Circle of Thieves: Legends of Dimmingwood

by C. Greenwood

  A particular exercise we did often was for the priest to float out over the lake on one of the smaller rafts, leaving me behind to try to pick up the ideas and emotions he projected at me from farther and farther distances. This, he said, would strengthen my range.

  For an exercise in accuracy, he would get off on one of the barges, and I would be left to find my way to his hiding place, much like a dog sniffing out a hare. I excelled at both exercises. All I needed was to know the essence of a particular person well, and I could attune my mind so closely to that person that it seemed enough distance could not be put between us to keep me from picking up the trail.

  But there was one practice we tried only once. Ever since the Praetor had attacked my mind that day in the city, Hadrian had become convinced one of the skills I most desperately needed to practice was that of building and strengthening my mental barriers to keep out similar intrusions in the future.

  There was a trick he taught me of imagining myself in a small safe space surrounded by strong walls. I was to take any part of my mind I preferred to keep to myself and place it within these barriers. I closed my eyes and pictured the tunnel I had been trapped in once at Boulder’s Cradle. It was hardly my idea of a safe place, but it was walled tightly, and I supposed the walls kept me safe from the outside world. Hadrian told me he was going to try to penetrate my mental barrier, and I was to try with all my strength to keep him out.

  I nodded and concentrated on feeling the closeness of the stone tunnel squeezing in around me. I felt his first light probing against my senses and immediately coiled them tighter within me, instinctively emitting as I did so, a faint trickle of defensive magic to flow through the surrounding stone. I quickly set to work strengthening that stone, fortifying it with more magic, feeling out the wall for holes and cracks, weak points of any kind. Wherever I found them, I poured magic in, spreading it through the fissures, allowing it to creep up and up until I had built a second inner wall around the stone one comprised entirely of magic. Satisfied, I settled in to wait. I could feel his magic passing over mine like light fingers brushing over the smooth wall, searching for another way in. He wouldn’t find one, I told myself, but even so I watched his progress warily.

  The moments passed and then suddenly he was gone. I couldn’t feel his presence anymore. He had given up and left. Now that I was alone, I became aware of the tightness of the walls pressing in on me. The rough rock weighed down on my back and I was pinned so tightly between the walls I couldn’t move my arms at my sides. In fact, the rock pressed from all sides so unyieldingly into my ribs I could hardly breathe. I panicked, wanting to drop away the walls I had built for protection but which now held me prisoner. But I couldn’t remember how.

  Fear-sweat trickled into my eyes and the rasping of my breath echoed around me. I opened my mouth to scream, to beg for somebody, anybody, to help me. But at that moment, I became aware of another presence approaching the other side of the wall. It seemed impossible that he should find me here, but it couldn’t be anyone else.

  “Terrac!” I shouted. “Terrac, get me out of here! I’m trapped!”

  I knew he heard me. I could feel him immediately begin to tear at the walls, seeking a way to reach me. Realizing my magical barrier was keeping him out, I gathered enough control over my frantic wits to drop the barrier.

  I was immediately aware of my mistake. It was no longer Terrac coming to rescue me, but a foreign presence seeping its way through my foolishly lowered defense. I struggled to raise the magical wall again, but it was too late. I had already lost control of the magic, and the alien intruder had seized hold of the barrier and held it fast, preventing me from drawing it closed again.

  Defeat washed over me, and in that moment, I felt a third presence, one that had been tucked away inside my head all along, lying so still and secret I had hardly been aware of it until this moment. It stirred to wakefulness now, whispering voiceless words into my head, orders I didn’t understand but which I obeyed. I concentrated on what I wanted to do, and suddenly the tunnel around me began expanding. The roof and walls widened until I could wriggle my way to my feet to stand.

