Circle of Thieves: Legends of Dimmingwood (5 page)

Chapter
Five

Rideon could be a hard man to locate when he didn’t care to
be found. With the Praetor’s recently heightened presence in Dimming, it made
sense for the outlaws to take to hiding now. I found remnants of their last
camp, but it was obvious it had been abandoned for some time. I spent a day
visiting the old haunts of the band. All but Red Rock. I had no desire to see
that place again.

I grew frustrated. The brigands had been thorough in
concealing the signs of their whereabouts, and I was beginning to wonder if
they had simply vanished out of being altogether.

It was at Dancing Creek that I finally ran into a bit of
luck. I found a faint, recently worn trail leading away from the stream’s edge
where I suspected the men came regularly to collect water. Of course the track
could have been made by a lone woodsman or by one of the smaller rival groups
of brigands that occasionally took up residence in Dimming. But this was the
first clue I’d come upon, and I decided to follow it.

And so I did for some time. The trouble was, I hadn’t gone
far when the trail I followed branched off into diverging paths. No matter
which I took, the result was always the same. They either faded slowly away
into a dead end or circled around and brought me back to the same place. It was
an old tactic I recognized, meant to make the trail as confusing and time
consuming to follow as possible, but I doubted when our men created it, they
had taken into account one of their own trying to find them.

I finally stopped for rest, leaning wearily against the side
of a towering elder tree. I closed my eyes briefly and let my frustrations ebb
away, breathing in the earthy scents of pine bark and decaying leaves. I was
home, I reminded myself. No matter how separated I was from the others, all was
well so long as I stood in Dimming’s shadow again.

A sudden sense of another presence was all the warning I had
before a heavy weight descended from above. My attacker fell on me, rolling me
easily to the ground. With the combined force of the landing and the weight of
my assailant, my breath rushed with a whoosh from my lungs, leaving me
struggling for air. I summoned enough strength to grapple with my unknown
attacker for a moment, rolling around on the ground, punching and biting at
anything I could reach to make him shift his weight enough for me to wriggle
free. But he was larger than I, and having evidently summed up his victim in advance,
had the sense to keep my hands out of reach of my knives. I tried every trick I
knew to get at them but couldn’t. Rot him, he was good.

I don’t know how long this wrestling match went on before I
was finally diverted from my efforts by the sound of familiar laughter and the
words, “Give over, Hound, and when I’m sure you aren’t going to slice me up
like a ham, I’ll let you go.”

I twisted my head around to get a look at my foe. It was an
awkward angle with my belly and breasts pressed to the ground, but I didn’t
need a clear view to know that twisted grin.

“Dradac!” I cried. “You scum-sucking, hog-wallowing—”

“Now, now,” he interrupted. “Is that any way to greet an old
friend?”

“Friend?”

Face in the dirt and breathless from my compressed position,
I still managed to reel off an impressive collection of insults, all applying
to the giant or his mother.

Dradac only laughed at my outrage, released his hold, and
rolled off me.

Spitting dirt, I sat up and dusted the soil and leaves from
my tunic.

“Do you derive all your amusement these days from dropping
down on unsuspecting victims and crushing their guts out their eyeballs?” I
asked.

He appeared unperturbed at my indignation. “I get a lot more
laughs out of watching them wander in circles for hours, searching for a path a
blind man could see.”

My face heated. “You’ve been spying on me all this time!” I
accused. “You could have called out and told me which way to take.”

He grinned. “But guiding isn’t a sentry’s job, is it? What is
his task? Watching, which I did very well. Anyway, you of all people ought to
remember to glance up into the trees from time to time.”

I felt my face grow warmer because it was true. I’d been
away so long all the old wariness had faded from my mind.

To hide my embarrassment, I scrambled to my feet, one hand
going back to check that the bow and my traveler’s sack were still in place.

“Anyway, what were you playing around for?” Dradac asked.
“The Hound I remember could pick her way through a briar patch, blindfolded,
without taking a scratch. You weren’t lost, were you?”

“I certainly wasn’t,” I lied peevishly. “All that tramping
around was a ploy to bring you out of hiding so you could lead the way to the
new camp.”

He grinned slyly. “Then you couldn’t find the camp?”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be looking for it,” I snapped,
losing patience. “Anyway, what does it matter how I found you? The point is I’m
here now. Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been? Or did you fail to notice
I was even gone?”

“I could hardly miss that,” he said. “I’ve been taking up
the slack around camp ever since you and the priest boy disappeared.”

He sobered. “I was worried about you, Ilan. Everyone else
said you and the boy priest had run off together for good, but I never believed
that. Knew nothing could make you give up Dimming of your own will.”

