The Silver Thief

by Edward W. Robertson

  Soon, the grass thinned, too, replaced by pale green sagebrush, swaths of yellow cheatgrass, and gigantic round balls of thorns. A few villages sprung up around the road and waterway, small farms mostly, but with the occasional outlet for provisions. Most of the locals were blond, with the washed-out blue eyes so common to the Basin, their skin tanned light brown from the constant sun.

  "Captain Twill was from here," Naran murmured as one such village passed behind them.

  Blays swiveled his head, taking in the broad brown vistas. "No wonder she wanted to get away."

  Naran gave him a severe look, then laughed. "At least it's very difficult for anyone to sneak up on us here."

  In one of the villages, a merchant sold canvas-covered wooden hoops you could hold above your head with a thin rod, keeping the sun off you as you traveled. If Dante had had any money, he might have bought one.

  Miles ahead, buttes rose from the horizon. Years ago, Dante had read many books about Collen, including two or three that had been illustrated. Buttes featured prominently in all of them. Seeing them in person made him smile with recognition.

  Green tongues of farmland ran between the buttes, sprouting in sharp contrast to the gray and yellow surroundings. The crops were wheat and asparagus irrigated by ditches just like the one that ran beside the road. Some of the buttes bore stone towers overlooking the farmland. More than one of these towers was a ruined shell.

  As they neared the city of Collen, Dante's loon activated. Jona had a piece of news: while there had been no talk on the street of an attempt on Gladdic's life, Gladdic had left the city just hours after Dante. Jona had only caught wind of this after the fact, meaning he hadn't been able to follow Gladdic, but word was that the priest had been heading north. Making it unlikely he was following them to Collen.

  Dante passed this along to the others. "If Gladdic's gone, is there any reason for Fenk and Jona to stay in Bressel?"

  "Maybe not," Naran said. "But there's no reason for them to leave, either. Tell them to remain in place and try to learn whatever they can without exposing themselves to danger."

  Dante relayed the orders, then continued along the road. A few miles later, the pavement quit abruptly, a rutted track extending from its end. Bits and pieces of river stones and mortar lay half-buried in the dust.

  "What do you think caused this?" Blays nodded at the wreckage of the road. "The Great Mule Rebellion of 719?"

  Dante toed a loose rock. "Does this look recent to you?"

  Blays bent for a closer look. "Unfortunately, I let my membership in the Roadmasters' Guild lapse years ago. But the break still looks pretty jagged."

  "I think it was intentional. And I doubt it was the Mallish who wrecked their own investment."

  They moved along the rutted path. As the day drew on, what remained of the road led to a great butte.

  Dante knew at a glance this was the city of Collen. The plateau climbed two hundred feet above the plains, its top stretching four miles across. At the base of its southern rim, a second town thrived. The smaller houses were wattle and daub, the roofs thatched, doors and windows enclosed by the hides of deer and sheep. The larger buildings were comprised of mud bricks. Most of these were pale gray, but the bricks of some structures had been dyed orange, yellow, or light blue. What little wood was in use was generally reserved for doors and shutters. A few homes and temples sported wooden stumps carved into elk, bears, the dragons of Jorus and Daris, or relief images of hunts and battles.

  The lands surrounding the butte were criss-crossed with ditches and heavy with farming. A road switchbacked up from the town on the the southern side of the butte. Semi-circular holes had been carved from the rock along the switchbacks. People went in and out of the caves. Large basalt-hewn towers jutted from the top of the plateau, swarmed by the rooftops of hundreds of smaller buildings, most of them made of pale brick.

  "I'm guessing most of the interesting places are up top," Dante said. "First we'll find a place to stay. While you two start after the shaden, I'm going to do a little research."

  The closer they got to the bottom of the butte, the thicker traffic got. Farmers, mostly, wearing loose beige clothing, driving wagons drawn by a mule or two. The lower town smelled like dust and animal sweat and looked large enough to house a few thousand people.

