The King's Thief

Written between about 11.30pm and 1am, so about an hour and a half. Not a bad rate of words, I reckon. At last, some backstory!

Chapter 17

Lorn crashed to the ground, blood already welling from a cut on his lip. He looked up at Faergaldan in shock, then his eyes narrowed.
“Two of my people died out there, Lorn,” the Sylvan leader said coldly. “This village gave its allegiance to us after the way the humans treated you.” The tall Kinroc walked past the fallen man, heading for the house in which the rest of his unit were housed. Without turning, he paused at the door; his words, when they came, were emotionless and leaden. “If this situation is ever repeated, the human forces will be informed of your part in the rebellion, and this village will cease to be.” Leaving Lorn in the dirt, Faergaldan went in to the house.

The smell inside was pungent to his sensitive nostrils; the remaining twenty warriors under his command had been on the road for a fortnight, and were now squeezed into a tight space. All eyes had turned to him as he came in; Kaliss, Winraer and Ryn had preceded him in, donning their cloaks again as they did so, but he knew it fell to him to break the news of their loss.
He pushed down the doubts that followed all leaders, military or other; had it been his fault that two of his command had died? What could he have done differently? Twenty pairs of eyes showed him a confidence that, at times like this, he did not feel, but his years of experience rose to the fore. He cleared his throat.
“We have routed the enemy; none survived. Sadly, Corrin and Julis have passed from us; their spirits have gone to join with the ancients. Remember them with honour, for that is how they lived and died.”
All present bowed their heads for a minute. Finally, Faergaldan looked around at their faces. “Today is a day of rest,” he said, “a salve for the body and the soul. There are no human patrols due in this area, so Lorn has agreed that the freedom of the village is ours for today. You will find the humans hospitable; please respect this, and respond in kind. That is an order. Dismissed.”
Immediately a quiet murmuring rose up in the assembled people, dying away as they filed out of the house in twos and threes. Soon, the Kinroc was alone; the silence was suddenly deafening to him, a crushing force on his mind. Dust floated gently through the air, caught in the light from the midday sun, the only movement in the room.
He did not know for how long he stood there, enveloped in his thoughts, standing stock-still in the empty house; finally, his fist clenched and he pushed the coldness down into the depths of his mind, trapping it under a layer of steel duty. Taking out his blade, he sat and began to clean and sharpen it methodically, stiffly. Each stroke of the whetstone along the blade was another layer of military resolve, iron bands trapping the cold thoughts in the bottom of his mind.

*    *    *

Kaliss meandered around the small village, really just a collection of a couple of dozen houses grouped together for convenience. He was running the fight over and over in his mind; one thing puzzled him; why had they not used their crossbows? Given his relative lack of knowledge about the centaari, he needed someone who might know better.
Spotting Ryn sat cross-legged on a flat rock, about a hundred paces away from the village, he called out, but the Sylva did not acknowledge him. Jogging towards him, he noticed that Ryn’s shoulders were slumped, and he slowed, coming around to the man’s front. Ryn’s eyes were closed, unshed tears gleaming in the corners, and his hands trembled faintly. Any questions in Kaliss’ mind fled.
“What’s wrong, Ryn?” he asked.
Without opening his eyes, the Sylva replied “Corrin. He and I were… he was special. To me.”
Kaliss’ eyebrows shot up; he had found it strange that none of the Sylva seemed to obviously pair up while they had been travelling. Asking one of them about it, he had simply been told that the division between social life and military life ran deeply, and relationship belonged firmly on the social side. Suddenly, the former thief felt guilty; he had never enquired as to Ryn’s significant other, or even if there was one.
“I’m sorry,” he stumbled out, “I didn’t know.”
A forlorn smile touched the other’s lips. “You’ve had a lot to think about over the last two weeks,” he replied. “Besides, Sylvan society is more accepting, more liberal, I suppose you could say, than your own.”
Kaliss nodded. He had known two or three thieves in Theria who had preferred the company of men, and once at a brothel he had been offered a young man as an alternative, but his own tastes had never extended in that direction. The temples preached that the bond between men and women was sacred, except for the priests of Anster, Goddess of Love; it seemed they and the Sylva had something in common.
“Had it been long?”
Ryn’s smile turned distant, his wooden eyes still closed. “We met on the eve of the celebration of my birth, fifteen years ago; so not a great amount of time. Barely enough to get to know each other, I suppose you could say.”
Kaliss cocked an eyebrow; fifteen years ago he had been a boy of thirteen, stealing bread from the kitchens at the Abbey of Tala. “So… what now?”
Finally, Ryn opened in eyes. His brown gaze seemed to pierce Kaliss, looking completely through him. “I am saying goodbye,” he said simply.
Kaliss clasped Ryn’s shoulder; no words seemed to the moment. Letting his hand drop, he turned to leave the grieving Sylva. Ryn inclined his head in thanks before returning to his quiet contemplation.

