Raomar caught the carriage as it left the Hartender city mansion. He flipped the driver a single gold coin, paying for his silence and the risk he took. It might do little to ease the man’s conscious, but that would assume the man had one…and given he was already hiring his master’s coach to a stranger, that was doubtful.
Raomar made a note to keep that in mind for future dealings.
He stepped up on the running board as the coach slowed to make its turn from the driveway to the street, opening the door and sliding inside before anyone realized he’d gotten aboard. Despite the gathering dusk, he kept his cloak’s hood pulled low over his face and hid his hands beneath long sleeves and dark gloves.
No one knew his race or rank—and he preferred it that way.
As head of Deverath’s thieves’ guild, and a kevarag living in a city of humans, it was better he went unnoticed—and unnoted. Tonight, he would meet the hunters of his kind and give them another man’s life in place of his own.
Latching the door firmly closed, he settled back in the padded leather seat and wondered what Duke Joseph Hartender would say, if he knew who’d commandeered his private carriage. The man might not be amused to know it was being used by the guildmaster of Deverath’s most powerful illicit traders to transport a cat burglar from one form of confinement to another.
The burglar had been caught and convicted of breaking into the Harbor Master’s office, and then sentenced to hang in a gibbet at the city gates. He’d thought Raomar’s offer a godsend.
Raomar stifled a snort. Little did he know.
The coach rumbled over cobbled streets, the horses’ steady pace not breaking until the coachman reached the city gates. Here he slowed and rough voices demanded what business had him leaving so close to nightfall.
Inside the coach, Raomar tensed, worried the guards would insist on searching the coach.
“Who knows what passes through the master’s mind,” he heard the coachman reply. The man’s brusque tones hinted at resentment. “I get paid for doing what I’m told and not asking why.”
It was the right answer for the guards, who ushered him on.
Raomar relaxed as the coach moved through the gates at a walk. The slow pace made it feel like he was reluctant to leave the protection of the city walls…and for all Raomar knew, he was. He settled back in his seat. The man was very good at following instructions.
He heard the dull boom of the gates closing in their wake, and the coach slowed again. The coachman was following his orders to the letter. The man would soon get down and make a show of checking the horses’ harness.
When he did, Raomar slipped out of the coach, using it to shield him from view of the gates. Working his way back to the wall, he looked for the thief. He found the man crouched in a shallow ditch at its foot. He jumped when Raomar’s hand descended on his shoulder.
“Guildmaster?” he whispered, and Raomar laid his hand over the man’s mouth.
“This way, Andern.”
At mention of his name, the man relaxed. He didn’t waste breath arguing but followed Raomar as he led the way back to the open coach door and inside.
“Do you remember our agreement?” Raomar asked as the man settled into the seat opposite.
Andern colored and nodded.
“A child, sir.” He hesitated. “To one such as you. What did you mean by that?”
Raomar sighed, feeling the coach rock as the coach driver climbed into his seat. The carriage lurched forward and he glanced toward the thief, keeping his hood low over his face. As the vehicle picked up pace, he sighed again and flipped back his hood.
He knew his yellow eyes gleamed in the coach’s shadows and sat close to the window so his features were lit by the rising moon.
Andern gasped, startling in his seat.
“You’re…” He gulped. “You’re kevarag.”
Raomar nodded.
“Tree cat,” he explained shortly.
“And I’m to have a child with one…like you?”
Raomar nodded, and the man rushed on.
“And…and after that, I’m free?”
“Once the child’s survival is assured.”
He watched as the man digested the news, saw the question he didn’t ask. How long? It was written on his face.
In truth, the man would never return to the city. Once Raomar delivered him to the kevarag, he would end his days with them, a slave to their whim. Raomar was just glad…
“And will you come to fetch me?” the thief asked.
Raomar looked at him—and lied without shame.
“I’ll send the carriage,” he informed the man. “Grunwol will come, if I do not.”
That last part went from mild untruth to blatant lie. The Northlands barbarian knew nothing of his master’s bargain with the kevarag hunters. He hadn’t been around when Raomar had made it.
