by L J Andrews
As Isa joined the rambunctious crowd in the enormous dining hall, like Brigita, she didn’t think she’d trade the hours of training, the injuries, the intimidation from other thieves, or the ever-present need to measure up to Hadeon’s expectations, for a marble manor on the hill. She’d had that before. It didn’t turn out well.
Chapter 10
Blood Emperor
The Tyv guild was strong and ruled most of the Thieves Waste. Only a fool, like Abalon, would deny the truth. Kish was not a fool. Even if Hadeon had more land, more thieves, and more reputation, the Ladroa Guild had strengths Tyv did not.
Kish stood on the black sandy beach and stared into the orange glow of the Gulf of Tjuvar. The sun setting beyond the horizon was dark, almost burgundy. The annual blood moon was days away and it added tension throughout the Bloodlands. Kish paced the shore. A spot in the back of his neck felt as if the point of the blade were pressing slowly toward his brain. Nerves weren’t becoming to a guild master, but something was unsettling about this coming blood moon.
If his men didn’t return soon, he’d kill them whenever they did.
When the sun was but a sliver of red on the horizon Kish heard laughter carried on the wind from inside the forest. His mouth tightened as he faced the dark trees. The men had returned.
Silence wasn’t the Ladroa way. Most vulnerable people in the Bloodlands naturally trusted the Ladroa guild by the lure of their smiles and voices. Half the Ladroa women had been taken this way. Females couldn’t resist the almost godly faces of the men, and they willingly joined the guild as wives and concubines. Oftentimes, imperial patrols would confront the guild outside the Wastes, but it didn’t take long before guards believed Ladroa’s were nothing but wild tribesmen living in the Plains. Kish scoffed at the stupidity of the patrols when they drank and broke bread with the fiercest thieves in the Bloodlands. Once ale brought heavy sleep, the Ladroa would slit their throats and take their fill of coppers, gildings, and weapons. There were rarely threats to the Ladroa Guild, so Kish saw no reason to silence his men tonight.
His guild lands were not far into the Waste from the gulf, but most of his guild had taken hold of the shore to defend against the idiot, Bale, and any of his amateur criminals. So far two merchant ships had been overtaken on the belief the con man might be aboard. The merchants wouldn’t be delivering goods any longer. All were necessary sacrifices to defend the Waste and his guild.
Closing his eyes, Kish listened to the sounds of the twilight. Waves caressing the sand; cicada songs in the forest; the distant port bells ringing in vessels; the sluff of boots in the sand and the run of swords in sheaths. Finally.
In one fluid motion the dagger tethered to his chest was sailing across the shades of blue night. Gad ducked; his dark eyes wide when he stared at the knife stabbed deep into the tree trunk a mere inch from his head. Gad ogled Kish, but soon adjusted his weapons belt and stalked across the sand.
“You have left me waiting,” Kish muttered.
“Forgive us, Master, there was much to carry,” said Gad.
Kish furrowed his brow and saw to it each man in the half-circle around him now shrunk beneath his gaze. He found Gad once more. The man was his second, a strategist, a killer, a true thief, but even a most trusted ally could be replaced, and Gad knew it. “You left the payment?”
Gad nodded. “All seven satchels.”
Kish glared at his second when Gad said nothing more. “Tell me what was left for us, you fool.”
“Master, you were right. This was different.” Gad moved aside and two-foot thieves stepped forward. The young Ladroas never glanced at Kish as they dropped the wooden chest and hurried out of his shadow.
“What is this?”
Gad nodded at the box. Beneath the bronze haze of the cycling moon Gad’s sapphire eyes seemed to glow. “I’m anxious to see what you make of it.”
Kish glared at the chest, but lowered to his haunches, and tore open the latch. Kish trusted few people, so taking offerings from a benefactor had not come easily. Over two years earlier a royalty was offered to supply the Ladroa Guild with new daggers, in exchange for loyalty. Kish was no fool, and it took at least five more royalty offerings before he determined the benefactor might be trusted. Usually information was the only payment asked by the benefactor. Information like when royal transports crossed the Gaps or Nobel Passages; the supplies brought by wealthy caravans delivering goods to the gates of empires; and names of nobles and treasures they might accrue.
