Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (11 page)

Gerlido was putting pressure on as many contacts as he dared, without incurring Guild involvement. He was also tiring of the subject. He realized he might have to pass on the opportunity to pressure Lord deLespan into support of the Fangs. He supposed he could leak word of the son’s romance, but without proof, it would not accomplish anything.

He shook his head, eyes flaring a dark orange until he brought his anger back under control. The Black Fang guildmaster needed to address his obstacles. He could not do anything about the Governor’s relationship with Mennat. He was not strong enough to take on Grandmaster deSwan. The silver mine would have to wait. Which left Larsetta’s political and personal interests in the city.

As summer approached, Gerlido admitted that the Fangs had too much to do. It irked him. He was the leader of arguably the second most powerful guild in Islar and he could not find three children.

“Enough…” he said quietly. It was time to let it go.

A
vrilla wound through the crowded aisle and the first sub-floor of the Islar arena. Sweat gleamed on her forehead and she felt trickles running down her lower back. The sun had not yet broken above the crest of the ocean-side seating, keeping the direct heat out of the area. Avrilla was thankful for that. The time of day probably did not matter.
It must always be hot and dusty down here.
The sub-street corridors were packed with bodies and many of them stank of sweat and blood. They dragged with them a fine cloud of clay dust from the arena into the fight preparation chambers which accumulated in the halls.

She did not believe Trainer Niles when he told her that she would find Danine among the arena fighters. Despite their history and their differences, Avrilla thought that the woman could have done better for herself than this. Even in this morning hour, the evidence of potential carnage was visible all around her. Sparring with wooden practice weapons during training was dangerous enough, but fighting in the arena was a sure way to get maimed or killed. Avrilla did not understand what Danine could be thinking, but she hoped she had a better offer for her than her present situation.

The directions Avrilla had obtained from the man at the gambling counter confused her at first, but once Avrilla reached the arena’s sub-level, it became clear. Other than a few areas with a clear view to the sky, it would be impossible to keep one’s sense of direction in the winding passageways. Half-tunnels of tan stone twisted around the kidney-shaped area and crossed back and forth underneath its combat floor. To counter the disorienting architecture, the arena designers had included adornments to the stone walls that made navigation easier. Danine’s preparation area, and apparently her current residence, was in the arena sector demarked by runic mountains and the star sign of the horse.

Avrilla spotted Danine amongst the other combatants, merchants, and gamblers in the shadowy tunnel. She was as tall as the men around her and her presence cleared a space around her wider than many of the other gladiators. She was pouring water from a thick clay pitcher over her head and shoulders, washing off the accumulated dirt and blood of the morning. Danine was stripped down to a chest wrap and loincloth, a tight cotton outfit that afforded her the minimum of modesty. Avrilla suspected that her demeanor alone kept any ogling at bay.

The woman appeared formidable even without weapons, armor, and most of her clothes. There was no mistaking Danine of possessing Bormeeran heritage. Her display of skin shone a pale yellow in the morning sun and not the pinkish tone of Avrilla’s nation. Danine possessed broad shoulders and long legs indicative of the Hinterland tribes. She also had the high cheekbones and longer, straight nose typical of the northern people.

Despite Avrilla’s immediate recognition of the woman, Danine had made startling changes in her appearance since Avrilla had last seen her.
In Teichmar’s name, she is lean.
Avrilla hoped it had more to do with an intense combat regimen than it did with eating less. Danine had also shorn off nearly all of her hair. Where once had hung a long flow of golden bronze, Danine’s head was now shaved bald except for a single braided ponytail that extended below her shoulder blades.

But these differences were superficial in comparison to the last major change in the Hinterwoman’s appearance. Avrilla recognized that Danine had begun practicing her people’s tradition of symbolic tattoos. Avrilla tried to identify the shapes, but it was hard keeping them in sight through the jostling crowd.

Then all thought fled her mind when Danine turned to face her fully.

“Mother Mara,” Avrilla whispered.

Blazoned in deep blue across Danine’s jaw and cheek was a stylized tattoo of a kukri. Avrilla had no doubt that the kukri was hers.