Raomar looked out the window and sighed. It had taken a sleeping spell to ensure he kept that pact a secret, tonight. The barbarian had pledged his life for Raomar’s, swearing to protect him at all times and at all costs. He refused to listen when the elf told him he had no debt.
Raomar’s mouth curled, memory of the hunters bringing the bitterness of defeat. He’d left his lands without permission, evaded the hunters sworn to keep his people contained and ‘protected’—and he’d done so for twenty-three long years.
No one outran them forever, though—and the price for his freedom had been set at ten lives for every year he’d stayed free…and two for every year since his release. He’d owed two hundred and thirty lives and been given scant time to pay it…but he’d made his payments ever since. Andern would be the second for the coming year, and Raomar was free of debt for another four seasons.
He gave an internal shrug. There’d be more mistakes. By the time the next payment was due, he’d have enough.
Feeling the man’s uncertain gaze on him, Raomar glanced over.
“What is it?” he asked.
The man blushed, Raomar picking up the color change with eyes adapted to the dark.
“Well?” he prodded, and the thief ducked his head.
“It’s just that I’m…I’m not used to…” He let the words trail off, trusting Raomar to understand.
The guildmaster nodded.
“Not used to selling your body,” he concluded, and the man gave a hasty nod, and was momentarily silent.
Raomar watched as he screwed up the courage to ask the next question. It would have been a surprise if he hadn’t.
“Is there… I mean, can I pay the debt another way?”
Raomar sighed. “Perhaps…” he began, drawing the dart he carried for just this occasion.
The man gave him a hopeful look, and Raomar was grateful humans did not see so well in the dark. When he moved, it was lightning fast. He shifted across the coach in one swift movement, burying the dart in the side of the man’s throat.
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Andern gaped at him, and Raomar met his eyes.
“No,” the kevarag told the man. “There is no other way. Your life was forfeit the moment you failed me. I lied. You will not be returning to the lands of men, but will end your days among my kind as their slave.”
The man’s eyes clouded with confusion, hurt and betrayal filling his features as he struggled to move against the fast-acting poison. Raomar used his body to pin Andern to the seat, holding the dart in place to ensure the full dose entered his bloodstream.
“You will wake properly when I order it,” he told the man, as he felt Andern’s body relax beneath him. He patted the thief’s cheek. “Now, sleep.”
“Yes, guildmaster,” Andern replied, his voice drowsy in obedience, but Raomar kept him pinned until his eyes closed and he drifted into slumber.
Once he was sure the man wouldn’t stir, Raomar took the dart from his throat and returned to his side of the carriage. Andern remained slumped in the opposite corner, now fully apprised of his fate and completely under the kevarag’s control.
Soft laughter filtered through the silent air around him, and Raomar blushed. The medallion he wore around his throat grew warm against his chest.
Trust the goddess to find my discomfort amusing, he thought, and whispered a small prayer of gratitude to her. It was her temple who’d sheltered him from the hunters, and her priests who’d given him a new path to tread in the world to which he’d fled.
Enshul was the human goddess of the night and shadow. All things that happened between sunset and sunrise fell into her domain. Thieves, assassins, and deceit all fell under her purview but she held equal seniority with the god of the moon and the stars and fortune tellers were part of his domain over hers.
She didn’t seem to mind the lack, however, embracing all who came to her for aid in the shadier dealings of society…and enjoying the game of spies and diplomacy. She’d welcomed Raomar when he’d fled to the sanctuary of her temple, and walked with him still.
Her presence made him smile. Asharma cared only for her own people, but Enshul… Raomar’s smile broadened. Enshul cared for all who walked the shadows and called on her name. The sense of the goddess’s presence faded and he knew he neared his destination, and she was giving him the space to make the trade.
Asharma was a jealous goddess. It was bad enough that Raomar had shunned her priesthood, worse that he should choose to serve her human counterpart. He hoped she stayed away, this time. The hunters didn’t like defying a goddess when the debt was paid. If he failed…
Raomar shuddered.
If he failed to make the necessary payment, Asharma’s people would be waiting.
