Lhind the Thief (30 page)

“All I need is the cloak.” I pulled it off the bedpost where
he’d hung it.

The candle was already guttering. Hlanan blew out the flame,
and I listened to the rustle of clothing as he undressed, then the creaking of
the bed as he settled in. Again I had that sense of intruding on his privacy,
though I had often slept in a room full of thieves, many of whom had preferred
to air their clothes at night, and I hadn’t given them a second thought. I
could not understand my reaction, which made me feel off-balance.

As I wrapped the cloak around me, I thought about how seldom
in my life I had been on a name basis with people, much less exchanged as much
information as I had of late. If you liked people, it made you vulnerable to
attack—Geric Lendan had certainly known that, when he’d threatened to kill
Hlanan. A vivid image of Hlanan lying there tied up, his shirt ripped baring
that tattoo on his shoulder, and I resettled myself to face the other way, my
mind wheeling too much for rest. The mud I’d smeared on my face and the backs
of my hands itched, an old sensation that I found steadying. That, at least,
was something normal.

“What are you thinking?” Hlanan said presently. His voice
was warm in the darkness.

Usually I was quite ready to blurt out exactly what I was
thinking. But I found myself reluctant, at least until I understood myself a
bit better. “Can’t anybody help the people here get rid of the King of Liacz? I
mean, without sending another army in?”

“I hope the people themselves will do that. You noticed how
most everyone wore a bit of red?”

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “I thought the room downstairs
cheerful, but my habit is to watch faces for threat or question, and hands for
weapons. What does the red mean?”

“The original flag was crimson with yellow oak leaves. The
red is a gesture of, oh, resistance to outsiders? Maybe even a kind of loyalty,
renewing itself after all the trouble. What they need is a leader.”

“And then there’s a new king, heigh ho, and it all starts
over again.”

“Not necessarily. Custom and habit are as strong as greed
and ambition. Education can be . . .” His tone was musing.
“Effective.” He was taken by a yawn. “I beg pardon.”

The pause lengthened into a silence. While I wrestled with
questions, gradually I became aware that his breathing had slowed and deepened.

I remembered that he’d had little sleep before showing up on
the border of Alezand in my wake, and I wondered how much rest he’d gotten the
previous night while rain-soaked and chilled.

My body was tired, as I was not used to walking all day, but
my mind was not going to let me sleep. So, instead of lying there while my
thoughts hooted questions at me like a cluster of owls, I decided to seek some
answers on my own.

A quick hop, a wriggle through the small window, and I
stepped onto the rain gutter along the edge of the roof. From the hubbub of
voices below, the common room was still occupied, though with fewer people. The
town was slowly settling down for the night.

I stood up and looked around. In this end of the town, the
houses were close enough together for me to leap. Very practiced at this method
of travel, I sped along the edges of roofs so that my steps would not be heard
by anyone sleeping in attics. I hopped from eave to eave, watching below in
alleys and narrow byways for anyone in those purple coats.

In my experience, one seldom overheard important
conversations while people were busy on a job. It was when they relaxed in
their own quarters that an eavesdropper had the best chance of finding things
out.

I finally spotted a patrol, and altered my path to run along
above them. As expected, what chatter I could hear was mostly about names I
didn’t know, sour beer, stable problems, late pay, and observations about what
they saw.

But I stuck it out, until (after what seemed forever) my
patrol went off-duty. They led me straight to their guard-house, which was not
only lit all along the ground floor and half of the upper story, but most of
the windows were open to the balmy night.

Pulling my dark green knit cap down to my eyebrows, and safe
in the knowledge that I’d mudded my face earlier, I ghost-footed along the
roof, listening from window to window.

Dicing . . . an argument about a
horse . . . two people angry at a third person called
‘Morith’ . . . discussion of a meal . . . three
people complaining about some slacker . . . nothing, nothing,
nothing.

I hopped down to the tiled awning over the back door, and
landed in a tiny courtyard beside the stable, sending chickens squawking and
scolding. I hopped their low fence and pressed against the wall. There was so
much noise in the kitchen that no one seemed to have heard the chickens
protesting my intrusion. So, watching constantly in both directions, I began
slinking below windows . . .

