"And then I said," Asher wheezed, barely able to talk for laughing, "’In that case, this would be the perfect time to leave’--and he just shouldered his spear and walked away!"

Bozhren, Asher’s companion, roared with laughter. "Gods above, boy," he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "you’ve got Shalanti’s own luck, and no doubt! Had you dead to rights, and just let you walk away."

"And this man--he had the look of a professional soldier!" Asher added, laughing and shaking his head. "I wouldn’t have bet on me in that fight, that’s for certain." He paused to take a long drink from his cup, then cocked his head thoughtfully. "You know, he came from the side where I climbed up--he probably saw the gouges I left in the wall. I think maybe he was actually afraid of me. He probably thought I’d tear him limb from limb with my awesome mystical powers."

"Good thing he didn’t test that theory," said Bozhren through a chuckle. "Though, gods, I shudder to think what it would look like if that concoction worked on people."

Asher grimaced. "Isn’t that the truth. Still, the look on his face. I’d help spread that rumor myself, if it meant I got to see more guards practically wet themselves like this poor sod."

The two men shared another laugh, and Asher leaned back in his chair, feeling the pleasant buzz of the wine mixed with the giddy relief he always felt after one of these jobs. Being safe back in the hideout, with a cup in his hand and the plunder all laid out, was one of the best moments in a life like his. He’d changed out of his Quicksilver costume and was now dressed in a loose shirt and pants, his short dark hair still damp from bathing.

When the laughter had faded, Bozhren reached out and scooped up a handful of coins, then let them cascade through his fingers back to the tabletop. He was a heavy-set man, and nearly twice Asher’s twenty years, but though his short black hair was shot through with silver, his dark eyes were still as sharp as ever. Asher watched him from over the top of his mug, marveling for a moment at his luck in garnering the older man’s aid. Asher might be the one jumping through windows and dodging dragons but, without Bozhren’s network of rogues and informants, he knew he’d never be able to fence the mounds of treasure he stole, or even know which vaults to break into.

“Leskaris, Nikolare, and Kormos,” the older man mused, still sifting through the coins with one hand, his cup in the other. “Two more houses that know that we know of their corruption, and Leskaris will be livid at being robbed a second time.”

Asher shrugged. “If he didn’t want me dipping into his Minok’tan vault, he should have hired better guards.”

"You won’t be able to pull a trick like that again, you know," said Bozhren, the table creaking slightly under his bulk as he leaned forward. "They’ll be ready for distractions like that next time, and they’ll have their dragons on a tighter leash than to let them run loose after a couple of pigs. And what happened to that slingbow I bought you?"

"Had to leave it behind," Asher said, shrugging. "I couldn’t carry it and run properly at the same time."

Bozhren’s expression soured. "Dammit, boy, that contraption didn’t come cheap. You think the Karimabi give their toys away for a song?"

"Well, it was either that or risk a dragon catching up with me," Asher shot back, "and I happen to like all of my organs on the inside. Besides," he said, gesturing to the small heap of coins, gems, and jewelry glittering on the table, "it’s not as if we can’t afford a new one."

"That’s not the point," Bozhren said, sighing. "and it’s not just about the money, Ash. When they find that thing, do you think they won’t guess who dropped it? You’ve just given them one more string that ties back to us."

Asher shook his head. "What do you take me for, Bozhren? They won’t find it. I took it apart before I drew out the dragons, and tossed the pieces as I ran. Even if some farrier finds a gear or a piece of the stock in front of his door, it’s not likely he’ll know what he’s looking at, certainly not well enough to tell the guards about it."

Bozhren’s eyebrows rose. "Is that so?" He sat back, pursing his lips. "Well, that’s something, at least."

They both fell silent, settling back into their chairs. Asher looked around the room and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. His hideout was roomy, spacious, with sturdy walls and doors. It wasn’t a manor by any means--but then, a manor wasn’t what he needed. A room to himself, a room for Bozhren, a room for the larder, and a room to sit and make plans made the living situation in the abandoned church downright comfortable.

