Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer (26 page)

J
aeron cradled the old man’s body in his lap, staring at the morning as it blossomed over the rooftops of the Temple Ward. He knew he should move, do something. But it was just not possible.

Two deaths in two days.
A numbness crept through his limbs. Jaeron thought it started in his heart.

He missed hearing the footsteps on the stairs behind him. He was startled by the sudden gasp from his sister.

“Jaeron?” Avrilla’s voice trilled with fear.

He turned, speaking softly so she could hear him. “It’s okay, Avrilla. I’m okay.”

She knelt at his back, leaning forward over the stoop. “Uncle Ardo?”

Jaeron felt his sister trembling and reached back to wrap his free arm around her.

“What happened?”

“He found out who killed father.”

“Is he…?”

Jaeron nodded. He could not vocalize it yet.

“What do we… Who?”

Jaeron felt the tension building in his sister’s back.
Too many questions.
It was beginning to overwhelm them. But Jaeron had been building a defense against despair and confusion for a long time. There was only one answer that made sense.

“We need to get Matteo. Bring him to the Cathedral.”

“But what-?”

“Avrilla. Please. Just go get Matteo. He will know what to do.”

She nodded, trembling as she stood. She rested her hand on him for a moment. Then she wiped the tears from her eyes, sidestepped around the old fence’s body, and broke into an easy run down the street.

Jaeron watched her go, grateful for her trust in so easily following his directions.

~

Avrilla stroked a lock of gray hair off Ardo Tabbil’s forehead. The stone surroundings of the Cathedral sub-basement kept the mortuary cool, even in the face of the humid conditions that had developed after the past two days of rain. In fact, Avrilla felt chilly as she looked down at the last family member she and her brothers had.

Despite the bruising on his face, the Teichmar mortician and acolytes had made her uncle appear peaceful. They had removed the bloody mess of his clothes, bathed his body, anointed him with scented oils, and redressed him in a simple, white robe. Matteo and Father Nojel recited prayers and read passages from their voluminous, gilded book.

At some point during the proceedings, Chazd had arrived with Coatie Shaels, both of whom had sat quietly with her in the corner until the priests were done. She had leaned against Chazd and he put his arm around her and hugged her tight. She felt warmed just at the memory of that moment.

Avrilla looked across the length of the stone table where Ardo lay. Jaeron stood still at the body’s feet, staring at their Uncle’s face. She could see his mind was somewhere else.

Her brother had not said much since they arrived at the Cathedral. He accepted the few condolences from the Teichmar clergy and participated in the prayer service that Matteo held. Beyond that, he seemed lost in his own world.

Jaeron had told her and Chazd what their uncle had said about his killers. He gave Jaeron two names, Sukul and Brale. Lieutenants of the Black Fangs. It was not much to go on, though Chazd had paled giving them the information about the boarding house his music teacher had told him. Chazd had tried stammering out an apology, but Jaeron stopped him, enfolding him in a crushing hug.

She searched her brother’s face for clues about what he was thinking, but there was no discernible expression. Avrilla could see that it was different from the neutral face Jaeron wore in the performance of his sword forms. Different from the quiet calm he displayed at Teichmar services. This was more somber and less sure.

“Coatie,” she said, “who are the Black Fangs?”

Her voice sounded loud in the small stone room and she dropped her volume to just more than a whisper to compensate. Chazd looked between her and Shaels, interested and eager. Matteo took a step back and toward the chamber door, but he did not leave the room. Avrilla thought she saw Jaeron flinch, but he stayed so still she could not be sure.

Shaels cleared his throat, then seeing that neither Jaeron or Chazd were going to comment, he began talking quietly.

“The Black Fangs are a second rung guild. They may be… no, they are the most powerful second rung guild in the city now that Ortelli has retired the Spoiled Vassals. They were our fiercest competitor.

“Their guildmaster is a man named Gerlido Krosch. Like Ortelli and I, he came from Dun Lercos during the purges after the death of the queen. His guild had a handle on something before they arrived, which might mean they still have connections to a guild in the capital.

“The Fangs are into protection, gambling, and drugs. They sell a lot of
gindi
. Ortelli and I never figured out where it came from. They don’t have a large membership, but they are brutal. You can count on the fact that Gerlido hires no gentleman thieves.”

