by Mark Eller
“Cute though,” a street whore piped in. “The little fellow was sure cute.”
“Who’s Krastos?” Selnac asked, remembering Jolson speaking the name.
“A minor demon,” Mathew answered. “He’s been up to collect escaped spawn several times before.”
Frowning, Glace carefully studied Selnac. “You don’t look so good, my friend. You need to stop giving most of your money to Mother Brood. Use a little of it to see a physic.”
“Them kids she takes in have to eat,” Selnac replied. “The money has to come from somewhere.”
“Well, she ain’t getting any more from me. From now on, what I steal belongs in my pockets and no place else.” Glace looked to the half-were. “Mathew, do you want another?”
“Later,” Mathew answered. “I believe I’m about to do business.”
“I’ll just drop a bottle down here. Fill up when you feel the need.”
Appearing concerned, Jolson rubbed the toe of his shoe in the congealing blood. “I have to leave Yylse. I don’t know of anyplace else to go.”
“Try Grace,” Mathew suggested. “Most anybody can get lost in the king’s city. That place is huge, and nobody pays much attention to anything there except whether the king will ever produce an heir.”
“I’ve rubies for you,” Selnac broke in. “Mostly common baubles but a couple are interesting.” Fishing the pouch out of his front pocket, he opened its draw and spilled its contents into Mathew’s outstretched palm. After dumping the jewels on the bar, Mathew did a quick sort. When he finished, six rubies, including the three largest, sat in a separate pile. He gestured at the bigger group.
“Those are mostly junk. They’ll retail for about seventy rugdles. I’ll give you seven for the lot. The others,” he pointed a finger at the smaller pile, “are worth more. The best one is the little fellow. Altogether, I’ll give you three hundred, and I won’t haggle.”
“Done,” Selnac said because he knew he would get less in the light of day. Besides, Mathew Changer had built a reputation upon his no haggle policy. It was one of the reasons Selnac so seldom used him. Mathew’s first offer was always his last. Sometimes, if you turned him down, you stopped breathing.
Showing no concern, Mathew opened his belt pouch, poured a shower of coins on the bar top, and sorted through them until he had separated out the correct amount. He put the remaining money back into the pouch and put the rubies in another. Selnac split the take, putting his half away before shoving the rest toward Jolson.
Del, a short, clean-cut young man who possessed the bad taste to be Tessla’s lover, separated out of the crowd and moved toward them. Though he stood small, Del’s chest was deep. His shoulders were broad, and he walked with the cocky confidence of a heavily muscled man.
“Better hide your take,” he warned Jolson. “Thief’s convention has it your money is safe in here, but there’s no need to tempt anybody.”
Ignoring Del, Jolson’s narrowed eyes focused on Selnac. Dark shadows swirled within them, and his hook held a faint sheen. “This is only half.”
Selnac nodded and tried not to look nervous. “Half. We’re partners so half goes to each of us.”
“If not for me, you would have nothing. I let us into the building. I subdued the dogs. I brought us to this fence so we could take his coins. Your only contribution was to limit how much we took.”
“Selnac always was a lousy thief,” Mathew supplied. “He has too much conscience and not enough common sense.”
“Leave Selnac alone,” Del broke in. “A lot of kids would be dead if it weren’t for him.” He looked to Jolson. “Selnac never cheated a partner in his life. If you have a problem with him, you better take it up with me.”
Shaking his head, Selnac set a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “This is my difficulty.” He coughed once more and wished the room were not so filled with Tessla’s cirweed smoke. The narcotics in it made his head spin.
“Yeah,” Del said. “Well, starving was once my problem, but you butted in anyway. Go ahead and do your talking. I’ll stand here and watch.”
“This,” said Mathew, “is becoming very entertaining.” He lifted his drink, swallowed half of it down, and parted his mouth in a wolfish grin. “Does anyone care to place a bet on the outcome?”
“Most of my money,” Selnac explained to Jolson, “goes to a woman named Mother Brood. She has nine children to feed, all of them orphans she’s taken off the streets. They’d be dead if it weren’t for her.”
“Children die,” Jolson said. “Their fate is not my concern. Living is my concern. I have learned I need money if I am to live. Most of the work was mine. So are most of the coins.” The swirling shadows in his eyes became darker. The evil aura constantly surrounding him grew thicker.
