Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jaeron made his way across the apartment.
    “Father?” Jaeron knelt low near the crumpled form of Henri deAlto and reached out to grasp his father’s shoulder.
    Fearful, and truly expecting that his father was gone, Jaeron almost stumbled back in surprise as Henri rolled off his shoulder and turned his head to look up at his son.
    “Jaeron?” he whispered, his normally rumbling voice now thin and weak.
    “Father, let’s get you out of here.”
    “No,” Henri coughed. The old man nodded in the direction of his stomach and Jaeron took in the severity of the wounds. “Poison…… smoke… too much.”
    “What happened?” Jaeron asked, whispering himself now, and fighting back his tears. He tried desperately to keep the swelling in his throat from choking him.
    “Another guild… Found out about the necklace…” Henri shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now… forget it, forget job… should have given you this before… you, Chazd, Avrilla… too late…”
    Henri’s hands grasped a crumpled parchment and cloth-wrapped package. He pushed them into Jaeron’s hands. The package was tied closed, but the seal on the parchment was cracked and long broken. Both were stained with Henri’s blood.
    “What -” Jason began to ask, but Henri interrupted him.
    “Take it… hide… They’ll come… let Tabbil worry…” Henri coughed roughly and wheezed in another breath. “Job not important - you’re to… lead… protect-”
    Henri deAlto did not get the time to finish. Jaeron froze, then he collapsed over the body of the only father he ever remembered. Dimly, he realized he did not have time to grieve now. The heat had lessened, but the smoke had continued to thicken. He wiped his eyes again and looked around the apartment. The entry from the rear hall was an inferno. The front entry past the bedroom and kitchen was unreachable. That left the windows.

Five
    T he crystal sparkled in the candlelight. The hors d'oeuvres were arranged on the serving trays, appetizing and artistic. The wine, a deep maroon syrah from Pevar, had been decanted and was just now reaching the peak temperature. It was all exactly as Larsettai n’ Shil knew Mennat liked it.
    No, not liked. She guessed that the Prime Minister truly liked very little, or what he did he kept hidden. Rather, it was what he expected.
    That fact made Larsetta seethe. She sat forward on her padded leather chair and looked at her Feral board. She plucked one of the playing pieces from its position, a finely carved topaz bat that served as the pawn on the octagonal board. The game brought Mennat to her apartments every week, but Larsetta understood that the meeting was his way of letting her know what piece she played. It was to remind her that of their past dealings and the secrets that they knew about each other, none of it mattered. To Mennat, she was a pawn.
    She curbed the impulse to throw the figure across the room. She slapped it back down on the board a bit heavily and the sharp crack of stone against wood resounded through the drawing room. She closed her eyes and took a breath, twisting her head until she felt the relieving pop of her vertebrae at the back of her neck.
    Larsetta stood and circled the gaming table. From the far side she picked up the onyx satyra . The queen of the board was a sculpture of the mythological beast for which it was named - a voluptuous female form, naked and brazen, with cloven hooves and the head of a goat. Larsetta’s game pieces were exquisite. She had spared no expense on the set, and she smiled knowingly at the malicious intent so obvious in the satyra’s face.
    This is what I should be.
    She set the satyra down, much more gently than she had the bat, and looked out over the board. Larsetta had her own pieces, pawns scurrying dutifully under her commands. And more powerful minions that she considered as she looked at the wolf and bear figures. It was time to put them in play.
    The bells rang in the foyer. Larsetta drew