Legends of Dimmingwood 02:Betrayal of Thieves

by C. Greenwood

  I smothered my initial instinct to leap down from the block and put this place behind me. I was hidden in the crowd. There was no reason why anyone should notice me. So I kept still and watched the passing procession. It appeared the Fists were functioning as bodyguards today, accompanying a host of noblemen and ladies. Judging by the hunting gear and the dogs dashing around the horses' hooves, this was a hunting party, returning from the inland to the Praetor’s keep.

  I observed the finery of the elite class of Selbius society with interest. The ladies wore heavily embroidered dresses with flowing skirts, even while riding, and ankle boots that looked too soft for much walking. The men wore fashionably cut silks and velvets under cloaks so long they trailed down the hindquarters of their mounts. Many sported the same thin triangle of hair on their chins that Fleet wore and this, combined with their vain expressions, reminded me so much of the street thief I could have laughed.

  But the urge to do so evaporated as a fluttering motion drew my eyes to a pennant held aloft at the fore of the procession. The emblem of a black bear against a field of scarlet belonged to the house of Tarius, as did the FIDELITY and SERVICE motto beneath. I’d read those words many times on my mother’s brooch, but encountering them here so unexpectedly was startling. And when my gaze dropped from the pennant to the man riding beneath, I felt as if I had been doused with cold water.

  He was no stranger to me, this middle-aged man in black leather. His face was older, harder than it had been when last I saw him, but he had kept his fit soldier’s physique and his hair was as black as I remembered. More importantly, he exuded the same power and confidence I had sensed on that day so many years ago when I spied on him in the soldiers’ camp at Journe’s Well. I thought of him then as the dark man and he still fit that description.

  It was as if I stepped back into my childhood self and there I was again, crouching beside my mother on that rock, the two of us looking down on the one she said would be a great man one day. How had I not known until this moment that the dark man and the Praetor were one and the same? I felt my mother was with me even now, reaching across the barriers of time and death to impart a final secret.

  On a wild whim, I opened up my senses and let the full force of all the life around me come flooding in. I was overwhelmed by the magic at first, drowning in a sea of emotions, resentments, fears, and hungers. It took me a moment to steady myself, filter out the jumbled feelings of the surrounding crowd, and focus on one man alone.

  When my mind made contact with the Praetor’s, the force of the meeting was like a hammer’s blow. I felt his very essence more powerfully than I ever felt that of any other. For a brief instant, I knew him down to the finest nuances of his being, the deepest secrets buried in the recesses of his mind. I knew hopes and terrors even he had forgotten. Memories that weren’t mine poured through me—the taste of a wine he hadn’t drank since he was a boy, the long ago excitement of pouring over maps in his father’s study, the clear recollection of his mother’s voice...

  Lost inside the Praetor’s mind, I didn’t immediately notice the outward change in him. He had been speaking to a companion at his side, but his words cut off abruptly and he jerked as if stung by a wasp. He whipped his head from side to side and then something drew his gaze right to me, even lost as I was in the crowd.

  When those cold eyes settled over me, I froze like a hare sighting a fox, heart thrumming against my ribcage, mouth suddenly so dry it might’ve been filled with dust. With a guilty start, I tried to withdraw from his mind and slip back into mine, but something in him grabbed hold of my consciousness, an unfamiliar magic stronger than any I had encountered. It refused to let me go. Realizing in a panic that if I had achieved such a complete glimpse into his memories, he could sift just as easily through mine, I struggled harder to extricate myself.

  Fate intervened then. One moment I was locked in a hopeless struggle between my magic and that of the Praetor. The next, a third party stepped into the fray, plucking me loose from the Praetor’s grasp and pulling me into the safety of my own self.

  I was vaguely aware of being physically grabbed by the arm and dragged down from the block where I had stood. Dazed, I stumbled stupidly and someone took hold of me around the waist, another person pulling my arm over his shoulder. Together my rescuers supported and propelled me through the oblivious crowd.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A short time later, I found myself seated in a corner of the crowded common room of an inn. Hadrian was at one end of our narrow table, while Fleet sat opposite him, his back to the wall so no one could approach our gathering without us becoming aware of them. I was caught in the middle between my two friends, without commanding the attention of either.

