The King's Thief

Chapter 5

Kaliss sat down on the only chair in the room. “Not much of a choice. I value my neck, old man, and besides, I guess I owe you some sort of thanks; you fixed me up good and proper.”
“Excellent,” hissed Malketh. Then let me tell you what is required of you. First, how much do you know of the war?”
“I know what any man knows in the street; there’s a war in the Western kingdom between the armies of Theria and the Sylvan Horde. The Sylva have their own magic that keeps the war on fairly even terms, and other than that the only news to come back is carried by cartloads of wounded soldiers.” Kaliss started massaging his leg, not quite believing it was healed.
“Right on most counts; there is a terrible war being waged far to the West of here, and it is indeed against the brutal Sylva, but the war is not on even terms. We are losing, and every day sees us pushed further and further back.” Malketh sighed and turned his hand palm-up. The air above it shimmered, and the image of a green helmet appeared. It seemed to be one large jewel fashioned into a terrifying piece of armour. It shed a sickly light which emanated from the centre of the helm. “This is the Radiant Emera, the source of power for the Sylva. They use it to draw on unnatural energies which they can then unleash upon the ranks of soldiers we send to fight. Through their connections to the ground and plants around them, all Sylvan soldiers are able to draw on the power, and it that power is nearly limitless.” The image disappeared and Malketh began to pace the chamber again. “The King has decided that the artefact must be obtained if we are to win this war. Several attempts by our soldiers to take it by force have failed, but where they died a painful death, you will succeed.”
Reminding himself that the choice was potentially painful death at some unspecified time, or definitely painful death within the hour, Kaliss forced himself to keep listening.
“I have a contact within the Sylva who will serve as your point of entry. Once you are inside, you will be given free reign to complete your task as you wish. I am sure that you are thinking you would rather just disappear off in to the countryside, but there are certain benefits to returning. Wealth, status, land of your own, a pardon…”
Kaliss’s mind was already whirring as he began to think of just how he would ‘disappear’ but any thoughts he had came to a grinding halt as the magician continued.
“…and of course, the information we have managed to garner about your parents, origins and siblings will be made available to you.” The magician looked closely at Kaliss. “You mean I didn’t tell you? Oh, yes, once we found out who you were, Kaliss, we threw everything we had at finding out who you had been. And let me tell you, there is some interesting material here…” Turning half away from Kaliss, Malketh watched out of his peripheral vision at the play of emotions over the thief’s face.
A chance to find out who I am, where home is… can I refuse that? But this mission, it’s insane… “I don’t want to hang. So I guess we have a deal.” He reached out to shake the magician’s hand. As he did so, Malketh turned and, faster than Kaliss thought possible in one so old, snapped something he had been holding on to the thief’s wrist. Kaliss pulled his hand back in surprise and looked at the device. It looked like a normal C-mag, designed to tell the time and provide limited communication with paired devices, but where the strap on most was leather, this one had a metal band. Holding it up to the light, Kaliss snarled “What the hell is this?”
“Call it a little insurance. That metal band is enchanted; it can only be removed by the one who fastened it. It’s paired to this device.” The man pulled back his sleeve to reveal an identical C-mag fastened around a bony wrist. “I expect you to report in once a week on your progress, and if I am not satisfied with it, the small explosive spell in the band will activate and your arm will be blown off. If that does not kill you, it will at least maim you. But come now, Kaliss, I won’t need this, will I?”
Kaliss looked down at his wrist, holding it as far away from him as possible, but the best he could manage was arm-length, and that was still too close. The Thief had just found out that it was possible to feel revulsion for one’s own limb. Just as he was considering rushing the magician, the torture chamber door opened and Lieutenant Beck walked in.
“Our guest is waiting to go to his room now, Lieutenant. Would you be so kind as to lead him there?” Malketh smiled a little as he stood next to Kaliss. “As he’s now in our employ, please try to keep your temper in check.”
The Lieutenant bowed towards Malketh and none-too-gently pushed Kaliss ahead of him and out of the chamber. Left alone, Malketh stroked his chin; quite apart from the other tasks he had to do, a trip to the Royal Barber was in order, and priorities must be made, after all. Chuckling quietly to himself, he strode from the room.

*    *    *

The guest room Kaliss found himself in was a cell in all but name. A hard bunk, a single chair and a tiny window completed the effect. Feeling somewhat dazed thanks to the swift turn of events, he nonetheless could not help matching it with a feeling of betrayal, however slight; the C-Mag on his wrist was nothing short of barbaric, and he was happy to work with Malketh no matter what.
With nothing better to do with his time but think, Kaliss lay down on the bunk. The hard mattress offered no comfort, but he felt himself drifting in to a partial doze. His mind wandered back to the day he had arrived in Theria, and he reflected that today marked the second time someone in power had offered him the change to serve or die. Memories once again assaulted him and, suddenly exhausted, he let them overwhelm him.


*    *    *

Within an hour after leaving the King’s Barracks, things had gone from bad to worse, Kaliss remembered. The soldier, Beck, had provided good sketches of him to the City Guard and he had been forced to go in to hiding. Contacting the local Thieves’ Collective in their hideaway in the old sewer network had been the trickiest bit, but once he had met with the Gaffer of the Collective, he had been given three choices; pledge his service to the Collective, die, or be handed in to the guards. Little choice indeed. Kaliss soon took to his new life living in the sewers, or to use the charming sobriquet the Thieves did, The Runs. The Collective were initially untrusting, but they were loathe to pass up anyone who could be of use, and Kaliss was assigned to a crew which included a Master Thief, a thief of two years and himself. Through a rough system of dead-men’s-boots, some of which were still warm when Kaliss stepped into them, he found himself choosing his own crew within six months.