“This is the symbol of Jershon, and this is Mulek’s,” he said as he lifted to the two brass emblems.
“It could mean the time has come to act against an empire,” Gad said as he knelt by Kish’s side. “Since Mulek overthrew Jershon so long ago.
Kish nodded and stared at the bundle of new jade daggers. Identities were kept secret during interactions, even Kish was labeled as the master, but the more time that passed Kish was almost certain he knew the identity of the benefactor. If he was right, crossing the man would be the last thing he ever did.
“Blood Knight blades? Master, those could attract dangerous attention,” Gad said, handling the green daggers imprinted with the moon symbol of Corian.
“Yes.” Kish rolled one of the poison-soaked blades in his gloved hand. He sniffed the edge and shook his head. “Desert viper venom. I pity the victim of such a weapon.”
Gad lifted one thick brow. “If the blades are poisoned then these were set to be used. I’m not drinking any blood, Master.”
Kish’s eyes darkened as his lips curled up. “No, Gad, we’ll leave blood lapping to the Sha’run’s knights. It seems our benefactor is ready to take someone out of the way by giving us such a supply of vicious weapons.”
Kish held up the wax seal tucked inside the folded parchment and reread the instructions until his disbelief allowed him to process the instructions. How had he not realized such a thing after all these years?
“What does it say? You seem unnerved,” Gad asked as he handled the wax between his fingers.
“That is the seal of General Kawal.” Kish crushed the parchment in a fist. “I wondered if the general would be the one we sought, especially when he started threatening Thieves Waste.”
Gad scoffed. “It’s nearly impossible to get to the general inside the wall.”
“We won’t be the ones to go beyond the wall.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kish tossed the wrinkled parchment under Gad’s eyes and stood. He stared at the thin horizon while his second read the note until Gad joined him at the water’s edge. “I suppose it’s time I told you, we aren’t alone in this.”
“This was all planned from the beginning. You knew there was something inside Jershon.”
Kish nodded as he scanned the last of the instructions. “I knew something important had been taken, but now I know specifics. My sensibilities don’t want to believe it’s true. And I am surprised at the request at the end. That request I cannot see it through entirely; if such power exists it should belong to us.”
“That’s not what was asked. There is be a delivery—”
“Accidents happen Gad. Both women aren’t needed, just the one.”
“We should kill her.”
“Perhaps, but what if we had such an asset at our disposal?”
“Then our benefactor will come for you, for all of us.”
Kish considered the risk. After a moment he nodded. “You’re likely right. If the opportunity arises then we kill her. Unless we see another way to keep such a benefit for our guild. The benefactor will have his prizes especially if the second piece is uncovered in Kawal’s possession. Two powerful deliveries will be valued more than one life that we can’t afford to keep alive.”
“Does Tyv know?”
“I shall find out when I meet with Hadeon.”
Gad nodded and tore the parchment into shreds before letting the tide carry the pieces out to open water. “Seems a large risk for a General’s trinket.
”
Kish struck the side of Gad’s head. “Have I taught you nothing? A trinket? Whatever the general wears is important enough the benefactor raided Blood Knights and asks for such a sacrifice to keep the secret. In over a year I’ve never asked what was in Jershon, but this is more than a trinket. Stupidity has no place in the guild, Gad.”
The second cleared his throat and hung his head a little lower. “Forgive me, Master. I wasn’t questioning, simply observing.” Gad lifted a jade dagger from the chest and stood. “I do wonder how the benefactor acquired so many Blood Knight blades. Unless…unless he had easy access.”
Kish tossed a dagger across the dark beach. The blade sliced through the night air without the slightest whistle. The moment the blade point stabbed into a tree trunk the poison released and the bark blackened with sickly veins of disease.
“You share my suspicions then,” Kish muttered without turning around.
