Mountain of Daggers (15 page)

Quietly, Ahren slithered out into the hall and toward the door, staying low so no one on the first floor might see him.

“I heard something,” said a voice from the room below.

Ahren froze. His fingers dug into the jade carpet.

“I heard it too,” another replied.

“Could it be Farehf and Ulka?”

“No. They’re in their cage. Go. See what it is.”

A cold layer of sweat formed along Ahren’s palms. He scurried across the hallway and slipped through the ornate door as he heard the men below spread out.

Shutting the door behind him, Ahren found himself in a small room. A lit candelabrum rested atop a massive table draped in rich velvet. A carved white skull rested on a shelf beneath a mounted tiger’s head. Across the room, a slender pair of double doors opened to a round balcony over the chamber below. Ahren’s eyes locked onto a small wooden box accented with gold inside a niche along the wall.

Rising to his feet, Ahren approached the familiar box when he heard footsteps at the door behind him. He dove and hid beneath the table just before the creaking door burst open. Peering through the gap beneath the tablecloth he could see a pair of brown shoes beneath gold and emerald robes. Ahren’s hand slid to his dagger as the feet approached, stopping inches from him.

Shouts and hoots erupted from downstairs.

“Halred,” someone yelled. “Get down here.”

The feet whirled around and ran out of the room. Ahren glimpsed a hooded man holding a pronged knife hurry down the stairs, leaving the door open behind him.

Something smashed downstairs, followed by more cries and cursing. Ahren reached for the box, but stopped. It was too easy.

Ignoring the growing commotion, he studied the small alcove containing the casket. He saw no trigger pin or wires, but as he ran his fingers along the wood, he felt a narrow slit across the top, running behind a small lip along the front. It was a trap.

Removing a thick leather-bound journal from a nearby shelf, Ahren jammed it upright in the alcove to catch any dropping blades. Blindly, he felt along the rear of the box and found a notched wooden peg jutting from the niche’s back wall. Hooking his thumbnail under the peg he carefully slid it back into the wall until it caught on the notch and stayed in place. He licked his lips, then gently removed the box and set it on the floor.

The racket downstairs grew louder as glass shattered somewhere in the house followed by hoots and running footsteps. Staying wary of the open doorway, Ahren removed his picks. Sweat beaded along his brow and ran into his eyes as he desperately tried to unlock the box.

“What have we here?” someone shouted with a laugh.

“Clear the table!”

The lock clicked and Ahren opened the lid with trembling hands. A gold and jeweled figure of a tiger-headed woman nestled inside a velvet cushion.

“Let me go!” a woman screamed.

Ahren’s head snapped up as he recognized Katze’s voice.

“Hold her still!”

The lock clicked shut as Ahren closed the casket, and left it on the floor. He crept to the balcony overlooking the room below. Five hooded figures in green robes wrestled Katze onto a wide marble table while two more tied her down. She thrashed and fought, driving her heel into an attacker’s chin before they managed to tighten her ropes.

“What has the Huntress brought us?” asked a hooded man in a tiger mask; the only figure in the room not restraining the woman. He pulled a golden candlestick from Katze’s bag. “A thief. A greedy rat in the house of cats.”

“Let me go, you bastard,” she spat through clenched teeth.

Ahren couldn’t help but feel a rise of satisfaction in seeing Katze caught and bound. His eyes widened in horror as the masked man unsheathed a leaf-bladed dagger.

“It has been a long time since our altar tasted blood. Truly the goddess has given us a gift.”

Katze froze staring at the polished blade, then erupted in a wave of fierce thrashing as the man raised his arms.

Ahren’s breathing quickened as the eight hooded men circled the altar table.

Their leader stood above her head and lowered his dagger straight in front of him. “I give you to Tsarasch, Maiden of the Hunt and Tiger Queen.” The other worshipers joined in a low drone that rose higher as their masked leader drew the blade toward her throat.

Ripping his dagger from its sheath, Ahren swung over the railing and leaped into the chamber. The man below him screamed, bones cracking as Ahren drove his feet into the devotee’s back. Landing atop the crumpled body, Ahren slashed his dagger, slicing the masked leader’s hand and knocking his blade across the room.

Stumbling back, the leader’s mask slipped, revealing Count Resuom’s withered face. “Stop him!”

