Midnight Thief (4 page)

S I X

T
he veteran knights called it battle guilt. They spoke of it as they took Jack’s body away, and as they sat with Tristam in his grief.
When you lose a friend in battle,
they said,
it’s natural to feel like you’re to blame. But don’t let those thoughts consume you. War is fickle. Just fight your best and let the ghosts of every battle rest in peace.

Tristam had heard the lectures before, had even agreed with them and thought them wise. But he hadn’t known how meaningless they would be when confronted with a gravestone, how they crumbled like ashes against the unrelenting accusations in his head. He should have ridden faster. He should have tried harder to get Jack to leave the pen.

The only injury Tristam had sustained was a bruised hip. With every step of his horse, the ache radiated up his back and toward his shoulder. Perversely, he welcomed the pain, even shifted to make it worse. It somehow helped ease the guilt as he traveled the same country road, passing by the curve where Jack had pretended to fall off his horse the day before. The order had come in this morning. The Minister of Defense was investigating the attack and required Tristam’s presence.

The farm was somber after yesterday’s tragedy. The few workers around walked quickly and didn’t acknowledge his presence. Most obvious signs of the attack had been removed; the dead had been buried and the wounded taken to the healers. But it wasn’t possible to erase an attack like that in one day. A gate still hung off its hinges, and the dirt was uneven in places, trampled and churned by panicked crowds. And of course, it took more than one night for blood to wash away. Tristam hesitated at the road before forcing himself onward in disgust. What kind of knight was he, if he couldn’t even return to the scene of a battle?

His mare was skittish about being tied by the road. As Tristam soothed her, a knight in full armor approached. Tristam raised his hand in greeting. “I am Tristam of Brancel.”

The knight nodded. “Malikel wants to speak with you.”

Tristam started. “Sir Malikel? Of the Council?”

“I know of no other Malikel in Forge. Councilman Willem is here as well.”

The names were enough to snap him out of his self-pity. Though he had only seen them from afar, Tristam recognized them right away. Head Councilman Willem was a formidable man, with a lordly manner and penetrating eyes. He’d been appointed to the Council at the age of thirty-five, a decade younger than any other councilman, and had risen to his current post in ten years. Next to him stood Sir Malikel, unmistakable with his dark brown skin and close-cropped hair and beard. Malikel was the only foreigner in the Council, and rumor had it that he had started his career as a common mercenary in Minadel. His appointment as Minister of Defense had been unheard of at the time, and was a testament to Malikel’s unparalleled brilliance as a strategist. Though his enemies at court made snide comments about his background, even they did not question his decisions on the battlefield. Under any other circumstance, Tristam would have been thrilled to meet him.

“Councilmen,” said the knight accompanying Tristam, “Tristam of Brancel is here.”

Willem acknowledged Tristam’s bow with a nod. “The Council thanks your family for your long record of service to the city. From what your instructors say of you, I’m expecting great deeds from you as well.”

Malikel extended his hand. “My deepest condolences. I understand Jack was a good friend of yours.” It was a simple statement, but somehow Tristam got the impression that Malikel meant it. “We wouldn’t usually ask a squire to return so quickly after a battle,” said Malikel, “but the enemy is a new one, and you were the closest witness.”

“It’s my privilege to serve the city.” Tristam hoped he sounded more sincere than he felt.

“I need to get the full account from you while it’s still fresh in your memory. Can you take us to where it happened and walk us through what you remember?”

The other knights fell away as Tristam led Malikel and Willem around the back of the building. Where to begin? Tristam started with the alarm bell and Jack riding to the farm. He described the chaos and his first sight of the strange woman with her wildcat. The farmhand trapped in the pen. It was by no means a smooth account, with both men watching him so intently. Tristam found himself directing his words to Malikel, who had a way of listening that made it easier to get the words out.

“This woman,” Willem asked after Tristam finished, “was she with any others?”

“I didn’t see any—”

Tristam stopped short as they came to the livestock pens. He’d known that the sight would trigger memories, but he still wasn’t prepared for their intensity. He closed his eyes against the rush of images—the screaming crowd, the cat’s sharp claws. After a few moments, the flashbacks subsided and Tristam let out a ragged breath.

