Thief's Curse

by C. Greenwood

  I shook aside the disturbing thought. I could not be robbed of my revenge so cruelly. Not when I was this close to making good on my long-ago vow to avenge my father’s house. I would just have to be patient. I rolled my shoulders to loosen my tense muscles and checked my arrows for the tenth time. I had chosen the finest, strongest shaft from my quiver. Absently I ran my fingers now over the smooth elderwood and the stiff goose feather at the end of the shaft. I had selected a second arrow in case my first shot missed. There was no need for a third. If I missed my mark twice, I wouldn’t get another chance. By the time I could loose more arrows into the multitude, my presence would be realized and my target would have moved.

  The knowledge didn’t concern me. I was a good aim and even better since acquiring my magic bow. It was almost as if the enchanted weapon wouldn’t allow me to miss. The bow leaned cold against my knee now, in easy reach for when the time came. With no hint of impending danger, it had no reason to warm up and glow a warning. With any luck, I wouldn’t need its magical promptings.

  What I might need more, particularly if I failed today, was my amulet. Yet I hadn’t been able to bring myself to put it on since Ferran’s death. I couldn’t get over the fear that it might blur my memories of my brother as it had my recollections of my parents. That was too high a price to pay even for saving my life. So I had left the amulet back at Javen’s house. I also left the silver-and-jasper signet ring that had belonged to my father. That ring had gotten in the way once before, distracting me from my aim during a situation very like this one. I would take no chances of it happening again.

  My thoughts were drawn back to the scene below by the arrival of a handful of newcomers. Escorted by guards who cut a path through the crowd, a party of nobles came down the center aisle. My eye was drawn at once to the sapphire and gold colors of the guards’ uniforms and to the emblem on their backs, a likeness of a gryphon in flight. It was the badge of the praetor of Camdon.

  Immediately I picked him out from among his companions, less by his face, which was indistinct at this distance, than by his walk. The praetor of Camdon was known for his pronounced limp. I searched what I could see of his features, looking for signs of evil. Did he have the appearance of a man who could destroy an entire family for no just cause? No. He didn’t look remarkably cruel. He was just an ordinary middle-aged man with graying hair trailing down to his shoulders and a slightly short and pudgy frame. But that did nothing to allay my hatred. It was even more of an outrage to think of my noble father dying on the orders of this unimpressive nothing of a man.

  The praetor and his party had only just taken their positions among the distinguished persons at the head of the temple when strains of music signaled the start of the ceremony. I ignored the intonations of the robed priest and the reactions of the onlookers. My attention was all for my enemy now. I raised my bow, notched my arrow, and sighted my mark down the long shaft. Like everyone else, the aging praetor faced the sarcophagus and the priest. I would have to shoot him through the back. Once that would have gone against my sense of fair play. But strangely, I felt no qualms now. Unlike the last time I had set out to assassinate a praetor, there would be no wrestling with my conscience today.

  I steadied my aim, feeling sudden perspiration break out on my brow. I knew as soon as I loosed my arrow, the scene below would quickly break into chaos. With this one action, there was a good chance I was signing my death warrant. But right as my nerve faltered, a sudden recollection surfaced from the murky realm of my memory. I recalled the chill of standing in my bare feet one cold morning, pressing my face to the window slit of my prison cell. And out that cell I saw my father on a platform far below, kneeling to place his head on a block. The memory receded to be replaced by another one. As if it were only a moment ago, I saw the top of Ferran’s head disappearing from view for the last time as I lowered him out the tower window.

  An angry voice chanted in the back of my mind that it was all because of the man in front of me. In one way or another, the worst tragedies of my life could be laid at the feet of this one evil man. I wasn’t sure whether the hunger for vengeance came from me or from my magic bow, which often seemed to take on a violence of its own. Maybe this time we were united in our hatred.

  I took one slow calming breath, focused on the target, and released the shaft.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  My arrow flew swiftly and silently across the distance. Then, in the space of two heartbeats, it struck its mark. I lowered my bow and stared at the wooden shaft protruding from the back of the praetor of Camdon.

  For a moment nothing happened. The victim jerked at the impact but remained on his feet. There was no reaction from the people around him who, absorbed in the ceremony, remained oblivious. When the praetor failed to collapse, I reached for my second arrow, thinking to follow my first shot with another.

  But before I could notch the next arrow, a red stain blossomed on the back of the praetor’s pale coat. Seeing it, someone in the crowd screamed, the high-pitched noise rising above the strains of ceremonial music. In the same instant, the victim crumpled to the floor.

  Immediately the scene below erupted into confusion. The music stopped abruptly. The priest performing the ceremony knelt over the fallen man while his nearest noble neighbors cried out for their guards and dashed for cover. The larger mass of onlookers in the back began pushing and shoving for the doors, seemingly determined to escape the crush before any more arrows from invisible enemies could be loosed into the congregation. Everyone was looking fearfully around, trying to pinpoint from which direction the deadly arrow had come. It wouldn’t take them long to focus on the balcony.

