I had any ideas, I immediately thought of you. You are the only supplicant to have ever made it all the way to the inner sanctum of the Thieves' Guild."
"True," Terizan acknowledged, slowly. "But while I'd do anything for you, I'd prefer that anything didn't involve dying. Most of the traps in the guild house were non lethal."
Swan snorted. "I imagine that most of the traps in the catacombs are usually non lethal as well. The lot Essien's been sending below ground couldn't figure out how to dig a field latrine with detailed instructions. First one down sprang a pit trap you could see from the entrance."
That did seem to raise the odds a bit, Terizan thought. Then Swan smiled at her and she stopped thinking at all.
"Please, Terizan. I know you can do it."
Lost in Swan's smile, she heard Poli sigh.
"And I really want to get the Wing out of Kalazmir before the rains start," the mercenary captain continued.
"So will the two of you be leaving immediately?" Poli wondered.
Shooting him an exasperated glare – in spite of what Poli seemed to think, she wasn't quite ready to surrender to the inevitable – Terizan leaned forward and pinned Swan with her most businesslike expression. "Wouldn't it be simpler if this Essien just had the regalia copied?"
"He can't, it's god-touched. Even if he could afford to have it copied, the priests would immediately know it's a fake."
"All right, if I bring out this regalia; what's in it for me?"
"Anything else you can bring out of the treasure room."
She felt her jaw drop. "Anything?"
***
"Anything," Essien agreed. Stroking his narrow mustache, he stared darkly down into the catacombs. "You have my word as al'Kalamir."
"Thank you." Although he wouldn't actually be al'Kalamir until she came out with the regalia, Terizan decided to let that slide. There were enough of the Wing around to see that he kept his word regardless of what he chose to call himself.
"Two things I can tell you for certain to beware of ," Essien continued. "One, my father, may he rot in the Netherhells, paid a wizard for three spells but what the spells do, I have no idea. Two, beware the lions of al'Kalamir." As Swan stepped forward, frowning, he raised a ringed hand. "Given the conditions down there, I doubt they're real lions, Captain. It is merely something the vizier was fond of saying." Dark brows drew thoughtfully in. "In fact, it was the last thing vizier said; beware the lions of al'Ka..." The last word trailed off into a fair impersonation of a man choking on his own blood. A number of the soldiers standing around laughed but Terizan rolled her eyes. A little less killing and a little more questioning would have been a little more helpful from where she stood.
Settling her pack more comfortably on her shoulders, she moved to the top of the long flight of stone stairs. A slight smell of putrefaction wafted up from below.
"We can also tell you with some certainty that there's a pit trap under that first big blue tile," Swan said dryly passing over a lantern. "Pressure on the middle of the bottom step releases the support and..." Her gesture made the result quite clear. "It sounded deep," she added, somewhat unnecessarily in Terizan's opinion. Bending forward, the mercenary captain lightly kissed the top of the thief's head. "Be careful."
"I'm always careful," Terizan told her. Careless thieves ended up with their heads adorning the spikes of the Crescent – or more specifically in this case, smashed open like a melon at the bottom of a pit.
***
"So much for the easy part of the trip," Terizan murmured thoughtfully as she ducked under the trigger mechanism that would set a course of counter-weighted blades swinging, their positions having been given away by the diced bits of body scattered down the corridor. The chopped bits of robe surprised her a little as Kerbers seldom got involved in anything but inter-tribal warfare, mostly because they were usually so preoccupied with inter-tribal warfare. She wondered if Swan – who got her coloring and her right to wear the robes from a Kerber grandfather – had felt as though she'd been fighting on the wrong side. Probably not. Swan and her Wing were mercenaries and the right side was always and only the side paying the bills.
Like the previous four traps set off by the unfortunate soldiers who'd gone into the catacombs, this one had automatically reset after having been sprung. She had to give the old prince credit, he'd been willing to pay for the best. Five soldiers, five traps. Unfortunately, from this point on, there'd be no corpses to warn her.
"Which ought to improve the air quality, if nothing else."
So far there'd been no sign of the three spells, although a faint feeling of unease had been licking up and down her spine ever since she'd stepped over that first, trapped tile. The sensitivity to magic that usually kept her from blundering into things she couldn't handle seemed to be reacting non-specifically to the entire place – which could mean any number of unpleasant things but since none of them were particularly helpful, Terizan ignored the feeling as much as she could and got on with it.
The next trap involved a large, and probably heavy, section of the ceiling rigged to drop. Terizan had no idea how it could possibly be reset, but wasn't curious enough about the particulars to risk being flattened. Another pit trap and the ubiquitous spring-loaded spears later, she reached a short corridor that seemed, at first inspection, to be trap free.
As a second inspection turned up the same result, she moved slowly forward, came to a T-junction, and paused. Not enough time had passed since the building of the catacombs for the correct path to have been worn into the stone and the webs of the few, small spiders who'd chosen to live in the dark seemed to show no preference. Lifting her lamp, she watched the flame flicker one way and then the other, the strangely equal breezes causing it to smoke slightly as it bent.
"All right, the odds are good the vizier, the old prince, and whoever actually designed the route to the treasure room were all right handed. Nine times out of ten, when given a simple choice between one direction and the other, right-handed people turn to the right."
When she reached her first dead end after three corners and two cross corridors, she retraced her way to back the T-junction.
"All right, so this is that one time out of ten they don't go to the right."
Except that heading left took her into an identical maze.
"Which isn't really surprising from a prince who raised both of his sons to think of themselves as heir," she muttered, scowling at nothing in particular.
About to retrace her steps yet again, she heard a sound that froze her in place. The prince's warning to beware the lions of al'Kalamir ringing in her ears, she'd actually taken two steps back when she realized that lions seldom seldom sang and certainly weren't in the habit of adding new and salacious vers
es to Long-Legged Hazrah in a better than average baritone. When Hazrah stopped inspiring, the voice started in on The King's Menagerie. Although the echoes made it difficult to tell for certain, Terizan didn't think the singer had moved while she'd been listening.
Sighing, she pulled a monkey from her pocket and deftly flipped the coin up into the air. "Heads, I find him and make sure he isn't a threat. Tails, I ignore him and get on with the..."
Heads.
It took her longer to find him than she'd expected. He'd been standing at a dead end, probably inspecting the wall for secret passageways when the floor underneath him had given way, slanting suddenly downward. Her lamp resting on the lip, Terizan squatted and stared down a slope too slick and too steep to climb but angled with just enough false promise that anyone caught would die trying.
The man in the hole had been silent since her light had spilled into his prison.
"I can't pull you out," she said, setting her grappling iron into the gap where the slope joined the floor and dropping fifty feet of silk rope down into the hole, "so I hope you can climb."
Her only answer was a tightening of the rope.
"Fine, be that way," she muttered. Pulling her dagger, she laid the blade against the knot. If she didn't like what she saw, she could always send him back into the pit and have one of Essien's people retrieve him later. That he could only be a fellow thief was not particularly reassuring – in her experience thieves were not always the pleasantest of people.
She could him breathing heavily. Even with the rope, the climb wasn't an easy one. She heard him curse, heard something, probably a knee, slam into the wall as he slipped, then finally saw a hand come up into the light. A second hand took a higher grip.
Not a thief. At least not a professional, the hands and arms were far too large. And not a soldier, no soldier ever wore that much jewelry – that much good jewelry, Terizan amended, rapidly calculating the street value of each piece. A heavy gold thumb ring set with a star sapphire flanked by diamonds would buy her a few months security even after the Guild's commission. All right, not a thief, not a soldier...