Thief's Curse

by C. Greenwood

  I didn’t forget that I needed to avoid detection by the majority of the thieves’ guild, those who were still loyal to their leader. I was also mindful that it had been only a few weeks ago I was executed by the late praetor of Ellesus. There was a slim possibility some of his personal guard who had been present that day might recognize my face if they passed it in the street. It was an unlikely scenario. They would hardly be looking for one they had last seen hanging dead in a tree. All the same, I would take no chances.

  I disguised myself in a set of borrowed clothes from Javen that were little more than rags worthy of a beggar. I left my magic bow behind in his rooms, for it was a distinctive weapon I might be recognized by. Even though it was a warm day, I donned a tattered brown cloak I had also borrowed, arranging its folds to subtly conceal the Thief’s Blade at my hip. Then I set out from the ragged quarter. With the morning sun warm on my shoulders, I took a series of backstreets that led me to the market.

  I arrived to find the usual bustle and noise at such a busy hour of the day. As I mingled with the crowd, I intended to make my way toward the butcher’s shop to try to strike up a conversation with the gossipy butcher. His knowledge of the goings-on in town was legendary. It should be easy to casually turn the conversation toward the impending arrival of the dignitaries from neighboring provinces and learn when my enemy, the praetor of Camdon, was expected to reach Selbius.

  But my plans were interrupted when I noticed a commotion on the corner ahead of me. A stoop-shouldered old man behind a seller’s stall was being harassed by a well-dressed youngling around my age, who was ranting at him and overturning items on display. Their raised voices drew a small crowd who gathered to watch the scene. Curious, I worked my way to the front of the spectators.

  “You call these magic charms?” the dark-haired young man was demanding. He snatched up a tray of what appeared to be feathers, bits of bone, and shells tied to strings. “They’re nothing but rubbish, overpriced at a single copper!”

  He smashed the tray onto the ground, where its contents scattered across the cobbles.

  The frightened-looking seller tried to protest. “But young master, those enchanted items come all the way from the Black Forest—”

  The young man interrupted him, snatching up a stoppered vial filled with some purplish substance. “And no doubt this is a powerful potion of priceless worth,” he scoffed. “Or more likely plain water mixed with the juice of bitterberries, a poison to anyone foolish enough to believe in its healing properties.”

  He removed the stopper, turned the bottle upside down, and poured its colorful contents across the remainder of the seller’s wares spread over the table.

  The old man made feeble sounds of complaint but seemed afraid to defend his property. I looked around at the gathered onlookers and wondered why no one intervened on the elderly seller’s behalf. Some in the crowd averted their eyes, as if uncomfortable, but none voiced objection to the destruction of the aged one’s property. Perhaps it was because the violent young man was flanked by a couple of burly companions who stood menacingly in the background, discouraging outside interference.

  “Tell me, is there anything here that isn’t worthless, anything that contains actual magical properties?” sneered the youth.

  The seller’s eyes were wide with distress. He poked nervously at the scattered goods in front of him. “I have a genuine book of spells said to reveal the mysteries of trained magic,” he offered.

  “Genuine.” The troublemaker snorted. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  He snatched up the ancient-looking tome indicated, tucked it under his arm without paying for it, and whirled to leave.

  It wasn’t until he turned around that I glimpsed his face. I stared in shock. I recognized his heavily oiled hair, the fine cut and rich velvet fabric of his clothing, the many rings glittering on his fingers. Most of all, I recognized the icy eyes that flickered across the crowd with aloof contempt.

  That cold gaze stopped when it fell upon me. Tarius, second son of the praetor of Ellesus, paused in midstep, gaping. I couldn’t blame him. He was the last person I had expected to see, but his surprise must have been even greater than mine. The last time he saw me, I had been hanging dead from a tree, executed for the attempted assassination of his father.

  He gave a shake of his head as if questioning what his eyes said was before him.

  I began to back away through the press. I had to get out of this crowd, reach an open space where I could lose myself in the warren of offshooting alleys and backstreets.

  But I hadn’t gone a dozen paces before the praetor’s son recovered from his shock and returned to his senses. “Seize him!” he shouted, pointing a long finger right at me.

  The pair of big men flanking him weren’t just companions, I now realized. They were plainly dressed bodyguards, each armed with a sword. They drew their weapons now and plunged after me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I attempted to duck through the throng of spectators. But I was too slow.

  Almost immediately I was roughly snatched and dragged at sword point out of the mob. With Tarius marching ahead of us, clearing a path through the curious onlookers, I was half pushed, half hauled across a little distance to a carriage standing at the edge of the market square. It was a grand vehicle painted in black and gold and bearing the crest of a rearing bear.

  A carriage door was drawn open, and I was about to be roughly shoved inside. At a brief command from Tarius, his men stopped and searched me for weapons first. I didn’t protest as they took away my belt knife and even the precious Thief’s Blade. Doubtless they didn’t recognize the black sword’s significance. Anyway, I had greater concerns than getting it back.