It was also in the religious district, only two streets away from the temple of Abilar. Inatha, the goddess of service and humility, garnered little popularity in cities like Minok’tan, where the noble houses saw humility as a weakness, and serving was the domain of servants. When Asher and Bozhren arrived a few months ago, the Inathan priest probably would have been less surprised to have his meal interrupted by the goddess herself than by patrons of any kind. It hadn’t taken much convincing at all for the holy man to decide that it was a good time for a sabbatical, and he’d left with a new spring in his step and a new purse full of silver in his hand--for the poor, of course.

The story was much the same in all the cities they’d visited over the past five years. In Vimuh’tan they’d stayed in a shrine to Paitash, god of self-denial, and in Koduh’tan it was a temple to Vafki, goddess of generosity.

It wasn’t that the nobility didn’t acknowledge these members of the pantheon; many manors erected shrines and monuments to one or more of the less popular deities. After all, how else would they know to congratulate each other on their piety? But the houses of worship, the temples, showed the truth of things in Calig. The houses of humility and service, restraint and compassion, stood empty, while the shrines to the gods of ambition and commerce filled almost daily.

Asher felt his good mood turn to brooding, and he looked down into his cup. He’d thought the world was a better place, not too long ago. He’d thought that people were better, even the nobility.

Especially the nobility.

"I know what you’re thinking," Bozhren said quietly, interrupting his thoughts. Asher looked up from his cup, raising his eyebrows at the older man.

"Is that so?"

Bozhren grunted. "Near enough. Why can’t you be satisfied with a job well done, Ash? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to change those people. This," he said, gesturing to the heap of treasure, "what we’re doing, punishing them, that’s the best that can be done by people like you and me."

"It’s not enough," Asher said, shaking his head. "It’s not enough, and it never will be, Bozhren. If I could raise an army and topple every last one of these swine from their gilded thrones--"

"Oh, leave off that kind of talk," Bozhren interrupted, rolling his eyes and heaving himself out of his chair to fetch more wine. "You know it’s not all of them. Not really."

"It’s enough of them," Asher snapped, shoving himself away from the table as well and pacing around the room. "Twenty noble houses in all of Calig, and over a dozen of them have ties to House Magire. That’s more than enough apples to spoil the bunch."

"Don’t try to justify your attitude with platitudes, boy," Bozhren said, narrowing his eyes. "I’ve never known a farmer to throw out half a crop just because the other half had a few worms. What more do you want to do, boy? What more do you think you can do? Are you intending to graduate from burglar to assassin, now?"

Asher opened his mouth angrily, but Bozhren just kept going. "Do you think you’re going to go on the warpath? March straight into Nelok’tan, ghost your way through their manors until you find Gregori Magire, and cut his throat yourself?"

Asher’s teeth clicked shut, and he looked away. After a long moment of silence, the tension bled out of his shoulders, and he sighed.

"No," he said eventually, and he hated how tired his voice sounded. "No, of course I’m not. Gods above, but I’ve got more blood on my hands than I wanted already."

He scrubbed at his face, then gestured to the table. "I just mean . . . are we even hurting them, Bozhren? There’s enough gold here to feed and house three families for three years, but what does that matter when they can just sell off a herd of sheep and a dozen slaves and make it all back?"

Bozhren nodded. "I understand, Ash. You want to feel like you’re making a difference, and you want to see the change happening that you’re trying to make.

"You’re not wrong," the older man continued, setting the pitcher of wine onto the table with a sigh, "I’ll give you that much. But you’re only looking at one corner of the picture, here. They might be able to make this money back, but that’s not the real point. All of these nobles that are in Magire’s pocket, they trust their anonymity to keep them safe. Every time you walk into one of their safe places and take what belongs to them, you’re sending a message."

Asher said nothing. Tonight wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. He knew what his friend was going to say, but he wanted to hear it anyway. He needed to hear it.

"You’re sending a message," Bozhren continued, his voice swelling with conviction with every word, "that nobody who stands with Magire is safe. You’re telling every noble in the country that however secret they think their dealings are, someone knows, and someone is willing to punish them for it. You’re telling them that Magire can’t keep their promises, and that anyone who stands with those leeches will be punished!"