*    *    *

Elsewhere in the village, Winraer was sat, her back to a wall, polishing the wood bonded to the soles of her feet with a piece of soft cloth. The unique biological mutation served as a reminder for her entire race of their metaphorical and literal roots, but for her the wooden contacts served to heighten her use of erg. Engrossed in her task, she didn’t notice Kaliss’ approach until his shadow fell across her.
Looking up, she all she could see was a silhouette. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“What are you doing?” he responded, genuine curiosity tingeing his voice.
He crouched down beside her as she went back to her labours. “My skills are enhanced when my connection to the life around me. In the city, for example, I had little ability. Stone has some life to it, but out in the forest is where I’m most powerful.” She indicated the wooden sections of her feet, covering the soles. “These connect me that much quicker and stronger with that energy. With that power, though, comes the responsibility to keep them in good repair. Others can perhaps allow the wood to wear down; our bodies replenish it, just like any flesh. Mine need to be cared for properly so that a good contact can be maintained. Polished, cleaned, tidied up.” Her lips quirked up a little. “Think of it as a really intense pedicure, like the rich women have in your city.”
Kaliss slumped down next to her, his back against the wall. “I was just with Ryn,” he began tentatively.
“He told you about Corrin?” Her hands stopped moving as she spoke, her voice turning reflective. “We are good, as a race, at burying our feelings, at not showing emotions; when Corrin was injured, I was exhausted; all I could do was watch and keep the centaari leader bound. I was watching Ryn too; the impulse must have been strong in him to go to his lover’s side, but he came to save you. I was not that strong.” She tossed the cloth she was using from hand to hand listlessly.
“What happened?”
She sighed. “His name was Banir. He was a Kinroc in his own right, a skilled soldier. We were posted in a village, two hours from the front line. I was there because my parents lived in that village, and I suppose it was convenient. To have him come home every day, to be able to soothe his body and mind from the rigours of command, made me feel needed.”
The cloth scrunched up as her hand became a fist. “A single human magician, one who got lucky, on some sort of death mission. He took out two sentries, making for the centre of the village; Banir left our house, moved to intercept him; the human was using strong defensive magic, though. Banir never stood a chance, skilled as he was. I ran to his side, leaving the house; my parents called to me, but I wanted nothing more than to be with Banir. He was gone, of course, but he saved my life; my mad run from the village saved me.”
Returning to her task, Winraer concluded the tale. “The human used all his power in one blast, flattening the village. I was blown sideways by the force, only just managing to erect protection of my own. There were no other survivors.” Her laugh was bitter. “I suppose you could say I was lucky.”
Kaliss couldn’t speak; too many words crowded at his mouth, none of them appropriate. His own life seemed to be so free of tragedy compared to his travelling companions. Finally, he took a breath.
“There’s no way anything I say can be useful, Winraer; I wasn’t present, wasn’t even aware. But, for here, for now… I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”
He expected some cutting remark, but the lines of her face softened into a small smile. “Thank you, Kaliss,” she said quietly.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I have everything I need,” she replied, looking at him and smiling again.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.”
She watched as he wandered off; then she bent to her task again, but the smile remained on her lips.