“I chose the mark,” Selnac reminded Jolson, “and I knew Mathew could be found here, so you can’t take credit for that, but you’re right about the rest of it. I couldn’t have made the hit without you so most of this is rightfully yours. I’ll give it to you, but if I do our partnership is broken. We’ll part ways, and you’ll have to make it on your own. It’s up to you to decide what’s in your best interest.”
Jolson held out his hand. “I no longer need—” His voice broke, and his hand fell when stillness overcame the tavern’s din. He stiffened. Turning his face slowly toward the outside door, Jolson shifted slightly.
A naked creature looking like a miniature sexless human stood in the doorway. The creature was so handsome it made Selnac’s senses reel. Looking innocent and winsome, he wanted to rush over and cuddle it in his arms. The waves of evil emanating off it, however, were so overwhelming they made Jolson’s aura pale in comparison.
With its golden eyes sparkling as it studied the tableau, the thing set one hand on its hip and cocked its head to the side. “Don’t stop the party for me. I only came to collect a package.”
“I’m glad I never had time to place those bets,” Mathew muttered.
Walking to the bar, the demon stood before them. It looked at Mathew’s wolf face and human body, and smiled a bright and innocent lie. “Interesting juxtaposition. Would you like to come home with me? I’ve a wall your pelt would look very good on.”
Mathew studied it with nervous eyes, but his face never lost its wolf grin. “No, but I know of a few people you might be interested in, only I’ll have to charge you certain procurement fees.”
“Enterprising and bold,” the demon noted. “Perhaps another time. I’ve a small task to attend to right now.” It looked at Selnac, and its golden eyes laughed. “You are a very sick man. Lungs, heart, the sickness is all through you. The inside of your body is rot. In a month you won’t be able to walk. In two you will be dead, and the dying will be very painful.”
“I won’t go back, Krastos,” Jolson told it. At his side, the hook glowed faintly.
“I’m not asking you to go back. All I want is Athos’s Hook. You can stay here so long as you are polite enough to die.”
Its hands blurred and became knives. Screeching, it leaped toward Jolson, and then it screeched again when Jolson’s swinging hook banged against its side. A stench unlike anything Selnac had ever smelled filled the room. Krastos cried like a broken child, but its crying didn’t stop it in its task. It landed against Jolson’s chest, knocked the hook away with one casual sweep of its arm, and poised its other knife hand over Jolson’s throat. Tears of pain ran down the demon’s face. Its left side was charred where Jolson’s hook had touched it. The charring bubbled, firmed, and the demon’s side became whole once more.
“Goodbye, spawn,” it gasped, only to scream again when Selnac plunged his temple blessed knife into the demon’s back. Heart thudding heavily with fear, Selnac pulled his blade free to stab it once more, but he was too slow.
Krastos released its hold on Jolson and fell to the floor. Quicksilver fast, it spun to face Selnac and leapt. Its knife hands jabbed out, struck, and the striking sent a fire through Selnac’s body he couldn’t belie
ve. He gasped, gasped again when Krastos knifed him once more. Del held the little demon in the loop of his massive arms, black blood from the demon’s wound oozing over his sleeves. Swearing, Glace leaped over the bar and grasped one of the demon’s arms while Tessla blew out a cloud of cirweed smoke and casually looked on while her lover fought to contain the demon.
“Damn me for a fool,” Mathew growled when he grabbed the demon’s other arm, looking surprised at what he had done. Selnac stumbled back against the bar, weak, hurting, and watched while the three men struggled to control the single being.
Laughing, the demon threw back its head and howled gleefully. Its once innocent face twisted into lines which brought its evil into full view. Mathew and Glace were flung from side to side by the demon’s struggles to free itself. Del’s massive frame shook with the effort of holding Krastos. Del’s face, strained, turned red, and then Selnac heard the crackle of the demon’s breaking ribs, only the breaking seemed to give the demon more strength. Gasping for breath, Selnac tried to bring his knife up so he could stab Krastos once more, only his arm hung heavy at his side. His hand was empty, and his knees sagged. He looked on the floor for his knife but couldn’t see it. The world around him swayed. Dropping to his knees, he grasped desperately at a table’s edge to keep himself from falling to the floor.
“Kill it!” Del shouted to the motionless Jolson.
“I cannot,” Jolson replied. He raised his hook. “Athos’s will wards the demon. I can only give Krastos pain, and pain makes it stronger.”
