(...continued)

Unmoved, he conceded, “Aye.”

The scarred elf gestured east with his dirk. “Grishem’s at the thieves’ den down by the river. Sir,” he added after a slight pause.

“What you want with the likes of him, m’lord?”

“He owes me a favor.” Orb fizzling out, Kingard left the elves in darkness, bringing his hood back over his face and rejoining his companions outside.

They hastened for the riverbank, Vithril rattled into a harried silence that lasted a mile. “So then,” she broached, clearing her throat, “we’re going to see a thief to pick up a few things?”

“It would seem as such.” Concern for his old allies sharp in his voice, the elf brooked no speculation. “We will know soon enough.”

They drew closer to the banks of the river, the streets narrow and muddy. “Don’t you need a healer, Kingard? Those elves stabbed you, didn’t they?”

“Your concern is touching faerie, but I’m fine. Let’s just get to Grishem before word spreads I’m here.”

“What was all that back there, anyway?” she inquired. “Why’d they recognize you like that?”

Ignoring her questions, Kingard paused at the corner of a cluttered alleyway. “Hey yeah,” chimed Darek, “how come you’re so special? What’d you do?”

“Just walk, kid,” he dodged, nudging him left.

“You wait one fiery minute, Kingard!” Tugging Darek from his grasp, she planted a hand on her hip. “We’ve been dragged all night and all day into the armpit of the empire by some elf with a magic face, and–”

Kingard shook her by the arm, eyeing the few souls who might have heard her. “Quiet, faerie! Calm down–”

“No, you start getting stirred up, you elf bastard!” Jerking free, she snapped, “We’re not going one step further until you explain what the Nine Hells is going on!”

“You’re making a scene, that’s what’s going on,” hissed the elf, hefting Darek around the waist and stalking back through the alley.

As the steady buzzing of the curse bloomed inside her head, Vithril raced after the boy before the pain could set in. “I don’t give a shrieking titmouse about your scene, Kingard–”

“That much is obvious, faerie,” he grated into her tirade.

“–and I’ll have you know you turned my whole life upside down, and I’ll be damned if I’m abandoning everything I know and love without some bloody answers!”

Kingard whirled on her so fast his cloak slapped her across the face. “You’re the one who got yourself bound to the boy. I’m not the reason you’re stuck following a child the imperials want to murder! Don’t you dare peg this on me, faerie. The only thing I’ve ever done is keep you alive!”

Wings humming with inexpressible fury, she considered leaping high enough to punch him in the nose. But a man uttering a vague apology bumped his way past them in the narrow alley, and Kingard seized his wrist to shake Vithril’s coin purse from his grasp. “Hey, that’s mine!” she cried, snatching it off the ground.

“You picked the wrong alley, thief,” seethed the elf, twisting the would-be pickpocket’s arm behind his back.

To his surprise, the shifty teen broke into a grin. “On the contrary, my brother! They say you’re out for Grishem. Would you know anything about that?”

“He sent his man to rob us?”

“Well that’s what we do, brother!” he laughed. “And Grishem best of all. Now you turn me loose, and I’ll show you the way.”

Tightening his grip on the teen’s arm, Kingard snorted. “And why should I trust you?”

“Ask and you shall receive, my brother!” replied the man, turning his head to wink over his shoulder at his captor. “You asked for Grishem, and you shall receive.”

“Oh just let him go!” Vithril folded, knotting her coin purse to her belt. “Grishem’s supposed to help us, right? Let’s follow him. It can’t be any worse than following you.”

After Kingard dropped his arm, the teen announced, “The name’s Resh. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” With a little bow, he led them through the alley, and a few turns later he ushered them into a tired building with a burly guard.

“Weapons?”

“I think not,” refused the elf, resting a hand on his dagger. When the guard moved to disarm by force, Kingard waved him aside, and the rainy scent of magic wafted through the room. The guard hit the wall, and a tide of jeering thieves drew blades to block their path. “Grishem, call off your dogs!”

A command, “Hold!” pierced the noise. The men eased back, parting for a smirking plains elf with a scar over his right eye. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, brother, coming into my house and starting trouble.”

“Are you Grishem?” Kingard checked, incredulous of the youth’s two decades.

“And what of it?”

Dropping his hood at last, he uttered the ancient greeting for his followers. “Your forefathers once took my name, Grishem. Today I come to ask for it back.”

“Lord Kingard!” Hand over his heart, Grishem drew a smooth breath to still the shock of recognition. “So the rumors are true!”

“What rumors? I just arrived this afternoon.”

“Word travels fast in Lowtown, my liege. Especially to the ears of ol’ Grishem.” He knelt at Kingard’s feet, and with a long shushing as blade met sheath, the rest of his men followed suit.