  On their way to the switchback path, Dante drew a great deal of looks. Far more than Naran, whose deep brown skin and elegant features were rare even in cosmopolitan Bressel. Blays, meanwhile, received almost no attention at all.

  After a while of this, Dante glanced at Blays. "What are they looking at? Is there something on my face?"

  "You mean besides your face?" Blays said.

  Naran cocked an eyebrow. "Blays jokes, but he's correct. Your dark hair. That thin nose and sharp cheekbones. You look more Mallish than the king."

  Dante blinked in sudden recognition. Blays was blond, with eyes blue enough to be a Collener. And while Naran certainly looked foreign, his appearance wasn't inherently threatening to the Colleners.

  Dante, by contrast, looked as unwelcome as a rattlesnake.

  Blays chuckled softly, reaching the same conclusion. "Looks like I'll want to do the talking."

  "What else is new?" Dante said.

  Naran gave them a sidelong look. "Exactly how long have you two known each other?"

  "Since our youth. Which may explain why we seem to be stuck there."

  The base of the road up to the butte was congested by a pair of mule teams who'd gotten snarled trying to pass each other. Rather than unhitching the animals to maneuver them free, their owners appeared to be attempting to untangle the mess by screaming at each other. Both men were red-faced, dust flying from their short sleeves as they gestured at each other. The larger man offered an insult of some kind. The smaller man lifted his fist and stepped forward.

  A woman darted from the crowd. Her arms and legs looked carved out of ironwood. A golden ribbon fluttered from her right elbow. She intercepted the shorter man's wrist mid-punch, sweeping her leg behind his plant foot. The move should have sent him crashing down hard enough to break his arm, but the woman guided his fall so gently he barely winced.

  "Good training," Blays murmured.

  "Don't fight your brothers." The woman kneeled over the mule-driver, still holding his wrist. She grinned at him. "And if you have to fight, don't do it on the road."

  He blinked, mouth hanging open. His expression swiftly darkened. "I'm an earther. How dare you touch me."

  "You'll have to forgive me. But it was in service of protecting another earther."

  The downed man scowled. The taller man, who remained standing, barked with laughter.

  "Get your ass off the dirt before you spoil it." He extended a hand to the fallen man. "Come on and let's get this sorted out."

  The short man gave the woman a burning look, then took the other man's hand and stood. The onlookers dispersed, hurried along by the woman with the golden ribbon and the arrival of three well-muscled men who wore different-colored ribbons of their own.

  With the way cleared, Dante and the others continued upward. The switchback was steep, but carved twelve feet into the hillside, it didn't feel at all treacherous. They reached the first turn. Smoke rose from the heights above them, but there was no visible fire. On the next leg of the path, caverns had been holed into the rock along the trail. Baking bread and roasting meat wafted from the entries. People wandered in and out, munching pastries.

  "New mission," Blays said. "Acquire pies."

  Dante pointed up the butte. "The city's right up there."

  "And it will still be there after we've had our first warm meal in a week. The sooner you bow to my demands, the sooner we'll be on our way."

  Dante sighed through his nose. They backtracked to a bakery. The interior was warm from ovens, which were vented out the slopes above, explaining the smoke they'd seen earlier. In some ways, the soft flatbread and flaky pastries reminded him of Tantonnen, another wheat-ric
h farmland. In Collen, however, the meat was slow-roasted on long skewers, the air thick with cloves, bay leaf, gannon seed, and green pepper. Rather than beef and poultry, the meat appeared to be mostly goat, lamb, and venison.

  "It pains me to admit it," Dante said, dealing with the last of something flaky and stuffed with crushed raspberries, "but this was an excellent idea."

  They paid in Mallish coin, which the proprietor stared at. In the end, though, the man scooped it up, proving once again that money always trumped politics. Back outside, the sunlight was blinding. Once they trusted themselves to move, they carried on up the switchbacks, which seemed to comprise a town of their own, complete with residences dug into the cliffs. The levels below them spread out in slanted terraces.

  A shout drifted from the top of the path. A second rang out a moment later. Dante frowned and continued up.