“You can‘t kill me!” Krastos howled. Twisting its head around, it tried to latch its teeth into Del’s arm. Del dodged, and it missed its hold. “Hurt me! Make me strong!”
At those words, Tessla moved into Selnac’s view. Sucking thoughtfully on her pipe, she blew a cloud of smoke into the air. Stilling its struggles, Krastos appeared alarmed when Tessla pulled the pipe from her mouth to grasp it by the hot bowl.
“They can’t kill you,” she said, “but I can.”
She thrust the pipe’s stem through the center of the demon’s forehead. She studied her handiwork for a moment while Del continued to hold the suddenly still demon upright. Satisfied, Tessla pulled the pipe free and cleaned black blood from its stem. Finished, she carefully refilled the bowl with cirweed before looking at the stunned faces surrounding her.
“Trelsar gave me more weapons than just a sword.” She looked at Jolson. “My god doesn‘t want you to die.”
“Why not?” Jolson asked.
Releasing a narcotic smile, Tessla shrugged. Selnac easily recognized the emptiness in her eyes. The same emptiness resided Jolson. “Ask him sometime because I don’t know. All I know is you’re not the first spawn he’s wanted to save.” She placed the pipe’s stem between her lips and drew. “I’ve always appreciated the smoky flavor of a demon’s soul.”
Swaying, Selnac’s weakened knees finally gave way, sending him to the floor. Vision blurred, senses reeling, he looked up in time to see Del release the demon’s remains. Del’s face seemed stricken, his eyes haunted. Glace appeared frightened and tired, and Mathew shook his head.
“I guess I should have made the bet after all,” Mathew said to Jolson. He nodded at Selnac. “You’re dying. You’ve got blood all over your front.”
“This is your fault,” Del accused Jolson. “If he hadn’t tried to save you—”
Chest heaving, he took a threatening step forward. Face impassive, Jolson raised his hook. “What part of your soul do you want to lose?”
“Don’t,” Selnac ordered, though his voice barely came out a whisper. He held up a shaking hand. The reaching took almost more strength than he owned. In some way, Tessla’s cirweed smoke had become so heavy, so thick, he could barely see. His thoughts seemed dense and slow. “My choice. My decision.”
Jolson knelt by his side. “Why?”
Selnac tried to smile, but a series of sudden coughs stopped him. He fought for breath and reason because he had a lesson to give. “Partners,” he finally managed. “We’re partners.” He gestured feebly toward the hook.
“I can’t help you.” Jolson’s eyes no longer swirled. Instead, they were flat, uncaring. “I have no healing in this.” Studying his hook, he frowned. “Peace. I suppose I can give you peace. This hook has drunk more than its share of it. Athos saw no need to gift his creatures with that beverage in Hell.”
“Give it to me,” Selnac begged. “Give me…your peace…”
Jolson’s frown grew deeper. “You have nothing I want in exchange.”
“You owe me,” Selnac insisted.
“Yes,” Jolson finally admitted. “I suppose I do.”
Flaring brighter, the hook’s wicked tip pressed into the center of Selnac’s forehead. Heat and pain ripped straight into Selnac’s soul, but the pain didn’t matter. Peace flowed over the pain, swamping it until the pain was too insignificant to pay much mind. Peace flowed into him, and the sensation was glorious beyond measure. It was more than the peace stolen from one man or woman. He was suffused with the peace of hundreds, of thousands. It surged and overwhelmed and became so distracting Selnac barely remembered to force parts of himself back into the hook, and through it, into Jolson.
Too soon, Jolson managed to pull his hook away. His eyes were troubled. “A trap,” he accused. “What have you done to me?”
Looking over Jolson’s shoulder, Selnac smiled. His vision’s drifting waves gave him a clarity he had never experienced before. He was dying, but never before had he felt so good. Leaning on the bar, Glace frowned sadly as he handed Tessla a fresh drink. Selnac could smell her smoky clothes. One ear cocked back, a puzzled expression in his wolf’s eyes, Mathew propped an elbow against the bar. Seeing tears on Del’s face, Selnac wished his friend wouldn’t cry. He turned his gaze back to Jolson. The spawn no longer appeared gaunt and pale. Instead, death’s pallor had been overcome by mortal hue, and for this Selnac was glad.
“I’ll carry on.” Del’s voice was a distant whisper. “Selnac, I’ll carry on. Your legacy won’t die.”