The green-cloaked men on either side of Ahren ripped curved, double-bladed knives from their sheaths and lunged. Twisting his body back, Ahren grabbed the first man’s extended arm and jerked him across to the other side and into the other attacker’s claw-like blade. Ahren shoved the men away and leapt up onto the altar table astride Katze.

“Behind you!” she cried.

Ahren kicked the attacker behind him then slashed the ropes binding Katze’s wrists. “Get out of here!” He slipped his dagger into her freed hand and rolled off the marble table in time to punch one of the charging worshipers. Drawing Flagref’s dagger from his belt he parried the man’s next attack.

Katze cut her ankles free and jumped off the altar.

A ringed fist smashed into Ahren’s mouth. Stumbling back, he managed to dodge a blurring blade. Swinging his dagger upward, he drove it deep into the man’s gut. Hot blood burst over his hand.

Footsteps raced from behind him. Ahren turned to see a worshiper closing in with a raised scimitar. Ahren pressed against the table, unable to get away in time.

A slender leg swept the charging man’s feet, sending him to the floor. Katze sprang on top of him and sliced his throat.

Ripping a spear from the wall, another zealot charged screaming into the room. Ahren grabbed a lamp from a shelf beside him and hurled it at the attacker’s feet. Glass shattered and flaming oil exploded across the floor, setting the man’s clothes ablaze. Fire licked up a hanging tapestry and spread along the lushly rugged floor.

“Come on,” Ahren shouted to Katze, motioning to the stairs. “Let’s get out of here.”

Billowing black smoke filled the room as they raced to the second floor. Ahren turned left and hurried down the hallway to the room from which he’d entered. He threw open the balcony doors and turned, but Katze was gone.

He ran back to the hall to see Katze in the other room picking the ornate box up from the floor. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “Leave it!”

An amused grin spread across her lips. She cradled the box in her arms and ran toward him.

Count Resuom charged up the steps with a loaded crossbow in his bloodied hand. Lowering the weapon, he aimed as Katze raced past.

“Katze!” Ahren screamed. He hurled Flagref’s blade past Katze’s head and into the old man’s chest. Dropping the crossbow, the count staggered into the railing to catch himself. Wood creaked then broke under his sudden weight, sending the count over the side and into the flames below.

Together Ahren and Katze raced to the balcony. Two bloodied and hooded devotees rushed after them. Ahren slammed the balcony doors shut and pushed his weight against the men’s angry pounding.

“They’re getting away!” one of them screamed from the other side. “Release the tigers!”

“What do we do?” Katze hissed, bracing her shoulder against the violent door.

“Hold on.” Bracing his leg against the stone railing, Ahren pressed his back to the door and pulled the silver padlock from his bag. He hooked the shackle through the door’s handles and clicked the lock closed. “Now go!”

Still holding the awkward box under one arm, Katze lowered herself over the railing and dropped to the bushes below. The door behind him rattled and shook, but held fast. With a grin, Ahren swung over the rail and dropped to the hedge beside Katze.

The tigers’ cage door squeaked open. Ahren turned to see the two beasts lying on their sides watching him with careless eyes. Rolling to his feet, he pulled Katze from the thick bushes and they ran to the outer wall.

Shouts and cries echoed from inside the house. Smoke trickled from several windows as orange light flickered from behind the shutters. Panicked guards called “Fire!” from the streets outside as Ahren and Katze scaled the wrought iron fence and hurried away through the alleys. Alarm bells chased them from the Nobles’ District.

#

“Thank you for saving me,” Katze said as they neared Griggs’ tavern. She still held the heavy box under her cloaked arm opposite Ahren.

“I couldn’t let those bastards take you away like they did Tretan.”

She swallowed. “But you gave up the duel for it.”

He sighed but said nothing.

“I saw the dagger you used to kill the Count. I know what it was worth. You even used Hetstier’s lock so we could get away.”

Ahren grinned. “I was hoping to keep that dagger,” he chuckled.

They continued down the narrow streets in silence until reaching the tavern. A roar of cheers and applause erupted as they stepped into a small room through the back door.

Griggs set a handful of cards on a table, his eyes barely concealing his relief. "Welcome back.”

Katze held the gold-trimmed box above her head. “I have it!” she declared and plopped it hard onto the table.

Griggs nodded in approval. “Ahren, what have you brought?”

Ahren chewed his lip. “That’s it,” he said, holding out empty hands and motioning to Katze.

Boos and chuckles poured from the half-dozen thieves packed into the backroom.

