“This is it?” she asked. She had expected something more clandestine. An underground hideout perhaps, or a chamber behind a false wall.
Rand pushed through the door, and Kyra found herself in an equally nondescript hallway. To her left, an entryway opened into a giant room stacked with boxes. A few men loitered inside, the rough type that Kyra usually avoided. Their eyes lingered on her, and Kyra hastened after Rand.
He knocked on a door at the end of the corridor.
“Come in,” said James.
His voice sent a chill down her spine. Kyra briefly wondered if she was making a mistake, but Rand motioned her in with a jerk of his head. The study they entered was sparsely furnished and immaculately clean. James sat at a wide desk facing the door. He looked at Rand and then Kyra, gaze sweeping her from head to toe. Kyra lowered her eyes, suddenly ashamed of her battered state. If James had ever found her impressive, he would be hard-pressed to keep that opinion now.
“What’s this?” James asked.
“Red Shields,” said Rand.
James scrutinized Kyra again, as if he were making a mental catalog of every bruise and scratch. “You were supposed to keep an eye on her,” he said to Rand.
“She’s alive, in’t she?”
They looked at each other, exchanging some wordless communication, before James turned back to Kyra. “Wash off in the basin out back. Rand will show you.”
It took Kyra a moment for her to recognize his words as a dismissal. She choked out an acknowledgment before following Rand out the back door. It opened into a dirt courtyard. In the center was a barrel of water that looked clean enough. Kyra submerged her scratched forearms and carefully rubbed off the dirt. When she finished, Rand handed her a stack of rags and went back inside. Relieved to be alone, Kyra wet a rag and splashed water on her head, letting out a long breath as streams ran down the swollen side of her face. Her panic from the attack had worn away, and in its place was an emotion she couldn’t quite name. It was as if the ground were unsteady, or the buildings around her might collapse without any warning. Nothing felt safe.
“Rand says you don’t carry a knife.”
Kyra jumped at the voice. She turned to see James leaning against the door frame.
“I don’t need to. I can usually get away,” she said. “But this time I had a little one with me.”
“Two Red Shields tried to take your coin?”
Kyra nodded. Her hair was damp against her forehead, and she nudged it aside.
“So what will you do?” James asked. “Go to the magistrate? Complain to him about misbehaving soldiers?”
There was no overt sarcasm in his voice, but it wasn’t really a question. The Palace would be more likely to arrest her than help her, and James knew it. Kyra looked at him, then at her scratched forearms, and weighed her options.
“If I join you, what jobs will I do?”
“Watch the Palace. I would know the layout of the Fastkeep. Your first job would be to map it, starting from the perimeter, and once you’re ready, moving toward the center.”
“Drawing maps? That’s all?”
“That’s the first step. I’ve got a bigger job in mind for you afterward.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’ll tell you in a few months, when you’re ready. You can’t know all our secrets at once. If you do that last job, it’ll earn you a house. But either way, we’ll pay you well.”
Flick’s voice echoed in her head, words of caution she couldn’t quite ignore. “If I get caught by the Palace, and folk know I run with you, it wouldn’t be good.”
James chuckled. “Of all possible objections, I didn’t expect that one. If the Palace captures you now, you’d be in bad straits whether you were with us or not, I promise you. If you join us, you’ll be better paid, better trained, and safer. You’ve seen what Rand can do. He in’t even our best. But there’s only so much you can see from the outside.”
“You’ll train me?”
“We’ll teach you to handle a knife and hold your own. You’re fast and skilled. There’s no reason tonight had to end like this.”
There was something about the way he carried himself and security in his words—a promise she couldn’t bring herself to turn down. Kyra twisted the rag in her hand. Flick and Bella would come around. They always had before.
“I’ll try,” she said.
James nodded, mouth curving into a slight smile. “Glad to hear it. Welcome to the Guild.”
