The King's Thief

Chapter 2

Kaliss sat in silence, looking around the bar with hooded eyes. Around him the rowdy patrons of the bar carried on their evening’s entertainment, banging wooden beer pots against the tiny tables and calling for the busty serving maids to attend to them. The malty taste of the beer lay sour in his mouth as he thought about the events of the past hour. How had things gone so badly, so fast? Inevitably his wandering mind alighted on the face of his lover, Sayela. He tried his best to remember her as she had been in life, pure, full of laughter, her ginger hair bouncing around her fair cheeks as she playfully dodged the city guard, rather than the incandescent corpse he had left behind. Although he knew in his heart that she was just the latest in the list of his conquests since he arrived in the city, his feelings for her were raw, like an uncovered wound. Almost immediately as he distanced himself from the scene – he did not want to say corpse, even in the privacy of his own head – his emotions had begun to come back under his control, his heartrate had slowed and his breathing had become less ragged.

His mouth quirked into a wry half-smile as he recalled the first time he lay eyes on Sayela, eighteen months before; he had been in the city for less than twenty minutes when he felt the small intrusion into his jacket pocket, where his purse was. Snake-fast his fingers wrapped around a slender wrist, and his dagger was halfway out of its sheath before he registered the bright hair, the big green eyes and the slightly pouting mouth, now set in a mou of irritation at being caught.
“I could scream, you know,” she said in low tones.
“I could stab you, you know,” he replied. They remained like that for another second longer before she withdrew her hand and twisted out of his grip. He let her go. For just a moment he watched her back; dressed as she was in rags, she would have blended in perfectly if not for that vibrant hair which now streamed out behind her. Within a moment she was gone, lost in the press of the morning crowds. Feeling strangely at home, he quirked his mouth into a crooked grin. Then, turning back towards the centre of the city, Kaliss resumed his path towards the Royal Barracks.

*    *    *

The main sections of Theria were set in a valley, with the wide river Ther running through it and providing a significant portion of the trade routes. As the capital city of Rondia it saw dozens of ships docking there daily, having made the easy journey from the Basti sea just ten miles away. Crossing the King’s Bridge took Kaliss out of the slums and into the more up-class market sector of the city, and from there he began to climb the hillside that would eventually lead to the King’s Palace, and the adjoining Barracks. As the buildings progressively became taller and more expensive, Kaliss began to feel more and more out of place. His tough leather jacket was stained with the rigours of travel and his boots were ragged, not to mention the many patches that adorned his trousers. On his back he carried a satchel containing a change of clothing, a chipped sword and not much else. Kaliss believed in no god, but he did believe in travelling light. He had journeyed for over a month, living rough, so that he could be here today to apply to join the King’s Army of Royal Magicians.

*    *    *

In the Barracks Assembly Hall there was a rising hubbub. The Captain of the Guard looked down from the balcony that ringed the hall, then turned with a disgusted look to his subordinate, Lieutenant Hayes.
“They’re not up to much, are they, Hayes?”
“I’m afraid not, Captain Beck. Seems that this year’s intake includes a few too many farmers and flappy-elbowed noble third children. We’ll be lucky to find even one good recruit from this shower.”
Captain Beck sighed. Boredom was writ heavily on his face; although the day was a solemn occasion, he could not help but feel that the people below were of no use, somehow below his view. “It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have this damned war to contend with. It seems so far away to the people of this city, but if they had even an inkling of the sacrifice we make for them…”
Lieutenant Hayes, however, was not listening to his Captain’s musings; his attention had been drawn to the large oak doors that had opened to permit a tall man. Not taking his eyes from the stranger, Hayes interjected “I think we may have just found that one recruit, Captain. Look down there.”
As Beck followed his assistant’s pointing finger, he saw the man that Hayes meant; a tall man with long black hair, a short goatee beard and moustache kept neatly trimmed, but dressed in stark contrast to the minor nobles that surrounded him, or even to the farmers. His clothing spoke of travel beyond the norm and, from the reactions of those nearest to him, the odour he gave off could be none to pleasant either. He certainly drew attention, and Beck found that he could not take his eyes off of the man.
Beck stroked his own blond beard “The way he carries himself… ex-military? Or maybe he’s a mercenary?”
The Lieutenant gently tapped the rolled scroll he was carrying against the ornate armour his Captain was wearing. “Time to go and find out, Captain; we’ve made them wait long enough.”
Beck checked his appearance; as this year’s spokesperson for the King’s Army, his role was pivotal, as for many of the recruits he would be their first experience of anything martial. His breastplate was shining in the morning sun, inlaid as it was with fine threads of gold, and he wore chainmail from the waist down, culminating in a pair of heavy armoured boots. Nodding once to himself, Beck lead as the pair turned and marched down the stone stairs which lead around the back of the enormous coat of arms dominating the end wall of the Hall. Entering from an archway at the bottom-left of the huge insignia, both men paused for a minute as the crowd of people slowly noticed them stood at the back of the raised wooden stage. A tide of whispers, followed by silence, seemed to ripple back through the throng, and when the room was silent, Captain Beck marched to the simple wooden lectern set up in the centre of the stage. He cleared his throat.

