by Jane Glatt
“That has happened, of course,” Feiren said. “Then the Brotherhood tries to acquire the family histories. Unfortunately, we haven’t always been successful – we think that’s how the old steel weapons change hands. We’ve been able to recover some of them, and I’m happy to say we’ve not heard of a family history being discovered. But we’re always watchful. Although,” Feiren shrugged, “there does seem to be more movement with the old steel weapons now than there has ever been in the past. If you’re finished your meal, we can move to my study. I’m sure Kayleen would like a chance to clear the table.”
Feiren stood and held her chair as she rose. She followed him down a short hallway to the back of the house, where he opened a door and waited for her to precede him into the room.
She felt it as soon as she entered the room - a gentle tingle, like an itch at the back of her head. Feiren gestured to a chair by the desk and she sat down and automatically searched the room for the origin of her itch.
The room was large and had a huge window that overlooked an enclosed yard. A door to the left of the window led outside. As in her sleeping chamber, the furniture looked serviceable, but the chair that Brenna sat in was covered with a well-tanned hide that was butter soft under her hands. Another chair that matched hers was placed in front of the desk and Feiren sat in a more worn version of the chair behind the desk. A fireplace took up most of the wall opposite the window, and on the darkly paneled walls were various weapons.
Brenna’s gaze focused on the weapons directly behind Feiren - the two swords and three knives were all highly polished and all, somehow, hummed. She felt Feiren’s eyes on her and she looked quickly away.
“What does it do to you?” His voice was quiet, gentle almost. “The old steel. What do you feel when it’s around?”
Absently Brenna smoothed a hand over the warm, rich leather of the chair. How much could she trust him? Kane had promised her safety and his uncle seemed ready to provide it, but did she really want them to know everything? If she lied and told him she felt nothing would he leave her alone? All she wanted was to go back to her old life. But that life didn’t exist anymore.
She looked over at Feiren Rowse. No, he wouldn’t believe her if she told him she didn’t feel anything. She took a deep breath. She might as well tell him the truth. Maybe he could help her understand what was happening to her.
“It’s like someone’s humming a tune that I can’t quite make it out,” Brenna said. “I can tell where it’s coming from though. I can’t say how, but I know it’s coming from the two swords and three knives behind you and not from any of the other weapons on the walls.” Brenna gestured to the assorted weapons and shields lining the walls.
Feiren nodded and stared at her with a faraway look. “And when you touch them, what happens then?”
Brenna started. Touch them? Like when she touched Kane’s sword? She wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. Touching Kane’s sword and the priest’s knife hadn’t physically actually hurt her, but it had been unsettling. Did she want to do that deliberately?
“Don’t worry,” Feiren reassured her. “I’m not going to ask you to pick any of them up, not until we know more. My nephew and Dasid will be here later. Dasid is a bit of a historian for the Brotherhood and he’s been searching through the oldest records looking for references to old steel and the Caller. So far he’s found only one obscure passage that refers to a light.” He leaned back in his chair. “I am curious about what happens though, what you feel from old steel.”
“Well it was different both times,” Brenna said. Then she stopped and really thought about it. It had felt different the two times she touched old steel.
“The knife,” she continued. “The one I was trying to steal. I don’t really remember feeling anything other than shock at the light. The two worst things for a thief at night are light and a witness. I got both.” She paused. “The second time, in the jail cell, Kane simply grabbed my hand and put it over his on his sword. My whole body tingled. I don’t remember feeling that with the knife.”
“Hmm,” Feiren looked at her through lowered lids. “What do you know about the Call?”
“What, oh not much. Just something I read somewhere.”
“Really. Read where?” Feiren asked. He leaned forward and stared at her intently. For the first time Brenna was reminded that he was a military man, with years of command experience. She forced herself to meet his gaze calmly.
“The Brotherhood has spent the better part of two thousand years trying to stay secret,” Feiren said. He leaned back in his chair. “We’ve spent considerable effort to acquire any and all documents and texts that reference us. I’m concerned that we’ve missed something. ”
Brenna hesitated. She didn’t want to involve Randell more than she already had. And then she had a terrible thought. What if the church already knew about him?
“I have a friend at the library at the Collegium,” Brenna said. “He helped me find an old book that referenced the Brotherhood. It told of the vision of Wolde’s daughter Aruntun, and the Call.” She paused. “That was on the night I was followed. I was coming back from the Collegium and now I realize I may have put my friend in danger. Is there any way you can send someone to check? Maybe warn him about the church? His name is Randell.”
“I’ll send someone at once,” Feiren said. “I’ll be right back.”
He left the room and Brenna sighed in relief. She didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble for Randell. He’d always been good to her.
With Feiren gone, there was nothing to distract Brenna from the old weapons. They drew her. A low hum - tantalizingly familiar – urged her up and out of her chair until she stood directly in front. Hesitantly she reached out a hand. The closer her hand came to a knife the more her body tingled. She tentatively touched one finger to the hilt.