  Now I could breathe freely and move my arms about without brushing the walls; I instinctively knew what to do. I braced my feet, even as the bow materialized in my hands. Drawing back the shaft already notched, I fired the arrow into the darkness, knowing it would find its own target. Not until the very instant it struck did I realize who that target was…

  Hadrian did not awake for three days, and when he did, it was only by the skills of one of the magic-bearing healers Seephinia called from among the river folk. His recovery was slow, but once he was able to get back on his feet it was clear he had suffered no lasting damage. He said he owed his life to the quick skill of the river healer, and I have no doubt he was right.

  We never spoke of the incident again; although I would have liked to know how he had managed his sly disguise as Terrac that had so easily convinced me to let down my guard. But it wasn’t worth asking, because if it was brought up, he might ask what had gone wrong when I defeated him. There was no knowing how much he knew about what had gone on within my walls, but surely he at least suspected the bow was involved. In light of the opinion he already had of the bow, it seemed best not to admit the truth.

  Besides, it was a truth I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with. The bow had never spoken to me so clearly, had never forced its way into my mind so fully. Although a voiceless whisper in the dark recesses of my mind assured me it had acted for my protection, a more rational thought kept pushing its way to the forefront. I hadn’t known what I was doing during those moments of panic, hadn’t known it was Hadrian I was firing at. But the bow knew everything, and it had wanted my priest friend dead.

  Shortly after that incident came the day when I awoke to find the first of winter’s chill in the air. I lay awake and looked up at the dry thatched ceiling overhead and knew I had stayed away from home too long. Had it really been over a year? The time had flown by. Back in Dimmingwood, the trees would be shedding the last of their golden leaves, the forest creatures would be crawling off into warm dens to hide from the coming snows, and our band would be settling in for a long winter. I hoped they had organized themselves sufficiently after the last Fist attack to be prepared to face the cold season when food and work were always at their scarcest. Had they found a safe shelter to wait out the harsh days of snow and sleet to come, or were they still camped where I had last seen them?

  With these concerns, the high hopes and good intentions I’d formed toward my magic studies slid away from me like the after remnants of a dream. A warm and pleasant fantasy but one I needed to exchange for the cold heart of reality. I had been selfish to stay this long, exploring my talent and granting myself healing time after the loss of Terrac and Brig so close together. It was time to remember the needs of the band.

  I scrambled out of bed and searched around in the pale morning light until I found my clothes. I dressed hastily and quietly packed together my belongings, mindful the rest of the house was still asleep. I had collected a few new possessions since my arrival here, most of them gifts from Hadrian, but tossed together, they still made a small bundle when rolled up inside a blanket and tied to my back.

  I slipped the bow over my shoulder, and we momentarily shared a ripple of excitement at the prospect of home. I shouldered the quiver of arrows I had recently procured from a trader in the city and gathered the knives Fleet had supplied to replace my old ones. Binding on my wrist sheaths and sliding the knives into place, I experienced the odd sense of doing something I was no longer accustomed to. Back in Dimming I had worn the sheaths every day, but now they felt unfamiliar.

  I shook myself. Never mind, it would take a little time, but I’d become accustomed to them again.

  After striding to the door, I poked my head out the flap. It was a dreary morning, and the gray sky promised the kind of light drizzle that comes and goes. Not auspicious for a journey, but I
wasn’t going to be turned back so easily. I’d walked in the rain before.

  Still, I hesitated inside the doorway. It didn’t feel right leaving without some sort of explanation to the priest. I at least owed him a thanks and the promise of a future visit. But I feared if I waited, Hadrian would try and persuade me to stay. My resolve was unshakeable, but I dreaded the uncomfortable conversation. Although we had never spoken of it, I was aware the priest had set his mind on saving me from my lawless roots and setting my feet on an upright path for the future.

  I was about to disappoint him. With a shake of my head, I took myself outside. Restraining my impatience, I walked the deck and watched as a gray shrouded sun rose over the waters. The lake was shadowy today, mirroring the gloom of the skies, and a thin fog swirled about my ankles as I paced in the brisk morning air. I inhaled the mingled scents of fish and lake-weed and felt invigorated. I was going home.