His thief shifted his stance and the muscles in Gad’s jaw pulsed. “I have for some time now.”
Kish closed the lid of the chest and lifted his dark eyes to the sky. “Perhaps when we bring Kawal’s head we’ll finally know if our generous benefactor is simply unafraid of stealing from the Blood Emperor, or if Sha’run has finally emerged from the shadows.”
“If you’re right, do you think it’s wise to join with the Blood Emperor?”
Kish stared at Gad. Slowly, his white teeth broke through the night as he handled a second dagger. “There are always choices in life, Gad. Losing choices and winning choices. If Sha’run is making a play on conquering the Bloodlands, well, he shall have my service. I plan to be on the side that wins.”
Part Two
Chapter 11
Ro the Cruel
A gust of scorching air pebbled sand across his bare shoulders. Roark drained a ladle of gritty water and brushed away dust from his healing skin. The whipping sand raked down his open wounds like burning knives marking his flesh. The comparison was simple to make since he knew the agony firsthand.
Roark slid leather arm guarders over his wrists and lusted after the distant sea. Even from the narrow crag in the cliffs he could make out a hazy layer of mist hovering over the green water. What he would give to feel the spray of the shore on his face again. Roark faced his gaunt reflection in the tarnished mirror. If today went as planned the breeze and salty air would fill his lungs by nightfall.
Chanting echoed through the winding tunnels beneath the Cyprus Cliffs. Each vibration pulsed against the soft sandstone like a living organism.
“You should be weapon clad by now, what holds you?” the mount priest urged as the noonday burned the upper cliffs.
“The Ring won’t begin without the main event, Elder,” Roark replied with just a touch of bitterness.
Roark could see the tension around Elder’s mouth, the feeble attempt at suppressing frustration in his pale eyes under the shroud of his linen hood. Elder was the only breathing soul Roark cared to see, except Furv. The old temples were probably nothing more than ruins and rubble now, as should the title of Elder be in Roark’s mind. But the man was a veteran of the cliffs, living amongst the Cy people for nigh twenty years. His single request was to still be addressed by the holy title. Roark could oblige.
Elder didn’t take kindly to making light of the Ring tournament. He snatched the boiled leather sheath crumpled in one corner of the cave. Roark popped a dried bitterberry onto his tongue and stole the sheath from Elder’s outstretched hand.
“Arrogance leads to defeat, Ro. Your rays are shadowed today,” Elder insisted, dusting a film of sand off the ledge where Roark slept in the frigid nights.
“Roark. And there are no such things as rays, Elder. Darkness lives in us all. I simply choose to illuminate mine more than others,” he said as he tethered the leather sheath over his whipped shoulders. He could gasp through the spasm around Elder without shame. The burn erupted across his wounds when the heavy straps pressed along his ribcage and sharp shoulder blades.
Leaning forward, Roark resisted the urge to cry out as Elder poured rank, yellow oil across his skin and massaged the open gashes with care. “You may believe you have no rays, but I see different. Your voice does not speak of darkness.”
“Yes, you think of me as some hero meant to restore order to a mythical people.”
“The Light King was no fool and did not say foolish things. There will come a time when a hero will rise with rays so honorable, he will save this land. That is what I believe, yes. I do see what you are, Ro. So does the boy.”
Roark glared at his hands as his fingertips dug into the stone until the nailbeds whitened from the pressure. “Is he still finding favor in the house?”
Elder smiled. “After all this time you still ask the same question and you try to convince me you do not care. He has favor, though I am sorry for the things he has been asked to do to keep it.” His voice was soft like the first snow of winter. The brush of his calloused palm sent a chill through the gnarled lash mark in the center of Roark’s spine. “Lord Tama was angry it seems.” Elder tried to console with his care, but Roark was lost to any tenderness after all this time.
Roark spat a string of moisture from his throat and expanded his lungs with a final cleansing breath once the oil soothed the wounds enough to tolerate the sheath. “No. He laughed through the beating, drunk, and with concubines as an audience.” Roark secured his shoulder length hair off his neck with a strip of leather desperate to change the subject. “Elder, I’ve asked you to call me by my true name.”
