Nine

Holy Blood

Two days passed and Gratia soon fitted in with the group like she had been there for years. She had never realised quite how good a thief she was. Nalon spent the first day teaching her everything she needed to know about pick-pocketing and concealing herself in the shadowy alleys. Yo’shan taught her a few tricks with locks: how to open them with wire and hair grips. The elven thief, Zieb^Dum, she had met briefly when she first arrived, spent the next day guiding her around the alleys, rooftops and sewers of Lariaan, explaining all the escape and entry routes to shops and hiding places.

At night-time a large stack of blankets were produced from a cupboard and strewn across the floor for bedding. It was no palace, but it was a vast improvement from the damp shop doorways and grotty cellars she had become accustomed to. Nalon was quite obviously the gang master and the others did what they were told, except for Zieb^Dum, who seemed to be his own master. The two appeared to show mutual respect for one another.

The young, blond, washed-out looking boy was named Kie. He had been given to the church as a toddler with instructions to be raised as a parson. He had presently run away and found shelter with the thieves. There were others as well, shadows that floated in and out of the refuge from time to time and took up their fair share of floor space come early morning. Gratia wasn’t too sure exactly how many there were, but she suspected it to be a double figure. The only rule that the gang had was that all takings that were not solid coinage should be sold and the proceeds shared amongst them. There was a strange logic in this, as she soon learned that many of the thieves preferred to work in small groups to steal much larger and more expensive items that would fetch enough money, even when split, to take care of them for a good few weeks.

So far though, Gratia had stuck to picking cash from the wealthier gentlefolk of the town. She had been advised by Nalon that she should refrain from dancing in the streets as it would only take one drunken old man to notice his wallet was down her corset and the entire house of thieves could be uncovered. But she was grateful. For the first time since she had left her home, someone had shown some kindness towards her, expecting nothing in return. She was amongst people of her like. They were all together in this, all of them working together to keep each other alive. It felt good to know that someone was looking out for her.

One evening, as Gratia bedded down by the fire, Zieb^Dum came to her and knelt down by her side. Other than the one day when he had shown her around the city, Zieb^Dum had stayed quite clear of her and barely spoken a word, content just to nod occasionally when their paths happened to cross. She had never felt the need to get closer to him, nor anyone else. People kept their privacy in this place. It was an unspoken rule not to tamper with each other’s business, not if you wished to keep all your limbs intact.

The pale man brought his milky-white face close to hers and whispered in a voice that radiated a lyrical tone: “A steel knife flicks through the dome, a million colours, each of their own. The shades of red curse their creator and the seven thieves collaborate. Do you wish to make that eight?”

Gratia thought for a minute and then nodded. Nalon had mentioned that Zieb^Dum was somewhat of a poet and rarely discussed his plans without a flow of cryptic messages woven in between.

Zieb^Dum smiled, for once it was genuine rather then polite. He disappeared into the shadows again, dropping a small white kerchief as he left. Drawn on it in fine black ink was a miniature map of some of Lariaan’s least known back streets. At the very bottom corner was a small circle with a two in it.

In her own mind she quickly translated the message again. A steel knife meant that they were going to rob somewhere. A domed building indicated a place of worship. She was not happy about that, but it could just as easily mean somewhere near a church. ‘A million colours each of their own,’ translated into gold, silver, rubies, diamonds and other such precious gems. The only part of the message that puzzled her was the part about the shades of red cursing their creator. Logic told her that this indicated someone was probably to be hurt, but she pushed that thought out of her mind. She should not speculate when she had no proof to go by. In other words, it was an invitation to join a group.

Two hours after the full-moon had risen, Gratia pulled back her covers and slipped out through the main door, carefully looking both right and left to make sure no one was watching. Pulling the scrap of material from her pocket, she swiftly set about following the directions. They ended at a dead stone wall at the far end of Catcherman’s Alley. There was no one else around. After five minutes there came a faint rumbling from behind the huge wall. A small panel slid back in a dark corner and Kie’s head popped out. He nodded at her to follow him back in. Crouching down as low as she could, Gratia began to crawl through the passage, the panel sliding back into place behind her.

In the pitch blackness of the cramped tunnel, Gratia realised that she and Kie were not alone. Just up ahead she could make out faint whispering and she recognised at least three of the voices. There was Zieb^Dum, Nalon and another thief she had talked to one night by the fire. Gertimer, or something like that.

Eventually, the tunnel opened up into a huge underground cavern lit by flaming torches hanging from every wall. In the light she could make out the figures of Nalon, Zeib^Dum, Kie, Gertimer, Yo’shan (though how he had got in there she had no idea, for she was certain that his large bulk was incapable of fitting through that tiny secret passage), and two other thieves she did not recognise.

“Ah, glad we could all make it,” said the lanky elf in a voice that reminded her of melted glass. He smiled politely at the tiny group.

“Spare us the details Zee, we all know the drill,” growled Yo’shan, in a surprisingly gruff voice.

“Not all,” replied Zieb, raising an eyebrow in Gratia’s direction.

“Why is she here?” muttered Nalon, with a sigh.

“Why shouldn’t she be?” he replied.