~

Years before, Henri had arranged training for Avrilla under the weapons master, Niles Yarvin, beginning with general combat and then specialization in the kukri. Yarvin recognized her natural abilities early on and within the last year moved her into the advanced sparring class. Unfortunately, he also began pairing her the strikingly tall woman from the Northern Soanic Hinterlands. The woman, Danine, was what Avrilla imagined that northern territory to be. She was hard, cold, and dangerous. Like Avrilla, Danine fought two-handed, dual-wielding hand axe and long dagger rather than paired kukri. Despite Yarvi
n’
sinsistence on the use of wooden practice weapons and the old traine
r’
s cautionsabout holding back blows, Danin
e’
s axe was sending Avrilla home with large bruises after almost every practice.

Finally, Avrilla tired of the abuse. She was not sure whether she could duplicate what had occurred with the street thugs, but she made a plan for the next sparring session. Avrilla let the mock combat take its normal course. Parry, block, sweep, feint. She had good rhythm that day, but Danine compensated for Avrilla’s improved performance. The Hinterlander put more energy into her blocks and strikes. It was her pattern. As Danine built up the ferocity of her swings, she also aimed for non-critical, but painful targets. The knuckles, the elbows, sometimes the face.

After a particularly close call on a block, Avrilla sprang back, giving the sparring circle its full breadth. She moved into her ‘prepare-low’ position, just as she had done a hundred times before. Danine’s mouth stretched into a predatory grin, taking the bait that Avrilla was tired. However, before she could move in on the offensive, Avrilla casually dropped her kukri into low, passive position and let the words flow from her. She spoke in a quiet, calm tone, admitting to Danine that she was slow and weak. Victory would be too easy, not fulfilling, unless Danine gave Avrilla every advantage.

The lulling speech took only seconds. Both women were sidestepping along the outer edge of the circle meticulously scribed in the sand floor. Avrilla waited, watching for her opponent to relax.
There!
Danine’s grip slackened and her balance shifted out of attack weighting. Avrilla leaped forward. Her kukri moved in, both making inside sweeps, pulling the wooden dagger and axe out of the way. With Danine’s body exposed, Avrilla kneed high and caught her on the pressure point on the inside of her left hip. As Danine winced, fighting not to double over toward her side, Avrilla completed the kukri sweep. She yanked back suddenly, pulling the axe out of Danine’s hand. The enchantment had been broken by the sudden attack, but it was too late for Danine to recover. She staggered back, trying to reestablish a defensive stance when Avrilla came in high. She twisted the weapon in her grip and struck hard with the flat of the blade. Danine’s head snapped around in reaction and she collapsed to the dirt.

Avrilla made no apology to Danine or Master Yarvin for the strike, though technically any hit above the shoulders was out of bounds for the sparring sessions. The weapons trainer made no mention of the incident, either, despite Danine’s dropping out of his school the following week.

Avrilla only saw Danine twice since that match. The first was when the woman returned to the gym to collect her weapons and other gear. Avrilla’s blow raised a crescent-shaped welt on the side of Danine’s face that had swelled enough to split her skin along the contact line. Avrilla realized she was lucky she had not broken the woman’s jaw as well as her skin.

Their second meeting was about a month after her departure. Henri had sent her to the market and Avrilla nearly stumbled into Danine as she turned away from a stall selling cleaning oils and polish. Avrilla had no time to react to what she saw. The mark on Danine’s face had become a purple-black bruise that spread out in an olive green and yellow wave across her face and neck. Danine’s eyes narrowed in recognition and anger, but she did not say anything. The tall blonde slid into the flow of the market and disappeared.

~

The sight of Danine now halted her progress through the underbelly of the arena and choked the flow of the routine visitors to the area. They jostled her roughly, and then continued on their way to visit gladiators, make bets, and tend to wounds. Danine approached her swiftly with long, purposeful strides and Avrilla realized she had no place to go. Excuses and silly questions came to her, but she could not bring herself to say anything. Then Danine was before her, towering a full head above her,and slapping her large hands onto Avrill
a’
s shoulders.

“Avrilla deAlto!” Danine said. Her voice was boisterous and unnervingly bright.

The woman’s blue eyes were penetrating. The grip on her shoulders was firm. Avrilla felt the beginning of panic set in.
She is still angry with me.
But then Avrilla noticed a bit of a smirk at the corner of Danine’s mouth and a light crinkle around her eyes.

“Danine,” Avrilla greeted her. She suddenly wondered what in Malfekke's dark pit she was thinking coming here. She did not even know the woman’s last name.

“I am glad to see you,” the large woman said.

“I didn’t think you would be.”

Danine made an easy motion with her hand, saying that Avrilla should know better.

“So, what can I do for you?”