It was typical of him not to ask any questions, but I
answered what I knew was on his mind anyway. “Terrac and I ran into Fists at
Red Rock. He was captured and taken to the city. I followed him.”

I was surprised how short the explanation was once I trimmed
out the details.

“Terrac didn’t come back with you?”

“No,” I said simply.

Again another man might have demanded explanations but not
Dradac. All he said was, “I’m just as glad he didn’t. Rideon was red to match
his name when he found out the boy broke his oath and took off.”

I started to offer excuses for Terrac but realized abruptly
that I didn’t want to talk about him anymore. His betrayal was still fresh, and
there was another nameless emotion mixed in with the hurt. It seemed best to
keep him out of my mind.

As if sensing my feelings, Dradac changed the subject. “It’s
good to have you back at least. I was beginning to think I’d never lay eyes on
you again.”

He stood back and, narrowing his eyes, said, “But there’s
something different about you…”

He pointed to the bow poking up over my shoulder, asking,
“What’s that?”

I suppressed a grimace. Why was the bow always the first
thing anybody noticed?

“It’s nothing,” I said, “I showed it to you before I left
Dimmingwood, remember? I acquired it the night Brig died.”

“Seems familiar, now you mention it,” he agreed, his gaze
slowly leaving the weapon and returning to my face. “You’ve aged since you were
gone, Hound. What happened to you in the city?”

I dodged the question. “I’m only a year older. You just
haven’t seen me for a bit, so you forgot what I looked like.”

“No, never that,” he disagreed, but he let the subject drop.
“You’ll be eager to see the others, I suppose. Especially the Hand.”

“How is he?” I asked.

“The same,” Dradac said. “He never changes.”

“And Javen and all the rest?”

“Still here, and they’ll be surprised to see you. Now should
I lead the way? Or would you prefer me to spin you in circles and send you back
to the maze for another try? I’ll bet you’d stumble over the camp, given
another day or two.”

I smiled and said, “Just take me home.”

Chapter
Six

Boulder’s Cradle was the new home of the band. As soon as I approached
the massive hill of rock rising above the treetops, I wondered that I hadn’t
thought it the obvious choice before. It had everything needed to keep our men
through any season or weather. Its caves provided shelter for the outlaws with
ample room for hoarding supplies.  Dancing Creek was only a short walk
away, and this part of the woods was usually thick with game.

At the perimeter of the camp, we were hailed by a sentry,
but on recognizing us, he passed us through with no more than a wave and a shout
of welcome. The day was drawing to a close, the sun dipping toward the edge of
the horizon when we entered the outlaw camp. My arrival was greeted with a
small stir. There were shouts of welcome, questions about my disappearance, and
a bit of friendly back-pounding from those who knew me best.

Rideon’s greeting was surprisingly enthusiastic. I had
imagined I would be in the rain for a while over my irresponsible
disappearance, but when I gave a rough explanation of my hasty departure and
the time I had spent away, the entire episode was generally treated as a great
joke. Rideon displayed as much amusement as anybody and professed himself
greatly pleased to have one of his oldest members returned to our number.

But I knew him well enough to know he was merely being the
typical Red Hand and playing to his audience. He didn’t especially care one way
or another about my return. It surprised me, the twinge of disappointment I
felt at that knowledge. I’d been away for a while, but things hadn’t changed
much here in Dimming. I had only been home for a few hours, and I was already
slipping back into my old role as the hopeful hound, eager for my captain’s
approval.

Later that night, as we all sat around the campfire, the old
story was repeated among the outlaws of the time Terrac and I outsmarted the
Fists and stole Brig’s corpse from under their noses. I listened with amusement
to the embellished details of my heroism, but at the same time, was newly
struck by the strangeness of the fact that my sole claim to affection among
these people lay in the snatching of a dead body. I thought at this rate I’d
have to steal a new corpse every year to keep up my popularity.

But despite this turn to my thoughts, it was good to be back
among my people again.

There were four in particular, who kept close to me that
evening: Dradac, Javen, Kipp, and Nib. The others were expected, but Nib’s
welcome was a surprise, since he had never had any special fondness for me
before. Then I remembered that incident a few years ago when we had shared the
burden of keeping Terrac alive. Maybe that occasion had formed something of an
interest, if not exactly a friendship, between us.

At one point during the night, Rideon joined us at the fire,
and after a time, I built up my nerve sufficiently to approach him. I told him
quietly about the events I had witnessed and taken part in during the attack on
Hammond’s Bend. He listened in silence, his only reaction coming when I told
how we had sought unsuccessfully to track the invaders back to their lair. I
hesitated over the part about the ring in the ground and its magical barrier,
because I didn’t know how to explain my sense of the magic without admitting
myself to be a user of it—something I would never willingly confess before so
many.

