Over time, the tunnels of the Pipes changed as the city dug new passages, and old ones caved in. So confused were they that no one had ever mapped out all the passages nor even had the desire to. Even Jarek, who spent most of his time going back and forth between Upper Ire and the Pipes these days, would likely get turned around were it not for Satchel leading the way. They passed small grottoes that many of the Pipes’ less fortunate called home. Eventually, they came to a tunnel with a faint orange glow at the end. Satchel indicated to Jarek that it was his rendezvous point.
The old thief put a hand on Satchel’s shoulder and, through a short series of hand gestures, told him to move ahead, and that he would wait in hiding. Satchel nodded and continued down the tunnel.
His eyes adjusted quickly as he stepped into the room, lit only by a single candle perched on a stack of wooden boxes against the far wall. A large lump of cloth piled next to the boxes startled Satchel as it rose, forming into the shape of a man. A hood concealed his face in shadow except for a pair of eyes that reflected the dancing flame from the candle.
A cracked voice carrying a thick accent came from the cloth and said, “You have them?”
His heart still pounding from the scare, Satchel nodded, reached into his bag, and pulled out each prize. In his right hand, he held the parchment, the brown leather case in his left hand. The way the orange light of the candle flickered across the man’s eyes had an unsettling effect on Satchel.
“Yes. Good.”
A gloved hand reached out to grab them.
Satchel pulled away. He swallowed. “P-payment?”
The fingers of the man’s hand curled for a moment before he said, “Of course.”
The next few seconds seemed to happen in a heartbeat. The hand reached into the cloak, and the gleam of a blade shot toward Satchel. It sliced through the first layer of skin on the bridge of the boy’s nose but got no further. Jarek dashed by Satchel brandishing a short sword. With a quick upward strike, he sliced through the man’s arm at the elbow, severing it. Blood poured out onto the ground from the open wound as though dumped out from a pitcher. A curdled scream filled the room. The man crumpled to the floor.
Jarek stood over his opponent, pointing the tip of his sword at the man’s throat. The hood had fallen back revealing a face covered in scars.
“Stay put,” said Jarek, “or I’ll lop off a lot more than that! You all right, boy?”
Satchel could only nod, his mind and body jarred by the experience. The old thief turned back to the man on the floor.
“Answer some questions and I might let you walk out of here with your life. You’re a long way from home, Komji. What’s your name?”
“I do not need to answer you, old fool.” The man spat on Jarek’s face.
Jarek snarled and stabbed the man’s right thigh. Another scream of pain.
“Old fool or no, I’m the one with the sword. Talk or I twist.”
The man lay there writhing for a few moments. Jarek shifted his hand on the hilt.
“No! Stop!”
“I will when I hear something useful.”
“Kazi. My name is Kazi,” the man said quickly. “I was hired to do get the items.”
“That’s better. Who do you work for?”
Kazi hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Jarek’s eyes narrowed. He turned the sword handle.
“All right! I’ll tell you what I know, but I can’t if I die.”
Jarek eyed him. He then yanked the blade from Kazi’s leg. Kazi grunted and did his best to tuck the stump that used to be his arm back into his cloak as Jarek and Satchel watched. He tore a strip of cloth from his robe and, with some difficulty, tied it around his arm near the shoulder to slow the blood flow.
After finishing, Kazi sat breathing heavily for a few moments. His eyes flickered. When he finally spoke, it came out disjointed.
“My employer. Tall, white hair, white armor. Promised me what I want most. Needed to get...honor back. Wife and child died a year ago. Pirates on the Armendr got us. Couldn’t protect them. Burned me. Alone for so long. Alone...”
Kazi’s eyes began to close. Jarek smacked the side of the man’s cheek with the flat side of his blade.
“A name?” said the old thief.
Kazi glared at Jarek. “No name. He just looked like...a white knight.”
Satchel looked up at Jarek for any sign of recognition but saw nothing.
“How did you meet him?”
Kazi continued, “I lived like an animal for months. He found me. Said he needed me. Told me to go to Ire and steal something. Gave me a knife and a pass for the checkpoint and money. I am not a good thief, so I hired one. Heard about that boy.”
Jarek’s eyes burned. “And you decided instead to kill him and keep the money.”
Kazi’s gaze shifted away from Jarek, ashamed.
“Tell me more about him. The white knight.”
Kazi shuddered. “Not a real man. More like a fog. An illusion.”
Jarek grabbed Kazi’s cloak and yanked him up so that they met nose to nose.
“That’s not an answer!”
“I told you all I know!”
Jarek held Kazi for a few more seconds before dropping him back to the floor. He picked up Kazi’s knife, put it in a pocket somewhere in his cloak and turned to leave.
To Satchel, he said, “We’re going.”
Kazi struggled to sit up and then said, “W-What about me?”
“What about you?”
“You can’t leave me like this!”
“You hired my apprentice for a dangerous job and then tried to kill him. You’re lucky I’ve only taken your arm.”
The Komji whimpered and curled up on the ground. Jarek motioned for Satchel to lead the way back into the tunnel. The young thief gave Kazi one last look and then moved ahead, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Thanks for reading! This is the fifth of five free chapters of the series, The Thief’s Armor. If you enjoyed this, please consider sharing this post and becoming a paid subscriber.