Katze worked a pair of wire picks into the lock. “Ahren forfeited to save my life. I share this with him.” The lock clicked and she opened the box. “This is
our
victory.”

The cramped room went silent. A single black feather rested on the velvet cushion inside. Katze turned to Ahren, her mouth open in puzzled disbelief.

A wide smile stretched across Ahren’s lips. “I’m happy to hear that.” He removed the jeweled figure from his satchel and set it on the countertop. “And the new Master of Thieves doesn’t mind sharing.”

Shouts and laughs exploded as lost bets were reclaimed and coins changed hands. Raised mugs toasted the new Master of Thieves. Ahren slipped through a gauntlet of praise and jokes and entered the barroom where he took an empty booth in the back.

Katze slid in beside him, carrying a pair of drinks. “Very clever,” she said, offering him a stein.

He smiled and raised his tankard. “To the Mistress of Thieves, may she find it in her heart to forgive me.”

She squeezed his arm. “I never did welcome you home.”

Ahren met her soft black eyes. “I missed you too.”

The Seventh General

Squawking gulls circled over the bustling Lichthafen harbor. As the fading sun retreated far to the west, stars twinkled on the horizon. Cool air wafted from the sea, carrying the stink of mildew and dead fish. Ahren peered through the chipped arrow slits of one of the towers along the harbor walls at a sleek, freshly docked ship. The tied, sky blue sails announced it had come from Porvov, the great city in distant Rhomanny, seat of the Holy Church of Arieth, Crown Jewel of Delakurn, and—to a known few—headquarters of the Tyenee.

Narrowing his eyes against the failing light, Ahren studied the passengers descending the gangplank; their dress, their age, and above all, their demeanor. Experience had taught him that generals of the Tyenee were as diverse as the cities they manipulated from the shadows. Yet even the friendliest of their faces held the same flicker of ruthlessness. So far, among the fops, skittish merchants, and noisy families, no one had met the qualifications.

A hefty-set man in dark green marched confidently from the ship. Copper buttons glinted from his heavy brocade doublet, and the twisted steel of his basket hilt rapier hinted that the ornate weapon was intended for more than just show. It had to be him.

“My shift’s almost done,” Josik whispered. “You’ll need to be out of here before my relief comes, or it’s both our heads.

Ahren turned to the gangly guard beside him. His short brown beard almost concealed the sunken cheek from which it grew. “Don’t worry.”

Josik snorted. “I’ve got three daughters and an expecting wife; don’t talk to me about worrying.”

“Fair.” Ahren shrugged, and handed the soldier five silver coins. “Maybe this will ease your heart. I’m done here anyway.”

“Thanks.” Josik dropped the coins into a rawhide pouch and gestured down the winding stairs. “Always a pleasure, my friend." They hurried down the tower steps to an iron-bound door. The guard peered outside, then motioned it was clear.

“When is number four due?” Ahren asked, stepping out into the dark city streets.

“Two months. The midwife predicts it’ll be a girl.”

“Four daughters,” Ahren laughed. “May Arieth have mercy on you.” He winked to the despondent guard and headed down the street.

"May you pass safely through the mist,” Josik called behind him.

“Did you see him?” Katze asked, stepping from an alleyway.

Ahren brushed the dark curls from Katze’s face and kissed her. “I think so. How’s your father?”

“Nervous. He finally finished cleaning the bar and then started all over again just before I left. This will be his seventh general to serve in twenty years. Nine of which were without a one at all. Hopefully this one will outlive the others.”

“Hopefully.” The apparent curse besetting any Tyenee generals assigned to Lichthafen for the past two centuries was well known among its members. The last one, sent three years ago, hadn’t even lasted an hour before shoddy scaffolding collapsed in the street, killing him and two others. Since then, no one was willing to try their luck, leaving Griggs, a mere lieutenant, master of the city’s underworld. Now, with a new boss looking over his shoulder, Griggs was terrified of what might happen. Even though he’d served his masters well, a new commander could find his established order and connections as a threat. Griggs was afraid, and Ahren afraid for him.

They followed the winding lanes lit beneath the dim glow of wrought iron lamps. Bearded beggars leered from the shadows as they passed and tight-bodiced whores stepped onto the cobbled streets to begin their night’s work. Bell-ringing hawkers called to them as Ahren and Katze turned down a dingy street and headed to Griggs’ Inn.

