Circle of Thieves: Legends of Dimmingwood

by C. Greenwood

  “And I’ll take it,” she snapped, rising so fast she nearly teetered over the edge of the loft. “I’m ashamed I ever called you my friend, but that’s a mistake I won’t make twice. Good bye, Ilan.”

  With those final words, she flung herself onto the rope ladder and clambered down out of sight. Moments later I heard the squeak of the barn door being drawn open and the angry slam that followed.

  I sunk back into the straw. I was alone again but wasn’t that what I wanted? As long as I had no friends, there was no one left to be hurt by my stupid mistakes.

  The bow’s taunting whisper stirred through my mind. Not alone. Never that.

  It was right. I’d never be on my own while I possessed the thing. Even now, when I believed I was breaking away, how much of my actions, how much of this very fight with Ada, was manipulated by the bow’s influence?

  I lay back and closed my eyes, but the scene with Ada kept repeating itself in my mind, and the bow continued its subtle whispers until I could have no peace. At last I slithered out of the loft and went outside to sleep in the rain.

  I tried to move on with my life over the next week, tried to forget my conversation with Ada, but always Dimmingwood, my past, and the future hovered in the background calling to me, a temptation I knew would be the death of me if I gave in to it, but one so difficult to resist.

  In the end I could bear it no longer. If I had to spend one more night in the shadow of the wood, I would give in to the longing and enter the forbidden borders once more. The only answer was to get away.

  I gave my hasty excuses to Widow Hibbins, collected my earnings in dried, salted pork and departed Shadow’s End. Turning my steps north, I made for Selbius.

  * * *

  It was a gray morning in deep winter when I showed up at Hadrian’s door. The wind off the lake was bitterly cold, its fishy scent summoning memories of my last stay here.

  Hadrian welcomed me with little fuss, as if I was returning from an absence of days rather than months. I could see the questions in his eyes, but he held them in as if sensing my reluctance to speak of the path that had returned me here. Strange how good it felt to me now, being near someone with whom I shared the bond of magic. We talked of light things, Hadrian’s stiff elbow—an old injury that bothered him in the cold weather—the river folk and the work they had accomplished since last I was here.

  Not even the sight of the bow I still carried at my back could jar Hadrian out of the welcome he seemed determined to make a pleasant one. I asked if I could stay a few days and was gladly granted permission. Seephinia brought out fish and seacakes for us and we drank kackii together.

  I quickly noted a change in Hadrian. His eyes lit up as we talked of his old days as a Blade of Justice, his travels, and all the faraway places he had seen. It hit me with a jolt that he was bored and listless. Never a man to stay in one place for long, his feet must be itching to get away and cover new ground. When I asked about it, he confirmed that he didn’t mean to remain in these parts much longer. He talked of a place he had heard of in Camdon where an uncivilized tribe of cattle herders lived cut off from the world, among what were said to be mystical hills. Hadrian had heard rumors leading him to believe he might find more Natural magickers among these reclusive hillsmen. I knew he was excited by the untapped well of knowledge presented by these primitive tribes. It seemed he had wrung from the river folk all the secrets they were willing to impart, and he was ready to move on to new grounds.

  “If not for your coming,” he told me cheerfully, “I should be away soon. But the company of a friend is a worthy reason for delay.”

  I wondered what Seephinia would think of all this, but he assured me she would take his departure in stride.

  “Seephinia’s not one for shouting at the shifting winds. She’s too practical for that,” he said, and I supposed this was true. The river woman was the sort to accept whatever came her way with little more than the blink of an eye.

  Days passed, which hardly felt like any time at all. The evenings were my favorite times, for when the day’s work was done and all was quiet, we would sit out of doors beneath the encircling glow of bobbing lanterns hung from the eaves of Seephinia’s hut. We would tilt our faces up to look at the stars and Hadrian would tell me all he knew of stargazing and windsinging, talents neither of us would ever possess, and anything else of the Natural magic that came to his mind. Sometimes he would ask me to take out the bow, and he would trace his fingers over the engraved runes and read out again what he could decipher of the message.

  Power over death my master hath, let fly my arrows and loose my wrath.

  I knew the words by heart now. We would puzzle over the inscription and wonder what mind had contrived it, and what hands had crafted the bow. When we had exhausted that subject without progress, we would move on to talk of my past. I avoided tales of my recent trials, although I often wondered how much Hadrian must have guessed.

  I talked instead of my childhood in Dimmingwood and of the friends I had made there. He spoke of his youth and the adventures and perils through which he had passed during his days as a Blade. We would sit up late into the night, yet it would always seem too soon when Seephinia came to put out the lanterns and remind us of the hour. Inside again, I would settle back into my old cot along the wall and fall asleep, feeling more content than I had been in a long time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Those were good days. The peace and routine they brought helped me to almost forget the hurt and strife I had left behind.

  Then came Fleet. I hadn’t seen him since my return to Selbius, and truthfully, hadn’t wished to. He’d called for me twice already, but I had managed to be out both times. I felt guilty for avoiding him, but Fleet had been connected to the old circle, and I couldn’t think of him without remembering things I wanted to forget.

