Circle of Thieves: Legends of Dimmingwood (12 page)

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 expect 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.”