. . . and heard one of the voices from
upstairs join a group below-stairs.

“. . . agrees with me, why should these
wolves think they can order us around?”

A man with a deep voice said, “I’ve been asking the same
thing. Since when does a duchess outrank a king?”

Duchess?

“Morith thinks she’s a queen,” a woman cracked, causing a
room full of laughter.

The laughter cut off abruptly, as if someone had shut a
door. I hazarded a quick peek at the corner of the window, hopping on my toes.
The room beyond seemed to be a recreational chamber for the guards. Everybody
in it faced an inner door, which had been opened.

Four people in gray riding tunics trimmed with dark red
entered, fanning out in a row, hands to weapons.

“You had something to say about the Duchess of Thann?” the
eldest, a gray-haired man with a pointy beard, spoke into the sudden silence.

“Whatever I said was not intended for any ears but those of
my compatriots,” a black-haired woman stated, her own gauntleted hand resting
on the hilt of her sword.

“It is as well,” Gray-beard replied in a slow drawl. “Or I
might have something to say that is intended for all ears, which you might not
care to hear.”

“And if I do not,” the woman retorted. “I know what I might
do, which you might not care to feel.”

The shivery sound of her blade sliding out of its sheath was
broken by a new voice. “Now, now, my friends and compatriots! Are we not all
enjoined to follow our chiefs’ orders? Surely we can find plenty of brigands
and criminals on which to practice our skills, rather than one another.” And
after a pause, the man said in a harder voice, “Can we not?”

“Yes, captain,” the woman muttered, and rammed her sword
back into its sheath.

“And my friends from Thann? I trust you will forgive any
mis-heard words, like reasonable people, and join me in a glass of spice-wine?
I happen to have a bottle of the best, set by for special occasions. Surely,
your riding on your mission in our territory constitutes a special occasion?”

“Thank you. Permit me to gather the rest of my command, so
that I might issue tomorrow’s orders. Then we shall rejoin you.” I leaped up
again, to see Gray-beard make a hand gesture, then back through the door and
turn to the left.

As a clump of grays who had hitherto been unseen started
toward the door, watched covertly by the Liacz company, I hastily backed away
from the square of golden light spilling in the courtyard, and scrambled up to
the tiled awning just as the door opened below me.

I flattened myself on the top of the awning as a dozen pairs
of riding boots clattered below. Raising my head cautiously, I peered down as
Gray-beard looked from left to right, and the rest of them did, as well: wall,
stable, fenced-off chicken yard. No people in sight.

Except me. But nobody thought to look up.

Gray-beard said, “Well, you’ve heard the reports. They
insist our target isn’t here.”

His tone of irony caused mutters among his group, the most
audible voice saying, “And they looked so hard.”

“It is not their pursuit,” Gray-beard stated, shrugging.
“It’s not to be expected they will match our diligence. So. This I am sure of: if
our target is in this town, he will not want to stay long . . .”

He?

“. . . Either he or the Hrethan.”

“Do you think they are together, then?” someone asked.

Gray-beard shrugged. “It is possible. I received a
communication this morning from Fara Bay that the Hrethan rescued the scribe
from Prince Geric. So we can assume that they would travel together if they
found one another.” He began pointing at his people, dividing them into groups
of three. “Therefore. Before dawn, you are to be watching the three roads out
of town. I myself will watch the dock, in the unlikelihood they take a boat to
cross the lake. Keep yourselves hidden, and refresh yourselves with the
description. Stop anyone you have to, on any excuse you deem reasonable. The
Hrethan is also a mage, so you’d better take her by surprise, and immobilize
her without hurting her. She is worth a great deal, the duchess says, and any
who find her will share in half the price.” His voice changed. “The scribe, you
may damage as much as you wish. The duchess wants him alive, but I did not get
the impression she cares how much.”

A rumbling chuckle ran through the group, then the leader
nodded at the lone person who hadn’t been appointed to one of the search
parties. “You’ll ride to Keshad and hand my report to the duchess. All right,
people. You have your orders.”