  I stared at the dented mug in my hands. At first, the drink served to clear my head, as Fleet promised it would, but after two rounds it was beginning to have the opposite effect, leaving me thick-headed and irritable. The noise in the common room, combined with exhaustion after my recent ordeal, awoke a dull ache in the back of my skull. Or maybe that was the effects of the drink, I thought, staring suspiciously into its murky depths.

  “You aren’t listening to what I say,” Hadrian reprimanded me. At least, I thought it was me he was speaking to, before I realized it was Fleet he addressed.

  “It was no magicker who attacked Ilan,” Hadrian said. “If anyone other than her had been wielding the talent, I would have sensed it and I didn’t. All I was aware of was her magic and that it was in some kind of trouble. I used mine to drag her back into herself, but I couldn’t see what she was fighting.”

  Somewhere along the way, we crossed over the point where we didn’t discuss magic in front of Fleet. I had been too much affected by my encounter in the street for pretense and had spilled the whole story to them both after their timely rescue. I have to give Fleet credit. Unsettling as the average person would have found it to discover himself in the presence of a magicker, the street thief absorbed the shock with typical aplomb.

  “You stick to your spell casting and poofs of smoke, priest,” he was saying now. “And leave me to determine when there’s danger afoot and from what direction it comes. I have your mysterious magicker for you. Living on the streets has endowed me with certain instincts, and when I look at the Praetor I see menace and magic, one as clear as the other.”

  He was following a familiar vein but one neither of us had been able to persuade the priest to believe.

  Hadrian said dryly, “How interesting that you didn’t see ‘menace and magic’ before today.”

  Fleet shrugged. “I never really looked for it before. Not in him,” he said. “I turn my head the other way when I see the Praetor or his friends coming down the street in their fancy carriages. There’s nothing in the kingdom valuable enough to be worth the risk of slipping my hand into one of their silk purses. It’d be the chopping block for me for sure.”

  He chopped a hand down on the scarred tabletop for emphasis, rattling our mugs.

  “Lower your voice, you idiot,” Hadrian commanded, using a filthy rag at the end of the table to sop up the drops that had sloshed over the lip of his cup. “They don’t execute by beheading in the province, but I’ve no desire to sample the more local means of justice we’ll soon find tightened around our necks if you keep bellowing out secrets like they’re for sale.”

  “The Praetor is a mage,” I said quietly. “That’s why you couldn’t sense his kind of magic, Hadrian. It’s not the Natural sort.”

  The bickering came to a brief halt and two heads swiveled to look at me as if they had forgotten I was there.

  “You finish your drink,” Hadrian ordered sharply.

  Then they returned to their argument. Reluctantly, I did as I was told. No one cared for my opinion. They heard all the explanation I had to offer and decided it was between the two of them to figure out what really happened. How did it come to this? I asked myself a little resentfully. I was in command of the situation when we set out this morning, but
since the Praetor’s attack, if attack it had been, all authority had been snatched from my hands, to be wrestled back and forth between my companions.

  “I brought her to get a look at the boy,” Hadrian was saying. “How was I to know what would happen? I had no idea she had magic-wielding enemies.”

  He looked at me as if I had intentionally neglected to tell him that fact.

  Tired of being chided and talked over, I shook off the lingering effects of the incident and stepped back into my usual role.

  “I don’t believe it was a deliberate attack,” I put in firmly. “I think someone, a magicker, sensed my talent and was merely attempting to take my measure. It seems certain it was the Praetor, since I was already linked to him, but I cannot prove it to satisfaction, so make of that what you will.”

  “But I would have—”

  I cut off Hadrian’s protest. “I know. You would have been aware of his talent if it was Natural, but isn’t it possible you would fail to sense Trained magic?”

  Hadrian’s face darkened and I knew he didn’t like discussing unnatural forms of magic. He felt I took too much interest in them. But I refused to ignore what looked like the most obvious answer.