F I V E
There was no warning. No sound, no shout of alarm. Tristam had been riding with Jack on an outskirts patrol and had fallen slightly behind as they rounded a corner. By the time he caught up, Jack was facedown on the path, covered in dirt and grimacing in pain. Tristam stared a moment before his training kicked in. He drew his sword and whipped up his shield, barely breathing as he scanned the road for enemies.
But there was nothing—only open fields of livestock and the boulder they’d just ridden around. Birds chirped in the background, oblivious to any disaster.
“What happened?”
Jack coughed. “Stupid horse,” he rasped. “Don’t know what got into him.”
Tristam looked at Jack, then at his gelding grazing peacefully nearby, as Jack’s words slowly sank in. “Your horse threw you? On a routine patrol?” He made a halfhearted attempt to stifle the first chuckle, then gave up and doubled over laughing. Jack was a talented horse talker and possessed an uncanny rapport with any steed he rode. Tristam had never seen him have trouble with a horse, let alone fall off one.
Jack scowled. “Once you’re done laughing, can you help me up?”
Tristam dismounted and crouched next to him. “What happened?”
“Gray spooked right after I rounded that curve. I don’t know what it was.”
“Anything broken?”
“No, but I hit my head.”
Tristam offered Jack an arm. His friend pushed off the ground, wobbled, then slowly straightened. Once up, Jack tried to walk, but his balance was off. He pitched first to one side, then the other, stumbling until he caught himself on a nearby tree trunk.
“How do you feel?”
“Dizzy.”
Tristam felt a slight twinge of guilt for laughing. “Perhaps you should rest this round and join me on the next one.”
Jack nodded, brows furrowed. “I’ll just sit by that boulder for a while.” He staggered toward it, again stumbling wildly from side to side. And suddenly, Tristam understood.
“Here, let me help you.” He took Jack’s arm over his shoulder, sinking a little under his weight as they made their way toward the boulder. After five steps, he placed his hand on Jack’s back and pushed, at the same time hooking Jack’s leg out from under him.
Jack yelped and fell forward, rolling over his shoulder and springing back to his feet with surprising agility for someone with a head wound. He laughed as he dusted himself off. “Is that how you treat your injured comrades?”
Tristam put on his sternest expression. “You deserved it. I should turn you in for shirking duty.”
“Shirking duty?” Jack’s face fell into a well-practiced mask of innocence. “Why would I do such an irresponsible thing?”
“I’m guessing that brunette up the road making calf’s eyes at you has something to do with it. What’d you do? Round the corner, jump off the horse, and throw dirt all over yourself?”
Jack threw a mock punch at Tristam, who shrugged out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid the headlong charge that followed. Tristam caught Jack in a bear hug as he went down, but they were both laughing too hard to do any real damage.
“You never miss anything, do you?” said Jack as he rubbed his shoulder—a real bruise this time, courtesy of Tristam.
Tristam dusted off his tunic. “You may best me at riding, my friend, but subterfuge is not your strong point. Come, we’re wasting time.”
“What gave me away?”
“People with vertigo don’t lurch
like that. They center their weight between both legs. Take a closer look next time you walk into a tavern. Your show of reeling back and forth required more balance than most people have when they’re sober.”
Jack whistled as they kicked their horses into a trot. “Someday I’ll fool you, Tristam.”
Tristam just chuckled. They followed the road past the farm and into a patch of forest. The air smelled of fresh leaves and sunshine, and Tristam let himself relax, enjoying the light breeze through his tunic. Most of their training took place on the Palace grounds in the city proper, and these monthly patrols of the surrounding farmland were a rare treat.
It hadn’t yet sunk in that this was one of the last times he’d ride this circle with Jack. They’d entered the Palace together as pages and trained side by side for the last ten years, sneaking out at dawn for extra fencing practice and sitting long hours over strategy lessons. But once they were knighted, they’d most likely go to separate units.
“These outskirt patrols are always dull,” said Jack.
Tristam glanced in his direction. “I like them. They remind me of home.”
“You would feel that way, country boy.”
Tristam raised an eyebrow. “If you really want to talk to her, I’ll cover for you. One circle only though.”