  I realized my days of dodging him were over one afternoon as I sat leaning against a barrel of salted fish, mending a torn net. I suddenly sensed his presence, a familiar mixture of conceit and self-assurance peculiar only to the street thief. It marked him more plainly than his trademark ruffled jackets and gaudy jewelry.

  I didn’t look up, as if failing to acknowledge him could make him somehow disappear.

  “Ah, caught up to you at last.” He heaved a pleased sigh, his breath smelling of cheap brandy, as he settled beside me. “You’re a hard one to find, my friend. I’ve looked in before, but you were never around. That old priest of yours must keep you working sunup to sundown.”

  Instead of answering, I worked my fingers and the mending hook in and out of the net faster. If I seemed disinterested enough, maybe he would get the message and take himself away. Not a kind sentiment toward an old friend, but I couldn’t help feeling it.

  “It’s no good ignoring me, Hound,” he said. “Like a wart, I don’t go away.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What? Hound? All your forest friends use the name.”

  “Well, no one says it now, and I don’t want to hear it again. Today I’m just plain Ilan.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so. Doesn’t matter what I call you, so long as I’ve finally got the chance to talk to you. There are things we ought to discuss, and I’ve also got a message from a mutual acquaintance.”

  “Maybe you should come back another time, Fleet,” I said. “I’m pretty busy today.” I didn’t look up from my work, only bent my head lower like a dim sighted old woman.

  “Come on, Ilan. You know you don’t have to do that stuff now.”

  He snatched the net from my hands.

  “Hey!” I protested, “I have to finish my work before dinner or Seephinia won’t feed me. You don’t know what she’s like.”

  “Stop it. This is important.” The impatience in his tone silenced me. I’d known him before to be sulky, jealous, or impatient but never angry.

  “Why are you doing this?” He demanded. “You’re not living out here—you’re just hiding from the world. Do you expe
ct it to change on its own, maybe be a whole different place by the time you decide to come back to it?”

  I glared but he didn’t let me interrupt.

  “Don’t say that’s not what you’re doing, because we both know it is. You’ve been avoiding me since you got back when, as a friend, I should’ve been among the first you sought out when you needed someplace to go. But no, you don’t come to me. You go to the priest instead. It took me awhile to figure out what you had against me. But when I heard from your forest friends, I put it together and realized it wasn’t me you were avoiding, it was them. Because of my connection to the circle, you cut me out.”

  Again I tried to protest, but he only rushed on. “So then I got to asking myself, wasn’t it she who asked me to step into the circle and help in the first place? What did I care for trespassing Skeltai savages or mystery attacks on woods settlements? The Praetor’s silver was welcome, but I wouldn’t have taken such chances just for that. I did it as a favor for a friend. Because it seemed important to her, and because she’d done me a good turn once. I did it for you.”

  I snatched up my work again to give me time to think and said briskly, “Yes well, all that was a bit ago, wasn’t it? It’s over now and time to move on. I’m doing that the only way I know how.”

  “Those woods folk you care so much about will go on dying out there while you sit here moving on.”

  I snorted. “You said it yourself. You’re not interested in the misfortunes of the woods villagers.”

  He shrugged. “A fellow can learn to care, can’t he?”

  “You? Care for anyone other than yourself? There’s an amusing thought. I suppose next you’ll be claiming you care for me.”

  He raised his hands. “Never that. I’ve never loved an ugly woman in my life, and I’m not about to start on some tangle-haired forest girl with dirt under her fingernails and dressed in men’s clothes.”

  Despite myself, I laughed, shoving him so hard he nearly toppled into a row of barrels.

  But I also smoothed a few loose strands back into my messy braid and made a mental note to comb my hair more often. And maybe take a bath once in awhile.

  “Seriously,” Fleet said, resettling himself and dusting imaginary specs from his coat, “forgetting for a moment the great romance between us, I did come to you with a message.”

  I cut him off, levity forgotten. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “It’s not from the circle.”

  “I don’t care. No messages. No reports. I don’t want news from anybody. Maybe, as you say, I am hiding from the world for a time, but it’s time I need. I want a little peace, a chance to sort my thoughts and figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

  He frowned but said, “All right, if that’s what you want. If you need space to think, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t take too long at it, will you? My employer’s offer won’t stand forever.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What employer? You’ve never had an honest job in your life.”

  In response, he rose abruptly, dusting off his clothes. If he were anybody else I’d have thought I’d offended him.

  “Tell you what let’s do,” he said. “How about a walk into the city? There’s something I’d like to show you. Anyway, it’s a nice day out. Shame to waste it sitting around here. Yes, a trip into the city will be just the thing to lift your spirits.”

  “You leave my spirits alone. You just want an excuse to get off the water.

  “Maybe. My stomach has never gotten used to the motion of these rafts. Come on. Leave your smelly nets and things to those who’ve nothing better to do.”

  I shrugged. “Just let me tell Hadrian I won’t be here for dinner.”

  “Your priest’s a regular old woman, isn’t he?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’m beginning to think he’s less pushy than you. Why do I have a feeling whatever you’re dragging me off to look at is somehow connected to that other business? The one we agreed not to talk about?”

