Lhind the Thief

  “And those I know how to avoid. Trouble with . . . other kinds of things,” I said evasively.

  She was giving me that steady gaze again, the minstrel searching for the exact line to sum up a character in a song. Only I didn’t want to be summed up.

  “Would your reason be related to why your disguise was so determinedly pungent?” She gave me a conspiratorial grin.

  I had to laugh. “Yes! Amazing, how a convenient stench keeps everybody at a healthy distance!”

  She rubbed her eyes again, but before she could speak, Tir flew back through the window and circled overhead, keening on a high, weird note.

  As I looked at Tir’s glittering ruby eye, an image flickered into my brain—

  “Trouble,” I said. “A long line of warriors, just beyond a hill.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded.

  “Mind to mind communication,” Hlanan said from the door, even more hoarse than before. “Hrethan are supposed to be able to do that. Though not everybody knows it. Rajanas just sent for me. Kuraf says that we’ve got an invading force of some kind on the northern border. He wants us to get out of the city as fast as we can, and take Lhind with us. He and the Guard are securing things here, then will ride upland to seal the Idaron Pass, and Kuraf is going to hold the city.”

  Thianra rubbed a thumb against her teeth, frowning furiously. “If only I wasn’t so tired,” she muttered. “My mind feels fogged. I can’t think! Who’s out there?”

  Hlanan shook his head. “They couldn’t see details, but no banners.”

  “Can we leave by magic transport?” Thianra said.

  Hlanan winced. “Only if we have to. Without a fixed Destination, and with the possibility of tracers by any sorcerers they’ve got out there . . .”

  Whatever that meant, it was enough to worry Thianra. “I’ll fetch my gear.” She rose to her feet, stumbling against a chair. “Ho! I’m more tired than I thought. Where do we meet?”

  “Here,” Hlanan said after a dazed look around. “For if we must use a magic transport, our own Destination makes it somewhat easier.” He pointed toward the door to that little room where I’d been imprisoned by magic so shortly before. Hlanan then turned to me. “Will you accept a suggestion? I think you should wait here. Since you do not know your way around the Residence. Then we three will depart.”

  Thianra gave a quick nod and sped noiselessly away.

  Hlanan lingered, studying me with a sort of absent perplexity that indicated he was working on some kind of knotty problem. But when he spoke, all he said was: “I shall return in just a few moments.” He rubbed his eyes again, as if that would clear his head, and exited once more.

  Tir left its perch, and sailed out the open window into the bright air.

  I expect you’ll never trust me again. His earlier words came back to me, along with the regret I’d seen so plainly in his face. His care to make a suggestion—as though he had no right to tell me what to do—was as puzzling as how important it seemed to him to be trusted. Why would anyone want to be trustworthy? Unless you planned to use those who trusted you?

  Well, one thing for certain, I had most definitely underestimated the power of trust. I’d lived without it so long, and yet I’d come to trust Hlanan with an ease that could only be termed stupid. That trap of his was a good reminder about what happens when you trust other humans.

  I picked up Thianra’s empty goblet and poured out the last of the cider, admiring the sparking golden liquid splashing into the burnished gold of the cup. I wasn’t really thirsty, having enjoyed that wonderful meal so recently, but one thing I did trust was my belief that I should eat and drink good things while I had them at hand.

  I was in the act of raising the cider to my lips when the door to Hlanan’s magic room opened. I set the goblet on the mantel, wondering how someone could have got past me to enter that little room, whose only entrance was five paces from me.

  Four figures emerged. Oh yes, wasn’t that room what they called a Destination? A place where people could use transfer magic from one spot to another.

  The first one through the door moved with a characteristic, arrogant lounge. Tall, long loose hair coppery gold, handsome, dressed for war in an elegantly cut battle tunic, gauntlets to match his tall boots: Geric Lendan. Whose last words in my presence were his suggestion to toss me overboard.

  He was followed by three warriors wearing undyed battle tunics, with no markings of house or kingdom to identify them.