The smile froze on his lips as he thought about the people he had chosen, and left for dead. Irban, the tall Therian man, always so sour, quick with his sword and quicker still with his tongue; they had met while both of them were assigned to another thief’s crew, and found that while they had very different outlooks on life, their positives played off against each other. However, the two of them had never quite seen eye to eye over his second choice, Sayela.

He had been part of the Thieves’ Collective for nearly a month when he met the female pickpocket entirely by chance, she coming out of a concealed sewer entrance that lead to The Runs, and he just heading in. Their eyes met, and hers widened in recognition. Before she could do anything, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back inside. Pinning her roughly against a wall, he put his face close to hers and growled “I could scream, you know.”
“I could stab you, you know.”
He looked down to see that she had a small knife resting point-first against his groin. Releasing her, he gave her a wry smile. “Very good, little one; what other tricks do you know?”
“Oh, you have no idea of the tricks I can do,” said the woman, bending forward to run a single finger from Kaliss’s goatee down to his belt buckle. “For instance, I can make money appear out of thin air…” She held up a money pouch which jangled in her hand. Kaliss took one look at it and swore, checking his pocket to find it empty.
“Very clever. Now give it back.”
“Oh,” she said, “I was hoping for a present…you wouldn’t hurt a girl’s feelings as well as her person, would you?”
The look in Kaliss’s eyes was eloquent, and with a pout and a sigh, she threw the pouch back to him. He caught it and secured it in a different inside pocket of his shirt.
“So, you’re part of the Thieves’ Collective now,” she said. “I guess that means we can be civil to each other. My name is Sayela; and you are?”
“My name is Kaliss.” The words suddenly dried up in Kaliss’s head as he took in their situation; hidden from sight in a sewer culvert, stinking though it was, and she was no more than a foot away from him, dressed in a scant cotton shirt which left little to the imagination, and a skirt which gave him plenty to imagine. The quiet knowledge that it was cold made him fight to keep his eyes locked on her face. Her scent teased his nose through the smell of refuse; an honest smell of soap with something exotic wound through it.
“So, Kaliss, what are you good at? Talking is obviously not at the top of the list,” said Sayela.
“I’m good at stealing things and breaking things,” he said, finally finding the words.
“Not hearts, I hope, though I fear you are in danger of stealing mine, oh Warrior of Words,” she teased.
He had the decency to blush before mumbling an excuse and starting to head away.
“Wait,” she called after him, “you haven’t said goodbye!”
“Goodbye.”
“No, silly, like this,” and she took his face in hers and kissed him deeply. Then, leaving him with a slightly glazed expression, she turned and said “Goodbye!” before dancing away, tossing a familiar coin purse up in the air and catching it. Ruefully, he watched her go and swore that he would find an excuse to be with her.

*    *    *

It had only been natural that, when they began working together, things had been a little stilted. For a start, Kaliss had managed to run up a string of ‘love-of-my-life’ women who had all been used and then somewhat abused when he left. One evening, Sayela found Kaliss in a bar, drinking to forget, and took him home to give him a night to remember. As their thievery went from strength to strength, their relationship mirrored it until, two months later, Kaliss was forced to watch as her beautiful face was burned off in the blast that should have claimed his life.

Unashamed, in his cell, Kaliss wept.

He came back to his senses to find himself curled up in a foetal position. Dried tears crusted his eyelashes, and his brain felt as if it were enduring great pressure behind the flesh of his forehead. After a short while, his mind started to look at the situation he was in logically. He sat down cross-legged on the floor and pulled back his sleeve to look at the ChronoMag he had been given. Like all C-mags, it was made of a single piece of some light stone which the magicians had created; Chronite, they called it. It had innate time-telling abilities which were intrinsically linked to the day/night cycle of the planet. On top of that, the C-mags could be temporarily linked to each other for limited communication, had primitive alarm systems and, it seemed, could be used as remote controls for an explosive spell. An octagonal stone, the device had artificial coloured gems inset on the face which told Kaliss that the time was just gone two in the morning; evidently his body clock was out of sync. In addition to the normal time and alarm gems, there was a slightly larger red gem set on the top edge of the C-mag, which Kaliss supposed was to do with the spell. He longed to take the C-mag off and investigate the back of it, as well as get it away from himself, but the metal band securing it in place was circular and looked extremely solid; normally C-Mags were fastened with simple leather straps, but this one was obviously designed to be more permanently attached. Although C-mags usually didn’t last long before their innate magical field wore down, Kaliss knew that he had a worse-than-usual record with them, needing a new one every month or so. Now, he had some idea why that was, with his newfound… what did the old git call it? ‘Void ability’. He suspected that this C-mag was designed to last a lot longer, even when worn by him.

With nothing better to do, he got up from the floor and went back to the bunk. He could at least catch some shut-eye before the dawn. Beck had told him that Malketh intended to have him away from the palace by mail coach within the next week, and on his way to the front lines to meet with the agent. Kaliss intended to take every opportunity that he could to rest himself before he was forced to begin his service to the King.