  I lingered just a little longer looking out into the morning mists where the trout and little turtles disturbed the still surface of the lake. I would miss this quiet place and time.

  I was brought out of my meditation by the sound of soft footsteps approaching from behind. I kept my face toward the water but was aware of Hadrian’s presence, and I didn’t startle when his large hand came to rest on my shoulder.

  “So this is it,” he observed.

  He didn’t waste time on irrelevant questions, since I was obviously wearing all my possessions on my back. More than that, he surely sensed my anticipation as clearly as I felt his disappointment.

  “I haven’t set eyes on Dimmingwood for far too long,” I said lightly. “I never thought I could hunger for the sight of a tree. Not one of those pretty little shadeless things they keep in the city gardens, but a great elder tree towering over the forest.”

  Hadrian said, “Your forest will always be there, should you choose to return to it, but I was hoping you would consider another kind of life. I thought my teachings were getting through to you. I understand you have friends out there and that world contains the only way of life you’ve ever known—”

  I interrupted him. “It is my life. The threads are just waiting to be picked up again.”

  “I wasn’t aware your existence had come to a halt when you came to study with me,” he said.

  “I’m sorry Hadrian. Truly I am grateful for all you’ve done for me, but this is something I can’t walk away from. Dimming calls to me.”

  “A call you cannot refuse to answer?” he countered. “Would it be so unthinkable to chart a new course? I know following old ways can seem safer than questioning them—”

  “I have questioned—” I tried to interrupt, but he didn’t let me finish.

  “Questioned as a passing thought, I don’t doubt. But you cannot imagine settling down to an honest life because the idea of a comfortable, placid existence is so foreign to everything you’ve ever known.”

  I couldn’t deny this, and he knew it.

  “Think on this, Ilan,” he advised. “If you chose to give up your outlaw ways and companions, you wouldn’t be doing it alone. I would be here to offer support and advice as long as you needed it. And although not a wealthy man, I scarcely live in want…”

  I shook my head at the hint, embarrassed at the suggestion I would accept his money.

  “Wait. Don’t refuse before hearing me out,” he cautioned.

  Sighing, I waited, regarding him with mingled affection and annoyance.

  He seemed to take the fact I had not walked away as a hopeful sign. “I want you to imagine your life a few years from now,” he said. “Envision yourself sitting before the fire in a comfortable, solidly built cabin on your own holding somewhere. Maybe your children are playing around your feet…”

  I couldn’t hold back a snort, but he was unperturbed.

  “Perhaps a husband sits at your side, talking about the upcoming harvest…”

  I hooted. “As if I would marry a farmer. You do make me laugh, priest.”

  He wasn’t fazed. “A baker then.”

  I shook my head.

  “A blacksmith?” he ventured a little hopelessly. “You cannot tell me that’s a soft or dull profession.”

  I took pity on him, conceding, “Maybe a mercenary soldier. I can see that.”

  Hadrian frowned his disapproval, saying, “Let’s try this again. You’re an innkeeper this time, or a merchant. Yes, I can see you as an independent woman of comfortable means and both professions would be enough of a challenge to hold your interest.”

  I cut him off. “Enough, Hadrian. I realize you mean the best for me, but my future lies nowhere but Dimmingwood. It’s useless imagining myself anywhere else when my mind is set.”

  I glanced overhead. “Now the morning is getting away from us, and I haven’t time to stand here listening to you discuss improbable futures for me. It looks like rain, and I’d like to cover some distance before the storm breaks.”

  “You should stay another day and wait out the rain,” he suggested.

  “I’m too impatient for home,” I said simply.

  He looked at me searchingly and said, “You’ve changed, Ilan. When you first appeared on my doorstep, you seemed young and uncertain, like a child looking for your way.”

  “The things I was looking for were my magic and Terrac. I found both…even if I wound up losing one of them again.”

  I cast another impatient glance toward the sky to remind him I had a two-day journey ahead of me.