A tiny bell above the door rang as they stepped inside the narrow tavern. The familiar layer of dirt and scum accenting the floor and tables was gone. Fresh tapers burned from the holders mounted around the room, most of which Ahren had never seen used before. A few patrons talked and ate, yet the more unkempt and seedy regulars were noticeably absent.

“There you are,” Griggs said from behind the counter. “Sit. Let me get you something to eat.” The square-jawed man filled two bowls from a stew pot above the fire and set them down on the table. “So?” he whispered. “Recognize him?”

Ahren shrugged. “Don’t know.”

The thief master ran his fingers through his graying temples. “Guess it don’t matter. We’ll see him soon enough.” A table of customers rose to leave and he hurried off to fetch their dirty plates.

The bell tinkled again as a man with thinning gray hair walked inside. Ahren watched, wondering if this was the new boss. With a gruff order, the man ordered his drink and invited himself to a backgammon game at the far table. Ahren shrugged and returned to his meal. He finished just as a young gentleman with a polished rapier glinting at his waist strode inside. The newcomer scanned the tavern once, reminiscent of a captain surveying his ship after a storm.

“Greeting, sir,” Griggs said, stepping behind the bar. “What can I get you?”

“I’m looking for a man named Griggs,” the man replied, brushing back a lock of blonde hair with a gloved hand.

Ahren turned his head for a better look.
Surely this dandy isn’t the general.

The barkeeper’s brow furrowed. “I am he.”

The man pulled his shirt open slightly and Griggs’ flush face paled. “Then let us retire somewhere quiet. There’s much to discuss.”

#

Ahren held his second beer since the two men had entered the back room before Griggs cracked the door open and motioned for he and Katze.  They stepped through the thick door into the large yet mostly empty storeroom.

“Master Skeroff, I want you to meet my daughter, Katze.”

The general rose from his chair at a pair of tables and took Katze’s hand. “It is a pleasure.” He gently kissed her long fingers. “I’ve heard of your exploits in your father’s reports. He failed to mention your beauty as well. An oversight, I’m sure.”

Ahren forced a smile, surprised by his threatened twinge at the attractive man.

“And this is Ahren,” Griggs continued, seeming to ignore the general’s advances. “The Black Raven. This is Skeroff, General of the Tyenee and the new Master of Lichthafen.”

“The Black Raven.” Skeroff smiled broadly. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time.” He shook Ahren’s hand and gestured to the table. “Sit down, both of you. Griggs, bring us some more wine.”

Ahren sat, casually examining the young general. He couldn’t be more than thirty, if even that. “So will you be staying here?”

“For now,” Skeroff replied. “Once my wares arrive in a month, I’ll move everything over to my tailor shop. This bar has served as the hub far too long. I’m certain it has already drawn too much unwanted attention. Moving the operation somewhere new only solidifies people’s understanding of a new regime.” He glanced up at Griggs, pouring cups of wine. “I’m sure you can find a suitable location. It needs to be central. In a location where both peasant and merchant might visit.”

He sipped the dark wine. “Until then, there’s much to do. Griggs has informed me that over twenty gangs operate in the city, and while he’s at least kept them from growing too powerful, the power between them is too much. In two weeks I want half of them gone.”

Katze’s face flashed with disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ahren cut her off.

“That’s no easy task. How do you wish us to do that?”

Skeroff smiled. “I’ll weigh their strengths. Those with the most useful and malleable talent will be melded into our ranks. Others will be pitted against each other one by one, until all are too weak to continue. A few Porvov Switches and assassinations will handle the rest. After that, the rest will fall into order. For that, I’ll need you.”

“Understood.” Ahren lifted the wine to his lips to conceal his growing dread. Gang wars were never easy, and he knew some of the people whom Skeroff would want eliminated.

“Then tomorrow we’ll start.” Griggs raised his clay goblet. “To Skeroff, the new Lord of Lichthafen.”

#

“Please, Ahren, you know I can’t.” The bearded man swept his arm across the furniture shop. “All my money is in this. I can’t pay that much.”

“You had enough to spend last week in Darian’s gambling hall,” Ahren replied coolly. “Now I need to collect what’s mine.”

Bernhard ran his hand over his mouth. “No one told me you were going to be doubling the price. I can pay what I have, and if you give me a couple weeks, I can pay the rest. Griggs would understand.”

Ahren drew a breath. Bernhard was right. “Griggs needs the money now. Not later.”

Bernhard gave a nervous laugh. “Please, Ahren. I’m begging you. I can’t pay that right now. Trust me, I would, but I can’t.”