  After being disarmed, I was pushed into the carriage after Tarius. The young noble made an impatient gesture for his bodyguards to leave us alone. They stepped away from the door but remained at the ready only a few steps away. Frowning as if displeased by their closeness, Tarius rapped at the roof of the conveyance, signaling the driver to move on. The carriage lurched forward, the noise of wheels and horses’ hooves ringing across the cobbles.

  Tarius leaned forward and drew the curtains over the window, casting the interior in shadow. Only when we were alone at last, with no one within earshot, did he seem satisfied. Sinking back against the cushioned seat opposite me, he appeared to have recovered his cool.

  I was far from relaxed beneath the scrutiny of his lazy gaze. He eyed me with the half interest of a hawk deciding whether to destroy its captive prey or save it for later. I contemplated making a sudden leap out the door of the moving vehicle. I wondered how far I would get before one of the armed servants riding at the front and back of the carriage ran me down.

  “So. My father’s would-be assassin has risen from the dead,” Tarius said as comfortably as if he were making an observation about the weather. “I confess myself surprised. The last time I saw you, you didn’t look in any condition to claw your way back from the grave.”

  “As I remember, I wasn’t given any grave,” I returned. “You left me dangling in the tree your father hanged me from.”

  “Yes, an unfortunate turn of events,” he said. “But having failed in the task I assigned, you could hardly expect me to intervene in your execution and claim you as my own broken tool. I had to distance myself or be dragged down with you.”

  “I expected nothing different,” I agreed.

  “And yet by some miracle you cheated death?”

  My mind flashed to the magic amulet now hidden in my traveling pack back at Javen’s house. But I had no intention of revealing how it had reclaimed me from the darkness.

  “Yes, I survived,” I lied. “Friends cut me down and revived me before I was quite strangled.”

  “A lucky escape,” he observed, lifting a dark brow. “We could all use such strokes of good fortune.”

  “You seem to be doing all right,” I pointed out. “From what I hear, you finally got what you wanted—the death
of the old man.”

  “Yes, patience has its rewards.”

  He didn’t say whether his father’s passing was natural or if he had hastened it along by poisoning, and I didn’t ask.

  My eyes fell on the thick tome he still held under one arm, the book of spells taken from the seller in the market.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in such things,” I said, indicating the book.

  He shrugged lazily. “Through my reading I have developed an interest in collecting powerful objects of enchantment. Magic has its uses. Observe.”

  He drew a decorative, jewel-studded dagger from his belt and unhesitatingly sliced the blade across the palm of his hand. Instantly red blood seeped from the wound. Then he covered the injured hand with his good one and muttered some strange words I couldn’t make out under his breath. When he showed me the site of the wound again, the cut was healed as if it had never been.

  It would’ve been an amazing show if I hadn’t already been aware of the healing powers possible with magic. Next to what my amulet had done for me, this was nothing. Still, I tried to look suitably surprised as if I had never witnessed such a thing.

  “Impressive,” I said.

  “Yes, I’ve learned a few little tricks. However, I have no time for frauds and pretenders—and even less for the primitive people this magic seems most frequently found among, such as the river folk and those of Skeltai origins. Those ‘magickers’ cannot be trusted with power. It should be centered only in the hands of the wise and the worthy.”

  “Meaning those like yourself.”

  “Of course. With time and study, I mean to acquire more of the skills of magery.” He withdrew a clean silk handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe away the lingering smear of blood on his palm.

  I said nothing, but in my head I seemed to hear the voice of Hadrian, a priest I had befriended sometime back.

  “Magery, or trained magic, is a dark skill. It involves capturing power and forcing it to do one’s will, often through the use of charms and spells. I prefer the term ‘magicker,’ one who is born with the gift but only coaxes it, not manipulating. Not everyone agrees with my definition, and some possessors of the ability blur the line between magery and magickery. But I like to think most of us respect magic in its freest, most natural form, without all the potions and enchanted objects.”

  I knew exactly what Hadrian, a good man, would think of the ambitious Tarius’s use of trained magic for personal gain.

  But Tarius’s desire for power and how he meant to use it weren’t my problems. Just now, I was more concerned with the reason I had been snatched off the street. As our carriage clattered over the cobbles, I wondered where I was being taken.

  Tarius seemed to read my mind. “Have no fear,” he said. “We’re just circling the city to buy us time for a private conversation. You’ll be deposited back exactly where I found you when we’re done.”

  I chose my words carefully, mindful of the dangerous position I was in. “I thought our dealings were already done. With the death of your father, surely you’ve achieved everything you wanted. I see no more part for me in this business.”

  He tilted his head to one side and eyed me speculatively. “And yet it’s interesting that you surface when you do, just two days before the ceremony marking the praetor’s death. Given what I once told you about the gathering of the heads of the provinces for events like this one, it makes me curious. Tell me, are you planning to kill your old enemy, the praetor of Camdon, at the ceremony?”

  I stiffened. It was disconcerting to have my intentions recognized so easily.

  As if reading that thought too, he twitched his lips in a humorless smirk. “One devious mind understands another,” he said. “If you’re still fixed on destroying the ruler of your home province, I can help you.”

  This time my surprise was unfeigned. “How can you do that?”