“This is where it happened.”

The Councilmen entered the pen, but Tristam hung back. It was empty now. The workers must have moved the sheep—or perhaps the barbarian woman had opened the gate. The dirt was stained with blood where Jack and his horse had lain.

“You say the cat was inside here?” said Malikel.

“Yes. Jack rode his horse in as well. I was on the other side, outside the fence.”
Doing nothing.

Willem cleared his throat. “This is a small pen. Young Jack shouldn’t have come so close to the enemy without reinforcements.”

Tristam stiffened at Willem’s words. “With all due respect, sir, Jack rode in to help a trapped man.”

Willem raised his eyebrows. “And traded his life for a farmer’s. I admire your friend’s bravery, but he didn’t do you or the farm any favors by getting himself killed.”

“Perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand, Willem,” said Malikel. The words brought Tristam back to his senses, and he swallowed the retort on his tongue.

“You’re right, of course,” said Willem. “My apologies, Tristam. It was not my desire to make this any more unpleasant for you.”

“No offense taken, Your Grace,” Tristam replied woodenly. But Willem’s words haunted him. Had Jack’s attempt to save the man actually been a foolish mistake?

Willem dusted off his hands. “Regardless, I think I’ve seen all I needed to see. I will leave the rest in your capable hands, Malikel.” He swept his eyes across the farm. “The barbarians choose a bad time for this. Our treasury is already stretched thin.”

“Indeed,” said Malikel with a wry smile as Willem walked off. “We are all concerned about how the attacks will affect the treasury.”

Tristam deemed it unwise to reply. Finally, Malikel turned his attention back to Tristam. “These are definitely the Demon Riders we’ve heard about from traders and farms farther out. There have been reports for the last few months, but they’ve never come within a day’s ride of the city before.”

“Has anyone spoken to them?” asked Tristam.

Malikel shook his head. “The Demon Riders don’t seem interested in negotiating. They take what they want, and they’re vicious enough to get it.” He surveyed the farm. “We’ll have to increase patrols in the area.”

It seemed such a paltry effort. Were they just going to wait around for the barbarians to attack again? Tristam once again saw Jack’s face in his mind, eyes glassy from blood loss. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“Of course.”

“Why haven’t we pursued the riders and tracked them down, rather than waiting for them to come to us?”

Malikel paused, and Tristam wondered if he had spoken too presumptuously. But the official didn’t seem annoyed when he responded.

“It’s a fair question. We will do that, but the forest is large, and their attacks are spread out. None of the merchants or other travelers have ever seen evidence of where they’re settled. I’ll send out search parties, but I expect it could be a while before they find anything.”

Tristam’s next thought rushed into his head, accompanied by a quickening of his pulse and a fierce determination to see the idea through. “Sir, I have another request.”

“Yes?”

He wiped his palms on his tunic, steeling himself. “I would like to submit my request to work under you, for the Ministry of Defense.”

For the first time in their conversation, Malikel looked surprised. “I was under the impression that you are not yet a knight.”

“I will be in a month, sir.”

“Your commander informed me you were planning on joining the road patrols. Why make this request of me now?”

The question gave him pause. If he went through with this, he would stay in the city. He felt a tightening in his chest at the thought of abandoning his plans. But then, could he really join the road patrols with a clear conscience? Ride off into the forest and let others deal with Jack’s murderers? “My commanders will testify to my character and performance. I’m at the top of my cohort in combat and in strategy—”

“I am perfectly capable of assessing your qualifications myself, Tristam,” said Malikel. “That wasn’t my question. What I want to know from you is why you’re requesting this.”

Malikel’s response startled him, and Tristam suddenly found himself tongue-tied. “Jack was a good friend of mine,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I can’t sit idle while those who attacked him are still attacking our city. Sir, I’ve seen these cats up close. I’ve fought them. I would be useful to the search.”

“True,” conceded Malikel. He fell silent, again studying Tristam. “Your commanders do speak highly of you.”

“I promise you I will work hard, sir.”

Malikel nodded. “It’s an unusual request, but I will consider it.”