“I’m not leaving until I have it.” He picked up a white and red vase painted with the image of a girl and a dog. “So give me the silver, and I’ll leave.”

“I told you—”

“I don’t care what you told me!” Ahren yelled. He poised the heavy vase, ready to smash it, but hesitated. His gaze flickered to his reflection in the mirror behind the shop owner. There the Black Raven stood. The extortionist. The bully. Everything Ahren had vowed never to be.

“It’s that new guy isn’t it?” Bernhard asked. “I’ve heard about him. People talk.”

Ahren didn’t answer.

He sighed. “I can pay the ten I owe you, plus six more. I’ll get you the rest as soon as I can, I swear.”

“Fine.” Ahren set the vase back onto the counter.

“Arieth bless you.” The shop owner opened a wooden box from behind the counter and poured out the additional coins.

“Don’t disappoint me.” Ahren scooped up the silver. “I’ll be back in a few days.” Glimpsing his shameful reflection again, Ahren turned and quickly retreated. He let out a long sigh as he stepped out onto the street and headed back to Griggs’ tavern.

How did this happen?
The Black Raven, the greatest thief and burglar in the Tyenee, reduced to a thug.

Shop owners and peddlers called to him as he passed. Their new found enthusiasm wasn’t respect, but fear. Once he blended in. Known only to those who needed to. His anonymity was slipping.

He knocked once before stepping through the alleyway door into the tavern’s back room. Bolts of fabric and oaken chests lined the walls. The scent of wood and spices overshadowed the familiar smell of dust and ale.

“Ah, Black Raven,” Skeroff said, peering over a log book. “Good. We’ll need to evacuate this merchandise before it draws any more attention. Griggs’ inadequate storehouses are already full.”

“We can do it tonight.” Ahren tossed down the collected silver and gold, plus some of his own to conceal Bernhard’s shortage.

“Excellent.” The young thief master counted the coins and dropped them into a dingy leather bag. “Who didn’t pay?”

Ahren poured a tankard of water and sat. “The Blue Dogs didn’t have enough, but promise to bring it next week. Also, Flerin the butcher will bring his in two days.”

“Did you agree?”

“They’re good for it.”

“And if they don’t have it then?”

Ahren shrugged. “Depends on the reason.”

“Ahren, don’t be soft,” he chuckled. “Accepting excuses means they’ll only make more. Griggs allowed excuses. This city should be yielding twice what it has.” Skeroff chewed his lip. “I’m the youngest General in the history of our order. Do you know how I did that?”

Ahren shook his head.

Skeroff held up a finger. “Never compromising. That’s it. You’re the greatest talent in the Tyenee in generations. Just imagine what we could accomplish together. All you need do is take heed to my advice.”

“I will,” Ahren said. “Thanks.”

“Superb. This is the greatest city in Mordakland. With your help, we’ll make Lichthafen the most bountiful city the Tyenee has ever had.”

#

Yellow cascades of hardened wax hung from the burned out candle holders as Ahren stepped into the bar. A few patrons still lingered in the common area. He winked to Katze, cleaning up the already empty tables, then limped up the stairs to the second floor. A charging guard dog had forced him out a different window than he’d wanted, and the three story fall hadn’t been kind. Ahren only hoped it would be better by morning. At least he was back doing something active.

He composed himself and knocked on the door to one of Griggs’ nice rooms. Moments passed. Then Clauser, another former Alley Cat and now one of the city's more successful fences, marched into the hall, cursing under his breath. He ducked his head from Ahren’s questioning glance and quickly slunk down the stairs.

“Ah Ahren,” Skeroff said, pushing several rolled parchments aside. “Come in.” Trying to hide his injury, Ahren walked over and took the seat opposite the young general

“Are you hurt?” Griggs asked. He sat in the corner, his hand resting on the neighboring table, clutching a drink. The thief master’s ability to see every detail bordered on the magical.

“It's nothing.” Ahren removed a bundle from his satchel and unfolded it across the table, revealing an assortment of gem-encrusted treasures.

“Excellent.” Skeroff selected a gold comb and held it up. The small emeralds and diamonds along its side sparkled in the lamplight. He took a star-shaped broach and a pearl bracelet and set them aside.  “Hide these in Kherisdat Bakery. We’ll send word that Erik orchestrated the jeweler’s theft. Once the guards find these, he’ll be gone. His smuggling operation has lasted too long.”