  “You have your opinion,” he replied. “But the truth is, we may never know who or what it was you encountered with your magic. And all of this is a far cry from what I had planned for the day. I’m afraid we’ve lost sight of our original purpose. To bring you to your young friend.”

  “It’s not too late for that,” I protested. “I’m feeling steadier already.”

  That last wasn’t entirely honest, but I didn’t care. I had no intention of missing my meeting with Terrac.

  “The opportunity is long past,” Hadrian said. “He was in the Praetor’s procession and you’ve already missed him.”

  Terrac riding in the Praetor’s hunting party? That raised such a string of questions I hardly knew where to begin.

  Hadrian anticipated my amazement. “I thought it would be better if you saw him for yourself,” he told me. “But as that chance is past, perhaps it’s best I just tell you.”

  “The only thing I want you to tell me is why my friend is parading around with the Praetor like some kind of prince, when he should be rotting away in prison, keeping company with old bones and rats.”

  I felt lightheaded again but pushed the buzzing sensation to the back of my mind. Something was wrong with the picture Hadrian was painting, and I couldn’t be distracted from it.

  “I can’t fully answer your question,” Hadrian said. “All I know is what gossip the Fist lieutenant was careless enough to share. According to him, a few months ago a lad who’d been running with the outlaws of Dimmingwood was brought into Selbius. Initially imprisoned on charges of involvement with the infamous outlaw Rideon the Red Hand, the boy might have hung for that alone, but there was the additional matter of his having nearly killed a Fist in his attempt to escape arrest.”

  I remembered how Terrac had stabbed a Fist when we fled the ambush at Red Rock.

  Hadrian continued with, “As if the first two charges weren’t bad enough, a handful of vengeful Fists stepped forward to identify the youth as one accused of recently burning down a hold house along the Selbius Road. Apparently, a number of Fists sheltered inside the house barely escaped with their lives.”

  Hadrian looked at me with raised brows, but I kept my expression bland. I had previously left that detail out of the tale when I recounted it to Hadrian, fearing it would make him less sympathetic to Terrac’s plight.

  “The Fists are known not only for their staunch loyalty to the Praetor, but also to one another,” Hadrian said. “The accusations against the boy didn’t sit lightly with them, and they were eager to make a quick end of the accused.”

  “You paint a dark picture for Terrac,” I said. “If things were so against him, why is he alive and, from the sound of things, prospering?”

  “Because something happened,” Hadrian said. “Nobody knows what, except that the Praetor intervened in the case, suddenly and without explanation, pardoning the young outlaw for his crimes. Not only that, but he appears to have taken a personal interest in the boy, placing him under the tutelage of his arms master to be trained for future admission into the city guard. He may even advance into the ranks of the Iron Fists when he is grown, an idea that has the Praetor’s guard in a sour mood indeed.”

  I was silent. My perception of the situation had been turned on its head so completely I hardly knew from which angle to take hold of it anymore. Such a short time ago I had been the heroic savior. I had been dashing, if a little clumsily, to the aid of the suffering captive. And now I was suddenly hit in the face with the information that Terrac was hardly languishing in captivity, in fact, that he didn’t need my aid at all.

  I shook my head. This should be good news. The important thing was that Terrac was out of danger. By all logic I should be pleased with the situation, since his safety was what I set out to accomplish in the first place. But the news did little to soften the knot sitting in the pit of my stomach whenever I thought of Terrac. It was no good wondering why it remained there. There was only one way to be rid of it.

  “I need to see him,” I told the others.

  Silence descended and I looked up to find my companions regarding me incredulously.

  It was Fleet who voiced the question. “Why? I understood your wanting to rescue him before, but he doesn’t need saving now. What’s the point of endangering yourself just for a look at him?”

  Not wanting them to see I was as confused about my reasons as they were, I could only repeat that I had to see him. I hadn’t expected them to fight me on this. They had followed me easily enough before.

