by C. Greenwood
“Allow us to send for a physician…”
From the Fists, a similar buzz arose.
“Let us kill the woods mongrel, my lord!”
“She attempted to assassinate you.”
“My lord, I beg the honor…”
I didn’t dare listen for Terrac’s reaction among the others. That he should be present for this was my only regret.
The Praetor coolly waved them all to silence. “Disarm the prisoner,” he commanded and the order was instantly followed.
“She is not to be killed without my order,” the lord continued. “Her attempt has failed, and I have sustained nothing but a simple cut.”
I interrupted. “I am afraid it is more than that. What seems but a shallow cut is in fact a deadly wound. My blade was tipped in poison and in a moment you will keel over, lifeless. It is no use calling for a physician. I am assured it is a fast acting toxin. Perhaps you feel its effects already? Dizziness? A faint numbness spreading up the limb as the poison travels toward the heart.”
My enemy failed to display the expected horror. Even as his guards and advisors erupted again into a clamor, he only looked at his sliced palm with interest and massaged his forearm, muttering under his breath. I couldn’t make out the words he whispered and no one else seemed even to notice.
His soft chanting finished, the Praetor looked me in the eyes. I shivered at his cold gaze but his only words to me were, “Cleverly done, young one.”
Then he turned aside to his advisors, commanding, “Give me something to stem this cursed blood.”
A fine velvet sash was proffered and applied to the wound. Only then did the lord look around him and take stock of the situation.
“Stop gasping and gaping,” he ordered his counselors. “Have you never seen blood before?”
It was clear many of them hadn’t.
“Verikk, bring me the weapon,” he said, and an aging warrior stepped forward with the poisoned dagger I had been relieved of.
With barely a glance, the Praetor tucked the weapon into the folds of his robe.
What, I wondered, could he want with the thing? But it was clear no explanation would be forthcoming.
“Now,” he said, settling back in his seat and assuming a comfortable position, “We shall resume our business. I believe you were about to swear obedience to me, woods thief.”
“But my lord!” The interruption came not from me but a white headed advisor. “Even now, poison courses through your veins!”
The Praetor appeared to find his concern tiresome, saying, “Do not be a fool, Meivoran. Do I look like a dying man? No doubt that would disturb all of you. If your lord were dead with no heirs, there would be none but you to assume my position.”
His accusation was met with a sea of denials.
“My lord, we would never so presume!”
“None of us would dream of such a thing!”
He held up a hand for silence, and I almost admired the way a single gesture from him froze them all midsentence. Only I was distracted by his question. It was true; he didn’t look like a dying man. In fact, he looked unfortunately strong. A picture of health and vigor. My mind whirled with the possibilities. Had the apothecary cheated me? Had I not got enough poison into my enemy?
“Enough has been said,” the Praetor was saying. “There was no poison on the dagger. I myself have examined it. Clearly the girl spoke falsely, but the time for punishment will come later. We have more pressing matters to weigh upon our minds. Or have you all forgotten the Skeltai warriors running unchecked within our borders?”
To me he said, “I underestimated you, woods thief. I shall not do so again. Mere gold will never be enough to buy your loyalty, will it?”
Not awaiting an answer, he gazed around him thoughtfully. “What, I wonder, would be a sufficient bribe to ensure you cooperation? Perhaps the life of your friend here?”
A chill passed through me as, at a gesture from the Praetor, a pair of Fists dragged Fleet to the foot of the dais. I tried to catch his eye, wanting him to know how sorry I was I’d gotten him into this situation.
“What’s this?” the Praetor asked. “I believe I detect concern in your eyes, woods thief. If the money means nothing to you, it at least appears you attribute some value to the life of your companion.”
He smiled. “I believe we will work out a new deal. You will work for blood, not money. Bring your spy network to life again. I don’t care how you do it, or what it takes. I want concise and timely information coming out of that cursed forest on a regular basis. Until I’m satisfied you are carrying out your mission adequately, your street scum friend here shall remain my permanent guest. I am sure he will find the dungeon very comfortable.”
“He has nothing to do with any of this,” I protested.
“Do you really expect me to believe that? At any rate, even if he was not your accomplice in my attempted assassination, I have compiled a wealth of other unsavory information about his history. The city guard are very familiar with him and would be pleased to see him come to his deserved fate.”
I didn’t need to look at Fleet to know what his thoughts were just now. He wasn’t the sort for heroic sacrifices. Do what you must and leave me to die weren’t words I would ever hear from his mouth.
I nodded reluctant agreement to the Praetor’s proposal. What else could I do? I had been prepared to risk my life, but I could scarcely condemn Fleet to death for the simple mistake of being my friend.
The Praetor showed no pleasure at his victory, but looked as if he had never had any doubt of it. He said, “Understand that I leave no room for mistakes. Should any dark magicks stir undetected within Dimmingwood again, should a single Skeltai raid take place without your advance warning, your friend here will face the consequences. Should you be negligent or slack in your reports, should you choose to disregard a direct order from me, again your shabby friend will meet a lingering demise.”
He was setting me impossible standards. The idea that I, or Fleet, might be held responsible for a single attack I failed to predict was madness. Yet what could I do? The cards were on the table, and I had not a single bargaining chip with which to redeem Fleet’s freedom.
Every fiber of me rebelling, I nonetheless uttered the words, “It will be as you say.”
What followed next went past in a blur. I was so stunned by the sudden horrible twist in events, I was hardly aware of myself being prodded forward by the guards until I was again kneeling before my enemy. How had my freedom, my dreams of vengeance been lost so suddenly?
I heard the Praetor’s words as if from a great distance. “Vow obedience.”
I felt sick, and my very heart denied what I spoke. “I vow obedience.”
“Vow fidelity and service.”
“I vow fidelity and service…” I mouthed woodenly.
The Praetor’s ruby encrusted ring felt cold to my lips.
Not An Ending, But A Resting Place
An impatient shove from the Fist behind me brings my wandering thoughts back to the moment. I pick up my pace, if only to avoid further rough encouragement from my escort, any one of who would probably pounce on the least excuse to hurt me.
The candles flicker in the wall sconces lining the stone corridor leading us away from the Praetor’s audience chamber. But it isn’t the draft sweeping down the shadowy halls that chills me. It’s the clank of armor, the ringing echo of the guards’ boots, and the inescapable knowledge that I’m no better than any of these servants of the Praetor. I have vowed my loyalty and service to their master, now my master, and nothing can wipe that stain from me.
I have become the enemy.
Continue Ilan’s journey in Book IV, Redemption of Thieves.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. Greenwood is the fantasy pen name of author Dara England, who lives in Oklahoma with her husband, two young children, and a Yorkshire terrier. To receive updates on future books, visit www.DaraEnglandAuthor.com or sign up for her newsletter at tinyur
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WRITING AS C.GREENWOOD
Legends of Dimmingwood Series
Magic of Thieves ~ Book I
Betrayal of Thieves ~ Book II
Circle of Thieves ~ Book III
Redemption of Thieves ~ Book IV
Other Titles
Kingsworn Trilogy ~ Coming 2014
Dreamer’s Journey
WRITING AS DARA ENGLAND
The Accomplished Mysteries
Accomplished in Murder ~ Book One
Accomplished in Detection ~ Book Two
Accomplished in Blood ~ Book Three
The American Heiress Mysteries
Death on Dartmoor ~ Book One
Murder in Mayfair ~ Book Two
Other Titles
Beastly Beautiful
Love By The Book
The Magic Touch
Eternal Strife (The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance)
Table of Contents
A Beginning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Not An Ending, But A Resting Place
About the Author