But it didn’t matter because Rideon didn’t give me time to
get that far.

I looked up to find his face darkening at my telling.

“You attempted to follow them?” he demanded, “Without
sending word to me? Without awaiting my orders?”

The response wasn’t what I had anticipated, and I was
startled that his anger seemed directed at me, rather than the murderous
attackers.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I thought you’d want to know all that
could be learned of the invaders. I did what I thought you would have done
under the same circumstances. ”

He waved a hand, giving me permission to continue, and I did
so, although there wasn’t much left to tell. I concluded by explaining that I
had brought the information to him as soon as possible.

When I had finished my tale, he said, “And do you imagine
this attack you bring word of is news to me, Hound? Did you think anything of
consequence could occur in Dimming, and I remain ignorant of it? Our scouts
range wider than they once did now that the Fists are a strong presence in our
territory. The discovery of Red Rock and
Mole Hill
last summer taught us a hard lesson. We paid a heavy price for allowing
ourselves to go uninformed, and it’s a mistake I don’t intend to make again.”

“Then you also know about the executions at Hammond’s Bend?”
I asked.

“No great surprise there,” he said. “The woods villagers
grew careless. Someone talked too much and many suffered for the mistake.”

I was disturbed at what little effect their deaths seemed to
have had on him. After all, those people had died because of their involvement
with us. But it was his lack of interest in the mysterious raid that most took
me by surprise.

“What plans are being made to defend against future
attacks?” I asked.

“None. I know something of these strange invaders and don’t
believe they’re any threat to our band. Let them pillage a few of the forest
settlements until they’ve lost their blood-lust and spent their resources. Soon
enough they’ll satisfy themselves and go back to where they came from. The band
will keep out of their path in the meantime and let the Fists deal with them.”

I said, “How can you be so certain the attacks will end?
Surely what affects the wood villages will eventually affect all of us.”

He looked scornful. “I tell you I’ve looked into it and am
fully capable of handling the situation. Trust your captain, Hound. I know what
we’re dealing with.”

But did he, I wondered. Did he really? Perhaps I had been
away from home too long because suddenly I found it hard to find the
unquestioning faith I had once stored in Rideon. It was all very well for him
to tell me to trust him, but he hadn’t been the one caught up in the attack at
Hammond’s Bend. He hadn’t watched the villagers’ deaths and witnessed the
fierceness of the enemy.

But I tried to quash my doubts. Hadn’t the Hand taken care
of us this many years?

Maybe he saw the emotions crossing my face as I wrestled
with old allegiances and new questions, because he rested a firm hand on my
shoulder, the first time I ever remembered him doing such a thing.

I barely refrained from flinching. The friendly gesture
seemed so unnatural from this man who had always stood alone and above the
pack, above this little dog most especially, that I was taken aback.

His smile was like a dash of cold water. “Talk to Ada, the newest
member of our band,” he said. “She can explain a few things to you and maybe
you’ll trust her, a stranger, where you no longer believe in your captain.”

Shortly afterward, I did seek out this mysterious Ada
person, but she seemed to have vanished, and no one could tell me where to find
her.

That night, I bedded down along with dozens of others within
the main cave of the Cradle. This den was larger than that at Red Rock. We all
had more space to spread out, but I regretted not having my private cubby as I
had in our old lair. I missed the roar of the rushing waters that used to echo
above me while I slept.

*  
*   *

Sometime during the restless night I awoke and left my
blankets. I tread carefully over the darkened forms sleeping around me to slip
out the mouth of the cave. Seeking fresh air and solitude, I clambered up a
pile of boulders along the side of the cave, until I stood atop the hill of
rock.

Here I settled down to lie on my back and look up at the
stars. This was one of the few places in Dimmingwood that was high enough above
the treetops to afford a broad view of open sky. I closed my eyes and reveled
in the sounds and scents that meant home to me. The smell of wood-smoke left
over from our smoldering campfire drifted on the wind and mingled with the
nearly overpowering scent of pine and elder trees. From this height, I could
only distantly hear the singing of the crickets and the chorus of the tree
frogs below, but the rustle of the treetops in the soft night breeze still made
its way to my ears.

Unthinkingly, I cast out my talent around me like a web,
savoring the familiar presences below. Dradac was moving around down there,
possibly on his way out to relieve one of the sentries. Rideon felt quiet,
probably sleeping. It was the same with Kipp and Illsman. And there was
Kinsley. In my mind’s eye, I could envision him curled directly beneath me.
With the reassurance of so many friends at hand, my restless thoughts grew
quiet, and I felt myself drifting toward sleep.