A glance out the window told him they’d arrived at their destination, and Raomar used the hilt of his dagger to signal the driver to stop. Rapping sharply, three times, he waited, relaxing when the coach slowed. As it came to a halt, he nudged Andern with his boot.
“Time to rise,” he told the man, and knew the drug still held when Andern blinked and nodded. “Follow me.”
He slipped from the coach and turned to help the thief descend. There was no point in delivering damaged goods to the hunters.
He shivered, wondering which of the clans had won the honor of collecting his tribute. Tree-Cat, Tree-Rat, Sky Falcon and Cavern Spider produced the best hunters of the clans, but they weren’t the only clans there were—and the hunters forsook clan ties to become part of the elite force the kevarag use to track down any who left their lands without permission.
His own capture had been made by a combination of Tree-Cat and Sky Falcon…and memory of it sent another shiver over his skin. They had taken him beyond the pursuit of his friends, as well as the protection of his goddess…and they’d forced him to accept the pact of lives or forfeit two hundred years of his own.
They’d promised to ensure he survived to the end of his debt.
And not much longer, he’d thought, and read the confirmation in their eyes.
The memory chilled him but he led the way away from the carriage, not looking back when he heard the coachman click his horses into a walk. His capture had shamed his goddess, making her seem weak before two pantheons—an advantage Asharma had tried to use for her own gain…and failed.
Raomar smiled grimly, and draped an arm around Andern’s shoulders, drawing him into the night. They crossed the verge and climbed a fence in need of repair, Andern’s voice signaling the drug was wearing off, although his suggestion that the thief would only wake properly when he commanded it, still held.
“Master?” The slur in the thief’s voice made it clear he still hadn’t come to grips with his situation.
Raomar cast him a happy smile. “This way, Andern. It’s not far, now.”
The look on the man’s face said he thought he should be afraid, but didn’t know why. Raomar reached out and clasped his shoulder.
“Come,” he told the man. “Our friends are waiting.”
Looking slightly reassured, Andern followed. He hesitated a little when the elf led him into a shadowed grove of aolmar trees.
Raomar let the thief catch up and fall into step beside him.
“They will meet us here,” he told the man. “Stay close.”
The shadows of the copse engulfed them, and a thick silence descended, broken only by Andern’s heavy breathing. Raomar laid a hand on the man’s arm, feeling him startle.
“Not far now,” he reassured the man, even as the air shifted around them and a soft breeze touched their skins.
There had been no breeze in the fields they’d left behind…and this one smelt of rain.
Raomar felt Andern tense beneath his hand. he heard the man draw another shaky breath, then hold it, as he sought to control his fear. He was sure the effects of the dart had completely worn off, and pulled the man further into the trees.
They crossed the boundary, the grove revealing itself to be much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The aolmar gave way to other trees, these ones more tangled and older than was possible for the copse they’d entered.
Raomar didn’t give the thief time to think about the grove’s age or impossible depth, but drew him forward until they came to a sun-filled clearing. Here, Andern did pause.
He came to a complete stop, pulling against Raomar’s grip. The elf halted, letting the pressure ease, and then pulling him forward. This time, Andern obeyed, following the guildmaster to the clearing’s center.
“We are here,” he declared softly, his words both a warning to his guildsman and an announcement to the hunters. “Now, wake.”
Movement drew their attention to the clearing’s edge, in time to see the first of the hunters appear. His heart sank. Of all the clans…
The woman who stepped through the hanging leaves had golden skin streaked with slashes of green. She moved with sinuous grace to come to a halt before them, her presence capturing Andern’s stunned attention.
Raomar tightened his grip on the thief’s arm, and the woman smiled.
She was wearing a sheath of finely spun spider silk, split so it revealed most of her thigh. Her gaze passed across Andern as though he didn’t exist, and she addressed Raomar in a tone as distant and cold as the southern mountains.
“What is the human doing here?” she demanded, as though she didn’t know.
Raomar knew the question as part of the handover’s ritual wording, and ignored Andern’s worried look as he replied.