  The shouting grew louder, angry and chaotic. At the top of the switchback, people surged into the path, running downhill in a roostertail of dust. Someone slipped, skidding down the slope and landing heavily on the trail below. A cloud of dust followed them down.

  "Oh hell," Blays said. He reached for his sword and charged up the trail.

  6

  Dante swore, taking off after Blays. Naran followed, an alarmed look on his typically stoic face. They were already two-thirds of the way up the road and soon ran into the first of those who'd fled from the top.

  "What's going on?" Dante called out. "Why are you running?"

  Several people brushed past him. One woman glared at him, jaw held tight. "Your masters are killing our people."

  "My masters?"

  She turned to the southwest and spat over the cliff's edge. "The Mallish."

  "I'm not Mallish. I mean, I was, but now I'm—"

  Blays grabbed the shoulder of his shirt. "There will be plenty of time to renounce your bloodlines later. Now come on!"

  They hurried upward, dodging the citizens streaming down from the plateau, until the trail ejected them into an open square on the top of the butte. Ahead, buildings stood thickly, towers rising above them. A welcome wind blew steadily from the southwest. Ahead, shouts turned to screams. Dante and Naran ran after Blays.

  After passing through a few blocks of low brick buildings, they skidded to a stop at the edge of a plaza. There, a contingent of thirty Mallish soldiers in dusty blue finery faced off against a crowd three times their size.

  Both groups hurled insults back and forth. Dante's eyes roved for the leader of the mob. Before he could identify one, a stone flew from the citizens and cracked into a soldier's forehead.

  A Mallish sergeant brandished his sword. "Charge!"

  The bluecoats rumbled forward, blades in hand. Blays unleashed a string of profanity salty enough to make Naran blink.

  "Let me guess," Dante said. "You want to give them a hand."

  "Like hell!" Blays sputtered. "The last time we got involved in a fight like this, it dragged us into the middle of a war."

  The citizens broke, rushing toward the buildings behind them. Some flung stones back at the Mallish. A man tripped to the rectangular setts paving the square. Two soldiers fell upon him, kicking and bludgeoning him.

  "Anyway," Blays went on. "I figured you'd want to help."

  "Me? Why?"

  "Because you hate the Mallish."

  "I don't hate the Mallish. I hate their leaders who insist on perpetuating a centuries-long holy war they're completely wrong about."

  "Which is what those fine fellows in blue are doing right now."

  "Even so," Dante said. "We can't get involved. That would compromise our ability to track down the shells. In Gladdic's hands, those are way more dangerous than any soldiers."

  As a contingent of citizens entered an alley, they turned to hold their ground, armed with clubs and knives. The eight soldiers pursuing them were outnumbered two to one, but they didn't so much as slow down, ripping into the Colleners with practiced discipline. Screams rang out. Bodies dropped on both sides. The citizens wavered, then scattered down the alley.

  Forty feet from that brief battle, a second skirmish ended just as quickly. The Mallish troops ran after the retreating Colleners. In moments, the plaza was empty of everyone but the wounded.

  Dante drew his knife and cut the back of his arm. Nether winged to him from all sides. "Let's get to work."

  "Didn't we just agree to stay out of this?"

  "The fighting, yes. But these people are hurt. They need help." Dante jogged forward. "This can only help us. If we hope to find anything here, it won't hurt to make friends with the locals."

  Blays and Naran followed him across the black setts. Five bodies lay at the entrance of the alley, including one soldier. One of the four citizens looked thoroughly dead, so Dante headed for the next-worst, a man with a deep slash down his chest and gut. He clutched his wounds, gasping rapidly. Dante kneeled beside him, shadows swirling in erratic loops.

  The man's eyes rolled in pain. "What are you doing?"

  Dante positioned his hands over the man's body. "You have nothing to worry about. In a moment, you'll be better than ever."

  He bolted upright, swiping a bloody hand at Dante. "Get away from me!"