Jack slapped his thigh. “Do I believe my ears? Tristam the model squire, allowing me to shirk my duty?” He let out a martyr’s sigh. “No, no. I suppose I should conduct myself like a proper knight-to-be. I’m afraid you’re rubbing off on me. Though she was pretty…”
“A farm girl. Your mother wouldn’t be pleased.”
“My mother needn’t know.”
Tristam decided that didn’t need a reply.
After a moment, Jack spoke again. “Have you decided what you’ll do next month?”
“After we’re knighted? I’ll be applying to the road patrols.”
“Following the Brancel family tradition? The Master Strategist will be disappointed.”
“He’ll have his pick of worthy applicants.”
“But not his star pupil.” Jack lowered his voice in imitation of the old knight. “That young Tristam. Best mind for strategy I’ve seen in ten years.”
Tristam shrugged self-consciously, not thrilled about the conversation he’d eventually have to have with his favorite instructor. “It’s just that I’ll go crazy if I have to stay in Forge any longer. Too many lords to impress, rules to follow.”
“And now he’s complaining about rules. Who are you, shape-shifting demon? What have you done with my friend? Though, on the other hand…” Jack stroked his unbearded chin. “I’m not sure I want him back….”
Tristam rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. I’ll do a knight’s duty if it’s patrols or actual work. But the politics, the court dinners, all the ways a knight is supposed to behave…”
“What is it about you Brancel men? All this talk of duty and honor, but you insist on performing your service at the edge of civilization. Why so eager to run for the trees?”
“Visit our manor and see for yourself.”
“Think I’ll like it?”
Tristam thought about his family’s land, remembering the quiet trails, the sunrise coming over the mountain. When he went home, he took off for days into the forest, sometimes not seeing another person the entire time. And even at the manor, he wasn’t saddled with the obligations of court life. His family’s staff was small and had known him all his life. He was free to be himself, rather than a courtier in training.
“You’d hate it,” Tristam said.
Jack laughed. “It’s not that I dislike scenery. It’s just that if I have to choose between forests and pretty girls…” Suddenly, Jack sat up straight. “Do you hear that?”
A bell rang faintly in the distance.
“It’s an alarm bell at the farm up ahead,” Jack said. “Come on.” He kicked Gray into a gallop.
An alarm bell? Tristam couldn’t remember the last time something went wrong in the outskirts. He urged his horse after Jack.
Any hopes for a false alarm disappeared as he rode in. Panicked screams sounded all around, mixed with the lower-pitched bleating of frightened livestock. The farm was a mass of confusion, with villagers running away from a threat he couldn’t see. Tristam cast around, trying to make sense of the chaos. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dead or wounded villagers and livestock scattered around the grounds. A frightened woman darted across his path, and Tristam’s mare swerved just in time to avoid trampling her.
Ahead of him, Jack disappeared around a corner. Tristam pushed to close the distance between them while avoiding panicking residents. Then he rounded the corner and stopped, pulling so hard on his mare’s reins that she threatened to rear.
Jack was still riding full speed toward a sheep pen behind the barn. Inside the pen, a giant wildcat fed on a sheep’s carcass, powerful muscles moving under sleek black fur as it tore into its meal. Next to the beast stood a woman. She wore simple clothing made of animal hide, and her unruly blond hair hung freely down her back. She had an intimidating grace as she laid one hand on the cat’s flank, calmly watching its progress.
Tristam realized with a start that she wasn’t the only one in there. A farmhand cowered in the corner, trying to make himself as invisible as he could. The man looked too terrified to flee.
Jack didn’t slow as he neared the enclosure, but urged his horse on, either not hearing Tristam’s shouts to wait or just ignoring them. Gray sailed over the fence into the pen. As dirt flew and sheep scattered, the farmhand jumped the fence and ran. Tristam reined in his horse and gritted his teeth in frustration. There wasn’t enough room in the enclosure for both of them.
Jack drew his sword. “I command you to surrender.”
