A Thief in the Night by David Chandler

forgotten places, though, and for good reason. There was no telling what was down there—what hazards a grave robber might encounter, what terrible traps they might set off. The dwarves held many secrets, but everyone knew how clever they were with their hands, and how utterly deadly their safeguards were. Such places were not meant to be violated.
    â€œSounds terrifying,” he said, without a trace of flippancy.
    â€œIt is my destiny,” Mörget insisted.
    â€œWell, that explains what you’re doing in the West,” Croy said. “But not why you came to the Free City. The mountains of the Whitewall are a hundred miles from here.”
    â€œI knew I could not storm the mountain on my own,” Mörget said. “I learned many lessons on my travels. I learned when I could rely on the strength of my own back, which is almost always. And I learned that there are some few occasions when I must find help. This demon is stronger and more dangerous than any creature I’ve fought before. Even with Dawnbringer in my hand it will be a challenge. I came for others who might help me defeat it—others sworn to that cause, in fact. I came looking for you, Croy. To ask for your assistance.”
    Croy leapt to his feet—and nearly slipped and fell on the slate tiles of the roof. “Of course,” he said. “Of course I will help! I am honor bound.” He drew Ghostcutter and pointed it at the sun. “How could I refuse? Truth be told, I’m grateful for the chance. We had some trouble with demons here in Ness a while back, but since then I’ve heard nothing of them. I’d thought they were killed off, every last one, and all the sorcerers who might summon them.”
    â€œThere is at least one more,” Mörget said. “Perhaps we will have the honor of slaying the last one in the world.”
    â€œThat would be a tale to tell,” Croy agreed. “I am at your service, brother. Ghostcutter and Dawnbringer will drink demon ichor once more. I wonder—should we summon the others? Sir Orne, Sir Hew, and Sir Rory are all here in Skrae—the bearers of Crowsbill, Chillbrand, and Bloodquaffer. They would rally to our cause on the instant.”
    Mörget looked sheepish. “If it’s all the same, brother . . . it is hard enough for me to admit I need the aid of one fellow Ancient Blade. Glory shared amongst two is glory halved. Split five ways . . .”
    â€œI understand,” Croy said. “But two of the swords are kept by your people. What of Fangbreaker? I’d have thought you would go to its wielder first.”
    â€œThe one who bears Fangbreaker is not my brother,” Mörget said, in a tone that suggested he would not explain further.
    Croy looked almost relieved—maybe he didn’t want to share the glory either. “Very well. The two of us will leave as soon as possible. Ah—and there will be traps.”
    â€œAye. The Vincularium is full of ’em,” Mörget said. “Or so say the books at Redweir.”
    â€œWell, then, your luck is with you today. When it comes to traps, and defeating them, there’s none more skilled than Malden.”
    The barbarian turned a suddenly interested eye on the thief. His red mouth split open in a wide grin and he started to laugh.
    â€œI beg your pardon?” Malden asked, looking up at Croy.
    â€œIt’ll be good sport,” Croy told him with a wink. “You’d be doing a work of great worth. And of course, the Vincularium is rumored to be stuffed full of treasure.” He looked down at the thief as if that final word was the goad that would move him to acts of unrivaled heroism.

Chapter Eleven
    â€œS o of course, I told him to jump in the river. Head-first,” Malden said, when he’d finished recounting the barbarian’s story.
    Cutbill had wanted to hear everything, and Malden did not stint on any detail. The