  There wasn’t a moment to waste. Clutching my bow, I crouched low and ran doubled over out the balcony entrance and down the dark, lonely corridor that had brought me here. It was a seldom-used passage, one nobody had any cause to travel, except maybe the priests who lived and worked in the temple. Even so, I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t run into one of them. Worse still, I was likely to run into armed guards. It wouldn’t take them long to find their way here. Giving up my original plan to exit through the same side door I had entered, I leaped instead out a narrow window in the passage. The opening let onto a lower level of the temple roof.

  It was bright outside, after the shadowed interior I had come from. Beneath the glare of the sun, I felt exposed. As I ran across the roof, I heard shouts and commotion coming from the grounds below. The city guard were probably shoving through the crowds on the temple steps and in the surrounding gardens, spreading out for a thorough search. I reached the edge of the roof on the quiet south side, the one place that didn’t have a press of people on the ground. Directly below was a small walled garden I was familiar with. I clambered down the side of the temple, using lumps and fissures in the stone as handholds. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I ran to hide among the trees lining the high wall.

  Lifting myself up to the edge, I peered cautiously over the barrier. The open grounds outside were swarming with armed men charging through the milling crowds of confused onlookers. A little distance away, reinforcements were arriving, a line of city guardsmen running up the street toward the temple. I dropped down again and crouched among the shadows, feeling like a hare cornered by hounds. There was no place to escape. All my exit routes were cut off. It was only a matter of time before the searchers reached this little private garden and then my hiding place would be uncovered.

  I could see only one way to go. My bow and quiver of arrows would instantly give me away as the assassin, so I concealed them beneath a tangle of ivy and loose leaves near the wall. If I was lucky, they might escape detection and I could reclaim them later. Then I turned my cloak inside out, in case anyone had glimpsed its flash of purple as I fled the balcony. The gray inner lining was less conspicuous and might help me blend with the gray-clad priests in the temple. Or if I ran into any priests, they might mistake me for one of the harmless multitude from outside who had accidentally strayed into
an area where I wasn’t supposed to be.

  I tried the small door leading from the private garden into the building. Finding it unlocked, I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt strange to be ducking back inside the very place I should be fleeing from. But some instinct told me the best spot to escape detection was right under the noses of the searchers. They would expect me to run and would be watching every street or alley winding away from the temple.

  Creeping softly through the entrance, I found myself in a small room off the kitchen, lined with shelves that held rows of clay jars. Wooden kegs were stacked along the walls. I guessed it was some sort of still room for preserving and storing food or drink. I briefly thought the space empty. I started at a sudden movement from the sole occupant. A silver-haired old man was working at a table, his back toward me. The thick stone walls muffling the sounds of search and pursuit outside, he appeared utterly unaware of the commotion. Likely he had been in here all morning and was oblivious to what had occurred.

  But he must have heard the door closing behind me, because he turned suddenly and spotted me. Looking at the startled elderly priest, a quick thought flashed through my mind. We were isolated here. It would be the easiest possible thing to dispose of the old man before he could cry out, using the sharp knife at my belt. I might hide him under his worktable and proceed on my way unhindered, with no alarm raised. I shoved the dark thought aside after only a split second’s contemplation, disturbed that it had risen so easily. Had I changed so much, lost sight of who I was so badly that it was becoming second nature to murder inconvenient innocents?

  I tried a different approach.

  “Good morning, honored one.” I greeted the surprised priest in as pleasant a tone as I could muster. “I apologize for trespassing, but I was invited to visit a friend here, another honored. Only I seem to have come at a bad time and the main entrance is blocked by crowds. Would it be possible for me to slip through here and look for my friend?”

  The old man’s expression relaxed.

  “Yes, yes, it’s very busy around here today,” he agreed, bobbing his head. “Perhaps you’ve not heard, but they’re holding the praetor’s funeral in the temple this morning.”

  “Yes, I did hear some talk of that outside. If I had only known, I could have come on a better day. But sadly, this is my one morning in town. I would hate to leave without calling on my friend.”

  “And there’s no reason you should,” the old man agreed, wiping his hands on his robe. “If your friend isn’t taking part in the ceremony, he can probably be found easily enough in the priest’s quarters. I can show you through the back passages to avoid the crowds.”

  “I don’t want to take you away from your work,” I protested, alarmed that I might be found out. “I can show myself the way.”

  “Nonsense. I’m happy to accompany you. What’s the name of the friend you’re trying to find?”

  Thinking fast, I blurted the name of the only priest I knew. “Hadrian.”

  “Ah. Young Hadrian, who wishes to be both cleric and warrior,” the elderly priest said. I couldn’t tell whether the hint of amusement in his voice was for me or for Hadrian’s unusual ambitions. “I know right where he’s to be found. Come with me.”

  And before I could argue, he led the way out of the room. As I followed the amiable cleric down a dimly lit corridor, I feared I had made a mistake. I barely knew Hadrian, having met him on only two occasions. We certainly weren’t well enough acquainted that I could expect him to play along with my ruse. He would surely give me away—particularly if he was aware of the assassination and guessed my part in it. He was a good man, Hadrian. Not the sort who would be of any use to me these days. Yet as we continued down the passage leading farther and farther away from the main part of the temple, I could see no way out of my lie. There was nothing to do but follow the gray-robed old man and see what happened next.

