Thief's Curse

by C. Greenwood

  Before we left Shadow Haven, I looked up a friend. Brig had given me shelter here during a desperate time, letting me spend a night in the small house he shared with his old grandda. I had taken a liking to the young man. More importantly, I trusted him, which could make him useful. I found Brig living alone and learned his grandda had died since we last met. It was obvious my friend had fallen on hard times. He leapt at the chance to join my band of thieves and leave village life behind.

  With our party now larger by one member, we left the settlement and returned to the road.

  Not much later, we encountered a passing train of travelers. It seemed a merchant and his servants were returning from Kampshire, the nearest city to Selbius. Considering the number of valuables they carried, it was surprising they lacked hired guards to protect them. Although my companions and I already had more treasure than we could easily transport, this struck me as an opportunity too good to pass up. Besides, there would never be a better chance to test how we would do as forest brigands. It was a different, bolder way of operating than we had been used to back in town.

  We let the merchant train pass us by and then pulled our wagon over to the side of the lane while we conferred.

  “We don’t want any killing,” I told my followers. “It would draw too much outrage and attention from Selbius.” I didn’t add that I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of murdering innocent people. It sounded weak, and I couldn’t afford to appear soft. “The only way to avoid a fight is to strike fast and overwhelm them with our numbers before they can think how to defend themselves.”

  My followers agreed, and we formed a hasty plan. Leaving one man behind with the wagon, the rest of us left the lane and cut through the trees. Hidden behind a screen of greenery, we managed to outrun the slow wagon train and get ahead of it, then lie in wait and attack from the sides before the handful of confused travelers knew what was happening.

  They were only lightly armed and heavily outnumbered. There was no struggle. Merely threatening our victims with our swords, knives, and cudgels was enough to provoke surrender. We disarmed them, emptied their purses, and helped ourselves to their choicest goods, taking only what was easy to carry. The thief we had left down the road soon came along with our wagon, and we transferred what we had selected from the merchant’s carts to our own. It was done smoothly and quickly. We left no blood or bodies behind, only a displeased merchant and his sons glaring after us and muttering about retribution. I knew they would report the theft when they reached the city. But by then we would be long gone from this spot, having easily lost ourselves deep within the forest.

  I had been worried about how my thieves would perform at what was for most their first highway robbery. Brig in particular had such a gentle manner I wasn’t sure he was up for threatening and thieving. But it went off better than I could have expected.

  Laden now with more “treasure” than ever, we continued on our route. When we reached the right place, we temporarily abandoned the wagon, bundling our goods and supplies to our backs. From here it was a long trek deeper into the forest. Luckily, I had made this journey before and had learned the way by heart.

  When we finally reached the little clearing we searched for, everything was just as it had been the last time I was here. A deep pool of water stood alongside a pile of red rocks that formed a cave where I had sheltered in the past. There was a splashing stream of water running down the side of the cave and falling into the pool below.

  “Friends and outlaws,” I announced to my band, “welcome to Red Rock Camp.”

  I had a good feeling about this place, a sense that it would provide us concealment and refuge for a long time to come.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Over the following days, we settled comfortably into the camp. We made the long trek back and forth from the nearest road, transferring all our possessions from the wagon to the cave. Then, since we no longer had use for them or a convenient way to keep them, we disposed of our horse and wagon, sending Brig to trade them in a woods settlement.

  Next, everyone went to work learning the skills we would need for living any length of time in the woods. We practiced hunting and trapping small game. We collected herbs and berries, dug privies, and kept a watch around the perimeters of our new camp. I had decided we should start out as we meant to go on. Every man in the camp should be capable of surviving in the forest and should come to know the woods as thoroughly as they had once known the backstreets of the city. We must also be mindful that, although the world was as yet unaware of this new band of thieves setting up in the heart of Dimmingwood, that wouldn’t always be the case. Sooner or later, we would have enemies, even out here in the wild.

  We started small, but gradually our little camp grew, as some of our thieves made trips into Selbius. They brought more original guild members out to Red Rock Cave. Our numbers were much smaller than those of the old guild. Half those thieves had split away after the death of the thief king, while others were unwilling to leave families and the city life they knew. But it was a start, the beginning of what I hoped to build into the most successful and feared band of thieves Dimmingwood and the province ever saw.

  I enjoyed those early days in the forest. I liked the freedom and felt as if I had been born to live among the leaves and shadows. Alongside my companions, I learned the skills to exist in the wood and familiarized myself with every rock and tree until I knew Dimmingwood better than the locals. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t running anymore. No longer was I struggling for my very existence every day. More than that, this was a welcome distraction for me. The pain of the past and even the loss of my brother were beginning to fade into the distance.

  As the weeks passed, we continued robbing travelers and trading with the woods villages. We found the little settlements dotting the forest useful and never made trouble for the inhabitants. I learned from Brig that our band was quickly developing a reputation among the locals. To my amusement, it seemed stories abounded about the ruthlessness and cunning of the captain of this gang of thieves. Despite the fact I ordered my followers to avoid murdering our victims, I was widely believed to be merciless and bloodthirsty. Because of this, folk from the surrounding villages had given me a name. For all the blood supposedly spilt at my hands, they called me Rideon the Red Hand.