*    *    *

The sun had fallen below the horizon over an hour ago. Beck carefully walked down the inside stairs of the belltower that adjoined the temple of Lindriss. It seemed fitting, he mused, that such a bastion of justice as the temple of law and order should serve as the starting point for ultimate justice. The workshop he was working out of was a mere five minutes away, at a trot, and it was not long before he was sat, once again naked, cross-legged in front of the enchanted mirror.
In the night sky, a whistling, ringing sound grew quieter before finally passing out of earshot, as if whatever was making it had left at great speed. Theria continued on, undisturbed, night-workers leaving for their jobs as day-workers returned, or sought entertainment. No-one so much as glanced at the sky.

*    *    *

The following morning found the remaining Sylva on the road, some miles from Kentin. There was little chatter among them, each concentrating on his, or her, own thoughts. They had once again shed their cloaks, and Ryn had mentioned that they would not need them anymore. He seemed once again to be in control of his emotions, for the most part, though like the others he was quiet.
Something was bothering Kaliss, though; it was almost as if something were missing. His nostrils flared, only finding the scents of the countryside they were passing through; the sound of their breathing and the rustling of feed through grass were the only sounds.
Suddenly he knew; there was complete silence, other than their passage. He ran up to Faergaldan. “Kinroc Faergaldan!” he called, “Stop!”
The tall Sylva wheeled round to face him, irritation clear on his face. “What is it?”
“Listen,” the thief replied.
There followed a moment of silence, before Faergaldan turned to go. “I hear nothing, Kaliss. We need to move.”
“Wait, Kinroc. There are no calls from the birds,” Winraer spoke up from further back. “All is quiet.” Her voice trailed away; standing stock still, a faint glow seemed to line her body, her hair appearing to float upwards on its own. Suddenly she jerked her head up. “There is no life for miles around! Not even insects! Something is approaching. We must seek shelter, now.”
A moment of silence greeted this statement before the Kinroc took charge. Looking swiftly around, he directed half of the Sylva towards a nearby outcropping of rock, while those remaining formed a protective ring around Winraer. Kaliss suddenly found himself exposed, unable to hide with the practiced ease of the Sylva, and as he stood indecisively, he heard the noise. It was piercing, like a finger being dragged around a wine glass; the kind of ringing in his ears that put him in mind of the aftermath of the amateur explosives he had been trained to use in the Thieves’ Collective, only this time there was no explosion of light and sound and fury.
He surveyed the surrounding countryside; a small woodland to the left, no more than half an hour away on foot, while to the front lay open countryside, and to the right, maybe an hour away, he could see a wide river. A single bird soared in the horizon, coming from the East, but miles away.
Long minutes passed with no change; the Sylvan warriors stood poised around Winraer, while she remained in a trance, on some unknowable quest. Kaliss stood outside the protective ring still, transfixed by indecision and lack of knowledge, watching for any hint of an incursion by an enemy, but the ground was clear, the single bird larger now in the sky but still at some distance.
Casting his eyes back and forth, he could see nothing, but the noise did not stop. The bird, whatever it was, flew on, the single silhouette continuing to come onwards, growing steadily larger, and as it did so, the noise grew. Suddenly, Kaliss knew.
“’ware the skies! They come from the sky!” shouted the thief, and, seeing no other possible recourse, began to run towards the forest.
“He runs! The human is afraid!” came a shout from behind, but it was quickly cut off by that of Kinroc Faergaldan, sudden realisation colouring his voice.
“No, he speaks sense; the enemy cannot fly amongst the trees! Follow him!” and, setting an example his warriors would follow, the Kinroc broke and ran for the cover of the forest.