“And what about Sukul and Brale?”

Coatie nodded at her. “They are Gerlido’s lieutenants. Sukul came with Gerlido from Dun Lercos. Brale’s a local.”

Coatie paced around the room, obviously wrestling with something.

“I don’t know all the facts, but I don’t think Henri… your father was killed because of your jewelry job. I think it happened because of an old grudge. Gerlido had warned Henri years ago – you were small then – to stay out of the guilds. I think it had something to do with your mother.

“Didn’t make sense then, but it does now. I think Gerlido or one of his men killed your mother and Henri tried to figure out who did it. Gerlido had him punished for it. You wouldn’t remember, but he suffered a terrible beating. Probably would have killed him if it hadn’t been for your Priests.”

Coatie bobbed his head toward Matteo.

“He was reformed - kicked out of all guild interaction. Then he changed his tactics. Embraced being poor. Kept you children fed and clothed, though. And trained you.”

Shaels splayed out his hands. Avrilla understood. He did not know any more.

“I need to talk to Ortelli,” Jaeron finally broke his silence.

“He can’t help, deAlto. In the eyes of the Guilds, he is retired.”

“I’m not looking for help. I need information.”

“He won’t talk to you, Jaeron.”

“Coatie, make this happen. It’s important.” Avrilla felt the warm hum in her throat and the rush of power pulse through her core.

Jaeron’s eyes widened, but he kept silent. Behind her, Matteo stumbled back into the heavy oak door.

“Teichmar! Guide and protect us.”

Avrilla spun around and moved to him, taking his hands in hers.

“It’s me, Matteo,” she whispered. “You’ve known me for years. I’m your best friend’s little sister… It’s me.”

She spoke slowly, quietly, forcing herself to hold back even a dribble of her magical ability. She looked into the young priest’s eyes, their horizon blue-grey lost in the torchlight.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“We don’t… I don’t either,” she admitted. “But can we discuss this later?”

Matteo nodded. Still holding one of his hands, Avrilla turned back around. Shaels was looking at them, confused but nonchalant. He turned to Jaeron.

“I will set something up. This is important.”

“If it was Sukul and Brale, or even Gerlido, that killed my father, I’m going after them.” Jaeron’s voice was solid, no trace of the sadness she had heard earlier.

“You can’t just go to war with the Black Fangs,” Shaels said.

“Why in the pits of Malfekke not?” Chazd interrupted the discussion.

Jaeron turned on his brother, “Chazd, enough. Let the man finish.”

“It’s easy for him to say, Jaeron. It’s not his uncle, not his father who’s been killed!”

“Chazd!”

Coatie moved between them, putting his hand on Jaeron’s arm. Avrilla saw that he was not looking at Jaeron. He was focused on her younger brother.

“You don’t think I know what you are going through? All of a sudden you are the only one whose life has been wrecked? Who’s had to turn to the guilds because your father died?

“I lost my father and brother when I was younger than you. I lost a life of luxury, an estate overlooking the Dun Lercos vineyards on the mouth of the deTrellar River. I saw my mother driven from her home amidst debt and disgrace.

“I learned my way amongst the guilds and understand the way this works from the ground up. You’d do well to remember that.”

Avrilla watched her brother’s face. The words were penetrating.

“Sorry for that,” Jaeron said. “My brother is taking our Uncle’s death very hard. He doesn’t mean any disrespect. You said we cannot just go to war with the Black Fangs... why not?”

Shaels cleared his throat.

“Because if they view you as a real threat from outside the Guild structure, they’ll band together and destroy you.”

Jaeron frowned, about to protest, but Shaels continued.

“You have to understand the elemental force that keeps the Guilds in place. The real nature of what you were trained and groomed to become.

“Most people think it’s the money. Some get beyond that and believe that it’s the power – the politics and protection. That’s closer to the truth, but not the kernel. The real cement that binds all the Thieves together is fear.”

Shaels circled the deathbed.

“What keeps them working together is that they fear everything. The government, the nobles, the business guilds, and most especially they fear each other. More so the guilds in Islar, but also the others from other cities.