The opportunity before her, Avrilla now found it hard to verbalize her request.
Did I really think that this woman, someone I barely know could join us? On this impossible idea?

The question shocked her, but she realized it had been gnawing at her since Jaeron had laid out his plan.
What were she and her brothers proposing?

She started to speak. Stopped. And then she opened her mouth again, still not sure how to begin.

“Speak plainly, deAlto. I am interested in knowing what spurred you to seek me out.”

“I… my brothers and I have a proposition for you,” Avrilla spoke slowly, trying to remember the words she had rehearsed on her way to the arena.

“We are…” she shook her head. “My brother asked me to find someone I could trust to fill the initial ranks of a new guild.”

She looked around, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

“An illicit business guild,” she explained further.

Avrilla was struck with the futility of her errand. In all her years of training, Avrilla had been so focused on how to improve, how to help her family, and how to prove to Henri that, as a girl, she was as capable and valuable as her brothers. Prospects of friends and companions had fallen by the wayside.

She struggled to explain, “I don’t really have any close friends. I’m not sure why I thought… you can’t say that we ever got along well…”

“Are you asking me to join a Thieves’ Guild, Avrilla deAlto?”

Danine’s face was still calm. The tiny smirk at the left side of her mouth had grown a bit, but her gaze had grown more serious.

Avrilla just nodded. Danine did not answer.

She’s going to say no.

“Fight with me!”

“What?” Avrilla stammered.

“My next match is a paired combat and my partner is no longer… mobile this morning. You must fight with me!”

Avrilla could not form an answer. Danine grinned, eyes sparkling, clearly taking perverse enjoyment in her discomfort. The Hinterland woman grabbed her by the elbow and moved her down the crowded hallway. Before she had a chance to do anything more, Danine had pushed her into a side alcove, dark and stinking of sweat, oils, and leather.

“Romar,” said Danine. “Suit this one up. She’s to be my partner for the next match.”

Having given those instructions, Danine was gone.

“S
o, those are the deAlto boys,” Coatie whispered to himself. He glanced around, but then realized he had nothing to worry about. No one was paying attention to a street keeper, Islar’s kind term for the unfortunates forced to clean offal from the city’s finer residential streets. They were ignored like so many of the uglier aspects of life in Bormeer’s second largest population center.

Coatie Shaels watched the two young men as they stopped outside the deMasura smithy. They talked briefly, too far away for Coatie to hear. The younger one laughed at something the older said, though the laugh was returned with a stern look. Then the older boy shook his head and grinned as well.

From the descriptions Coatie had been given, the youths’ features seemed right. The younger one had light brown hair, worn shaggy and somewhat wild. He had a slim build and was shorter than Coatie. The older boy was handsome, with nearly black hair worn short in the Temple style. He had a solid build and stood nearly half a foot taller than the other.

It had taken a Coatie a week to find the deAltos’ trail, which surprised him. He was only successful because he had information from Ortelli to which no one else was privy. If anyone besides Victor knew of the eldest boy’s relationship to the Cathedral, they had not acted on it.
Who would believe it? A thief training to be a priest of justice?

Shaels forced the thoughts aside and concentrated on his surveillance. The two young men disappeared inside the shop. Coatie recognized the name.
They won’t be in there long.
DeMasura was an accomplished weaponsmith who had been apprenticed and trained under a Pevaran journeyman smith. His blades were coveted throughout Islar and outside the city. His merchandise was expensive. He worked his shovel and wandered closer to the shop’s front door.

~

Not sure of what else to do, Avrilla suffered through the process of being fitted, trying on and discarding over a dozen pieces of armor. The man called Romar seemed appraising of Avrill
a’
s form, but disinterested in any way that did not have to do with sizing armor. Avrilla felt the heat of her face as it reddened over being assisted in stripping to her undergarments. Romar helped her with the armor pieces, but no matter how they tried to move her underwear out of the way, they proved too long, or uncomfortable, or they hung out and looked ridiculous. Avrilla finally conceded she needed to wear a set of combat pieces similar to the way Danine had been dressed. She looked hard at Romar until the man realized that meant he was supposed to turn around while she changed.

“We are on for the lunch crowd!” Danine sounded triumphant when she returned to the armor stall.

Avrilla finally found her voice. The woman’s absence had given her a chance to recover her surprise.

“Danine, what are we doing? I can’t fight in the arena.”

“You can. You are! Our opponents are a pair of captured Rosunlanders. The crowd is going to love it!”