“What have you done to me?” Jolson demanded again. “What did you force into me?”
Above them all loomed the tavern’s smoke stained ceiling. Past that, far beyond the night’s wispy clouds, Trelsar’s hand reached down.
* * * *
Mother Brood woke to find the shadow of a hook-handed man standing in her open doorway. Gasping, she grabbed the club she kept by her side and looked to make sure none of her wards sleeping in this room had been harmed. Oblivious, they slept on.
She scrambled out of the broken couch, raised her club, and wished she was forty years younger. “One scream will have half the street on you,” she warned.
“You lie,” the man replied. When he reached out, she saw a leather bag dangling from his single hand. He released his hold. The bag fell, making a musical jangle as it struck the floor. His voice was filled with self-loathing and disgust. “These are for you. I kept only two rugdles.”
Lowering her club, Mother Brood looked upon the bag with stunned disbelief. Its noise had sounded like gold, and the bag was almost half full. If this was true, she would be able to feed the children for most of a year.
“Why are you doing this?” She kept her voice a whisper, too low to wake her wards. “I don’t know you.”
“Blame Selnac,” the man said bitterly. “His conscience demands it.”
He turned and was gone.
Chapter 15—The God’s Thief
In the distant land of Illian, South, across the Sea of Phantoms, Fox walked down the empty stone corridors of Oria, hidden beneath the mountains of Sorrow. Deep in its bowels in an intricate cave system, dwelled the thieves’s guild of Illian. Hundreds of thieves called the magically altered nooks and crannies home, making the atmosphere comfortable. It was one of the few places Fox could relax enough to get a good night’s sleep. The only trouble was she wasn’t presently getting a good night’s sleep. She hadn’t gotten a goodhour’s sleep since a
rriving four days earlier.
“Damn, Dakar,” she muttered. “I can’t believe he actually wants me to repay him for the favor.” Of course, the favor in question had been saving her life. “No matter. I still have the right to ask for a boon from the bastard, even if I do owe him.”
Her mind twisted and whirled like a giant desert storm, blowing thoughts of great wealth and power through her greedy soul. The possibility of gaining a boon from a god was thrilling. Gaining this particular boon was more than thrilling.
“Money. Jewels. Fame. I want it all. I’ll demand it all. That way I’ll be sure to get something of value out of this. I’ll never have to steal again. I can be the noble I was supposed to be.”
Fox nodded sagely. A jolt of excitement ran through her veins at the boldness of her intended request. Her inner wise woman chose this moment to speak up.Just remember he’s a god, young fox. Watch your step or you might get stepped on. ‘Tis better to be a sly, silent little fox, always out-smarting the hound, than to be caught in the whirlwind of a god and torn apart like paper.
Fox scowled. Yes, the thought she might be overstepping her bounds had occurred to her, but she had reasoned her god would appreciate her initiative. Okay, her greed. Still, Dakar’s purported philosophy claimed wealth shouldn’t stay in the hands of the wealthy. Instead, it should be taken and redistributed among the populace. Since Dakar asked his followers to live life to its fullest, how could she be asking too much when it was the creed of Illian’s every thief to carry out Dakar’s belief in redistribution? He’d understand her demands. She knew what she was doing. Was she not the most clever, sneakiest thief in all of Illian? Why, she could charm the winds from Almitira and have the goddess none the wiser til it was too late. “I’ll ask for it all. The most he’ll do is tell me no, then I can tell him to go screw himself and head back to bed.”
Silently groaning, her inner wise woman thought about finding someone else to counsel.
Fox hesitated upon arriving at the temple doors. Ten feet high and ten across, curving upward into a graceful arch, the thick, massive doors were made of an expensive hardwood covered with hundreds of designs flowing like water over their burnished surfaces. It fascinated her how the designs always looked a little different each time she came here. Reaching out, Fox traced one of the delicate silver vines with its tiny elliptical leaves. As it ran upward, partially hidden faces of beautiful women and animals, both known and strange to her, seemed to flee beneath her touch. The wood felt warm. It vibrated under her fingers. As always, Fox sensed it was somehow alive. Sometimes, she wondered if the images were real people and animals trapped inside the wood. Then again, at other times she thought maybe she was letting her imagination get the best of her. She once told Taymor of the images. Curious, he came with her one time. His only response upon touching the door was to question if her hands were warmer than his before giving her a condescending smile and a pat on the shoulder.