  Geric’s light blue eyes widened in surprise—a surprise with no recognition. Then he gave me a slow smile of appreciation.

  And he bowed, as if I were a princess.

  He gestured his three silent companions toward the outer door. “A highly unexpected honor, Hrethan,” he said to me after the last warrior closed the door. “I had not known Alezand counted your folk among his friends. May I present myself, since no one appears to be nearby to perform that office? Geric Lendan, Prince of the Golden Circle.” And he bowed gracefully, hand over his heart.

  I still had not spoken, and Geric waited, his expression changing to one of speculation. “Is it possible,” he said slowly, still in the language the others called Allendi, “you are new to our lowland tongues?”

  Though I did not know this fellow, all the little clues of face, of manner, convinced me that he wanted me to be ignorant of the local language. That suited me very well, because how can someone question another who cannot understand the language?

  I spoke at last, faking a preposterous accent: “Ze worrrdz . . . oh, zzzo hhhard . . .” I waved my hands, then gave him a big smile.

  And he smiled back, with the smirk of one who knows himself master of the situation. Bowing again, he said slowly and distinctly (as if that was going to create understanding in someone who didn’t know the language), “Where is your host, Honored One?”

  I spread my hands, my hair lifting. I watched him watch it, his eyes widening in appreciation. When he wasn’t smirking or talking about offal and throwing people overboard, he was very attractive. My heart pulsed with the sweet power of attraction. Even stronger than magic spells was seeing my attraction mirrored in his gaze.

  For that moment, the entire world closed to the prince and me, poised on the brink of endless possibilities.

  I could have told Thianra that I wanted people to think I was an urchin because then I could pretend moments like this didn’t exist, except that they did. And I knew they did. The thing I needed to learn—I was barely able to think at all—was that my ignorance about such matters made me defenseless.

  But I wasn’t entirely brainless. This is the same fellow who wanted me tossed off the yacht to drown.

  Indignation sparked. Was I really going to let myself be inveigled by that handsome face?

  No, I am not.

  The door to the magic room opened again, and four more warriors emerged, these ones dressed in gray surcoats, with deep hoods thrown back over their shoulders. They spread out, swords drawn.

  Geric made a curt gesture and they sheathed their weapons. With a glance at me he said, in some other language, “Swift and silent. We are not expected. And send in something to drink, two cups,” he added.

  The four went out quickly, their mail tunics chinging sinisterly at each step.

  “Who izzat?” I asked, smiling brightly again, and pointing after the four men in gray.

  “Merely my honor guard,” Geric replied, coming forward slowly. I noticed that he—possibly by accident—stood directly between me and the outer door. “Will you drink with me, Honored One? And, how should you be addressed?”

  What kind of names did the Hrethan have? I thought desperately, thinking over what little had been said about these mysterious people. “Ah, in my tongue I am Bird Of Ze Snows,” I said cautiously.

  And he took it without a blink. “A beautiful name, O Beautiful One,” he said, saluting me.

  One of the warriors reappeared at the door. “My lord prince,” he began, holding
out a tray with two silver wine glasses on it, and a carafe cut from crystal.

  Geric gave me a quick look, then moved forward to take the tray. I looked out the window, trying to seem as if I was absorbed in high and noble thoughts. Tir had disappeared again.

  “All three have been secured by the Steward, all asleep.”

  “Ah yes! Give Kenned his money, then . . . see him off. You will know how.” Geric’s voice went soft as a snake’s back. “Or, have the others do that. You must find the thief, kill him, and bring me everything he carried upon his person. Everything, missing out no coin or jewel. Am I understood?”

  The soldier bowed. “As you will, my lord prince.”

  Geric turned toward me, and once again he smiled, then enunciated slowly in Chelan, “It seems that I shall be entertaining you for a time,” said he. “My servant reports that our hosts all seem to be occupied with other matters, and bid us wait. I wonder how this might be brought to advantage us both?” He brought the tray forward, and set it down on a side table.