S E V E N

T
he walls of the inner compound were three stories high, constructed of smooth granite and topped with a walkway wide enough for three men to walk abreast. The sides of the wall were vertical except for the very bottom, when they bent outward to form a wider base. Kyra found that if she sat where the sides angled off, she could lay a parchment across her bent knees as she sketched.

Unlike the outer portion of the Palace, the Fastkeep was older and built for security. The buildings here were squat granite structures with thick walls. Occasionally, Kyra saw a courtyard, but these grassy spaces lacked the trees and fountains that graced the outer Palace.

She shivered. Although the top of the wall shielded her from the wind, the granite’s chill seeped through her trousers and the back of her tunic. It would have been warmer inside the buildings, but she had strict orders not to go indoors. She’d found the nights difficult at first without the benefit of movement to keep warm, but weeks of sitting out at night had acclimated her to the cold.

Kyra put the finishing touches on her map and tucked away her charcoal. Carefully, she rolled up the parchment and slid it down the back of her tunic before turning around to grip the wall. She listened for footsteps. Satisfied that no one was nearby, Kyra threw her grappling hook over. The clink of its landing rang through the darkness.

The sound was too loud for comfort, and she wasted no time in pulling herself up. Once away from the wall, Kyra allowed herself a quick stop by the kennels. As she came close, several noses pushed between the slats of the fence. A few dogs whined loudly, and Kyra shushed them with a whisper. She’d always been a good dog talker. Even the fiercest guard dogs whimpered and rolled over, baring their bellies to her in fear. Flick teased her about it, saying that dogs were the best judge of character, but he couldn’t deny that her gift was useful in that line of work.

Once safely out in the city, Kyra jogged to the Guild. Two shadows detached themselves from the side of the building as she approached. The larger shadow planted itself squarely in front of her.

“Let me through, Bacchus,” she said, her shoulders tensing. “I’ve got something for James.”

Bacchus snorted. “The fine lady.” He didn’t move.

Kyra moved to step around him. Bacchus started to block her again, but the other shadow spoke. “Let her through, or you’ll hear from James.”

Bacchus glared and stepped aside, muttering loudly about a good-for-nothing wench. Kyra skirted past him to the door and entered without knocking.

She glanced into the storeroom as she passed. One man she didn’t recognize was polishing weapons at the back. Rand was also there, talking to a man whom she thought was called Alex. Rand saw her and beckoned her over. Alex gave her an amused look and sauntered to the window without speaking.

“I’m bringing a map to James,” she said.

“He’s busy,” said Rand. “We can get a round in.”

Kyra’s bones ached at his words. Practice fights with Rand were more like beating sessions. She was learning, but still hit the ground nine times out of ten. She suspected that was why Rand enjoyed them so much. “I’m tired, Rand,” she said.

“What else are you fixing to do while you wait? Pick flowers?”

Kyra scowled, pulled the map out the back of her tunic, and laid it safely against the wall.

“Bare-handed,” he said, motioning her toward some straw mats. “Hit me.” He raised his fists.

Fistfights were a lost cause, since Rand was so much stronger. He easily blocked her punches while overpowering any of her own attempts to defend herself.

“What’s the point?” she asked, raising her hands.

“You won’t always be armed.”

She humored him with a test jab to his nose. He brushed it out of the way and she skipped back before he could return the blow.

“Faster,” he said.

She lunged again. He blocked. Her other hand was raised in front of her face, and he knocked it back into her nose.

“You get hit enough by other people,” he said. “No need to start doing it yourself.” In the corner of her eye, Alex chuckled. She stepped back, exasperated.

“That’s enough. I’m bringing this map to James and then I’m going to sleep.” As if on cue, she heard a door open and close in the hallway. Kyra grabbed her map and headed for James’s study, reaching back to give her parchment a confirmatory pat before knocking.

“Come in.”

James didn’t look up as Kyra laid the map on his desk. She waited without speaking. Finally, he set aside the papers he’d been studying and stood, unrolling the parchment and holding it open against the table.

“The east wall,” Kyra said.

James didn’t respond. Kyra watched his eyes as he scanned the pathways and buildings she’d drawn. James lifted a hand from the parchment’s edge and traced his finger along a line.