  “I can see your mind is set,” he said reluctantly. “So I suppose you’d best be on your way and make what distance you can.”

  I was only too eager to escape his thinly veiled pity. “Yes, well, farewell Hadrian. You’ve been a friend to me, and I’m grateful for all you’ve taught me. I hope we’ll meet again one day.”

  When I extended my hand, he took it in his, saying, “I hope we will. There’s a good deal more I have to teach you of the talent, when you have the time to spare.”

  I would have withdrawn my hand then if he hadn’t tightened his grip, adding, “I can’t give my blessing on the path you return to but know that you take with you my friendship.”

  With a stiff nod, I pulled free of his grip a little more roughly than I intended.

  “Goodbye, Ilan,” he called as I turned and walked away.

  I raised a hand in acknowledgement but didn’t look back or slow my steps. I wouldn’t let him make me feel guilty, I told myself. I was doing what was right for me. I was going home.

  Chapter Three

  I traveled the Selbius Road for the better part of the day. True to my prediction, a light drizzle began to fall a little after noon and continued on and off throughout the day. By evening I had abandoned the road in favor of a diverging and less traveled side path. After a long day of slogging through the mud, I spent that first night sleeping beneath a hedgerow. I felt encouraged despite my weariness as I curled up into a tight ball and turned my back to the wind. I had made better time than I’d expected and knew a few more miles would see me within Dimmingwood’s shadow.

  It was around noon the next day that I entered the forest. The trees had just begun to thicken around me and I was basking in the comfortable familiarity of the shade, the leaf patterns, and the scent of tree and earth when I came on a small settlement. I recognized the village as one I had visited with Brig a time or two in the past. We had occasionally come here to barter for supplies from the locals.

  Hammand’s Bend was a sleepy little woods village along the outer edges of Dimming, where the trees bordered the flat lands. I studied the neat ring of log cabins with their shingled roofs and narrow porches tacked onto the fronts and decided against my first instinct of passing around the settlement. It had been a year or more since I’d been here with Brig, but I recalled a local man who used to trade goods out of his home, and who had connections with our outlaw band. He might remember me from those previous visits and be willing to direct me to the new location of Rideon’s camp. I had no fe
ar of being turned upon by the woods villagers, since there was a comfortable truce between our band and the Hammond’s Bend people. Besides, these weren’t the kind of folk who asked questions.

  I was so preoccupied with trying to remember the name of the man I sought that it wasn’t until I stood in the center of the village green that I sensed something had changed here. All the houses looked as I remembered. The long low-roofed meeting hall still stood, commanding the green and the shadow of the forest trees still crowded in against the edges of civilization. Beyond one or two more recently constructed cabins that hadn’t been there before, nothing physical had changed about the place.

  But a subdued stillness was settled over the town, a suffocating sense of dread hanging in the air. Children played on the grass and older folk mended their chicken coops or worked in their gardens or hung the wash on lines out back. But the scene was solemnly muted and even the children were strangely quiet at their play.

  A sudden squeal of laughter rang out from one little girl I passed, and the guilty youngster was swiftly shushed by her fellows. But it was too late. All eyes turned inadvertently, almost apologetically, to the meeting hall at the heart of the clearing.

  I followed their glances and froze at the grizzly spectacle I encountered. An ancient elder tree with sprawling branches stood against one side of the meeting hall and a neat row of corpses dangled side by side from the thick branches. The bloated bodies swayed in the gentle breeze, their shadows swinging like pendulums over the grass below.

  I counted six dead, five men and a boy. Immediately suspecting this was the handy work of the Praetor’s men, I wondered what crime these people had been guilty of and how long they had been left up there.

  The thing that disturbed me most was that the bodies had obviously been on display awhile but had yet to be cut down by the villagers. Evidently the Praetor’s fear held a stronger sway over the people of Hammond’s Bend these days than it used to. I swallowed to clear my throat of a sudden dryness and hurried past the tree with its gruesome decorations. It was nothing to do with me, I told myself.