“We are all bravado, claiming we run the city and the guards are our dogs. No product sells, no one eats, nothing works without our help. But if any one of those groups decided to get rid of us, they could do it. If we didn’t work together.

“So, we work together. It doesn’t matter if we like each other or trust each other. The unspoken code is if someone outside the Guilds really starts applying pressure, we all fight back.”

“What can we do then?” Jaeron felt defeated.

“You need to become a recognized guild in Islar. Not a third rung contender, operating at the permission of the others. But a second rung member of the Guild council. Then you can petition the Grandmaster for a formal challenge, guild to guild against the Black Fangs, and all the others will stay out of it. Until the Grandmaster says it’s done.”

“How do we do that?” Avrilla asked.

“You need an introduction. An existing guildmaster needs to sponsor you as a new guild and then you need a second. Even though he’s retired, Ortelli has enough favor with the Grandmaster to attend a council. He can second the sponsorship, but he can’t introduce you.

“It needs to be a strong guild. It doesn’t have to rival Gerlido’s, but it should be a respected guild. Ideally, one of the older guilds that has seen a generation or two in the city.”

“Which leaves us where?” Jaeron said.

“Let me arrange your meeting with Ortelli and then we’ll figure that out. I have some ideas. And you have a funeral to prepare.”

V
ictor Ortelli sipped the cool ale he had just pulled from his tap. The bitterness of the hops cut through the clean taste just at the end of the drink. His latest brew was good, but not as good as its predecessor. He would have to add back in the one part in twenty of the oat malt, he decided.

Gryk deWoll quietly cleared his throat. Ortelli turned his attention to his steward.

“What is it, Gryk?”

“Your guests are here, sir.”

Victor raised himself out of the broad-winged leather chair and set his stein on the bar.
Why in the hells did I agree to meet deAlto?
He crossed the great hall into the dining room. The double doors to the garden were open. Ortelli strode across and out into the sunshine.

Jaeron deAlto stood near Coatie Shaels. His ex-lieutenant moved from flagstone to flagstone, examining each new blossom in Victor’s garden. The man was uncomfortable. He had no interest in botany. Jaeron, on the other hand, looked pale and angry. His eyes were focused solely on Victor.

“Ortelli, you owe me some answers.”

“DeAlto,” Victor said. He nodded a quick greeting. “Our agreement was that we would not see each other again.”

“I’m not here about that! What do you know about Gerlido and my mother?”

Ortelli felt his heartbeat became heavy, a hammer on his ribcage. He had not expected that question. On that subject, the past should remain the past. Especially in light of what happened to Henri. He looked at Shaels, but saw that the question had taken him as much by surprise.

Ortelli waved Gryk away. “Come inside, Jaeron,” he said.

He led the way back to his library study and invited Jaeron to sit down. The boy refused.

“Our business was concluded, Jaeron. You have your organization. My men brought me your payment. We are even. I don't have any more answers for you.”

Even as he said the words, Ortelli heard the tone of falseness in them. He knew he would say more.

“You hid information from us. Information about our father’s death! Did you think we wouldn’t find out? We are not even, Ortelli! Not even close!”

“Jaeron,” Shaels said. “Perhaps we should get to the questions you have. There’s no need for raised voices.”

Victor caught a brief instant of self-annoyance, perhaps embarrassment, on the boy’s face and then watched him gather his composure.

“No. You’re right,” Jaeron said to Shaels. “Master Ortelli, I’m sorry I yelled. Apparently the past few days have upset me more than I realized.”

Victor found himself impressed. The young thief had humility and manners to match.

“Understandable, Master deAlto,” said Victor, glancing at Shaels. “Perhaps if we all sat down and started again.”

Coatie took the cue to pour the men drinks and serve them. Victor was afraid to ask the question, but as things had gone this far, he supposed he may have, in fact, owed the boy more.

“What do you want to know?” Ortelli asked.

Jaeron took a breath before answering. He stared into the short, crystal glass he had been given.

“Did Gerlido kill my mother?”

Right to it, then.
Ortelli drained his glass. He let the amber liquid cool and then burn his throat, but showed no sign of discomfort. Then the retired Guildmaster stood and went to his window to look outside.

“Jaeron, I don't know,” Ortelli said slowly. “But I think it likely that he did. Or gave the order for it.”