  * * *

  The seasons turned. Fall gave way to winter, and the cold days and nights brought my gang of outlaws fresh challenges. I was so occupied adjusting to my new life that it was easy to forget I had left one final piece of unfinished business back in Selbius. I was reminded of this one chilly morning when a messenger from the city arrived at Red Rock Camp. His was a familiar face, one of our thieves who traveled back and forth between forest and town. He came bearing a message that he said had been brought in by one of our messenger pigeons.

  As soon as I opened the note, my heart sank. I recognized the elegant script swirling across the page. The message was simple: It is time.

  I knew what that meant. Tarius had grown tired of waiting on me to act on our agreement. He had given me time to work out the details of my final job for him, and I had put the matter off. I could do so no longer. I didn’t like the idea of destroying Habon. For Ada’s sake, I wished Tarius’s brother no harm. More than that, it was irksome that Tarius still thought to give me orders, even at this distance.

  But if I didn’t kill Habon, Tarius was fully capable of finding a way to do it on his own. One way or another, he would be praetor of this province one day. His ambition left me in no doubt of it. And when that time came, it would be best for me and my band if he had no reason to feel a personal bitterness against us. If I hoped he would turn a blind eye to our growing operation within the forest on his doorstep, I needed to buy his friendship. There was only one way to do that.

  Or was there?

  An idea nudged at the back of my mind. Crumpling Tarius’s missive in my fist, I began working out a plan. It was a delicate scheme, its success dependent
on details and timing. If anything was off, the whole thing would be doomed to failure. I began making my arrangements right away.

  First I used my messenger to get word to Ada in Selbius. I sent her a letter of instructions on exactly what she must do. I only hoped she could guarantee Habon’s cooperation. Without him, the entire thing would fall to pieces.

  It would take some days to get her response back, but I already knew what it would be. Although I hadn’t given her all the information, Ada knew me well enough to believe in the danger and to trust in my mysterious plan. I only hoped her faith in me wasn’t misplaced.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was just after dawn when I first spied the column of riders snaking into view. I lay low, clinging to a branch of a thick tree overhanging the road. Concealed among the green leaves, I watched the approaching party that would soon pass directly beneath me. There were fewer than a dozen armed soldiers riding beneath the banner of a black bear against a scarlet field—the crest of the praetors of Ellesus. At their head rode the familiar straight-backed figure of Habon, Tarius’s brother. He was flanked on either side by men in black armor. I believed those were called the Iron Fists, the late praetor’s personal guards. They were a tough-looking bunch and heavily armed. But I was relieved to see we would have them outnumbered twice over.

  My thieves waited on either side of the road, hidden like me among the leafy boughs, behind thick tree trunks, or beneath screens of shrubbery. They awaited my signal. But I didn’t give it. Not yet.

  I steadied myself on my perch and drew my bow around from where it was slung across my back. The weapon felt faintly warm to the touch, but it wasn’t glowing yet. I hoped when it did the concealing leaves and branches all around would prevent it capturing unwanted attention. Never taking my eyes off the nearing party of soldiers, I selected an arrow from my quiver and notched it to the bowstring.

  Did Habon look uneasy as he led his men out of the open sunshine and into the shadowed edge of Dimmingwood? I couldn’t read his face from this distance. But I had to admire the way he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, resisting the temptation he must have felt to look left or right. He knew we were here but not at exactly what point he would encounter us. All I had told Ada to inform him was that his life was in immediate danger from a close, nameless source and that his only hope of escaping imminent death lay in allowing himself to be “kidnapped,” snatched from beneath the noses of his guards. For this reason he had been directed to invent an excuse to journey from Selbius to Kampshire at the time and day I specified. He was to travel by the path I chose and to bring as few companions as he could manage. Because I suspected he wouldn’t agree otherwise, I had given assurance none of his guards would be harmed—a promise I privately knew I couldn’t keep.

  I recounted them now, as the party followed the road drawing them closer to our waiting ambush. I was looking for a particular face, one I had instructed that Habon must bring with him today. Had he done as I wished?

  He had. I gritted my teeth as I spotted the familiar figure I was looking for, riding at the back of the line. Hatred rushed through me. But I mustn’t let my emotions distract me from the moment.

  The troop was passing directly beneath me now. I gave a low birdcall I had practiced, the signal for my thieves to spring into action. Without waiting for a response, I drew back the arrow notched to my string and let it fly.

  The shaft shot through the air and struck the sword arm of the black-armored guard riding nearest Habon. Instantly I followed the shot with another aimed at immobilizing the guard on his other side. My magic bow seemed to guide me, as I loosed one arrow after another on the soldiers below. True to my word, I tried to avoid killing shots, but it was hard to know how well I succeeded in the confusion.