“I…” Avrilla did not know what to say to convince the woman she was no gladiator. Then she decided that she had better try another method.

“Danine, you will get me out of this fight. You do not want me in the arena.” The words poured from the special place in Avrilla’s throat and she felt the rush of power in her core. So soon after the use of her charm inducing magic with the Dockpads, farmer Utay, and deLespan, the ability felt even stronger.

As Avrilla spoke, she saw a shimmer of light ripple across the tattoo on Danine’s cheek. The big woman flinched as if she had been physically struck. Then she rubbed her face, throwing Avrilla a sharp look. The quick flash of anger disappeared quickly and she smiled as she rubbed her jaw.

“Is she ready, Romar?”

The old man smiled, revealing half a row of missing teeth, and he nodded appreciatively. “Perfect,” he said, part of the word coming out as a whistle.

“Come with me, deAlto,” Danine instructed her then turned and walked away.

Avrilla seemed to have no choice but to follow. They maneuvered through the crowd easily. Danine parted the people ahead of her with a look or a brief, barking command. It seemed that in just the few short months she had been here, the fighter-turned-gladiator had made an impression. They quickly came to a side hallway that sloped downwards and was broken alternatively side-to-side by gaps blocked with high rods and spans of curtain. Danine led them to the third curtain on the left and drew it aside to let them in.

Avrilla entered to what she assumed was the woman’s bedroom. It was a small cubicle, though it did not feel confining. She thought perhaps that had much to do with the fact that the air was cooler here and seemed to enjoy the benefit of a slight cross-breeze. Danine drew the curtain back across the opening, forming the fourth wall to her home. Inside the room, the space was taken up by a small cot, a stand and wash basin, a low wardrobe, and a weapons and armor rack. Surprisingly, the room felt comfortable.

“Have a seat,” Danine said as she began pulling her armor pieces off the rack and fitting them on her body.

“Your trick will not work on me again, deAlto,” she continued. “But it should have an impact on our foes today!”

Avrilla was taken aback by the woman’s comment. She thought briefly about making some kind of denial, but Danine interrupted the possibility.

“I figured it out a couple months ago,” she said over her shoulder, turning her back to Avrilla and nodding toward the leather ties that would hold fast her breastplate. “How you beat me that day in practice.”

“I had just begun my training in inking, relearning the beliefs of my homeland. I was injured here – poisoned by a spear. I didn’t realize it until I was back here in my chamber, lying on that cot, and throwing up. The burning got worse during the night and I developed a fever. In the morning, I somehow made it to my shaman.

“I sold nearly everything I owned to get healed and to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

Danine dropped her gaze to her right thigh. Avrilla followed the woman’s eyes down and saw that the tattoo there was in a similar style to the one on Danine’s face. Bold swirls with sharp points. The shape was clearly the head and small segment of the shaft of a heavy bladed fighting spear. The tattoo, inked in dark red and bright green, ran from just above the outside of the woman’s knee to its point now hidden under her leather skirt.

“That particular poison shouldn’t bother me again. And the inking will help ward against poisons of any sort.

“My teacher explained that warding inks can only defend you against something your body or your mind has already fought. Our people use them against many physical dangers – poisons, sickness, extreme cold. But they work particularly well against magic. Magic like you used against me.”

Danine turned around then, wielding in her hands her weapons drawn from her rack. A finely made hand axe, with dark polished wooden handle and engraved head. And a long-bladed Hinterland dagger.

“Danine, I…” Avrilla did not want to lie to this woman, especially considering why she was here in the first place. “I can’t really say that I’m sorry about that.”

In response, the woman sheathed the blade cross-hip and hung the axe through a leather loop on her belt. She smiled a closed-lip grin that would have looked false except it spread up her cheeks and lit her eyes.

“I don’t want an apology, deAlto. You taught me a lesson.” She paused at that, her smile briefly fading. “And I believe I deserved it.

“I was using our practice as a means to regain glory. For myself, for my tribe. To take out my anger for the Bormeeran offenses against my family. It wasn’t your fight. It wasn’t the right place. Nor the right time.”

A low bellowing of
daison
horns sounded through the arena. It reverberated around the walls of the small room, interrupting further discussion.

Danine threw the curtain open. “Come on. That’s our summons.”

~

Gerlido shook the dust off his cloak and pushed his way through the room. The crowd comprised regulars who knew enough to get out of his way. Normally he made sure that those that did not understand his arrival remembered the next time, but tonight he was too busy to bother with such lessons. If the news from the capital was correct, he did not have time to entertain himself.