He plunged a hand into the glittering heap on the table and drew out a fistful of wealth, holding it high and letting it clatter back to the table.

"This? This is not the point, Ash. Their money might come back, but not their faith, not their confidence. Every job we do is one more crack in the Magire empire and, sooner or later, it will come crumbling down!"

Asher nodded, his arms folded over his chest, but for some reason he didn’t feel the same warmth, the same conviction, that Bozhren’s words normally stirred in him.

"You’ve been saying that for five years, Bo," he said eventually, his voice quiet. "When is later going to become sooner? Because I don’t see any sign of crumbling."

He looked up to see Bozhren staring at him, the fire of his speech slowly fading until he was just a plump old man again. Bozhren looked down at his hands, his brow furrowed. When he looked up again, Asher saw consideration in his face.

"I’ve heard some rumors, lately," he said as he slowly settled himself back down into his chair. "I hadn’t planned to trouble you with them just yet, but perhaps this is what you need to hear."

Asher cocked his head, curious and walked back to the table. "What kind of rumors?"

"They aren’t new," Bozhren said, "not really. I started hearing whispers over a year ago about House Tychaea. At first I thought it was just more of the same--Tychaea was accepting bribes, inviting important members of House Magire to social functions where they had no business, things like that. I figured if an opportunity presented itself, we’d add them to the list of families to hit."

Asher nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. "That name sounds familiar, but I don’t recall seeing it on any of the vaults I’ve broken into."

"No," Bozhren admitted, "but you probably did see it on a job. Their vault was in Koduh’tan."

Asher’s frown deepened. "But that was six months ago. Why didn’t we hit them then?"

Bozhren shrugged. "We had more important targets. And, truth be told, I’d put them out of my mind, because I’d started to get conflicting rumors. Everything my sources told me said that Tychaea hates Magire, would never stoop to working with them."

"So?" Asher asked. "We’ve heard that before about other houses. Nobody wants to be seen working with them, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t."

"I thought the same thing," Bozhren said, nodding, "so I started to do a little more digging. Two months ago, something turned up. You see, I saw money passing from Magire to Thychaea, and I assumed it was bribes. But then I realized that any business dealings between the two houses were very one-sided--all favoring Tychaea."

He sat back, eyebrows raised expectantly, while Asher worked that through. Ordinarily, if Magire passed bribes to a house, it was an investment, a payment towards facilitating trades that would benefit the leeches in the long run. If Magire was giving bribes and losing money on trades . . .

Asher’s eyes widened. "It’s blackmail. Tychaea is holding something over Magire’s head, something that could potentially ruin the house. Bozhren," he said, rising to his feet, his excitement building, "this could be it! If we can get our hands on whatever Tychaea has on Magire--"

He cut off suddenly, deflating slightly as he looked back at Bozhren. "But we already hit Koduh’tan. It would be madness to try for the same city twice. Their security measures have to be beyond paranoid by now." He shook his head, irritated. "Why did you bring this up if it’s not even a job we can do?"

"Because," said Bozhren, leaning forward, his dark eyes glittering, "whatever they’re holding, it’s not in Koduh’tan. They’ve got it in one of their other holdings, somewhere we’ve never hit before."

Asher cocked his head. "Really? Well, that might actually be possible, then. And if they’ve worked out our pattern, that we’re only robbing from allies of Magire, they’d never see us coming. Have you heard anything about what it is that Thychaea might be sitting on?"

"I wouldn’t be much of a fixer if I hadn’t," Bozhren said, snorting. "I don’t know the exact details of course. If it was all that public, it wouldn’t be worth much as blackmail, would it? But I do know that it’s a book."

"A book?"

"More specifically," the older man said, "a journal."

Asher’s eyebrows shot up. "No. A Magire journal? Whose?"

"The rumor--and it is only a rumor, mind you--is that it’s the private thoughts and workings of Gregori Magire himself."