“Will this take long?” asked one of the anonymous thieves.

“Why, have you something better to do, your highness?” said Zieb in a humorous tone – almost mocking, almost a sneer, but definitely very sarcastic.

The strong-jawed shadow shuffled his feet, shook his head, and looked at his boots. “No,” he said hoarsely.

“Good, then if we all work together we can be away within the hour.”

There was a nod of agreement from the small crowd.

“Now, Gratia, my good lady. Do you have any idea where we are?”

All eyes turned to her, expectantly.

“I– No.” She said. He had neglected to show her this area of the sewers, or at least what she suspected might be part of the sewers.

“Well, let me enlighten you. We are currently in the crypt of the main church of Lariaan. Above is the alter where there is stashed an abundance of gold and silver goods, many encrusted with precious, and rather expensive, jewels. If you understand my meaning?”

Seven pairs of eyes rested on her conspiratorially. As they did so, the realisation dawned on here exactly what Zieb^Dum had in mind.

But this was a church. Although she did not share a great kinship with their religion, she still believed that a temple or other place of worship was sacred. Just because she did not pray to the god of such a building did not mean that maybe he or she did not exist and would call upon her some day.

“But– this is a church!?”

Zieb nodded. “And?” He raised his brow questioningly.

“It–” she struggled with how to word such a complaint, so that it caused as little offence as possible. “It is a sacred place.”

For a split second the elf’s face was void of expression. Combined with his delicately etched features and milky skin, the effect was that of a blank sheet of paper. Then his brow creased into a mocking, but concerned, frown.

“Answer me this, my dear. What breed of so called ‘god’ starves his lambs and suffocates them in the devil’s poverty?”

Gratia thought for a moment. He had a point. But stealing from a church was still wrong. Yet they did have a valid reason for it. She had seen the interior of the church before. Zieb^Dum was correct, it was filled with ornate gold and silver trinkets, many inlaid with rubies, corals and sapphires...

...They emerged from a small trapdoor underneath the large marble sacrifice table. They had climbed a ladder from the crypt to the main area of the church itself. Kie held out his hand and pulled Gratia out of the gaping hole. Quickly, they set to work filling large hessian sacks that Yo’shan had stashed away in his shirt. There was more gold than she had ever seen before in her life. Here and there the thieves would find small hidden cabinets containing coins and donated jewels from the penance tray. Yo’shan beckoned her to help him lace up a huge sack that was bulging fit to rip with jewels and precious metals, when suddenly there came an excited screech from a doorway near the tower leading to the belfry.

“Who– who are you!? What do you think you’re doing?”

The gang turned as one and stared in a moment of astonishment at the young man wearing a white collared black gown. The moment he had uttered the words, his confidence seemed to melt into his shoes and he began slowly to shuffle backwards. He pivoted and lurched forward to ascend the stairs, but before his foot even touched the cold hard stone, Kie had knocked him to the ground.

The man struggled to his feet, only for his head to be met with a weighty iron candlestick wielded by Nalon. The blow was closely followed up with another from an anonymous thief’s blade hilt.

Gratia stared on in horror as the priest was knocked from side to side with blow after blow from the laughing thieves. They were not doing this for their own protection, they were doing this for fun! As the slow-motion world gradually caught up with the speed of her racing heart, the sound of their throaty laughter filled her mind and everything went red. Leaping forward, Gratia flung the priest against the wall with the full force of her body, she pivoted to stand directly between him and the cackling group of astonished men. 

She drew her silver-bladed stiletto and stood in a partially crouched stance, ready to dodge or deal any blow that might be necessary. The priest was quite obviously unconscious now. There was sticky crimson blood covering his face, glittering like encrusted rubies.

“You godless savages. Leave him be,” she announced, with a sharpness that would match the scythe of death itself.

For a long moment the thieves stood silently with jaws hanging and weapons frozen by their sides. Finally, Zieb^Dum bowed in an exaggerated mark of mock respect and flicked a small throwing knife from his side. It lodged itself in the priest’s skull and there was a faint groan before his lifeless body slumped forward.

Gratia did not turn to look. She just knew. And in that horrifying moment another certainty dawned on her. They were now going to turn on her, and she didn’t like the odds.

“That was a very, very stupid thing to do,” said Nalon, with a hollow voice. He sighed. “We did a lot for you, did we not? But obviously we did not teach you the most vital law of all. Honour amongst thieves. Never wrong your own. And you have wronged us, Gratia.”

She took a small step backwards. The group made no move.

“You killed a holy man,” she said, in a hoarse voice.

“He would have had us all hanged,” replied Nalon, icily.

“But you took pleasure in his killing.”

“He had to die.”

“But you took pleasure in it. You were laughing and taking turns in hitting him. You are nothing more than cheap murderers!”

Nalon’s face twisted into a lazy grin. He turned his head to the right and stared for a moment at the huge stained glass window depicting a dragon being slain by a man in silver armour. Then his head snapped back to her and the thieves advanced, encircling.

“You need not have killed him! He was unconscious, he would not have remembered anything come morning!”