Immediately the length of the knife blazed with a blue white light. Startled, Brenna snatched her hand back and the light went out. She looked at her finger. There was no mark, nothing to indicate that her touch had caused the knife to light up and she hadn’t felt any pain. She wasn’t afraid that she would be harmed in any way - in fact, there had been a measure of acceptance, an almost overwhelming sense of rightness. Curious, she took a deep breath and reached for the knife again. This time she was prepared for the way her arm tingled and the knife blazed to light.
With her finger in contact with the knife Brenna examined the effect. The whole knife was illuminated as if from within. Then the illumination spread from the first knife to each of the other four old weapons until they all shone brightly.
As the light spread the humming increased and Brenna found that she could hear and feel differences in pitch and frequency. Each blade had its own distinct note and when she squinted, she could see subtle differences in coloration between them.
Brenna closed her eyes and concentrated on the note from the first knife. She was able to block out all the others until she heard only that single hum. She opened her eyes. There on the wall, only the first knife shone. She removed her hand from the knife and continued to concentrate on that sound, but the light quickly died. A movement from the doorway startled her and she looked over her shoulder into Feiren’s amazed gaze.
“That was incredibly beautiful,” he said. He came and stood beside her, his eyes on the weapons on the wall. “I’ve lived with most of these weapons all my life,” he caressed the hilt of the knife that she’d touched almost reverently, “and at no time did I ever think they were capable of this.” He smiled down at her. “My nephew, although eloquent, still was not able to capture the beauty. He also said he felt something when you both handled his sword. I’d very much like to try that, if you’d care to experiment later. For now,” he gestured to the chair she’d vacated and moved around the desk, “I’d like to discuss some other matters. For instance, what makes you believe that Duke Thorold is the amassing the old steel weapons?”
Distracted, Brenna sat down. What had just happened wit
h the old weapons, the old steel, as Feiren called them? She’d been able to control them, just a little. With practice would she be able to do more? And what did this mean for the prophecy? She couldn’t really be the heir, could she? That she did not want. It would be far too dangerous, even with the Brotherhood on her side. No, she wanted to go back to her simple life.
“Brenna.”
She looked up, startled. Feiren Rowse met her gaze, his mouth quirked up in a smile.
“I’m sorry, Feiren,” she said. “I’m a little … Sorry, what did you ask?” She’d been about to tell him that she was a little unnerved. Now why would she do that? Even if it was true, she didn’t want him to know. Even that tiny piece of knowledge could potentially be used against her.
“No worries lass,” Feiren said. “I was simply asking why you think Duke Thorold is collecting old steel.”
“I have some contacts,” Brenna said. “In the Quarter. I’m a healer by training but it’s not something you want to make a full time living from in Thieves’ Quarter.”
“There’s not enough payment?” Feiren asked.
“Well there’s that,” Brenna said. “Folk have little to spare, that’s true. But the biggest risk is that you’ll be named a witch. Just like Sabine Werrett.” A woman who had done nothing except be mistaken for Brenna. She clamped down on her anger and guilt. The church was responsible, not her.
“I know,” Brenna continued. “That Kingsreach is not as bad as some of the other duchies - thanks in no small part to the Kingsguard - but the church seems to be targeting people they don’t like by calling them witches. It seems to me that calling someone a witch is a church-sanctioned opportunity for theft.”
“How so?”
“The church has been so outspoken that it’s easy to madden a crowd by accusing someone of being a witch,” Brenna said. She’d thought this scenario more likely than what had happened to poor Sabine. “While the so-called witch was running for his or her life someone can move in and take their possessions. Even if the witch escaped the crowd and came back for their belongings there would be no way to recover anything. And likely no help.”
Feiren nodded. “So by only occasionally healing you are able to deflect that kind of fear?”
“Yes,” Brenna said. “And I’ve been around the Quarter for a long time. Folk know me more as a thief than a healer. But the interesting thing about healers is that sooner or later everyone needs one. Including those who trade in information.”
“Ah, back to your contacts. You trade healing for information.” Feiren’s look held a glint of admiration. “As you said, everyone eventually needs a healer.”
“Yes.”
“So what do you do with all this information?” Feiren asked.
“I keep it,” she replied. “I piece it together in order to see which way the bigger pieces will fall. Then I make sure I’m not in the way. And I gain favors by tipping a few folk off.” She paused. “And sometimes I use the information to target specific items for my own personal gain.” Brenna nervously looked down. Feiren knew she was a thief, but still, with his ties to the Kingsguard, admitting it made her uneasy.
“And Duke Thorold, he is a particular target of yours?” asked Feiren. “Kane said you’d told him you make it your business to know what Duke Thorold of Comack is up to.”
Brenna nodded to him. “That’s right. He’s the most powerful man in Soule, even though he’s not king. I find it useful to know what he’s interested in. ” She was not going to tell the leader of the Brotherhood that she had a personal history with Thorold or that he was her grandfather. She could imagine how that would stoke the fires of their beliefs, what with her being of the line of Comack, one of Wolde’s sons. It wasn’t as though it was proof she was the one prophesied about.
