Honor among thieves

Chapter Forty-Five

“I have grand plans for the people of Skrae,” the Burgrave said. “I will usher in a new age. But first I have to win this war. I need to drive off the barbarians before I can take Helstrow. And that’s where you come in.”

Malden shook his head. He couldn’t speak, not with the Burgrave’s hand on his throat.

Apparently, his voice wasn’t required. “I need a symbol, Malden. I need something that will inspire my troops. They think of me as Ommen Tarness, a peaceful and rather fat functionary in service to a dead king. Not the kind of man who can save a country, or even govern one. They need to see that I am a warrior.”

Malden shrugged. He had no idea what Juring was talking about.

“I need an Ancient Blade. And you have one you aren’t using.”

This was about Acidtongue? Malden could scarce credit it. “I don’t

… seem… to have… worn it… tonight,” he choked out.

The Burgrave released him. Malden fell back amidst the pillows, gasping for breath.

“The seven blades are puissant arms,” Juring went on. “But they are more than that. For centuries they have been identified with the greatest warriors of the age. When I wear one at my belt, my men will see me as anointed. A champion of virtue. What do you think of that?”

It sounded like piffle, honestly. Juring Tarness was eight hundred years old, and you couldn’t live that long and not become a little unstable. Had the soul in the crown finally come unhinged?

And yet-the idea wasn’t completely ludicrous. Malden had seen the effect in person, after all. Croy’s sword, Ghostcutter, was more than just a blade. When Croy drew it he got a certain respect. People who saw it stopped thinking he was an idiot and started taking him seriously. Of course, that might just be because it enabled him to cut them in half if they laughed at him.

Maybe Tarness did have a point. Maybe someone who people already respected-the man who was the ultimate power in Ness-could go far with an Ancient Blade in his hand. And he had never really wanted Acidtongue, after all-Croy had forced it on him and just assumed he would suddenly turn into a noble warrior. He had drawn it maybe half a dozen times since then and never actually used it to kill anybody. Certainly he’d never used it to its potential. He was a thief, not a swordsman. He could part with it and not miss it, truly.

Still. Just handing it over felt… wrong.

“What are you offering in exchange?” Malden asked.

The Burgrave laughed. “Are you under the impression that I owe you something? I’ve spared your life. That’s all the payment you’ll have from me. I don’t negotiate with thieves.”

“Then perhaps you should find some knight and buy his sword,” Malden said. He reached for the handle of the carriage door, intending to leap out into the dark and get away. Before he could touch the handle, however, a flanged mace came crashing down where his hand would have been. Malden was fast enough to pull his fingers back, but he hadn’t even seen the blow coming. He hadn’t even realized the Burgrave was armed.

“I could simply take the blade. It doesn’t properly belong to you,” Juring said. His eyes were very calm. Malden was impressed. Normally men who tried to conceal their rage gave themselves away through their eyes. But Juring was in total control.

Malden had never cared for situations where someone else held all the cards. Luckily, he still had one up his sleeve. “The blade is safe. If you kill me, you’ll never find it.”

He tried not to think about the fact that a man could be tortured for days without killing him.

“I wonder where you hid it,” Juring mused. “You have yet to go home to your little room since you returned to Ness, so it can’t be under the loose floorboards there. Is it in the Ashes? In some deep part of Cutbill’s lair? Or perhaps you put it in Coruth’s care, on the Isle of Horses.”

Malden frowned. The Burgrave’s spies must have been watching him all day if Juring knew his itinerary that well. Or perhaps the Burgrave had employed some wizard with a shewstone to track his movements. Perhaps he had seen everything…

But no. If that were the case, he would already know where Acidtongue was. The sword wasn’t guarded or even hidden particularly well-Malden had not thought anyone would want to steal it from him. It wasn’t easy to get to, but any reasonably agile person could find it, if they knew where to look.

“I’ll be riding out tomorrow morning, at dawn, at the head of my Army of Free Men,” Juring said. “You’ll present the blade to me then, before I reach the gates.”

“And if I don’t?”

Juring rapped on the roof of the carriage with his mace. The driver brought his horses to a stop in Market Square, just outside the entrance to the fortified part of Castle Hill. Juring’s home. Men with torches came running from the gate-footmen in livery, but also one man in the silk robes of a major functionary. Malden recognized the robes, though not the man who wore them.

“Malden, please allow me to introduce Pritchard Hood,” Juring said as he stepped down from the carriage. “Bailiff of the Free City of Ness.”

The bailiff bowed low-to his lord, not to Malden.

The thief studied Hood carefully. The position of bailiff was one of paramount importance in Malden’s world. The bailiff was tasked with maintaining civic order, which made him the head of the city watch, and gave him free rein to arrest anyone he saw as a threat to Ness. In many ways the office of bailiff was the antithesis of Cutbill’s position. The position Malden now held.

“Pritchard will remain here when I march out,” Juring told Malden. “He will be my eye and my hand in my absence. He will assume all my normal powers. Pritchard, this is Malden, the master of the guild of thieves.”

“Well met,” Malden said with a warm smile.

The bailiff sneered and looked away.

“Pritchard: as you know, the previous holder of your office, Anselm Vry, had an understanding with Malden’s guild. He looked the other way when certain crimes were committed, and made a point of not hanging thieves whose guild dues were paid up. He did this with my tacit approval, for the thieves provided certain services I could not otherwise acquire.”

“Our aim is satisfaction,” Malden said wearily. He had an idea he knew where this was going.

“Malden here is going to perform one of those services tomorrow. When he does so, Pritchard, I want to reaffirm my-silent-approval of this most unconventional arrangement. Of course, if he fails to do what I ask, that approval will not be forthcoming. In fact, should he fail me, I want you to arrest thieves of the guild on a distinctly punitive basis. I want them hanging from every gallows in the city. I want you to be tireless in your extermination of such vermin. And I will want you to make it clear, as plainly as you see fit, that this purging will be Malden’s fault, and his alone.”

“As you wish, milord,” Hood said, and bowed again.

“Good night, Malden,” Juring said, waving through the open door of the carriage. “My coachman will take you wherever you wish to go. Perhaps you should go home and get some rest. Don’t sleep too late, though. I’ll see you at dawn.”