Honor Among Thieves by David Chandler Read Free Book Online Page A

to see Malden struck down. She called out his name in horror but couldn’t move from the spot, paralyzed in terror. She thought for certain he was dead, his head caved in by the blow, but instead he merely collapsed to the street, quaking like a man in the grip of a terrible seizure.
    She wanted to run forward, to grab him up and take him away, to rescue him. But the square was full of kingsmen, and the armored knight stood watchful and ready. There was no way she could help Malden now, not directly. There must be something she could do, though, something to—
    “Daughter. You have been gone too long.”
    Cythera’s jaw dropped. “Mother?”
    Creeping dread made every muscle in her back ripple and tense. Slowly she turned around, expecting to see Coruth the witch standing in the alley behind her.
    Instead there was a boy there, a little peasant boy with a dirty face. And several hundred birds.
    Rooks, starlings, pigeons, and doves stood on the cobbles or perched on the timbers of the houses on either side. More of them came down to land around the boy as Cythera watched. Some fluttered down to land on his shoulders, others to perch atop his head. The birds were all staring at her.
    The boy, in way of contrast, looked at nothing. His eyes were unfocused and it appeared they might roll up into their sockets. His arms hung loose at his sides, and the muscles of his face were all slack, so that he slurred his words as he spoke to her again.
    “You are required in Ness. You must come home immediately.”
    Cythera knew what was happening. That didn’t make it any less unsettling. Her mother had set her spirit loose upon the ether, let it drift with the movements of birds, as was her wont. It allowed her to see things hidden from human eyes and to keep a watch on the entire kingdom of Skrae at once. Yet birds could not convey proper messages—their beaks and tongues were ill-formed for human speech. So Coruth must have overridden the boy’s consciousness with her own. It was a cruel thing to do, and Cythera knew Coruth would only have turned to such magic if she had no other choice.
    “Malden’s in trouble, Mother. You and I both owe him a great debt—I can’t go anywhere until he’s safe. I just watched him get struck by an Ancient Blade.”
    “Chillbrand,” the boy said. He did not nod. Coruth was controlling only enough of his functions to speak with. That was the difference between witchcraft and sorcery, sometimes. A sorcerer would have taken the boy over completely—and left him mindless and half dead when the sorcerer was done with him. “One of the seven. Strange. I can see them all now, all seven of the swords. They are coming together, as if drawn by a magnet.”
    “The swords are coming to Helstrow?” Cythera asked, intrigued despite herself.
    “For a brief while. Hmm. This could be trouble. The future is not entirely clear right now. What is clear is that you must return to Ness. We must speak, you and I. Great events are unfolding. Some we care about will be brought low, while others are lifted to the heights. What was solid and eternal will become mutable. Malden . . . did you say Malden was in trouble? But that’s impossible. He has—he will—”
    The boy’s lips pressed tightly together and one of his hands twitched. Coruth was losing control of him.
    “Mother? Mother, what are you talking about?” Cythera demanded. Coruth could see the underpinnings of reality, she could even glimpse the future, but often what she saw was so cryptic that even she could make no sense of it. Cythera understood maybe one part in ten of what Coruth told her of those visions. “Mother, please. I need to know more—if this will effect Malden, or Croy, I need to know!”
    But Coruth had released the boy. His eyes slowly focused and his face regained something like normal muscle tone. Cythera knelt down to put her hands on his shoulders and help him return to full control of his body by stroking his forehead