*    *    *

Kaliss listened as the commanding voice of the man in armour carried over the crowd. “Good morning. My name is Captain Beck. You have all come of your own free will to this Summons of the King’s Army of Magicians. If there is any man among you who is here against his will, let him speak now.” There was silence. A few of the younger men looked a little uneasy in their finery, but Kaliss kept his eyes on the blond-haired soldier at the front.
“Very well. In a moment, you will form an orderly line. You will be called forwards one by one where you will give your name and place of origin. You will be tested first for magical aptitude and then for physical aptitude. As you no doubt know, four-fifths of all people in the land of Rondia test positive for magical sensitivity, and the King’s Army of Magicians takes only the best of those for further training. You are requested to perform your utmost best in these tests. Now please form an orderly queue.” Even before the Captain’s words had finished echoing around the Hall, the younger men had started jostling for position in the line. Kaliss rolled his eyes; He wondered vaguely if he was supposed to be feeling some uprising of patriotism, but the fact was that Theria was not home; it represented a roof over his head and gold in his pouch. Sighing, Kaliss gauged that everyone would get a turn before midafternoon.

*    *    *

In fact, the sun was lowering in the sky, but still shining through the west-facing window as Kaliss approached the front of the line. It shone on the area in which the raw recruits were being tested and, as he stared upwards, Kaliss thought it was probably no accident that it highlighted the enormous coat of arms hung on the wall. Now that he was closer, Kaliss could see that it was a finely-woven banner which showed the Therian Royal Family’s heraldry; a golden dragon and unicorn flanking a bisected black shield, surmounted by a crown. One half of the shield showed a star falling from the heavens, a reference to the legend that the royal crown was made using star-metal. The other half showed a circle with the ancient rune for magic sewn in to it; a picture of a stone the same as the one that Kaliss could see even now, being used to test the recruits for magical power. The boy in front of him was becoming restless, as it was his turn to go next. Kaliss wrinkled his nose at the mild smell; evidently the boy was nervous.

The young boy was called forwards and the questioning began; name, age, place of birth, and so on. Casting his gaze to the right, Kaliss could see the men who had gone before being put through their paces at a series of stations. Only a handful had been turned away. The men were doing simple calisthenics, starting with ten press-ups, and as the exercises got progressively harder, the drop-out rate became more severe. At the far end of the stage there were just four men engaged in a pair of wrestling matches. Kaliss knew that he would have no problem getting through the rest of the test, and he set his face in a determined mien as he was called forward. The gangly youth he replaced went off to the right, still leaving a scent trail. Captain Beck, who had stood to attention at the lectern throughout the proceedings, looked him hard in the eye, while the slight man standing next to him made notes on a scroll.
“Name?”
“Kaliss.”
“Full name, please, for the record.”
“I go by Kaliss, and no other.”
The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to be funny, man? What is your full name?”
Kaliss met the man’s steely gaze without flinching. “I was a foundling, taken in by the Monks of the Order of Tala. They did not see fit to grant me a surname.”
“Lieutenant Hayes.” Beck tapped the scroll that his assistant was writing on. “Mark this man’s name as Kaliss Talason.” Hayes nodded, never taking his eyes from the scroll. A well-trained man indeed, mused Kaliss to himself.
“Age?”
“28. Found 25th Kalenmonth, Year of Our Majesty 1268.”
There was a pause while Hayes amended the scroll. Meanwhile Beck held Kaliss’s gaze without either man feeling the need to blink or look away. Finally Hayes nodded.
“I guess we already know your place of birth, as near as we’re going to get. Have you ever applied to join the King’s Army before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been arrested by a member of the constabulary of Theria?”
Kaliss’s lips quirked slightly into a half smile, but he answered “No.”
“Extend your right hand.”
As Kaliss did so, he saw Hayes pick up the egg-shaped stone from the lectern. Kaliss knew that this wasn’t the Stone of Ascent which the King’s ancestor had found all those centuries ago, but just a piece of granite cunningly crafted by a master magician for this purpose. He felt the weight of the artefact in his hand. It seemed to tingle slightly and grow heavier; he looked down at it curiously. He had seen his share of magical artifacts, but each time it was different. The Lieutenant touched a spot apparently painted on the top of the stone and quickly removed his finger. The stone seemed to wiggle slightly before being suffused by a purple glow which spread from the painted button until it reached Kaliss’s hand. He resisted the urge to withdraw his arm as the purple glow continued up his wrist, but then it seemed to falter. There was the faintest smell of burning, then without warning, the light retreated back into the stone, and it started to vibrate in his hand. Kallis looked up. “Is that supposed to happen?” he asked, querulously.
“What have you done to the-” was all the Captain managed to get out before the stone turned jet black and cracked straight up the middle. It also became scalding hot and Kaliss was stunned for a moment before he registered the pain. With a yowl he dropped it and shoved his injured hand under his arm. The stone fell to the floor and rolled away in two different directions.

