The Thieves of Blood: Blade of the Flame - Book 1 (41 page)

“Yes, the orphans,” she heard the other man growl as she
slipped out into the alley. “Give them my regards. Now go!”

Closing the door gently, Seren broke into a sprint. Darting between the puddles and strewn garbage of the alleys, she stopped at a particular abandoned house after several minutes of running. Looking back to make certain she wasn’t followed, she pulled a loose board aside and stepped through the wall. The interior was lit by a single candle. An older gentleman dressed in a sleek black jacket and trousers reclined on a tattered couch. A long white beard lay discarded on the floor. He toyed with a pair of painted glass marbles, rolling them between his fingers idly.

“Did you find the book?” he asked, looking up at her with a faint grin.

She stared at Jamus blankly. “How did you get here first?” she asked.

“Rather I should ask why it took you so long,” he said, though his smile took the barb off his words. He fell to a fit of coughing for several seconds and then looked up at her with a forced grin. “So. Find the book?”

Seren nodded, patting the bag at her hip. She picked up her cloak from where she had left it folded on the floor earlier in the evening and began using it as an improvised towel, drying herself as best she could.

“May I see it?” Jamus asked patiently.

“After you tell me why you left me up on that ledge in the rain for so long,” she said tartly.

“Because I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to keep climbing when the storm began,” Jamus said. “I thought you would come back down and we’d try another day.”

She shrugged. “Can’t turn back once you start or you’ll never finish,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “I underestimated your stubbornness, as always. It is your second most endearing and maddening trait.”

“Second?” she asked, “what is the first?”

“Your infuriating willingness to speak your mind,” he said. “You remind me a great deal of my daughter, Seren. I suppose before you give me the book I shall be subject to another lecture on my questionable wisdom of undertaking this mission.”

Seren folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “I did the job, Jamus, but my opinion stands,” she said. “I don’t think it’s smart to cross the dragonmarked houses. I don’t care what the pay is. It’s going to be trouble.”

“Afraid of magic, Seren?” he asked. Jamus rose from his couch and walked toward her. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“You taught me to respect power,” Seren said. “The d’Canniths are powerful. If they find out what we’ve done …”

“They simply won’t care,” Jamus said. He rested one hand on her shoulder, looking down at her like with the expression of a parent soothing a frightened child “Dalan d’Cannith has a checkered past. He may be a local guildmaster, but he is not particularly liked or respected among his family. His power is limited outside of Wroat. Our payment for this job will place us far beyond his grasp.”

Seren’s eyes widened. “We’re leaving Wroat?” she asked, excited. “You never told me that.”

Jamus nodded, though he glanced away as another fit of coughing shook his spare figure. “I didn’t want to distract you before the job,” he said. “Our employer guaranteed future opportunities beyond the city when she gave me our advance.”

“There’s an advance?” she asked with a small grin. Jamus hadn’t mentioned that either. “Where’s my share?”

The old thief smiled slyly. “Right here,” he said, tossing her the bag of marbles. She caught it in one hand and favored him with a sour look. “No worries, Seren, you’ll be paid when we deliver. Only the most difficult part remains.”

“The most difficult part?” she said, bewildered. “What can be more difficult than what we’ve just done?”

“Don’t ask that question,” Jamus said with a chuckle. “Never ask that question, lest it be answered sooner than you’d like.”

“I’m serious, Jamus,” she said. “What else is left? We already have the book. All we need to do is deliver it. Are you afraid the Watch will find us, or do you not trust our employer?”

“I
never
trust my employer as a matter of course,” Jamus said. “Anyone who enters our line of work, as a client or a professional, is untrustworthy by definition.”

“But we trust each other,” she said. “Don’t we?”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then made his way toward the door. “Only because we both have something to gain,” he said. “Ours is a relationship of mutual benefit, teacher and student. Trust is born from mutual benefit. We trust our employer because we are offered payment in return for our services … mutual benefit—but we do not trust foolishly.”

“So what do we do if our employer decides there’s greater benefit in not paying us?” she asked. “What then?”