  He moved to block the tray from my view, and made a flourishing act of pouring out two glasses of cider. Ice burned along my arms and down inside to pool inside me. I leaped high and noiselessly, peeking over his shoulder as he opened a ring and emptied a pinch of something into one goblet.

  I landed, my hair swirling gently, as Geric brought the cup, bowed, and put it into my hands.

  I held it up as if admiring the craftsmanship. Secured—asleep—Find the thief, kill him. If the traitorous steward, Kenned, came in now, he’d be able to point me out as The Thief.

  Geric bowed, the other glass in hand. “Drink, my honored guest. I will propose a toast—to our excellent hosts, and may they find the future they so richly deserve.”

  I raised my glass to my lips, and took a sniff. On the surface was the pungent smell of very good cider. But underneath, the unmistakable tickle of liref in my nostrils: not a smell so much as a sense. Liref. Not poison, but an herb that sent people into sleep.

  What to do, what to do?

  “Do you not drink?” he asked, still smiling, but question began to quirk his eyes.

  “Yess!” I watched his gaze lift to my swirling hair as I walked toward him. Deliberately, while his gaze was distracted by my hair, I slid on the rug and then stumbled against him. I tried to dump the cup, but his fingers shot out and steadied my hand so only a little of it spilled. His other arm clasped around me and held me against him.

  His grip was strong. I knew I wouldn’t break it easily, and struggling would give me away, so I let my hair whip into his face as I exclaimed, “Oh! My! Bad, me!”

  He let me go, laughing a little. “Bad me, for I must say, I wouldn’t mind you falling into my arms again.”

  I set my cup on the tray as I made a business of brushing off my clothes. “Oh! Bad!” He was watching me lazily, so I spread my hands.

  Now what? A small shadow flitted past the windows—Tir was back! That gave me an idea.

  I let out a shrill cry. He looked up quickly, wary and dangerous. I pointed at the window, gabbling earnestly in what I hoped sound like a Hrethanish language, and when he strode to the window to peer out, I switched the silver cups. And when he leaned out, I snatched the goblet from the mantel behind me and topped that evil potion just for good measure.

  I set the golden goblet behind a side table a heartbeat before he turned around and said with pardonable exasperation, “It was just a bird.”

  “Evil bird? Scare me. Red eyes!” I sent a mental apology to Tir, in case the aidlar was listening to this exceptionally witless masquerade.

  Geric might want to flirt, but only when convenient for him. He signaled his intent by picking up what he thought was the drugged cup and pressing it into my hands.

  I lifted my goblet, saluting him. As I’d hoped, he mirrored my movement in his pretense of politeness—and when I gulped down my wine, he took a good drink of his own.

  Another gulp—he drank—he set his goblet down, and so did I.

  “Shall we take a tour?” he asked, holding out his arm to me. His smile showed the edges of his white teeth. “Perhaps this is the way to become better acquainted, ah, with not only each other, but with the . . . altered circumstances now obtaining—” He stopped, and frowned.

  My eyes flicked to my bundle, resting beside my stool. Among my tools was a little bag of liref, enough fine-ground leaves to knock half an army out for a week. I knew how fast it could act, when added to any distilled or fermented drink.

  Geric took a step toward me. His eyes narrowed, and his teeth showed again as he said, “Magic or mere trickery, Honored One?” His speech slowed, but somehow he forced himself to continue. “We shall—”

  And I heard the finishing thought as clear as if he’d spoken: We shall meet again, I promise you that.

  Then he stumbled to a chair, his head thrown back, his hands clenched into fists as he fought against the double dose of liref, but his limbs went loose, his eyes gradually closing. When his breathing deepened, I sprang forward to search him. My time as a pickpocket made me good at that: I relieved him of his knife, two rings, and from an inner pocket in that beautifully tailored battle tunic, a curiously carved piece of bone that made my fingers tingle warningly.

  I threw all this into my bundle, tucked it under my arm, and faced the doorways, uncertain what to do next. Rescue Hlanan and the others? That was the instinctive response, for though my trust had been broken, I could understand why Hlanan had done what he’d done. He really had not intended to hurt me, I understood that much. This Geric, his reasons seemed both mysterious and far more threatening.

