Thiefling - Naomi M-B (top ten books to read txt) 📗

Prologue: Of Actors and Thieves

“Greetings, Ladies and Gentleman!” declared the tall young man. “And how are we all tonight?” Smiling brilliantly, he gazed out at his audience of thirty or so assorted adults decked out in armour and bearing sharp looking weapons. From his position, perched atop the glass case, he was able to look down on their expressions of shock with ease. As he waited for the moment of surprise to wear off, he did a quick head count, twisting the long white braid of his hair through his fingers as he did. There were thirty, slightly less than had been anticipated but he’d put on a show for them all the same.

Guns were beginning to be pulled from holsters. The gold and ivory barrels of Government issued firearms pointed themselves at him.

“Step away from there,” the Captain ordered, an older woman with thick muscles sitting beneath the skin of her arms and legs.

“But the show has only just begun,” the young man declared. “For my first trick, I shall move through glass,” He glanced to the side as he began to lean. The red light that should have gleamed from the camera was gone. Excellent.

“Don’t move!” The Captain tightened her grip on her gun and the young man paused, staring at her with luminous blue eyes. For a second, everything was still. Then he laughed and plunged his hand straight through the glass.

There were exclamations of surprise and horror. The rest of the guard glanced at the Captain whose eyes were wide with… fear.

“Magic,” she spat before nodding to her lieutenant.

“Open fire,” the younger woman declared, pressing down on the trigger. Energy burst from the end of the barrel. White gold light streaked across the space, quickly followed by dozens of other beams. Laughing ecstatically, the young man leaped from the glass case. High in the air, he paused, floating, and looked down on them.

“Nice try,” he taunted, tossing the gleaming orb he’d just removed from the case from hand to hand. “But for my next trick-” He clicked his fingers and the air exploded around them. Things broke and smashed, the guards scattered trying to seek higher ground and safety. Enemies appeared at vantage points firing at the guards with highly illegal weapons. Red energy tore through the air leaving scorch marks on the ground and walls.

Unseen by all but one, a boy in his mid-teens strolled casually from an alcove. Holding his hand was a tiny girl. They paused to dodge a guard’s fire but then continued on their way.

“Is that really necessary?” the boy asked the young man who was crouched behind the pedestal the glass case was sat upon. The young man glanced up to see a copy of himself flying through the air laughing maniacally, shooting bolts of lightning toward the guards. The little girl stared at it with a curious expression.

“One of them almost hit me,” the young man grumbled, picking at the scorch mark on his sleeve. “They deserve a few weeks of nightmares.”

Muttering to himself, the boy placed his hand onto the glass case. A gleaming blue circle surrounded his hand. It shone with such an intense light that the guards might have noticed if they weren’t so busy running and shooting.

After about a minute, the glass side of the case melted away and the boy plucked the golden orb from its velvet cushion. For a moment, the boy was unsteady. Energy depleted for the time being his feet stumbled beneath him. The lock had clearly been a lot more complex than they had originally anticipated. Judging by the pale white the boy’s face was turning, there had been some kind of energy drain involved.

“Easy there,” the young man whispered, catching his arm and passing the orb to the girl. She stared at it for a moment, the golden light reflecting in her large eyes.

The symbols carved into the device were beginning to glow a bright, angry red. A curse. Placing both palms firmly against it, she closed her eyes. Red light flowed from the orb into her skin. As it faded so did the threat. She collapsed and the young man caught her. “Alright,” he said. “We’ve got it. Let’s go home.” They left through the main entrance, unseen and unheard by the guards as they scurried about. Outside, the night was cool and dark, perfect for slipping away unnoticed. A car was parked for them, tucked out of the way from prying eyes.

The boy collapsed into the backseat, gently placing the girl on his lap. She curled up, the orb pressed against her chest. Head tilted, the young man watched them for a moment, eyes affectionate. Then he sighed and set the engine of the car purring.

As he drove away, he smiled to himself. Almost as an afterthought, he clicked his fingers.

Back inside the gallery, the adversaries vanished, the explosions stopped, all damage not caused by the guard’s themselves ceased to exist. Stumbling to a halt, the Captain stared, chest heaving, around the room.

“What in the name of…” she began but fell silent as her eyes reached the now open and empty glass case. “I hate magic,” she growled as realisation set in.

Of Glamours and Blood

Light filtered in through the east windows of the wide hall. Thick wooden beams served as rafters, spanning from wall to wall. Unlit lamps hung from them by long chains. The warm light of the sun spilled across the long oval table in the centre, cluttered with maps, blue prints and floor plans, the beds and book shelves, chairs and desks, each with its own coating of life’s general detritus.