“In this case such a betrayal would be foolish,” Jamus answered. He pushed the loose board aside, studying the street to make certain no one was outside. “I have a reputation in this city. Were I to disappear, questions would be asked, and I have
arranged for answers. I have written speaker posts addressed to certain allies, describing the details of our work here. If I do not arrive to cancel the deliveries, the Sivis messengers will whisper into their speaking stones and the truth will fly upon the winds of Khorvaire. Within hours, friends as far away as Fairhaven will know the truth.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Seren said. “If we die, we’re still dead, no matter who knows what happened.”

“Then ignore the negative and focus on your goals, Seren, dear,” he said, stepping out into the street. “Think about leaving this place far behind, and it will be. Until then, be safe. Stay out of sight. The town guards will be suspicious of anyone on the streets on a terrible night like tonight. I will meet you back at the house.”

The old thief slid the board back into place behind him. She could hear his wet footsteps and quiet cough recede into the distance. Dalan d’Cannith would have summoned the Watch by now, searching for the thief and his beggar accomplice. It was safer to wait, to move separately.

Seren would have preferred Jamus carry the book, at least. It was his idea to steal it, after all. She took the book out of the sack and studied its cover. She recognized the Cannith crest; she had seen it in the city often enough. Beneath a small hammer and anvil design, the snarling metal bull’s head of a gorgon glared up at her. The relatively indifferent albatross beneath it was not typically part of the crest. It must be some sort of personal seal. Seren opened the book and flipped through the pages cautiously. She told herself she was merely checking to make sure that the book hadn’t been damaged by the rain. In reality she wanted to know what was
so important about it. Diagrams covered the pages within, depicting airships, clockwork mechanisms, and other artifacts whose purpose Seren could not comprehend. The writing was in a strange, arcane cipher. It told her nothing, nothing that would explain why it was important enough to make enemies of House Cannith.

The Canniths were one of the twelve dragonmarked houses, powerful organizations ruled by individuals born marked by hereditary arcane symbols. Seren didn’t really understand what the Prophecy was, nor did she really care. All she knew was that the Prophecy gave incredible powers to those marked by it. Each of the dragonmarked houses boasted magical abilities and had used those abilities to cultivate great wealth and political influence. Each house was as powerful as a country, the services they offered so valuable that their power transcended international boundaries.

House Cannith bore the Mark of Making, which granted the ability to repair what had been broken or to create new things. They were engineers, artificers, and weaponsmiths. Many of the most incredible inventions in all of Eberron—the lightning rails, the airships, and even the mysterious warforged soldiers—bore a Cannith artisan’s seal. Many of the most ferocious battles in the Last War had been fought with Cannith weapons, and Breland was not the only nation that still owed them a great debt. If this book was as valuable as Jamus claimed and the Canniths realized who had stolen it from them … well, making two thieves in the slums of Wroat disappear wouldn’t be such a difficult task for a house that commanded the loyalty of kings.

Seren pushed the book back into the sack and pushed such
thoughts away with it. Her own words returned to her—can’t turn back once you start or you’ll never finish. There was no option now but to see the job through and try to make a profit. If this really got her out of Wroat, then maybe it was worth it.

But she hated waiting the most.

Tim Waggoner’s novels include
Pandora Drive
and
Like Death
(Leisure Books),
A Nightmare on Elm Street: Protégé
(Black Flame),
Godfire: The Orchard of Dreams, Godfire: Heart’s Wound, Necropolis
(Five Star),
Exalted: A Shadow Over Heaven’s Eye, Dark Ages: Gangrel
(White Wolf),
Defender: Hyperswarm
(I-Books), and
The Harmony Society
(Prime Books). He is also the author of the short story collection
All Too Surreal
(Prime Books). He is the author of two books in the D
RAGONLANCE
®: T
HE
N
EW
A
DVENTURES
series,
Temple of the Dragonslayer
and
Return of the Sorceress
(Wizards of the Coast), as well as many novels and short stories for teens and adults. He’s published close to eighty short stories of horror and fantasy, and his articles on writing have appeared in
Writer’s Digest, Writers’ Journal
, and other publications.

He teaches creative writing at Sinclair Community College in Dayton, Ohio. Visit him on the web at
www.timwaggoner.com
.

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BERRON
, D
RAGONLANCE
, W
IZARDS OF THE
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OAST
and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc., in the U.S.A. and other countries. ©2006 Wizards.