“This walkway here, is it bare or lined with trees?”

“That part’s got young trees.” She took out her charcoal and reached to mark the detail. James shifted slightly to accommodate her but remained squarely over the table.

“And these rooms over here,” he pointed. “Did you look inside them?”

“I saw a bit from the window. They look like rooms for official records. Lots of cabinets.”

He studied the map a while longer. Finally pushing it aside, he looked up at her. “Has Rand been teaching you to fight?”

“We’ve been practicing.” Kyra wrinkled her nose. It still tingled from Rand’s blow.

“Are you learning?”

She shrugged. “Ask Rand.”

He glared at her. “I didn’t hire you to skip around drawing maps forever. I need you inside the buildings, and I need you to be able to handle the occasional guard.”

They’d been over this before. Kyra took a deep breath, trying to gather some patience. “Why’s fighting so important for going indoors? It’s the same guards, and nobody’s seen me yet.”

“It’s closer quarters inside,” said James.

“And there’s more places to hide. I’ve been doing this for a long time,” she said.

“That’s enough.” There was an edge to his voice. “For what I pay you, I expect you to learn quickly and do what you’re told.”

Kyra bit her tongue.

He sat back down at his desk and turned his attention back to his papers. “I’ll talk to Rand. I expect you to be ready in a few weeks. Is that clear?”

She pressed her lips together. “Aye.”

“Good.”

Flick found Kyra tossing pebbles down the second-floor hallway of The Drunken Dog. She was crouched on one knee beside a pile of rocks, her back to the staircase, weighing stones in her hand before throwing them one by one with a twist of her wrist. A few bounced off the wall at the end and came to a stop, while others ricocheted at an angle and clattered around the corner. Flick came up behind her and swiped two rocks from the back of the pile. Kyra ignored him for a few more tosses, then pulled both her knees to her chest and looked up at him.

“I heard you take them,” she said.

“Of course you did, master thief.”

A door halfway down the hall opened, and a disgruntled man looked out. “Quit the racket. I’m trying to sleep.”

Flick kicked Kyra before she had a chance to retort that it was well past noon. He gave the man a cheerful smile. “Sorry, Byron. We didn’t think anyone was still here. Though I’ll wager you had a late night because luck favored your dice last night?”

Byron grinned. “My purse is a mite heavier this morning.”

“Keep that up, and you’ve got to buy us all drinks,” said Flick.

“Mayhap I will, if luck smiles again.”

Flick gave Kyra a stern look as Byron returned to his room. Kyra rolled her eyes before he could start lecturing her about her rudeness. Flick shrugged in resignation.

“So what now? Is the Guild teaching you to kill people with gravel?”

Kyra snuck a glance at Flick’s face, but he seemed relaxed enough. They’d had a rough couple of weeks after she’d joined the Guild. He’d yelled at her, hurt that Kyra had made such a big decision without confiding in him, and worried about her safety. They didn’t speak much for a while, but eventually it became too exhausting to be angry at each other, and things slowly drifted back to normal.

“The rocks are a blind,” she said. “If I throw these on a stone floor, they might make enough noise to busy the guards while I slip by. I just need practice getting them where I want.”

“You know, if you stayed out of the compound, you wouldn’t have to worry about guards at all.”

Kyra twirled a stone between her fingers. “James is demanding I learn to fight—keeps on saying he wants me to handle the occasional guard.”

Flick guffawed. “You? Against a shieldman? He’d just toss you over his shoulder while he calls his friends.”

Kyra dug her knuckles into Flick’s shin and watched without pity as he yelped and jerked his leg away. She understood his point though. A thief’s main protection lay in avoiding detection, and fighting a guard would be admitting to failure. It only took a second to sound the alarm, and even if she escaped, the resulting lockdowns would make it impossible for her to return. Concepts like this seemed obvious to Kyra and Flick, but they somehow evaded James.

Flick squatted next to her.

“So what do they have you doing now?”

“You know I can’t tell you the details.”

He snorted. “Pardon me for sniffing after Guild secrets. Tell me generally what you do, then.”