“Useful. Yes, I can imagine it would be.” Feiren held her gaze for a second before he turned and focused on the weapons behind him. “How long has he been collecting the old steel weapons, do you think?”
Brenna ignored the question and instead leaned forward in her chair. There was some kind of affinity between Feiren Rowse and three of the weapons; a sword and two of the knives. She wasn’t sure what made her think that, but even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was true.
“The sword at the bottom and the two knives at the top, they’re yours aren’t they?” she asked.
Surprised, Feiren turned to look at her. “Yes. Those have been in my family for many generations.” He turned back to the weapons. “These other two are recent acquisitions. I’d hoped to put the High Bishop’s knife beside them. Dasid has been trying to find out what families these belonged to so we might discover what caused them to fall into non-Brotherhood hands.” He shook his head. “But he’s had no luck. The Brotherhood’s records are very detailed when it comes to families, but records of the old steel weapons consist of simple descriptions such as, two handed long sword, or dagger with silver hilt. How did you know these were family pieces?”
“I’m not sure,” she paused. “They seem to fit you, somehow. Maybe I knew from when I touched them?” Brenna shook her head. She wasn’t sure she could explain it to him, wasn’t sure she actually knew anything, not really.
“Something else for Dasid to delve into,” Feiren said. “It seems there’s much to investigate. Now, back to my question. How long has Duke Thorold been hunting old steel?”
“I first heard about Thorold’s collecting over a year ago,” Brenna said. “But my sources say his interest goes back about five or six years, although he kept it all within Comack. Only in the last two years has he included the rest of Soule. Apparently he’s using the church to confiscate and deliver the weapons to him, both here and in Comack. Since the death of the old Duke in Fallad the church has had a pretty free hand in that duchy. I heard they’ve had no success in Aruntun. Does the Brotherhood have ties there?”
“That’s not an easy question to answer.” Feiren placed his hands flat on the table and studied them. “Our records show there should be a great many Brothers in Aruntun, and we do have a few contacts, but they are unwilling to share a lot of information with us. Some of what we do know suggests they’ve taken a slightly different path in the past few hundred years. We aren’t even sure they’ve stayed true to the prophecy.” He looked up at her sadly. “Aruntians don’t much trust those of us from the rest of Soule you know.”
“And with good reason,” Brenna said. “Look at what happened to Sabine Werrett. Besides, I’ve heard that in Comack anyone from Aruntun is automatically accused of witchcraft and indentured. And you know what they say about that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Indentured in Comack means you’re indentured for life.”
Feiren nodded grimly. “Yes, I’ve heard that too. That’s one of the things the Brotherhood wants you to correct once you’re declared ruler.”
Brenna looked up at that. Being the heir to the prophecy was too absurd for her to even consider it as a possibility. But what could that mean to Soule? If the Brotherhood could put someone else on the throne, oh not her, but someone better suited, they could right a lot of wrongs. She sighed. That was unlikely. Thorold had strengthened his grip on power in the last few years. Beldyn had been named the king’s heir and the High Bishop did his bidding. It would take more than the Brotherhood to topple Thorold. She’d like to see him fall, though.
A servant came with urgent business for Feiren and Brenna was left to her own devices for the rest for the morning and well into the afternoon. She wandered the house and grounds for a while, curious about the layout and furnishings.
It was an old house, with many quirky additions made over the years. Downstairs the rooms were open and she entered them at will, but upstairs many doors were closed. She respected that and forced herself to pass by them, despite her curiosity. Curiosity was a trait that made her a good thief. She always wondered what was behind that door or tucked away in that purse. And then she’d figure out how she could see for h
erself.
It would have been easy to look into each room, locked or not. But she reminded herself that she was a guest. Feiren Rowse had taken her in to keep her safe, never mind that he had his own reasons for doing so.
The garden had a few plants she could dry and use in her healing, but she wasn’t sure when she’d use them. It looked like she’d simply traded one prison for another. And though Feiren Rowse’s home was much grander than her own two rooms she’d rather be back home in the Quarter.
By the time the spring day turned chill she’d found three secret passageways, besides the one Kane had brought her through last night. She’d also discovered a dusty, hard-to-open cubbyhole hidden in the dining room wall. A small notch carved into the wooden wall panel allowed a perfect view of the dining room table.
And that was just in the public areas of the house. She expected that behind the closed doors upstairs were even more mysteries. In all the nights she’d spent huddled over floor plans at the Collegium Library, she had never seen a house with as many secrets as this one. Brenna wondered if her hosts even knew all of them. Perhaps the records for the house were no more complete than the records of the old steel weapons.
Her inspection of the house finished, Brenna made her way back to Feiren’s study. She heard male voices and knocked before she stepped inside the open door.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said.
Feiren sat behind his desk and Kane, in his dark blue Kingsguard uniform, sat in one of the chairs in front. The uniform highlighted the blue of his eyes and Brenna’s breath caught when he turned to her. Startled by the intensity in his eyes, she quickly looked away. What was it about him that drew her? Was it the old steel? Even now she could feel the presence of his sword, and through it, him. She didn’t want this awareness, this attraction, to the Captain of the Kingsguard.