A large mirror was situated in the centre of the north wall between two massive bookcases. The young man was stood before it, shirtless and with his long hair hanging loosely around him. Leaning forward, he inspected the pale white of his skin only a few shades darker than the ivory mane that hung around it. With a practiced ease, he flicked his wrist banishing the glamour that clung like a second skin to his body. Ice white flesh gave way to dark brown, silver hair melted into blue black. The lashes of his eyes lengthened, darkening as they did so.

Natural appearance restored, he tied his hair back into its usual position. A single braid hung free, ornamented by a silver pendant.

“Tilké?” a voice mumbled from behind him. Turning, Tilké grinned to see his orange haired companion looking a lot less pale than he had been last night.

“Finally awake, eh, Laron?” he laughed, looking back at the mirror. “You slept for like… five hours straight. Even Lyria woke up before you and she usually sleeps like a babe until midday. She’s raiding the sweet cupboard so we might want to stock up sherbet soon.”  Laron grumbled something as he crawled out of bed, his hair a complete mess. Still zombified by sleep’s continued hold over the larger parts of his brain, the boy stumbled over to the kitchen unit to drown his senses in coffee. “Any plans for today?” Tilké called as he compared two tunics that had been folded on the stool beside him.

“Recover,” Laron said, clearing a space on the table for the coffee pot. “Then contact the buyers.”

Deciding on the red one, Tilké pulled it on. “You’ve got some in mind? Already? I was kind of hoping we’d be able to keep it for a bit… try it out… you know?”

Eyebrow raised, Laron stared at him. His eyes were the same intense shade of blue, the mark of a Magi. “Do you even know what this thing does?” Narrowed eyes fixed on his only friend, he held the orb up. “Well?”

“It,” Tilké began, “does… Sorcerer… st…stuff. I don’t know!”

“It hypnotises people,” Laron said, placing it onto the table with a tap. “We can't risk keeping it. Do you have any idea how dangerous it would be if people heard we had it or if it fell into the wrong hands?”

Leaving the lacing undone, Tilké joined him at the table. “Good job we’re selling it to criminals then,” he chuckled, pulling the previous day’s news-telegram out from under a blueprint of the gallery. When there was no response, he looked up again. “It was a joke.”

“I know.” Laron placed his chin against a folded arm and spun the orb gently. “Anyway, it’s Mage stuff.”

Confused, Tilké blinked. “What?”

With the general air of someone who had been forced to explain this one to many times, Laron said, “Mage stuff not Sorcerer stuff. Mages shape magic into a physical form like this; Sorcerers use rituals and ceremonies to perform magic. Wizards,” he continued, deciding that he may as well run through the list. “Use spells and incantations. Vikans, the general population of Magic Users in our country, use runes. Magi use innate and unique abilities passed down through blood. Do you think you’ll remember this time?” There was no reply as Tilké had managed to distract himself with the holographic pictures of the page three girls.

“Nice,” he muttered. “Wait sorry what?” He returned his attention to Laron. “Was any of that worth repeating?”

Exasperated, Laron smacked his head down on the table.

*

“I know the Art Thief is an Icemancer,” one of boy exclaimed to his friends. The four were situated on a table in the local diner, hot chocolates warming their hands

One snorted. “Let me guess. He’s got an Aquamancer girlfriend and Pyromancer sidekick too.” The girl beside him chuckled while the girl across from him rolled her eyes. “For the billionth, Bran, Mancers don’t exist.”

“He’s got the silver hair and skin,” Bran pressed, “kind of unusual for normal magic users.”

“Please,” the girl who’d chuckled scoffed. “You think that’s real? There are such things as glamours you know. You don’t even need to be a skilled magic user to make them now.”

“Nya, just ‘cos you’re a Vikan,” a second girl snapped her, “doesn’t mean you’re always right. I’m with Bran on this one.”

“Thank you, Em.” Bran looked smug.

“Dude,” the other boy laughed. “She only believes it ‘cos you based her project on it. And you only believe it ‘cos you wanna sleep with the dude.”

“Chad!” all three exclaimed. From the table beside them there came a choking, spluttering noise. Bemused, the four students looked around. Two males sat facing one another; the younger of the pair, an orange haired boy in a long blue coat, had his feet on the table and was flicking the catch of a small black case. He looked about their age but none of them could remember seeing him around school before. Or anywhere before for that matter. The noise was coming from the older one, a guy in his twenties, with long dark hair. He was coughing severely, a black coffee in his right hand. There were several splashes of the stuff on the table cloth. Something silver dangled from his braid.

“Dude?” Chad raised an eyebrow. “Y’kay?”

The young man looked up briefly and gave the thumbs up. “Just went down the wrong way,” he explained, voice hoarse. “Blergh.” With a final cough, he