“And my father?”

“I don’t know that either. It’s possible, but… I guess I'm less sure than in your mother’s case.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

Ortelli turned back around and moved to sit on the edge of his desk facing Jaeron.

“What aren’t you telling me? Why did you-?”

Ortelli cut him off. “Your father and I... Well, we were not friends as I implied when we first met. More like friendly rivals, I would say. We met when we were young thieves, running in the streets of Dun Lercos.”

Ortelli answered Jaeron's unasked question.

“Yes, your father lived in the capital – all his life up to that point. Our competition was not to be a better thief, although I suppose that came later. No, we competed for a girl. A woman, I should say. Liadee. Your adoptive mother.

“Our... struggle escalated. Eventually it grew into demands on Liadee. Unfair demands.”

Ortelli grew quiet. For a moment he forgot that Coatie and Jaeron were in the room. Ortelli moved away from his desk and approached one of the room’s many bookshelves. His hand floated up toward a decorative bronze orb, a knickknack of little value in comparison to most of the other contents in Ortelli’s study.

“She became quite the thief in her own right, your mother. She learned from Henri. Learned from me. Perhaps she surpassed us both.”

“At some point, I think I lost sight of what it was all about. What I wanted. I was building a guild in Dun Lercos and we were on the verge of being put on the rungs. I asked Liadee to do jobs that Henri wouldn’t have touched. I was looking for prestige. For power.

“I heard later that Henri... had enough of Liadee’s indecision. He gave her an ultimatum to finally choose between us and be done with it.

“At some point here, Gerlido enters the picture. He was a free agent, but word was he was working with a promising group of assassins. I never directly asked your mother to work with them... but I hinted that it could be good for us. For me.”

Ortelli went to the bar and poured himself a second drink. He looked to refill the other glasses but saw that Jaeron still had not touched his.

“I’m not sure what happened in the weeks that followed. Perhaps Henri persuaded Liadee to see things his way. Maybe she had a falling out with Gerlido’s associates. The next thing I heard was that she and Henri were gone. Amidst so many others at that time.”

Jaeron asked, “That time, sir?”

“Ah. Well, a hell of a lot of things were going wrong, weren't they? Rosunland declared war on Bormeer. Or we declared war on them, depending on whom you believe. The Queen was killed by members of the Undeified churches. Mennat abolished the monarchy which caused the self-exile of Admiral Sevenson and half the Bormeeran fleet went with him.

“And the Thieves’ Guilds of Dun Lercos... we were hit hard. Between the army, the city militia, and the Church of Teichmar scouring the streets looking for traitors and heretics and the sudden exposure to foreign spies, pirates, and smugglers… No one was being choosy and no one was taking prisoners. I lost half my men in less than two weeks. It was the most bloody violence we had ever seen.”

Ortelli faced Jaeron again.

“Not that you're here to learn about that.”

Ortelli walked to Jaeron and sat in the wingback chair next to him.

“The next time I heard word of Liadee, it was almost a year later. I moved my guild to Islar, not knowing that she had come here with Henri, married, and set up a home, adopting the three of you. I heard she was looking for guild work, but she never came to see me, and I never tried to reach her. It probably would have all worked out, but then a year or so later Gerlido moved here from Dun Lercos, too. I always had my suspicions that he was working for a more powerful Guildmaster in the capital, but I never found out.

“Anyway, his guild was in operation only a few months when I was informed that Liadee was… killed.

“I don’t know if that answers your questions, son,” Ortelli said. If Coatie was surprised to see his old master not trying to hide his emotions, he did not show it. Victor sighed and wiped away the tear that was making a slow run down the length of his nose.

Jaeron finally took a drink from his glass, and with a barely perceptible nodding rose from his seat.

“So you don’t know why,” the boy said. The voice was calm, if a bit strained from the tightness Victor saw in his throat.

“No, Jaeron,” Ortelli said. “I don’t know why. “If I had known… really known… had proof. I’d have killed the son of a bitch myself.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see myself out.”

As Jaeron made his way to the study door, Coatie moved with him. Victor confirmed with a silent signal that he should go with deAlto. He had not held much back and now he was sure where this was leading.