  "Do you see that red substance all over your hand?" Dante said. "That's blood. It happens to be yours. In another minute, more of it will have moved outside your body than remains in it."

  "Don't you dare." The man collapsed on his side, waving feebly. "I…I forbid you…"

  Muttering something unpleasant, Dante poured nether from his hands. It slipped into the man's wound like a dark knife. More blood welled forth, but the flow thinned to a trickle, then stopped altogether. The man's gasps slowed. He touched his stomach, gently at first, then roughly. He swabbed the blood away from his shirt, revealing light brown skin unmarred by any wound.

  He swung up his head and glared at Dante. "What have you done to me?"

  "I saved your life," Dante said. "No need to thank me."

  "Don't tell me they have something against nether," Blays said. "I thought they were all filthy heretics."

  The man got to his feet, brushing grit from his pants. During their brief encounter, a small crowd had emerged from the nearby buildings and alley.

  The man pointed accusingly at Dante. "Did you see that? He healed me!"

  Three witnesses nodded. A woman stepped forward. "I seen him."

  Naran moved beside Dante. "Am I missing something? That man was about to breathe his last."

  "Tell them that!" Dante said. He put himself in the aggrieved man's face. "What's the matter with you? If not for me, you'd be dead right now!"

  "That's right." The man smiled hotly. "And you robbed me of my chance."

  "Good news." Blays gestured south. "If you're that intent on dying, there's a very serviceable cliff right over there."

  "I was supposed to die at the hands of the Mallish. To stain their hands with blood they'd carry with them until the day they died—and faced their judgment by the gods. To do such is a Collener's highest calling."

  "Really? I think you guys should aim a little higher."

  "You stole my honor." The man moved before Dante. He stooped, picked up a pinch of dust, and flicked it at Dante's feet. The crowd murmured. "I challenge you to a duel."

  This provoked a flurry of chatter from the observers. Dante glanced around, searching for any sign of a joke. "Let me get this straight. I prevented you from suffering a gruesome death. And now you want to fight me?"

  "I want to kill you. But a duel's legal, and while it won't restore my honor, it will salve it." The challenger motioned to Blays and Naran. "Are these men your Arms?"

  "My Arms?"

  "One who fights in your place, Mallisher."

  Dante turned to Blays. "Would you say you're my Arm?"

  Blays rubbed his chin. "More like your brain. But if there's really going to be a duel, I suppose I can mop the floor you've soiled."

  The man smirked. "Excellent. I'll send for my
Arm. In the meantime, we'll remain here."

  He approached a young man, speaking quickly. The young man nodded and dashed off into the streets.

  "Pardon my ignorance." Naran leaned toward Dante. "But we need access to Collen's resources. How is fighting a duel with a local going to curry any favor with these people?"

  Dante held up his palms. "What's the alternative? Refuse, and be scorned by everyone? Blays is the best swordsman I've ever seen. We'll be done with this in a few minutes. With any luck, Blays' prowess and honor will so impress someone they'll jump at the chance to help us find what we're here for."

  "That seems optimistic."

  Dante had no response ready, mostly because he was afraid Naran was right. The offended man was busy speaking to several people who were referring to him as Ked. Other Colleners were attending to those who'd been wounded in the skirmishes with the Mallish soldiers, but their ministrations largely took the form of holding the injured party's hand while murmuring to them about how their deaths would blacken the souls of the Mallish until the gods would have no choice but to smite Bressel into a smoking crater.

  Dante watched with mounting frustration and irritation. He could salve every one of the wounded within minutes. To not do so felt not only cruel, but inefficient. He'd long admired the Colleners from afar for their ongoing resistance to Mallish rule, but perhaps they resisted not out of principle, but from madness.

  The crowd stirred. A woman was entering the plaza, trailed by the young man Ked had sent out and a handful of other citizens. A golden ribbon winked from her right elbow—she was the woman they'd seen on the switchbacks breaking up the fight between the two mule drivers. She walked with the rolling gait of someone who had a lot of muscles to move. Her blond hair was pinned tightly at the back of her head.