~ Thief's Coin ~

by

Michael Staton

Her fingers flipped the makeshift curtain aside, allowing her to climb onto the outside ledge. A quick glance downward revealed Rong’s laboratory and greenhouse ruins, overgrown thickets and patches of snow, but no one aiming a bow at her. She reached up with her right arm and snagged a cat’s leg hanging from the mouth of one of the monsters. Placing the blade of a dagger in her mouth, she curled her other hand around one of the creature’s fangs. Stealth didn’t have to wait long.

“Taking the coward’s way out, Derrie boy?” She knew that voice, even muffled. Tylo, the son of a bitch who’d tried to hang Derrius. Stealth kept still, not wanting to jangle the scabbard. Her heart was ice as she remembered letting Ty touch her so she could prove his loyalty to Sork. She smothered the urge to erupt through the window and carve him up like a banquet boar. Too soon.

“Larenia piss on you!” Derrius snarled. “And wither your voice box too while She’s at it.”

Tylo chortled and broke into song. “I am the emperor of drinkers, wild, boisterous, clattering boys. We despise your haughty thinkers and fill the tavern with our din.” He poked Derrius’s side with his boot. “My voice is strong as ever, Princeling. You must not be her favorite anymore.”

“Where are your rescuers hiding, Derrius?” This voice was female. Stealth didn’t recognize it, but she figured the woman must be Mickia Guyio, either the brunette or the blonde she’d seen at the exarch’s ball. “Is your sweetheart hiding under a mattress on a lower floor? Or maybe she’s hiding there.” Stealth heard a door squeak and realized someone had opened the armoire beside the bed. “Nope, not there. I bet she fled and left you to die. Can’t trust a thief.”

Stealth shook her head in disgust. What a piece of fluff. Hobnobbing as a hard-ass. I’ll give her back to you, baron, but with black eyes.

Footsteps drew closer to the window. “Stealth, darling, are you still in the tower?” Tylo sounded near, perhaps standing over Derrius. He shouted even louder, “Stealth, come on up. Mickia wants to—”

Stealth plunged through the window, ripping the filthy sheet from its pinnings. The sheet clung to her chest as she barreled into Tylo, driving him beyond Derrius to the floor. The bard’s face wore a look of pure astonishment. She plucked the dagger from her mouth and slashed it across his throat. Blood sprayed her face, sneaked past her lips. She gagged as the metallic taste pricked taste buds. Her mouth clamped on his, and she spit blood against his tongue and then whispered, “Die, bastard!”

A burning cold ripped through her side, and her skin and schoolmarm bodice dampened. Stupid! You let her stab you!

As Stealth twisted to get at Mickia, Larenia whispered, You’re dying, girl! This time I’ll help—just a little bit, though. You still must suffer!

Time slowed for Stealth. Her dagger slashed at Mickia as if the air had become ice. Healing power warmed her side; blood still dripped down her leg, but at a slower pace. The highborn woman’s mouth opened torturously slowly for a scream, and then abruptly she was dodging the dagger at breakneck speed. The blade grazed Mickia’s groin. The short-haired blonde shrieked in rage and slashed Stealth’s forearm and then limped backward to escape the thief’s thrust. Rising painfully to her feet, Stealth jabbed at the other woman to keep her at bay. Blood soaked the thief’s boots and oozed into a puddle near Derrius’s shoulder. Her legs quivered as trauma set in, her lightning agility drowning in blood.

The thief feinted toward Mickia’s belly and then vaulted into a front flip that evolved into a mid-air kick toward her foe’s chest. Mickia stabbed at Stealth’s left boot, slitting the leather sole but not reaching skin. Both boots slammed into the blonde’s chest. Mickia’s feet tangled, and she crashed hard, smashing her dagger-wielding hand against the floor. The dagger slipped free.

Coordination flagging, Stealth came down violently on her face. Her knuckles bashed the floor, and her dagger slid toward Tylo, his throat gurgling, his body tremorous.

Mickia rolled onto her side; her fingers scrabbled for her dagger, even touched the pommel before Stealth seized the highborn’s boots and yanked her away from the weapon. Stealth didn’t reach for her weapon; better not to give the bitch another chance to recover her blade. She flung herself atop Mickia and drove her fist into the blonde’s face. Mickia hooked a leg across the thief’s hip and forced her onto her back. Both panting, squirming in blood, they locked their fingers around the other’s neck and squeezed...