  I had no idea where to begin my search, but maybe Mardi would. Surely I could find that kitchen again—

  The curtains stirred as a white bolt shot through the window. Flee! Flee! Tir’s voice in my head was nearly as shrill as sound would have been.

  “What about Hlanan? Shouldn’t I do something about them?” I asked.

  Tir’s thoughts were confusing, more image than words, then I remembered that order to ‘kill the thief.’ And Kenned knew what I looked like as both thief and Hrethan.

  All right. Time to get away and plan.

  I crossed to the window. Tir flew out again as I peered around. The tree branches stretched welcomingly near; an easy leap, another, and a short time later I stood on the ground in a lovely park, wondering what to do next, as Tir was a mere dot against the sun, wings beating as the aidlar fled northward.

  ELEVEN

  From somewhere beyond a tall stone wall horse hooves drummed in the pattern of a trot. I crossed a hedge and leaped to the top of the wall, lying flat, and watched a double column of gray-clad, armed riders gallop into the park.

  Rajanas and the others had landed themselves into a nasty quagmire. Maybe it was related to the same quagmire we’d escaped before.

  I slid off the wall again, and crouched behind a thick dark green shrub. Unrolling my bundle, I stared down at my wrinkled clothing. Grease stains, dirt, and the remains of many hastily-eaten meals met my eye; the herb-scented air of the park was overwhelmed by the odor I’d cultivated for a year.

  Though I’d been perfectly content in those clothes until noon, I found that I was distinctly reluctant to resume them now. And they wouldn’t be safe, anyway. That traitor of a Steward had seen me before I changed as well as after, so the searchers would have both descriptions.

  The alternative was a third disguise. My new tunic and pants were common for these parts. Assuming I could hide my tail and hair, maybe I’d get by. Except I still had my old problem: where to put my stash?

  When in doubt, wear it. I’d learned that long ago.

  Working fast, I separated into three piles my burglary tools, my take, and the bits of food I’d stashed. Remembering the variety of headgear I’d seen on the citizens of Imbradi on our ride into the city, I wrapped the tools tightly into a corner of the sash. I flexed my scalp and neck so that my hair twisted tightly into a knot on my head. Around
this I wrapped the other portion of the sash, making a turban. The jewels and rings I strung on the cord from my old knickers, and I slung this around my waist inside the tunic. My tail had to go inside the trousers, my knife in my waistband, and I resolved to get a cloak as soon as I could.

  Last thing, I buried the old clothes and the bits of stale food that I’d stashed. Though once I would have cherished every bite, I’d eaten so well these past few days that the mashed, dirty bits no longer looked appetizing.

  I slipped over the wall and ran toward the town, hiding every time I heard a horse approach. Twice gray-clad warriors rode at a flat gallop either to or from the palace. And when I reached the city, I heard far off the shouts and metallic clashes of fighting.

  The streets were nearly empty. Once again I’d be conspicuous, unless I went to ground, and quickly. But where?

  I tried to think over what Hlanan and Thianra had said about this city. Not much. Tir! I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled in my mind. Tir? Where are you?

  At once a flash of mental-image entered my mind: myself, seen from high above. I looked up in the sky, and just barely made out an indistinct bird-shape against the white of sailing clouds.

  You are sought, came Tir’s mental voice.

  Who? I sent back, ducking fearfully through an archway into a narrow street.

  Kuraf seeks you. And these.

  Again I ‘saw’ from the bird’s view: not one, but three separate search parties. Two were groups of those gray-clad warriors, one of which moved perilously near. I waited, crouching behind someone’s wash strung between walls, until I heard the clash and jingle of their mail and weapons as they marched by.

  The smallest group comprised two men and a woman, who worked their way steadily down a street from the other direction. They stopped every so often to talk to the increasingly rare citizens passing by.

  Question: were Kuraf’s folk friend or foe?

  Tir?

  Their words carry no danger to you.