  These were lonely corridors we traveled, the thick walls muffling any noises from the outside. It was hard to believe there were crowds of panicked people and a desperate search going on in and around the building. Walking toward the priests’ living quarters, we encountered no one but the occasional gray-clad cleric. But I knew this peaceful state wouldn’t continue. Soon the whole temple would be alerted to the assassination, and even the priests’ private living areas would likely be turned upside down.

  We passed many doorways as we went. To my surprise, the one we finally ducked through led not into a priest’s cell but a library. At least that was what I judged the cozy room to be. There were rows of books in shelves on the walls, and more were stacked or lying open on low tables. It was a small space with room to hold only a couple of chairs. Those were drawn before a fireplace, which on a day as warm as this was unlit. The reading place was conspicuously empty.

  My guide frowned. “This is odd. Hadrian is usually to be found here, studying ancient texts, no doubt daydreaming about the adventures ahead of him. He means to become a priest of the blade, you know. He departs soon for his formal training.”

  I couldn’t have been less interested in Hadrian’s plans. I was trying to work out where I should go from here.

  “Why don’t you sit down and wait?” the elderly priest suggested. “I’ll have a look around, and when I find our friend, I’ll send him your way.”

  I nodded, glad of any excuse to shake my escort. When he was gone, I drew the door closed behind him, shielding myself from the view of any curious passersby. Alone in the quiet room, I debated what my next action should be. I couldn’t hide here indefinitely. The city guard could arrive at any time to search these apartments. But the only exit was the door I had entered through, and I already knew what lay that way, a maze of hallways leading to rooms where the priests ate and slept. I was trapped in this temple with no place left to run or hide. Maybe it had been a mistake not to take my chances on the streets outside.

  I had begun to pace the room when the door suddenly opened. My hand fell to my belt knife. But it was no enemy coming to drag me away. The figure entering the library was a familiar one.

  He was a young man. His age was probably close to mine, but there was a wisdom to his face that made him seem older. He wore his long, dark hair tied back in a warrior’s tail, an unusual look for a priest. More unusual still was the clink of chain mail that could be heard beneath his gray robes when he moved. He also wore a sword at his hip, even inside the temple. I wondered if his fellow priests approved of that.

  “It is you then,” said Hadrian, surveying me from the doorway. “When Honored Damien stopped me in the hall and described a shabbily dressed but courteous young man waiting for me in the library, I wondered.”

  I fumbled for an explanation for my sudden visit. “Yes, I’m in trouble and thought I could use some of your wise counsel,” I said.

  He stepped in and, to my relief, closed the door behind him.

  “I wish I could say I had no idea what sort of trouble you mean,” he answered. “But given the news that’s just reached my ears about the tragedy that struck not half an hour ago, I can’t say I’m without my suspicions.”

  “Tragedy?” I tried to look innocently confused.

  Hadrian said gravely, “I wasn’t at the ceremony, but it seems a visiting dignitary was assassinated during the funeral. I suppose you know nothing about it?”

  I was about to lie when I remembered that Hadrian was a magicker with an ability for sensing the emotions and motives of others. He would surely know if I tried to hide my involvement. So I did what I believed would earn me the most trust from this earnest young cleric— I told the truth.

  I said, “It may look bad. But what happened to the praetor of Camdon was actually a form of justice that was a long time coming. He was an evil man, responsible for the destruction of an innocent family. I can’t explain everything that happened, but I hope, as a future priest of the blade, you can understand what motivated his violent end.”

  Hadrian stared at me hard. I wondered if he was si
fting through my feelings, testing the truth of my words.

  After a moment he admitted, “Whether your claim is true I cannot know. But I sense you believe it is.”

  I began, “I did only what I had to—”

  He held up a hand, cutting me off. “I don’t want to know more. Regardless of the praetor of Camdon’s actions, I can never condone murder.”

  “I don’t ask you to excuse it,” I said. “But I do ask you not to give me up to the searchers. Will you hide me until I can escape?”

  His grave expression remained. “Where is your little brother?” he asked. “I hope you haven’t entangled him in this brutal business.”

  “Ferran is dead,” I said baldly and clamped my jaw tight to smother the emotions those words evoked.

  Hadrian’s face softened slightly. “I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good lad.”

  “In an indirect way, the praetor of Camdon was to blame,” I said.

  “You really mean that,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was an observation from one who had the means to examine my feelings.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Will you help me or not?” I asked.

  Before he could answer, there came a sudden noise from out in the corridor—the echo of feet running down the hall.

  “It’s the searchers.” I realized. “They’re here.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hadrian sprang into action. “This way,” he said, gesturing me to follow him across the room.

  “What’s your plan?” I asked, not seeing how cowering in the corner beside the bookshelves could do me any good.

  He didn’t answer but put a hand to one of the shelves and pressed inward. Slowly the shelf revolved like a door, swinging inward to reveal a shallow recess, a hidden alcove. It was a small space, barely large enough to hold a man.