Captain Beck had never seen the like of it before. The stone used for this year’s Selection had been chosen by him personally, and he had spent many hours enchanting it. Feeling his anger rising he grabbed the hand of this insolent stranger with his own left hand and tugged it towards him. At the same time he drew his sword and lay it across Kaliss’s outstretched arm to rest at the man’s throat. The man’s rank odour was suddenly filling his nostrils but Beck ignored it. Flashing anger was buried under years of martial training, focussed to a single bright point at the neck of his target.
“What did you do?” he growled, pinning him with a stare that had transfixed many a Private in his time. This man merely stared back at him, pain tingeing the edges of his face. Beck looked down at the hand he held and stared at the round burn mark that had appeared there. His logical mind over-rode his first lethal urges and he began to think. He can’t have used a counter-spell, we’d have detected it… if he was a spy for the Sylva, why would he waste time queuing up to be tested… This bears closer inspection.
Looking back to Kaliss’s face, he stated “You will remain here. You are under temporary arrest, citizen.”
Kaliss’s eyes widened. “You make me queue, you injure me and now you expect me to stand here and be arrested?” The sword at his throat inched closer to his adam’s apple and small beads of sweat appeared on his brow.
“Naturally, we don’t expect you to stand there. Hayes, do it.” Beck had been watching Hayes who, at the first sign of trouble, had gone around to the back of the man. As Hayes reached for the thin cord that was hooked to his belt, Beck started to withdraw the sword. Each soldier and guard in the city carried a cord that was magically imbued to calm the prisoner it bound, and Beck expected no trouble.

As he felt the Lieutenant bring Kaliss’s arms together behind his back, he moved in a blur of motion. His left elbow continued along its path and suddenly slammed into the unprotected neck of the Lieutenant, between breastplate and chin. Lurching backwards to get himself out of the way of the sword, Kaliss grabbed the Lieutenant, his arms still behind his back, and swung them both around. Now facing the nearly empty Hall, Kaliss thrust Hayes back into his Captain before taking off at a sprint towards the doors. Behind him he could hear shouts from the guards, who were taken completely off guard, but he carried on. He grabbed the door with his injured right hand and bit back an angry cry as he remembered that it hurt. Blinking away sudden tears in his eyes, he swapped hands and tugged the door open before running down the street and away into the afternoon crowds.

*    *    *

“What the dak d’you think you’re doing, you little runt?”
Kaliss broke off from his reverie and looked up into a huge flat face. A bulbous nose protruded between angry eyes and sat over a snarling mouth filled with broken teeth. Breath like a sledgehammer rolled from the man and caused Kaliss’s nose to wrinkle. He furrowed his brow in mock confusion, while cursing his luck; a quick look around revealed the problem. The patron from the next table over had returned from the jakes to find his seat taken, and apparently he was blaming Kaliss for it. For once, Kaliss was caught dumb, without a cocksure comment, as the emotion of the night suddenly caught up with him again. Then it didn’t matter; no more words seemed forthcoming as the obviously drunk man screwed up his fist and swung at the seated Thief.