Despite his growing fear, Tristam found himself mesmerized by the wildcat. It was a beautiful creature, or would have been if it hadn’t been tearing into the sheep with deadly sharp claws. Its head, when lifted, came as high as a man’s, and its sleek fur gleamed in the sunlight. As he watched, the creature licked its lips and raised its head, circling around to Jack’s left, away from his sword arm….
Too late, Tristam shouted a warning. The cat moved with impossible speed—Jack didn’t have a chance. The creature’s claws dug a gash from Jack’s shoulder to the bottom of his horse’s flank. The gelding whinnied and fell heavily on its side, pinning Jack beneath him. Immediately, the cat lunged for the horse’s throat, sinking its teeth in and holding on as the animal shuddered.
Tristam screamed, a ragged sound that he hardly recognized as his own voice. In an instant, he was off his horse and running toward the pen. The cat raised its head and focused its amber-slitted eyes on him, and Tristam froze, suddenly realizing his mistake. After one last glance at the motionless Jack, the creature jumped lightly over the fence. Crouching low, it advanced slowly, gaze never deviating. Cursing his moment of madness, Tristam drew his sword, every muscle tight with fear. He had seen how quickly the cat could move.
The animal sprang for Tristam’s throat. Tristam’s reflexes took over, and he dropped to the ground, blindly slashing with his sword. He felt the blade hit the cat’s underside, but the sword edge glanced off its stiff black fur. The cat landed behind him and coiled around. It seemed more focused now, even eager. Tristam hastily raised himself to a crouch, keeping his shield and weapon between himself and the cat. At the cat’s next charge, he threw his shield up as he thrust his sword at its neck. The impact jarred his arms, and the cat’s claws sent splinters flying off his shield. The beast screamed. When they broke apart, there was a shallow slash across the creature’s shoulder. Tristam gritted his teeth and braced himself for the next attack.
The charge never came. It took Tristam a few moments to realize that the woman had spoken. Now both the cat and the woman looked into the distance. Hoofbeats sounded behind him, but Tristam didn’t dare turn to look. The cat exhaled through its nostrils and loped back to the livestock pen, crouching down a
s the woman vaulted over the fence onto its back. She dug her hands into the hair of its neck, and the two sped off across the field and into the forest.
Tristam stood there, petrified, breath coming in painful gasps as he stared after his attackers. Finally, he regained the presence of mind to wonder who was coming. Far up the road, soldiers dressed in Forge’s red livery galloped toward the farm. Tristam waved his arms, and a few riders branched off toward him.
Jack.
Tristam jumped into the livestock pen, dread squeezing his chest. His friend was pinned beneath his horse and barely conscious. Blood flowed from the gash in his side, and his breathing was shallow. The part of Tristam’s mind that knew about battle wounds whispered that this was mortal, but Tristam ignored it. Jack was going to be all right. He had to be. Tristam removed his shirt and knelt down, pressing the fabric to Jack’s side with clumsy hands. The cloth didn’t even cover half the gash, but he was not giving up.
He needed more bandages. Tristam prepared to take off his inner tunic, but then Jack’s eyes flew open. The grimace of pain on his face was real this time. Tristam cradled Jack’s head in his arms, looking for a way to distract him.
“This is the second time today a pretty girl has knocked you off your horse,” was all he could think to say.
The corners of Jack’s eyes crinkled. Perhaps he was trying to smile. It was hard to tell. Then his eyes lost their focus, and his head fell to one side. By the time the soldiers arrived, Jack was dead.
S I X
The veteran knights called it battle guilt. They spoke of it as they took Jack’s body away, and as they sat with Tristam in his grief. When you lose a friend in battle, they said, it’s natural to feel like you’re to blame. But don’t let those thoughts consume you. War is fickle. Just fight your best and let the ghosts of every battle rest in peace.
Tristam had heard the lectures before, had even agreed with them and thought them wise. But he hadn’t known how meaningless they would be when confronted with a gravestone, how they crumbled like ashes against the unrelenting accusations in his head. He should have ridden faster. He should have tried harder to get Jack to leave the pen.
Midnight Thief Page 4