  Horses reared and riders shouted as they struggled to bring their mounts under control. Many fell to the ground, wounded. The ring of steel echoed through the wood as swords were drawn. Before my targets could tell from what direction the danger came, thieves descended upon them. Dropping out of tree branches or bursting out of the surrounding bushes, my men overwhelmed the outnumbered soldiers. I had to stop firing arrows for fear of hitting my own people.

  Replacing my bow with my black-bladed sword, I swooped down from the boughs and landed in the middle of the fray. I found myself face-to-face with the one enemy I had ordered my thieves to avoid, the one I had instructed Habon to bring with him. I would deal with this one myself.

  My foe must have known I was looking especially for him. I could see the recognition in his eyes as he gripped a sword and advanced on me.

  Looking at the three-cornered hat pulled low over his forehead and the familiar livid scar standing out angrily against his chin, I was unexpectedly shaken. I had waited a long time for this moment, and now I found myself too frozen to act. A memory flashed through my mind of my last struggle with this man back in the tower room of Selbius Castle. I had been fighting him right at the moment when Ferran’s rope had come untied and my brother had plunged to his death. Another memory raced through my head, the dark night when the old servant Cadvan had deposited Ferran and me in the black carriage. The scarred man had carried us away out of the province and then delivered Ferran into the hands of an enemy. This Valko, servant of the late praetor, had much to pay for.

  Jolted out of my paralysis, I raised the Thief’s Blade just in time to block his descending blow. His sword slid down mine with a screech of metal. Feeling my enemy’s superior strength in the pressure of the blade, I knew I would have only speed to counter with. I was small and fast and had been trained long ago by my father’s sword master. I summoned up that training now and launched an assault against my foe. Taken aback by the violence of my attack, my enemy gave ground.

  I was vaguely aware of the commotion around us, of my thieves warring with the armored Iron Fists. But locked in my own personal battle, all my concentration was on Valko and the furious desire to destroy him. Seemingly recovering from his initial surprise, my foe put his strength behind his blade and used it like a hammer to batter my sword down. When my sword arm was too weak to block his next blow, he broke through my defense. He scored my forearm with a quick cut before I managed to drive him off. It was a shallow wound, but the sting was distracting. My sleeve was immediately wet with blood. I used the pain and the anger to dart past Valko’s guard. My quick blade found its mark, and I plunged it deep into the belly of my enemy.

  It happened so fast I was as surprised as my foe. I could only stare as red blossomed across his tunic. His weapon slipped from his fingers to fall to the ground. A second later, he followed it, landing face down upon the dew-covered grass.

  I stood over my enemy, waiting to feel some sense of relief, of triumph. But it was a hollow victory, come too late to do Ferran or anyone else good.

  I became aware again of what was going on around me. My thieves had injured and disarmed the other soldiers and were now driving them away. They had been remarkably successful at obeying my order to kill only if necessary. Just one body—Valko’s—lay upon the ground. This wouldn’t do, I remembered.

  I approached one of the few foes who remained fighting. Habon had been knocked from his horse but was still on his feet. To my eye, it was obvious he struggled only enough to put on a show for his men. He wasn’t trying to win. I walked directly behind him. While he was distracted by Dradac and Kinsley, I struck him on the back of the head with the hilt of my sword. He dropped like a stone to the ground.

  Seeing the heir to the praetorship seemingly dead, the last remaining guards still struggling to defend him left the fight and fled. We gave chase, driving them off down the road until all that could be seen of them was the dust kicked up by their horses.

  As soon as they were gone, I returned to the scene of the fight to find Habon just beginning to stir on the ground. I went to stand over the praetor’s fallen son.

  “This will go faster if you’re awake,” I told Habon. “Get up.” I offered him a hand.
>
  He stared at it, then at my face. His surprise was evident. “You’re the one behind this scheme?” he asked. “When Ada told me I was in danger and someone wanted to help, I never thought of the Camdon congrave’s son.”

  “If you had known it was me, you might not have come,” I pointed out. “It was best to keep you in the dark.”

  It was true. I could see in his eyes that when he looked at me he saw an assassin, one who had coldly murdered the praetor of Camdon at the funeral in the temple. I looked little better now, in the role of forest brigand. But he would just have to trust me.

  I said, “We need to exchange your clothing for his.” I nodded toward Valko’s lifeless body nearby. “Start getting undressed while I strip the corpse.”

  Habon followed my gesture toward the dead servant. “You’ve failed to keep your word,” he accused. “You swore none of my men would be harmed in this.”

  “He’s not your man; he was your father’s creature,” I answered shortly. “And believe me, he was far from innocent.”

  “You have some grudge against him,” Habon observed. “That is why you especially instructed I was to include him in the company.”

  I looked at my vanquished enemy, lying dead upon the ground. “Yes, I had a grudge against him.”

  I said no more as I began to strip the corpse.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Habon followed my directions to undress, although I could see he was confused. As soon as I had the dead body unclothed, I transferred Habon’s clothing onto Valko. Understanding began to dawn on the face of the praetor’s son as I gave him the dead man’s things to put on.

  But he was skeptical. “I see your plan,” he said. “But you’ll never carry it off.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said.