David Chandler - Den of thieves

“Fabric o’ what?” Kemper asked, but Malden hushed him.

“Some will turn milk sour inside a cow’s udders if she so much as looks on them. Some wither crops wherever they pass. And some are capable of destroying our world, just by being here. The one that brought down the Burgrave’s tower-”

“It was tiny,” Malden said, nodding, “until it was exposed to the air. Then it began to grow, and did not stop.”

Croy frowned. “Had it been permitted to continue, it would have grown until it crushed the entire city under its weight. Even then it would not have stopped, until its tentacles could wrap around the world and crush it to rubble.”

Malden felt the blood rush out of his face. He had released the thing from its watery prison. If it had not been checked…

“Fortunately, Bikker and I were there to stop it.”

Malden cried out. “That bastard’s an Ancient Blade, too?” he demanded.

“Yes. He wields the sword called Acidtongue. Just as I wield Ghostcutter.”

“Then you know him,” Malden said.

“Oh, yes. Very well, in fact. He trained me.” Croy rose carefully from the bed, walked over to the window and looked out at the rain, which had grown stronger overnight. “The swords are immortal, but the swordsmen are not. As each Ancient Blade ages and grows infirm, he finds a suitable heir to take the sword and the oath that comes with it. It’s up to the others to teach this new blade how to fight. It is a sacred duty and not lightly conferred-but only twice has a blade failed to be passed on correctly. Two of the swords, Fangbreaker and Dawnbringer, were stolen from us by barbarians. Where they are now, no civilized man knows.”

Croy stared into the middle distance, as if he could find the lost swords in his own memory. Then he shook his head and continued with his tale.

“When I received Ghostcutter from its previous owner, there were five of us, gallant knights all. We were in service to the king, at his fortress at Helstrow. It was our duty to protect him from any demons his enemies summoned to attack him.”

“Why aren’t you there now?” Malden asked.

Croy lowered his head as if he were ashamed of the answer. “The king died. He was poisoned by one of his courtiers. His son, the new king, discharged us. He claimed we were bad bodyguards who had failed to protect our master. We tried to explain that our brief was not to protect against poison, but only demonkind. He didn’t listen. Demons are rarely seen in this world nowadays. Our sacred work is rarely called for-as vital as it may be, it’s difficult to explain to people how important we are when no one has seen a demon at large for nearly fifty years. The new king didn’t understand why he should pay us to train endlessly for a threat that never came. He expected us to do other service to earn our keep. The five of us were forced to split up and go out into the world and find new occupation, wherever we could. Bikker brought me here, where we both swore allegiance to the Burgrave.”

“That doesn’t seem to be working so well,” Malden pointed out.

Croy glared at him.

The thief shrugged off the knight’s disdain. “I speak nothing but fact. Neither of you works for the Burgrave anymore. Bikker’s working for the Burgrave’s enemies now. And the Burgrave sentenced you to death.”

“I haven’t forgotten my oath, all the same. As for Bikker-something changed inside him. With nothing much to do, he grew bored here. There was not enough action to satisfy his bloodlust, and a man like Bikker must fight or he begins to die inside. Everything that was noble and valiant in him perished for lack of use. It was a great tragedy-but I cannot forgive him for what he has become. He broke his promise to the Burgrave and now he sells his services-and Acidtongue’s-to the highest bidder. I called him faithless when he left the Burgrave’s employ. I insulted his honor.” Croy shook his head. “Now he seeks satisfaction for that slight. He will kill me if he catches me.”

“What, because you called him a bad name?” Malden asked.

“Sure, son, an’ only apologize, an’ make it better, like,” Kemper suggested.

“It was unforgivable, what I said. Don’t you understand? Honor is everything to such as Bikker and myself. An insult like that is a mortal blow.” Croy studied Malden and Kemper with a questioning eye. “You don’t understand at all. Is it true what they say, then, that there is no honor among thieves?”

“Aye,” Kemper said.

“Yes,” Malden agreed.

Croy grunted in distaste.

Malden felt the need to explain. “If that’s how you define honor, anyway. When you’re poor you can’t afford to take offense. If I had to kill every man who ever swore an oath in my presence… well, Ness wouldn’t be so crowded anyway. But I suppose it’s different for the nobility. When two men in the Stink come to blows in a tavern, it’s assault, and they’re both put in the stocks. When a baronet and an earl hack away at each other with their swords, that’s a duel, and half the city comes out to cheer.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Croy said.

And Malden believed him. Looking into the knight’s eyes, he was convinced, utterly, that Croy’s world really was that simple. That honor meant the difference between life and death. That there were more important things in the world than a full belly and a warm place to sleep.

And of course, in that world damsels in distress had to be rescued.

“Where does Cythera come into all this?” Malden asked.

Croy’s eyes sparkled at the sound of her name. “It was while working for the Burgrave that I first met her. She and her mother lived in the Golden Slope then. Her mother is a witch, did you know that?”

“She mentioned it,” Malden said.

Croy smiled. “Perhaps you think that I mean she is some toothless hag, selling powdered bat wings and working simple hexes on strayed lovers. Nothing could be further from the truth. Witchcraft is simpler than sorcery, but it’s cleaner, too. Coruth-Cythera’s mother-counted half the best families of Ness amongst her clients. She consulted with the Burgrave on matters magical… and once, when she came to the palace, she brought her daughter with her. Cythera. I was enchanted when I first laid eyes on her.”

Malden looked away. He could understand only too well.

“We barely exchanged a half dozen words at that first meeting,” Croy said. “Yet I knew when first we met that I would love her forever. I asked her to promise she would be mine someday. She wanted to say yes but she knew she was not her own mistress, not so long as Hazoth lays claim to her services. Anyway, she was too young then to make such a weighty decision. Now she has flowered into womanhood.”

“Flowered is the right word,” Malden said, thinking of her tattoos.

Croy didn’t seem to get the joke.

“Never mind. Tell me more of Coruth. How did she end up in Hazoth’s thrall?”

“For defying him. About ten years ago she decided to take Cythera away from here-she considered Hazoth to be an ill influence on Cythera’s education. She knew Hazoth wouldn’t like it. Should Cythera ever get more than a few miles away from him, the link between the two of them will cease to function and he’ll be prey to every demon in the pit. Coruth knew he would do anything to keep that link in place. She tried to flee Ness with Cythera anyway. They made it as far as the city gates, but then-then Hazoth worked a spell on Coruth. He forced her to march back to his villa and submit herself to imprisonment in a magic circle. His power was just too great to resist. Cythera was immune to the spell, but for her mother’s sake she could only watch in horror as Coruth struggled and writhed, fighting every step.”