  “Ilan,” Hadrian said with a trace of sympathy. “Not only are the circumstances of this Terrac of yours perfectly comfortable, they are improved. He has the sponsorship of the very Praetor. Whatever excitement he used to enjoy, running free in Dimmingwood with you, I think you must admit it can scarcely compete with the easy life he has now. That’s why you have to let him be. I know this isn’t the ending you hoped for, but surely you’re unselfish enough to think of Terrac’s best interests.”

  “Unselfish?” I asked, so offended my voice quivered. “What have I been if not unselfish? Do you think I wanted to risk my life coming to this city, passing under the nose of the city guard every day, exposing myself to the Fists? Well, I didn’t. And I certainly didn’t want to trade Dimmingwood for some leaky, smelly river barge either. But I did that for Terrac. So forgive me if I’m not ready to call it over, not until I’m thoroughly convinced of his safety—and it will take more than the ramblings of a drunken Fist to persuade me.”

  Hadrian and Fleet frowned, but I could see I had succeeded in swaying them. Fleet tapped his fingers on the tabletop and looked thoughtful. “You know,” he said. “I just might have an idea.”

  ***

  Two hours later, I was asking myself what madness had come over me to allow Fleet to take charge of anything. My desperation was no excuse. The street thief was lack-brained, I knew he was lack-brained, and yet I had followed his lead. What did that say for my own sense?

  The two of us crouched behind a low stone wall, overlooking the practice yards of the Praetor’s keep. My knees were buried deep in straw, the upper half of my face raised just enough to peer over the top of the wall.

  Even as I complied with Fleet’s precautions, I protested. “This is ridiculous. Its broad daylight and I’ve never been more conspicuous in my life. We’d be much less remarkable just standing in the open, gawking.”

  “You worry too much,” Fleet said. “If anybody notices a couple extra pairs of eyes peeping over the back wall, they’ll chalk it up to stable boys spying on the guardsmen at weapons practice. Anyway, I’m not about to stand out in the yard, mingling with Fists, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Just keep your head low and look casual, and we’re all right.”

  “Sure,” I grumbled. “We’re rea
l casual.”

  I returned my attention to the practice yards. “What exactly am I looking for anyway?” I asked. “You said you could get me in to see Terrac, but I’ve been sitting here until my knees ache and all I’ve seen so far are a bunch of stenched Fists and city guardsmen, wrestling and grunting like overgrown farm boys.”

  “Enough with the whining,” he said. “What have you got to complain about, I’d like to know? You have this nice cool shade to wait in, plenty of clean fresh water over there in the trough, if you work up a thirst, and the best entertainment any girl could wish for. I’ll tell you, there’s more than a handful of noble young ladies who’d trade their best stockings for an eyeful of the show you’re seeing. That’s the province’s best stock out there. Real fighting men.” He dug me in the ribs, adding with a knowing grin, “Handsome devils, aren’t they? I’ll bet you’ve got your eye on the big shirtless lad over there.”

  Disgusted, I shook my head and fended off his bony elbow.

  “Noble ladies,” I snorted, when the rib digging and elbow fencing died down. “If you’ve ever stepped within a dozen paces of a lady, except for the time it took to lift her purse, I’ll kiss a slop-sucking pig.”

  I missed whatever retort he came back with, because my eyes suddenly lit on a lone figure entering the yard. My stomach tightened as recognition struck, and almost without my being aware of it, a stronger emotion stirred at the back of my consciousness. It was good to see Terrac again.

  It had only been a few months since we were last together, but as I studied him, I noted the little differences. He had lost the woods garb I last saw him in, traded for a new leather jerkin over cotton shirt and trousers. His clothing was simple but well made and easily marked him as one of middle station. If I saw him on the street, I would think him the servant of a merchant or nobleman. Not elegant enough for a house servant maybe, but he looked the part of a gardener or a stable hand. He had a strong, well-fed look and I thought proudly that was due to the healthy food and exercise we provided for him in Dimming. He’d been a scrawny runt when he came to us, but look at him now. He almost, but not quite, cut a pretty figure out there in the practice yard. Or maybe it only seemed that way because he had a lot of ugly Fists as a backdrop.