A stealthy footfall crunched on the gravel behind me. I
didn’t need to sit up or open my eyes. I asked, “Are you the new member? The
one called Ada?”

I felt her brief hesitation in the silence before she came
to join me. “How did you know?” she asked.

I shrugged, unwilling to explain that hers was the only
unfamiliar presence I sensed in the camp.

“Practice,” I said, as if that explanation made any sense.
“What brings you up here? Couldn’t sleep down there with the crowd?”

“No. Kinsley and Lanigan snore like pigs. Anyway, Rideon told
me you had questions about the strangers that have been raiding the woods
villages. This information isn’t to go beyond you and me, as Rideon says
there’s no sense in stirring up the men. But he thinks it can do no harm for
you to know.”

Giving up thoughts of sleep, I rolled over and sat up. I was
surprised when I caught my first look at the female outlaw. In the moonlight
her skin glowed white, even paler than mine. Her silvery hair was tinted blue.
I knew at a glance she wasn’t one of the interbred
domesticated
Skeltai
descendents like my family and I. She was the real thing.

I should have been the last person to stare, but this was
the first time I’d come face to face with one of my cousins from across the
Provincial border.

“You needn’t look at me like that,” she said wryly. “I won’t
skin and devour you. I’ve lived in the Provinces most of my life and am fairly
civilized.”

“Of course,” I said, although I had no idea whether I
believed her. Just being this close to a pure-blooded Skeltai savage was unsettling.
Remembering Hadrian’s theory that the race had a stronger strain of magic than
most, I had many questions for her. But none of them were the sort of thing you
asked someone on your first meeting.

Instead, I said, “I don’t understand. If you’re one of the
sav—uh, if you’re one of
them—
how did you come to be this side of the
border? Everybody knows Skeltai don’t leave their lands and haven’t for a
hundred years or more.”

“
Everybody
are idiots,” she said. “Half the things
they say of us aren’t true and I should know. I was born and raised in the
Black Forest edging Dimming, just along the provincial border. Actually, it’s
also the kingdom border—”

“I know my geography,” I interrupted.

She ignored me and went on. “When I was a wee one, my family
used to attend the blood rites on Sacrificial Night. Of course that wasn’t what
we called them over there. In our tongue it would be the barra-clease on
Sagara-Nouri.”

Even knowing how closely she was watching me, I couldn’t
repress a shudder at mention of the famously gruesome festivals of our heathen
neighbors.

Ada continued. “I didn’t like it much, all that killing just
for the sake of killing, and against prisoners who had no sporting chance.
Guess cruelty’s not too thick in my blood. Anyway, at some point I came to an
age where I thought to myself, if I’m going to spend my life slaughtering
strangers, I might at least be making a profit of it. My
Meherra
—that’s
mother—wanted me to be a Moondancer, to spend the seasons in worship at the
temple. But that idea didn’t suit me much. Even at a young age, I realized I
didn’t believe in the Skeltai gods and had no taste for the killing they were
supposed to delight in.”

She paused thoughtfully. “I met a dark-skinned trader from
the Provinces, who taught me the ways and language of his people. He persuaded
me to leave behind the magic and rituals of my race.”

I sat up straighter. “Did you say magic?”

She eyed me thoughtfully. “That’s right. The Skeltai are
powerful in the dark arts and incorporate their uses into most aspects of
life.”

“I know that,” I lied. “Tell me more about the magic of your
people.”

She snorted. “They’re not
my
people. I left that life
behind when I was scarcely more than a child, running away from my family and crossing
over into the provinces. This is home to me now.”

“Yes, all right,” I agreed impatiently. “But explain the
Skeltai magic to me.”

“There’s little to tell beyond rituals and sacrifices,
spells and incantations. You know the foolish things superstitious people will
believe in. If you wring a chicken’s neck over your grandmother’s grave on
seventh night, she’ll awake to tell you secrets from beyond…”

“Does that really work?” I asked eagerly.

“No.” She looked at me as if I were a simple. “I was just
giving an example. But truly, you’ve come to the wrong person to learn anything
about Skeltai magic. My Meherra’s second brother was a
Sageuon
, a
shaman, of my tribe, but I only journeyed to the temple once a year for Sagara
Nouri. I was too young then to pay attention to anything but the blood.  I
was clumsy and fumble-witted throughout my youth, and my family gave up
attempting to teach me even small magic spells early on. Maybe that figured
into my decision to leave …”