The Black Fang Guildmaster found his two lieutenants where he expected, bent low over the illegal dice game that the tavern’s owner ignored every half-fortnight. He slid behind Sukul and glared at Brale’s form across the table. He shook his head slightly before the large man was able to say a word.

The gambler to their left made his throw, groaning at the appearance of two hawks and a fish. Sukul reached forward for his winnings, barely stopping in time to prevent splitting his hand open on the dagger that Gerlido suddenly stabbed into the table.

“Wha-“ Sukul yelled, spinning around.

“I take it that you’ve found what I asked for?” Gerlido spat at him.

“Gerlido. Sorry,” Sukul said.

“Sorry?”

Gerlido noted that despite the cramped conditions, the crowd around the dice table had moved away, leaving the three Black Fangs alone.

“I mean, no, sir,” Sukul said. The man was frustrated with himself, embarrassed at being caught here.

“We looked all day,” Brale said. The big man hated to disappoint.

Gerlido pushed his hair out of his face and pointed to stools.

“Sit down. The deAltos don’t matter now – we’ve a bigger problem.”

Brale looked dubiously at the stool near him, then turned around to pull a bench from a nearby table. The customers vacated and knew better than to argue with him. Sukul gave Gerlido an odd stare and sat down as told.

“What’s the problem, Gerlido?” Sukul asked.

“Larsetta. She’s coming to Islar.”

“When? Why?”

“Who’s Larsetta?” Brale asked.

Gerlido paused, wondering just how to explain it to him. He decided quickly. Simpler was better.

“She was my guildmaster in Dun Lercos. She set me up with the guilds here. As to when, it sounds like soon. Within a couple of weeks. Why? I can only guess.

“I’ve known for a while that she hasn’t been… content with her lot in the capital. I think she may be making a play for the guild here.”

“Our guild?”

Gerlido slowly turned to look Sukul in the eyes.

“I meant your guild…”

“Yes, my guild. So we need to get things in order. Make sure she doesn’t have anywhere to wedge herself in.”

“So, we forget the deAltos?”

Gerlido frowned. The orphans had gone to ground somewhere. They had likely sold the necklace and took off. And if so, the leverage over deLespan was gone with them. But either way, he had made his decision.

“Yes, forget them. It’s done.”

“What about the guy asking questions about the fire?” Brale asked.

Gerlido considered his henchman. As usual, there was no evidence of duplicity or humor in the big man’s face.

“What guy?”

Brale leaned over the dice table, conspiratorially checking the room. “The guy we killed on Hanger Street.”

The Black Fang’s leader heard the dry squeak of leather on wood and smelled the alcohol-laced sweat break out on Sukul’s brow. Gerlido decided he would wait to give him time to explain. A few seconds, at least.

Sukul cleared his throat. “We had the guild out looking for the deAltos, like you said. Asking questions. Applying pressure.

“Yesterday Anton stops me. Says that someone was over on Hanger, asking about the fire, and whether Anton knew of any guild involvement. Fang involvement. Sounded like something you wouldn’t be happy about, so we took care of it.”

“Who was this guy?”

“No one – a street person.”

Gerlido could not argue with Sukul. He did not want the Fangs implicated in Henri deAlto’s death or the destruction of the apartment, despite the fact that deAlto had inadvertently set the fire himself. Still, his lieutenant was not telling him everything.

“Go on,” Gerlido said. “What else did Anton say?”

“Someone is asking about deAlto’s death. He did not know who it was, but he was going to try to find out.

“Also, he thinks the deAlto children delivered the package.”

“How the-?” Gerlido clamped his jaws closed. He needed to know if that rumor was true.

“Sukul, have your boys keep an eye out for deLespan’s man, Jefford. He’s always running errands all over the city. The next time he’s out alone, I want to know immediately.

“And look for that songbird again. Rodin. A soft mark like that you should be able to make talk.”

Gerlido looked out across the tavern. Rough men and rougher women laughed and drank and fought and found dark corner booths for cheap, quick coitus. The quiet conversation at the gambling table was pointedly ignored, but Gerlido felt suddenly exposed. Investigation of Black Fang whereabouts would come from a narrow list of sources – the city guard, another guild, or someone who knew the history between Gerlido and Henri deAlto.

He knew how to handle one of those possibilities.