Elder brushed against Roark’s side while gathering two jagged swords and shoving them into the holster, so the sweat-stained hilts crossed over Roark’s back. “And I have refrained for the safety of your soul,” Elder answered as he tightened the straps of Roark’s arm guarders. “I shan’t repeat your name, for the same reasoning as you shall never know mine. At times our secrets keep us alive. You would do well to remember, Ro the Cruel, this may be a game to some, but the price is your life should you fail. And anyone you might care for will pay a high debt.”
“I have yet to lose, and Furv has his favor. I’m certain the deal of him standing as my replacement faded when Lady Cy adopted him as her servant.”
“Arrogance brings defeat.”
“As you say,” Roark muttered and slipped his dusty feet into knee-high boots. “Today this charade ends, Elder. For us both.”
“As you say,” Elder repeated, swiping his graying hair back beneath his hood.
“Where is the man of faith brimming with lectures and sermons? I do so miss him today, for I hear little confidence in your voice.” Roark grinned and clapped the older man on the shoulder as he tightened the belt around his black trousers.
“Let me worry about my faith and you see to it I am not blessing your damned soul at the end of today. Did you see the opponents?”
“Two. By the thickness of one’s neck, I’d guess a farmer from Mulek.”
“Voluntary?”
“No, trapper lashes are mauled on their backs like a new coat.”
“Weapons?”
“Their trader provided one sword and an ax, double-bladed, a fierce piece of weaponry, to be frank,” Roark admitted.
“How will you break through them?”
Roark shrugged. “The same as always, my friend. What riles you so today? What will cause this spectacle to be any different than the others?”
Elder sighed and sat atop the ledge where Roark slept. “Today, something pierces my heart at every breath of wind, yet I cannot place my unease. It simply feels as though something is changing; I’m not sure if it’s for the better.”
Roark shared his apprehension, though his talent of burying emotion beneath confidence was astoundingly simple after all these months. “It’s likely because the blood moon is soon upon us.”
It was a weak excuse because Elder was right about this day. Even the taste of the thin air was different. Something was off and Roark’s insides twisted like a no
ose the longer he thought on it. All week during mock trainings Roark had sensed a changing tide, but a tide that had little affection for him. Roark brushed away the unsettled nerves by remembering this was his chance to leave the hell of Cyprus, and the demons that were the Cy people. This was his chance to continue the path he’d set over two years ago.
“You could consider,” Elder swallowed, his eyes averting to the opening in the wall. “Consider staying. You are moments from being accepted by the Cy folk. ʼTis not such a bad place to be, the Cliffs. Imperial patrols never venture here. It’s near the Gulf of Tjuvar with interesting trade. The women…are tolerable.”
Roark grimaced. “What female muddled your mind to convince you she was beautiful?”
Elder’s shaven face flushed. “I said tolerable.”
“My mother always told me never to trust a woman who sops a man with drink so she might earn his attention.”
“Sound advice, though there is much to be learned from the lips of the desperate.” Elder sauntered across the cage so he stood in front of Roark. The man was slender and handsome though his skin had tightened and wrinkled slightly from harsh days in the sun. “What I know from my nights at the tavern is Lord Tama wants you to stay.”
“I am his prized possession. He states it daily to his customers who come to see his whip fall on my back,” Roark bit under his breath. He tilted his head lower, though the junior of the two men, Roark was a head taller. “And to the desperate women, as you call them, he tosses into my hands.”
Elder saddened, the shadow from his hood taking shape in the fading gleam of his eyes. “I know life is not perfect.”
“Perfect,” Roark snapped. “Attempts to whore me out, Elder, all while plotting what opponent he can put before me to see if I survive. It is no life at all.”
“And yet you breathe air each morning. You see the sunrise and sunset. All things to be grateful for. All this could end. My source is certain Tama is disappointed in your final prize request. The Lord doesn’t want you to leave and wants you to manage the Ring. He plans to offer you freedom in the cliffs.”