“He pays a debt to me by providing a service to you,” he replied, not relinquishing his grip on the thief’s arm.
The woman laughed.
“Perhaps to me,” she corrected, running her gaze up and down Andern’s body as though he were a piece of meat and his clothing didn’t matter.
The man tensed beneath Raomar’s grip, and the woman smiled. She tilted her head from side to side, continuing to assess the thief as she moved around them. Only Raomar’s grip on Andern’s arm prevented him from turning to face her.
A fine tremor shook the man and he swallowed as though his throat had gone unexpectedly dry…and so he would, Raomar thought, given the way he was being inspected. The woman’s next words made the thief jump.
“He will do,” she finally agreed. “Do your terms remain the same?”
“Unless the hunters have changed their price,” Raomar replied.
The woman’s mouth quirked into a humorless smile.
“Hunters do not change the terms of their pacts,” she answered.
Andern gave Raomar a startled glance, but Raomar kept his eyes on the woman’s face.
The grass rippled around them, and four more golden forms rose above it.
Andern’s body tensed under Raomar’s hand, and he tightened his grip, turning slightly so he could watch the thief’s reaction. A shiver rippled through the man, and Raomar did not blame him. Of all the tales told about the kevarag, their ability to change to the form of their totem creatures was not one outsiders knew.
He kept his grip tight as the golden serpentine forms rising above the grass thickened and grew limbs, their heads shifting from snake to humanoid as their bodies changed.
“Clan Viper,” Raomar acknowledged, giving one of the most feared clans of the kevarag their name. “I am honored.”
The clan speaker tilted her head, appraising his sincerity.
“We fought for the honor,” she told him, and he noticed her pupils had become upright keyholes as she met Raomar’s gaze and held it.
A scale-like shimmer marred her flawless skin, and she flicked a surprisingly long tongue as she hissed at one of those newly risen from the grass to join them. The man dipped his head in acknowledgement and turned toward Andern.
Raomar felt the thief pull against his grasp, and held him harder, shaking him slightly.
“Master…” Andern began, realizing his situation. He crowded closer. “Master, please…”
Raomar leant in close. “Kneel,” he whispered, emphasizing it by pulling down on the man’s arm. He paused, before adding, “Kneel, and you might live.”
“Master?”
Raomar turned to face the thief and laid his free hand on the man’s other shoulder, pushing him to his knees and holding him there, until the Viper hunters came alongside and rested their hands beside his.
As soon as he was sure of their grip, Raomar stepped away. Fear filled the thief’s gaze.
“Master… I beg you,” he began, as Raomar took three swift strides away.
Raomar turned and met the guildsman’s eyes.
“I made a pact with the hunters, Andern,” he told the man, “And you made a pact with me. My pact is complete. Make sure you honor yours.”
“But…”
Raomar turned to face the woman.
“He is yours,” he told her, and she dipped her head with a sultry smile.
“He may well be,” she replied, tilting her head so her gaze slid over the kneeling thief.
Andern caught the intent in her eyes and shot a terrified look at Raomar.
“Plea—” he began, and received an open-handed slap for his trouble.
“Silence!” the viper-hunter ordered. “You have no master. Prostrate yourself before our Mistress of Venom, Valineth, Third Lady of Clan Ashmoreth Viper. It is her mark, you will bear on your shoulder, your chest and your cheek, and her whim that keeps you alive.”
Andern gulped, his eyes wide with fear as he looked from Raomar to the woman. The hunters pushed him forward until his forehead touched the earth. The man’s protest was partly muffled by grass and earth and the woman glanced toward Raomar.
“Mistress Valineth,” the guildmaster acknowledged and turned to walk from the clearing.
Silence followed him, and then Andern began to scream.
Raomar winced at the agony he heard there, remembering that Clan Ashmoreth Viper branded its slaves with a dilution of its namesake’s venom. Venom and acid. The scars remained for life.
Andern’s cry died to a whimper, and then his voice rose, again, this time begging for mercy before transitioning to a second drawn-out wail. It faded as Raomar reached the border relieved to feel the chill of Toramar’s cooler air, once more.