“I’ve not turned into a hardened killer if that’s what you’re wondering. I in’t even stealing these days.”

“And they don’t mind?”

“Most of them.”

“Most?”

Kyra kicked herself and affected her most nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing. Just some of the men don’t think I can carry my weight.”

“Really?” Flick looked genuinely surprised. “After they’ve seen what you can do?”

She thought for a moment. “I guess they’ve not seen me work. I go to the Palace alone.”

“The lads around here were skeptical when you first started joining me on jobs. But they shut up after a few times out with you.”

“I’d forgotten that.” Kyra gathered the stones. “I need to go. I’m supposed to meet Rand.”

She waved good-bye and slipped down the stairs, relieved that he hadn’t pressed her further. As understanding as he’d been today, she still didn’t want to give him any new reason to object.

Brendel was sitting alone in the dining room, humming and scribbling on a parchment with one hand while tapping the table with the other.

Kyra sidled up to him. “How goes your masterpiece, good talesinger?”

“The meter’s wrong,” muttered Brendel.

Kyra looked over his shoulder. “The part with the bees?”

Brendel nodded, still scribbling. “Don’t ever be a talesinger, Kyra. You’ll end up as crazy as I.”

“I’ve seen worse,” said Kyra. “How much of your tales are true, Brendel? Have you been to the Far Lands yourself?”

“Of course they’re true. Would I lie to such a pretty face?” He punctuated his question with a wink.

Kyra rolled her eyes. Brendel put his pen down and looked at her, his expression turning serious. “I really don’t know,” he said. “I’ve traveled many places and heard many tales. Some of them sound pretty far-fetched. But then…”

“Then what?”

“I’ve never been across the Aerins, but I talk to people. And you start noticing differences between the folk who believe the tales and those who don’t. Those who don’t, they’re folk like you’d meet every day, living their lives around Forge. The ones who believe the tales though, they’re the ones who’ve traveled farther. I’ve met a few Far Rangers myself, and they’ve told me some pretty spectacular things.”

“Think they’re stretching?” Kyra asked.

“Could be. Or maybe there’s really something out there, beyond the mountains. What do you think, Kyra?”

Kyra shrugged. “If a griffin landed in front of me, I’d pay attention. But I’ve enough to think about than to go chasing after them. Though I wish a hive of bees would solve my problems.”

Brendel laughed. “Don’t we all?” The talesinger waved her on her way.

According to legend, Lady Evelyne won over the felbeast by bringing him fresh honey. The monster was so touched at her kindness that he didn’t kill her, instead taking her into the forest to live with him. Kyra amused herself for a while by imagining what the assassins would do if she showed up with a honeycomb. Somehow, she doubted it would be enough to win Bacchus’s friendship.

In many ways, life had improved since she joined the Guild. She no longer worried about money; her lodging was paid off for the next few months, and she still had some extra. (In fact, Kyra was playing with the idea of renting an extra room at the Dog for Idalee and Lettie, since Lettie was still getting sick.) Also, Kyra was picking up useful skills. Though her fighting lessons with Rand were humiliating, Kyra had to admit that they would come in useful if anyone tried to push her around again.

But joining the Assassins Guild had its disadvantages. As a thief working by herself, she had known the details of every job she undertook. Working with James, however, was like exploring a dark building with a single candle flame. Kyra didn’t know why she was drawing maps, or even what she would be doing the following week, much less what big job James eventually had for her.

Then there were the other assassins. They were all men, hardened by their years in the Guild, and even the ones who weren’t overtly hostile looked down on her. As long as James made her work alone, Kyra didn’t see any way to earn their respect.

Kyra wiped any sign of worry from her face as she arrived at the Guildhouse. As always, a few men were standing around the storeroom. Kyra walked by Bacchus, who was applying liquid from a vial to one of his daggers. Kyra shuddered when she realized it was probably poison.

Rand had already set up some straw mats and was leaning against a stack of boxes, tossing a dagger in the air.

“Am I late?” she asked, watching the light reflect off the spinning blade.

Rand shook his head and motioned her closer. He handed her a sack heavy with coins.

Kyra weighed the sack in her hand, puzzled. “Is this for next month?”