Perhaps a vendetta by the deAltos against the Black Fangs would accomplish what Ortelli wanted. Revenge for Liadee after so many years. Still, he could not help feeling he could have given the boy further insight into what they were facing.

Victor watched Shaels wave off his guards and staff as they walked out the garden door. Jaeron glanced back at him through the windows. His eyes lifted out of the anger and sadness just enough to show his appreciation. Then Jaeron turned away to look over the garden wall to the view of Islar Bay and the city next to it. Victor saw the determination build in the youth’s shoulders.

He had given the deAltos more than insight. Ortelli had given them Coatie Shaels.

~

The basement of the deAltos’ apartment had been transformed. Jaeron looked around in satisfaction at all they accomplished in only a few weeks. The discarded boxes and scrap lumber was gone. The walls had a fresh coat of whitewash, thanks to Avrilla’s instance that she needed a brighter environment in which to work. Karl had refurbished the canning table, which they had decided to keep, first because it was a sturdy piece of furniture, and second because Chazd pointed out multiple times how difficult it would be to get it up the stairs.

New weapon racks lined the wall opposite the staircase. Clean oil lanterns hung in the four corners of the room. They had even found a way to fit in a varnished cupboard and four dining chairs from Ardo Tabbil’s home. Jaeron was still shocked that Ardo had left him his entire estate. Chazd and Coatie were still working out what that meant with deMiraglia, but all seemed to agree that at least his house and the possessions inside were Jaeron’s. Unfortunately, that knowledge was public, so except for a cursory exploration and retrieving some key items, the deAltos avoided the place.

Jaeron walked around the center table to the side wall. There hung a large placard that represented most of the work they accomplished since Ardo’s death. On the surface of the four by six foot board were neatly pinned almost a dozen sheets of paper and parchment. They overlapped and several were positioned at odd angles, but together they pictured a comprehensive and detailed map of the city of Islar.

The best pieces were meticulous copies Avrilla had made of maps in the Cathedral library. Matteo had given her an access key and she spent many evenings sneaking in to work. Jaeron found the map of Dockside in Ardo’s belongings. Coatie had procured the map centered on Governor’s Ward from a source he would not discuss. And Chazd had obtained three drawings of the walls, gates, and towers from the City Guard house using means Jaeron did not want to think about.

The maps were not all the same scale or the same style, but Jaeron had made it work. He and Avrilla sketched in some of the overlap or the missing sections by hand.
Now the real work begins.
Several pins adorned with colored cloth flags were embedded in the map. They marked the guild holdings of Henri’s Hands and the sparse information they had on the Black Fangs and other guilds.

Soft heels clicked down the stairs behind him.

“Everyone’s here,” Avrilla said. “Except Matteo.”

“Bring them down.” It was time to fill in the rest of the map.

Avrilla returned in moments with the rest of the guild. Everyone but Sten had been by to help with the basement in one way or another. Jaeron almost smiled seeing his reaction to the makeover.

“You all know or have heard rumor of how and why Henri’s Hands was formed. A rival guild… a powerful guild attacked our family, our father. We formed the Hands to honor our father and find the ones responsible for his death. We now know it was the Black Fangs.

“The Fangs have a reputation in Islar. I mean to take that guild apart and destroy it. I intend to see that their guildmaster, Gerlido Krosch, and his lieutenants get the retribution they deserve.”

“You mean to kill them?” Danine asked.

Jaeron looked at her. Defiance showed in her stance, and a proud flash of superiority in her face.

“Yes, I mean to kill them.”

He turned to the map, drawing all of the eyes in the room.

“The challenge is how to find the Black Fangs and dismantle them without getting overwhelmed ourselves.”

“Or the rest of the guilds just taking us out as a way to gain some favors with the Fangs,” Sten interrupted.

Jaeron glanced at the man. He needed Sten’s support in this. The man was the oldest and most experienced thief in the room. He took in the rest of the faces, giving each of them a measured look.

“Sten is right. Normally a plan like this would pit us against the Black Fangs and every guild willing to help them. It could put us up against the Grandmaster’s guild… but it won’t.

“We are taking steps to be admitted as a second rung guild and we’ll have the Grandmaster’s approval on our request for a vendetta against the Black Fangs. We’ll be able to act without interference.”