From his perch in Kingard’s arms, Darek exclaimed, “Wow! Are you a king?”

“No,” insisted the elf, setting the boy down and pleading with his supplicants. “Arise, brothers of mine. We all are equal in the House of Grishem.”

The thief lord stood, but his men lingered on their knees. “My lord Kingard! Is it true the city will burn again?”

“Is it time? Do we move out?”

“Is that really the faerie?” a mountain elf lamented. “A bleeding Kalreini?”

“And this is the man?” called another as Darek pulled off his cloak, sweltering in the crowd. “He’s just a kid!”

Folding the cloak over her arm, Vithril guided the boy to follow Grishem through the press of thieves. “He’s the dragon mage, actually,” Kingard answered, gesturing again for them to rise. “Yes, she’s the faerie, and yes, she’s Kalreini – wise up and deal with it. No, it’s not time to move out. All I know is we’re making for A’lara. Now will you please stand up?”

“Boys!” barked Grishem. “You’d have our lord and founder ask twice? Get your arses off the floor!” Amidst the thunder of boots hitting deck, they emerged from the entrance into a large room strewn with gold. Scattered across the mounds of treasure, stained cushions and chairs awaited them. Grishem bade them sit, crouching down nearby. “So, O Noble Thane Kingard the Valiant,” he delighted, “what aid do you entreat the humble and steadfast House of Grishem?”

Kingard accepted a chalice offered to him and took a long drink of the dark mead before passing it to Vithril. “We seek passage down the Ka.”

His mirth faltering, Grishem probed, “Come again? You sought me out for such a trifle?”

“We need to embark in secret, and quickly,” the elf elaborated. “The empress has darkmages in her employ, out to slaughter shifters no less.”

“That’s no news to me, my liege. Power corrupts, as they say, and these days it’s we thieves to make the most honest living – of the livings to be had.”

“I had wondered,” admitted Kingard, “when I heard my legacy lay with a thief lord.”

“Oh ho! Fear not, my noble thane,” Grishem assured him. “In a city bereft of honor, the House of Grishem upholds virtues long thought dead.”

In accord, his men cheered, and one called a toast. “To the code!”

“To the code!” roared the thieves, and a new chalice found its way to Kingard’s hand.

Adding a second toast, Grishem announced, “To our forefathers, the illustrious White Knights of old!”

“To Lord Kingard!” appended another, and a clamor arose.

“To the builders!”

“To A’lara!”

“To the fallen,” Kingard declared, commanding a reverent hush throughout the room. “And to the future they bled for.”

Into the silence, Grishem clanked his chalice against Kingard’s. “Hear, hear!” They drank, and when Kingard poured out his last mouthful to honor the dead, every thief did the same. “Now, Lord Kingard, back to business?”

“They’ve been tracking the boy,” he continued with a quick nod, “and I don’t know how many know his face. Any imperial inspection could sound the alarm.”

“So you need to be... smuggled, my liege?”

“Correct.”

“Excellent! I happen to know a reliable smuggler, owes me a favor or nine. Provisions?”

Pausing to consider, Kingard estimated, “A month’s worth, to be safe. The faerie and I are equipped to travel; the boy, however, needs outfitting.”

“Not a problem. Resh!” From nowhere, the teen emerged at Grishem’s right hand. “You heard him. The boy needs outfitting. Faerie, a whim or two?”

Startled at being addressed, Vithril blurted, “Guh – no, no I’m good. I think. Thanks.”

“My pleasure and duty,” intoned the teen with a slight bow.

“Games for the trip,” Kingard provided, looking forward to the faerie not pestering him. “You can keep the boy entertained. Resh, also a book or two on magic, if you can?”

“If I can,” Resh echoed in amusement. “Beginner’s magic for the young dragon mage?”

Darek’s eyes widened in alarm. “No, I don’t... I don’t do magic–”

“Then beginner’s it is!”

Watching Resh scamper off, Grishem prompted, “Anything else, my liege?”

“Just safe passage, and a bit of coin to see us off at the Red?”

A satchel laden with gold jingled as he dropped it into Kingard’s hand. “Done! And I presume I have the honor of putting you up for the night?”

“Actually, I’d like to put Sierlyn behind us before we sprout a tail, if that’s possible.”

“If that’s possible,” echoed Grishem with a laugh, jumping to his feet and donning a cloak. “Talii will cast off when I tell him to cast off. Boys! Lord Kingard’s things to Talii on the double. Someone tell Resh–”

“Heard, m’lord!” Resh called from somewhere in the crowd. “To Talii on the double!”

“Good man,” praised the thief lord, slinging a faerie-sized cloak of royal blue around Darek’s shoulders. “Well, let’s get you gone, my liege! You three, follow me to freedom.”