  “With information and cooperation. I know the funeral plans. Who do you think arranged them? Certainly not my dear brother. He’s too preoccupied with the stress of his new responsibilities as he prepares to assume the praetorship.”

  His jaw flexed, the only indication of how he felt on that topic.

  He continued, “I can tell you where everyone will be positioned within the temple on the great occasion. There will be security at such a gathering of important persons. But I can ensure you have the necessary opportunity to slip into the place.”

  “Why?” I asked, confused. “What interest do you have in my feud with the praetor of Camdon?”

  “Perhaps I only wish to see justice done,” he suggested. “The man killed your innocent father, one of his own nobles out of jealousy for his popularity with the people. And in a way, he was also responsible for the death of an heir to the congrave, your own brother. Yes, I’m aware of what occurred when he attempted to escape the castle tower that night.”

  Now it was my turn to tighten my jaw. But I quickly smothered the emotions that arose at the memory of Ferran’s death.

  Aloud, I only said, “In my experience, favors don’t come cheaply. If you’re willing to help me avenge my family, you must expect to receive something in return.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “How cynical you are. Still, if you felt obliged to repay my good deed in the future, I’m sure we could work something out.”

  It wasn’t the kind of deal I liked to make, one with a price to be determined at a future date. But what choice did I have? With Tarius already knowing my plans and free to betray me at any time, my hands were tied. If I wanted a shot at my enemy, this ruthless young noble was my best chance to get it. I agreed to accept his help.

  CHAPTER TEN

  That was how I found myself, two days later, crouching in a shadowed balcony overlooking the grand hall in the Temple of Light. I had been in contact with Tarius over the past couple of days, working out the plan. Thanks to his arrangements, a certain side door to the temple had been left carelessly unlocked this morning. When I crept in just before dawn, I already knew which passages would be clear.

  Although I had never before been inside the impressive building, Tarius had given me all the directions I needed on the interior layout. When he sketched out for me the intended positions of the priests, the congregation, and the important guests during the ceremony, I immediately recognized I would get my best shot from above the gathering. In fact, it was the only way I would get into a crowd of that size with a weapon as conspicuous as my bow and stand any chance of getting out again after my work was done.

  I had arrived early and waited for hours, knowing the ceremony wouldn’t begin until late morning. Now I sat concealed in the shaded balcony, suspended halfway between the soaring vaulted ceiling and the polished floor far below. From this ideal vantage point, I looked down over the heads of the assembled persons and listened to the low hum of their voices, a somber, indistinct echo that rose above the multitude. Lesser guests were still filtering through the broad double doors into the impressive hall. But local rulers and heads of neighboring states were already present.

  All was just as Tarius had described. A stone sarcophagus housing the remains of the late praetor of Ellesus stood at the front of the chancel, before the altar and the head priest. Arranged nearest him in order of rank and importance were his kin, his nobles, and the other rulers who had come to pay him respect. There were only a few dozen persons so closely placed. Farther distant, a larger crowd gathered in the nave, this collection made up of several hundred folk come to see the spectacle. Those were no beggars or rough laborers but the respectable middling sort, classed below the nobles but well off enough to have gained entrance to such a grand occasion.

  Outside on the steps and grounds, I knew, pressed a still larger crowd of Selbius’s common and impoverished people, hoping for a look of their betters as they entered and exited the temple. I caught glimpses of them every time the great doors opened to admit another stream of distinguished guests. The city guard and the praetor’s own pe
rsonal guard, now under the orders of Tarius’s elder brother, would be stationed at strategic points to keep the crowd under control. The vast temple was filled to bursting, even side rooms and passages full of spectators trying to be near the proceedings. Only the cells where the temple priests slept and the smallest corridors to and from their areas of work would be clear.

  I took in all these details as advantages or obstacles I would have to work around. But my main focus was fixed on that ring of nobles at the front of the hall. At the head of the gathering, I spotted Tarius. Looking utterly undistracted, he kept his attention on himself and his surroundings, resisting the temptation he must have felt to look my way and ensure I was in position. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it. He was decked in fine scarlet clothing and a fur-lined cloak that was unnecessary on such a warm day. His jeweled brooches, rings, and ceremonial dagger flashed in the morning sunlight falling through the temple windows. Everything about his dress and stance shouted a determination to be noticed, to have his importance acknowledged.

  His older brother stood beside him, looking more solemn and dignified in a formal, military-style costume of deep black trimmed with gold braid. I had only met the heir to the praetorship once before, and he had taken no notice of me, thinking me a delivery boy. But I was struck now, as then, by the differences between the two young men. Their physical appearances might have been alike, but their dissimilar attitudes were obvious. Privately, I had no doubt Habon was the better man of the two.

  Dismissing the sons of the dead praetor from my mind, I moved my attention to those around them. My curiosity was far from idle as I scanned the faces in the group of nobles, looking for the one familiar figure that had brought me here today. I had seen the praetor of Camdon only once in my life, and I had been a child at the time. Despite the changes to my memory caused by the magic amulet, I had no doubt I would know the man when I saw him. If memory failed, some sense would surely tell me when my eyes lit on the murderer of my father, the persecutor of my family. But he wasn’t here yet. What if his plans had changed and he had no intention of arriving?