They parted, some laughing.

I lay where I was, terrified they could hear the pounding of
my heart, until the courtyard was empty. Then once again, I slithered down,
ghosted over the chicken wall, and away. As I leaped from rooftop to rooftop, I
wondered if I should waken Hlanan.

But when I got to our window, I discovered steady light. I
climbed in to find Hlanan fully dressed, with a new candle on the table. He was
busy writing a letter.

When I slipped through the window, he looked up, his mouth a
thin line, his eyes marked with exhaustion, his high forehead tense with worry.

His face lengthened in relief. “You’re back.”

“They’re after us both,” I said, and told him where I’d
been.

At the end, he gave a short nod. “We’d better leave now.”

“What about the search for a mage to transport us? Scrying?”

“While I was procuring our locksmith aprons, I asked
questions here and there. According to local gossip, the town has several
charlatans selling luck charms and the like, and only one real mage, mainly
concerned with reinforcing rooftops and cleaning water. Doesn’t scry. And even
if he could, I’d have to find out what level he is, and if he is Council-sworn.
If he’s first-level, that is, the most common, there is a chance he could scry
for us, then turn around and sell what he heard to whoever asks.”

“So no scrying, then. Or should we get a water glass and
try?”

“Do you think you can keep Dhes-Andis out?”

“No,” I admitted. “Not sure at all.”

He gave a short nod. “I think it’s time to leave.”

“Are we just running, or do you have a destination in mind?”

“We?” he repeated. “So you want to stay together?”

I shrugged, surprised. “Do you want to go alone?”

“Not at all. I like your company,” he said, and he flashed a
grin. “It’s just that I don’t want to assume anything on the part of a Hrethan
who can kill me with her brain.”

Surprised, I snorted a laugh. “Hardly. I’ve only done that
mind-cast thing twice, and the first time made me sick for a day after. When I
tried it on you, it made me even sicker. Maybe the other Hrethan are good at
it, but I wouldn’t say it’s a skill I know well.”

“Other Hrethan can’t do it at all. Unless they are keeping
it secret. I’ve been told that only a few have those talents. So, if you’re
with me, then let’s get going. Keshad is at least a couple days away, if I
remember the map aright.”

“Keshad?”

His grin flashed wider. “The capital. Morith of Thann never
leaves her citadel on the highest mountain in Thann. Or hasn’t until now. Don’t
you want to find out what she’s up to?”

I stared at him, distracted by the glint of ruddy gold along
his still-unshaven chin, his tangled hair, unbrushed since it dried from the
rain-washing the previous evening, the tunic he’d pulled on so hastily that the
lacings hung loose, revealing the line of his collarbone on one side. He
certainly did not look like a clerk’s assistant now.

“Why not?” I said.

“Is your knapsack ready?”

I picked it and the cloak off the floor. “Ready.”

He blew out the candle, and to my surprise, pushed it into
my fingers. “Since I had to pay for an entire candle, we may as well keep it. I
made up some story about a missing lock for which I had to search, but I could
see they were suspicious. I wish you’d let me know you were going out to
scout . . . but yes, I fell asleep. Well, well. Can you see now?
Shall I take the first turn carrying the knapsack?”

“Sure,” I said, to both questions, as I tucked the candle in
beside the diamond necklace.

“Then lead the way,” he said, shrugging the knapsack over
his shoulders. “No, not through the door. We don’t want anyone downstairs
seeing us leave. In fact, if the innkeeper thinks we are still asleep, and
keeps any search party down below waiting for us to descend, so much the
better.”

Moving carefully, because he was not as small or as agile as
I, he followed me out onto the roof, along the edge, and down.

And then, as the rest of the town quieted into
slumber—except for guards, thieves, and bakers—we made our way as noiselessly
as possible to the east side of town, and then, careful to move parallel to the
road, we set out walking as Little Moon dipped low on the horizon, and behind
us, half of Big Moon arced lazily on the other side of the sky. The balmy air
smelled sweet; somewhere in the vicinity grew a citrus orchard.