The room went deathly still. It took Asher a moment to realize that his jaw was hanging open, and his mouth had gone dry. He swallowed hard before speaking.

"That . . . that would be incredible. All of his machinations, his schemes, the houses he’s manipulated over the last few decades--gods above and below, all of his plans!" Asher laughed, the giddy feeling rushing back. "Bozhren, this could be it! This could be the thing that brings the whole house crashing down! Why would you even think of keeping this under wraps?"

"Because it wouldn’t be an easy job," said Bozhren, his own smile fading. "We wouldn’t be hitting a temple, we’d be burgling the manor of a noble house. That’s not something to undertake lightly."

Asher waved a hand dismissively. "That’s perfect, then. It completely goes against the way I normally operate. They’ll never expect it!"

Bozhren hesitated. "You’re right, of course, but it’s not just a matter of difficulty. It’s also a matter of location."

Asher frowned. "What do you mean? I thought you said it was a city we hadn’t hit before."

"We haven’t."

"Then what’s the problem?"

Bozhren blew out a slow breath, his cheeks puffing out, before he spoke. "Do you remember earlier when I mentioned marching straight into Nelok’tan?"

Asher’s stomach dropped, and he felt the smile disappear from his face. "Oh."

"Exactly," Bozhren said, grimacing. "It could be an incredible opportunity, but . . ."

"But it means going back." Asher laughed again, and this time it was hard and mirthless. "Five years of running from Gregori Magire and cutting at him from the shadows, and now we’re talking about walking into his parlor and punching him in the nose."

"I know, Ash," said Bozhren quietly, sighing as he leaned back in his chair. "I wouldn’t have kept this to myself without a good reason. Forget I even mentioned it."

"Oh, of course," Asher said, rolling his eyes. "I’ll just forget that we know about a weapon that could stop the most insidious, most manipulative, most dangerous organization in the country. I’ll just forget that, if we play our cards right, we might be able to put an end to these games once and for all."

"Dammit, boy," snapped Bozhren, "I mean it. This wouldn’t be like any job you’ve ever done, even if walking back into Magire’s home city wasn’t the next best thing to suicide. You think he doesn’t have an army of bounty hunters watching for you? You think every leech and thug in that city won’t know your face?"

"You’re the fix," Asher shot back. "You’ve had your eye on Magire’s finances for the last five years. Does he have an army of bounty hunters waiting around, all just watching for me?"

Bozhren opened his mouth, then hesitated. "I . . . well. Not that I’ve noticed."

"Of course he doesn’t," Asher continued, rising to pace excitedly. "Why spend money out of his coffers when he probably thinks he’ll catch me breaking into a vault sooner or later? And, let’s face it, he’s probably not wrong to think that.

He turned back to his friend, who was looking down into his cup. "I’m running out of tricks, Bozhren. Tonight could have gone very, very badly if that guard hadn’t been shaking in his boots. Next time, it might not be a close call. Next time the dragons might come after me instead of the pigs, or the soldiers might break down the door before I can climb back out."

"Then we lay low," said Bozhren, meeting Asher’s gaze, his eyes determined. "We take cover, keep our eyes and ears open, and wait for a safe target. That’s the smart play, here."

"The smart play is to end the game!" Asher shouted, slapping a hand down onto the table. Coins and gems rattled, and Bozhren sat back, his raising his eyebrows at Asher’s outburst.

Asher closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting some of the tension drain as he blew it back out.

"I’m tired of this, Bozhren. I’m tired of living in abandoned churches and wondering if hired soldiers are going to break down the door. I’m tired of wondering if the next job is the one that ends with a spear in my gut. But, more than anything, I’m tired of feeling like I just can’t win."

He opened his eyes and met Bozhren’s gaze. "So I’m going to ask you for the answer to one question. Do we have a chance?"

The older man eyed him, tapping one finger on the tabletop in a slow cadence. Finally, he nodded.

"Yes. Gods above and below save us and protect us, but yes, I think we have a chance."

Asher felt his face split into a fierce grin. "Let’s get to work, then."

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: Golath’s Place