  “Your suspicious nature, I suppose. Let’s go.”

  I definitely had a bad feeling about this. A trip into the noisy, crowded city sounded far from appealing. And yet, against my will, my curiosity had been piqued.

  * * *

  An hour later found me in the market district, surveying a row of bloated corpses dangling over the side of the East Bridge. With their faces swollen and discolored, their features set in their final grimaces, they hardly looked like the familiar friends I used to see every day. I stood directly beneath one frayed pairs of boots that swayed slightly in the wind and found myself looking up at Kipp dangling above me.

  My eyes blurred so that the others strung up alongside him were indistinct figures but when I blinked, their faces became clear. All these men were known to me, some even members of the circle. I could only be relieved that Dradac wasn’t among them and neither were Ada or Javen.

  I was trembling and didn’t know whether it was with grief or fury. A red haze obscured my vision, and my breath came in gasps. I was dimly aware of firm arms pulling me off to the side of the road, and the move was none too soon, because I was suddenly seized with a terrible clenching in my belly. I turned and vomited onto the paving stones, heaving until my insides were raw. My stomach hadn’t rebelled so violently since the first time I saw a man killed before my eyes. But I was too absorbed in misery to be embarrassed at the weakness I displayed before Fleet and all the strangers streaming past. One thought kept pounding through my head.

  The Praetor. We had aided him, and he had betrayed us. My hatred drowned all rational thought. I remembered Kipp’s mischievous grin, and how once a long time ago as we hid together up in an elder tree, I had looked at him and thought him handsome. I couldn’t help comparing that image to the one I saw now. I thought of Brig who had suffered death at the hands of the Praetor’s men and of Terrac whose loyalty had been stolen from me. Suddenly it seemed as if all my troubles all the way back to the death of my parents could be laid at the door of Praetor Tarius.

  I slowly became aware of the biting pain where my fingernails were digging into my palms. The tendons along my neck and jaw ached and my face felt hot.

  “Ilan…” Fleet’s voice came to me as if from a distance, and I let it draw me back.

  Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and forced calming thoughts through my mind. It was like massaging blood back into a deadened limb and in moments I could think again. With the clarity came the crushing weight of guilt. I couldn’t blame the Praetor alone. So much of this was my fault. My friends had asked me to come back, asked me to lead them again, but I’d been a coward. Ada was right. I had chosen to save myself even if it meant abandoning the rest of the circle.

  “I’m sorry I had to show you that,” Fleet said, “but I couldn’t think how else to make you yourself again.”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust myself to speak yet.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t know anything yet, but I’m making inquiries into exactly how this happened, and who else was involved. I thought you’d want to know what became of the rest of your friends. I’ve got a few bribable acquaintances among the city guard who could be useful. That is, if you want me to continue looking into it?”

  I looked to the grisly figures strung from the bridge, and the lines of strangers streaming heedlessly beneath them, no more affected than if the dead men had been stone gargoyles.

  “Yes, please,” I rasped. “Learn what you can.”

  “And my message?” he asked, after a visible hesitation. “Are you ready to hear it yet? I ask because it is from the Praetor.”

  I had learned too much today to be surprised by this.

  “He wants a meeting,” Fleet continued. “I know after seeing this,” he indicated the hanged outlaws, “it may not seem like the best time.”

  “It’s the perfect time,” I interrupted. The perfect time to look on the face of the man who was steadily destroying my life. “Take me to him.”
r />   Chapter Fourteen

  My footsteps rang across the floor as I paced the narrow waiting room we had been ushered into. A deep numbness had settled over me since that scene at the East Bridge, so that there was no question of working up my courage. I felt nothing, least of all fear. My only concern was whether I’d be granted the opportunity to carry out my task.

  Ignorant of my plans, Fleet leaned against the wood paneled wall, his fingers twisting idly at the gaudy rings above his knuckles. Although he didn’t outwardly betray his concern, I sensed it and wondered if he was always this unsettled when preparing to report to the Praetor or if he somehow suspected what I had in mind. I would keep a wary eye on him. I couldn’t have him interfering with my plans.

  Something else I kept an eye on was the iron-studded door at the end of the room. At every moment, I half expected it to fly open to admit a flood of Fists who would come pouring over us like a human avalanche. I knew there were a number of them keeping watch outside the door already, and I’d seen more posted at intervals along the hall.

  Raking a hand through my mussed hair, I told myself we’d been a pair of fools to come here. We were making it so easy for them. This entire business smelled of a trap. Why hadn’t I realized that before? But I knew why. It was because I was so full of zeal for the task ahead; I hadn’t stopped to think.

  I paced faster. Why had I let them take my knives when we entered the Praetor’s keep? My bow still rode comfortably at my back, but it was of no use when I’d been forced to part with my arrows. All I had left was a single trick up my sleeve—or rather, down my boot. I prayed it was enough.

  I was shaken out of my thoughts when the big door swung inward, admitting a burly man in the attire of a Fist with two more armed soldiers at his back. I tensed but no attack came. There was a pause of about three seconds as the man in front and I eyed one another with controlled animosity. Obviously he knew who I was and resented whatever orders restrained him from killing me.