“That is a risk we could not have taken,” said Nalon. “As we cannot take that risk with you. Now that we have seen you do not stick by your own, how are we to know you shall not take the first opportunity to make our hiding place public?”

Gratia swallowed hard. She could see no point in arguing with them. They had the smell of blood heavy in their nostrils and now they wanted more. She was surrounded, each of the thieves had their weapons drawn, ready for her. The only person who showed any indifference to her life was Kie. He stood with his knife drawn and his legs crouched, yet his deep brown eyes were looking at her with uncertainty, possibly mercy.

Then the first attack came. One of the unnamed thieves lunged forward with an evil looking silver blade. She dodged to the right, escaping its bite by inches, only to be confronted with Zieb^Dum smiling at her and spinning his stiletto in his hand. He circled her so that her back was to the others. She felt the heavy blow of a knife hilt against the side of her head. Falling to the floor, she continued to roll over and over on her side until she had enough momentum to flip back onto her feet. 

The one thing she knew she mustn’t do was stay still. She felt the warm trickle of blood down her cheek and her head felt as heavy as lead. She put her back to the wall again and looked at the barrage of thieves that stood between her and the door. Yo’shan stepped forward confidently. He drew a long wooden pole from a strap on his back and began twirling it from side to side, gradually moving closer to her. He was very close now, the whirling stick whizzing through the air in a dizzy frenzy.

Gratia moved her head sharply to the left as one of Zieb^Dum’s throwing knives dug its grave in the wall by her ear. It was followed up by Yo’shan’s baton which hit the wall inches from her waist and left a large gash in the crumbling brick. Gratia could hardly believe her luck. She had been sure that was about to cripple her. Quickly, she ducked and rolled between Yo’shan’s legs, standing behind him she made a couple of quick steps towards the door. 

Kie blocked her path. He wielded a small dagger clumsily in one hand. Looking at her with a boyish, stern expression, he slowly stepped forward. The other thieves gathered close behind him.

Gratia tensed, spinning her silver stiletto between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed and she lunged deeply towards him. With hugely exaggerated movement, Kie launched himself backwards, away from her knife, and catapulted into the group that stood behind him. 

For a split second she wondered what on earth had happened. She hadn’t even come close to grazing him. Then the realisation dawned that her path to the doorway was clear. She bolted, running as fast as her legs would carry her, with the muffled shouts and cries of angry thieves ringing out behind her. She could have sworn that she saw the young boy wink discretely.

She went down alley after alley, her legs burned with the effort of maintaining the speed she was travelling at. She sprinted along Main Street, over a bridge, through the main square and down an alley where she flew into a dead-end, hitting the stone wall with great force. Her breath was coming in deep gasps, her heart racing like a wild horse. She turned and leant back against the stone, gulping at the clear air. Slowly, her breathing began to return to normal and her erratic heart jumped back to its usual beat. Sighing, she stood upright and began walking to the entrance of the alley.

Nalon was blocking her way. Behind him stood Zieb^Dum and one of the nameless thieves. Gratia’s heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Nalon gave an exasperated sigh.

“See, what did I tell you my friends? The first chance she gets and she is already running through the streets spreading the word of our hideaway.”

“I haven’t said anything,” she whispered, taking a shaky step backwards. “And I won’t, not to anyone,” and another step. “Please, I wouldn’t,” and another.

The small group of cut-throats advanced towards her slowly.

“We can’t take that risk,” said Nalon, in a throaty whisper. 

He drew his dagger and died.

A look of complete confusion crossed the faces of the other two thieves as they watched their colleague’s body drop to the floor, a large kitchen knife protruding from his chest. Then they turned their attention to the figure in front of them. It had dropped down from above and was hidden under a large black cape with a silken hood. It was standing between them and the shaking gypsy woman.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he announced in a voice which, to Gratia, sounded vaguely familiar from somewhere.

In the dim light of the overhead torches, the two thieves exchanged a puzzled glance, seemed to reach some unspoken agreement, and turned back to face him. Zieb^Dum produced a long, sharp dagger from somewhere within his cloak. His colleague drew a small short sword from his side. They advanced together. 

The figure drew a large black long sword and held it out in front of him. Again, the thieves hesitated momentarily, then the elf lunged towards him. The figure stepped back sharply and twisted his sword around, grazing the elf’s side. There was a sharp intake of breath and Zieb^Dum spun around furiously. The nameless thief stood back, weighing up the odds with an uncertain expression.

Zieb^Dum leaped into the air and thrust out his knife towards the hooded man, who brought the long sword screaming through the air, throwing the elf’s weapon from his maddened grip.

The figure followed this up with a harsh blow in the side using the flat edge of the sword. Zieb fell on his back, heavily winded. The man stood over the wreathing body and drew the sword up under his neck.

The other thief, who up until now had been silently watching from the shadows, began to shuffle backwards towards the end of the alley. The hooded man looked in his direction and yelled, “Let this be a lesson to you, my friend.” 

The thief fled.

There was a slight gurgling noise as the sharp black sword penetrated the elf’s neck, and then silence.

The figure turned slowly and pulled back his hood. 

The face that was illuminated by the overhead torch was that of Gale Ashfain.