06 - Rule of Thieves (7 page)

I might have pointed out the irony in that he was usually eager to destroy the outlaws during times of peace. Yet when he had use for them, he assumed they would be willing to risk their lives to do his bidding.

But I said only, “I anticipated your wishes and have already arranged with the Dimmingwood outlaws to take up their former position as your eyes and ears between the border of Dimmingwood and the Skeltai’s own Black Forest. In return, they would like generous payment and your assurance that those who choose to work for you will be pardoned for past crimes.”

“I am sure they would like that,” the Praetor snorted. “And I would like all the gold in the Arxus Mountains. But I’m unlikely to obtain it.”

I held my anger in check, saying, “They’ve been betrayed by you before, and several of them were hanged despite their service in the last war. Do not think they will be so easily used this time. And the magickers, if they even come, will be still more wary as they have even less cause to trust you.”

“Magickers?” He had begun to look bored by my speech, but now I had his full attention again.

I explained. “During the skirmishes last year, we drove the Skeltai out by sheer luck. But have you considered how much more damage they could do us if they were to make a concerted effort and turn the full force of their magic against us? It seems to me if we are to stand a chance against them, we must match their warrior shaman with magic-wielders of our own. So, when I learned the Skeltai threat was renewed, I sent out a request for help.”

I glanced at Terrac, worried at his reaction to what I would say next, and continued, “During my travels this past year, I encountered a hidden community of magickers who had been driven out of the province during the cleansing that took place those many years ago.”

Again, I looked to Terrac, who listened in the background, but his face betrayed nothing. He had sworn to me he would omit all mention of the Swiftsfell magickers of Cros from his spy report to the Praetor. I could not know whether he had kept his promise.

Certainly the Praetor showed no surprise on learning of such a community. “You have contacted the practicers of the forbidden arts with a request for aid?” he asked coldly. “On whose authority have you taken such action?”

I refused to wilt beneath his anger. “I made it clear the request originated from me personally, but I did suggest you might be interested in forming an alliance. They would offer us their skills to be used in defense against the Skeltai savages.”

“And in return?” he asked. “What have we offered them?”

I tread carefully. “I believe they would be content with nothing more or less than a revoking of the law forbidding magic use in the province. All they would ask is that those born with the skill of magic be permitted to safely practice that art in Ellesus, as they do in other provinces.”

My reply was carefully worded to avoid referencing my own abilities, powers that I could not openly discuss in this company. The Praetor was aware of my powers, just as I knew of his. But we were, neither of us, in a position to acknowledge these secrets publically.

Maybe the Praetor sensed the direction of my thoughts, for his response was sharp. “My laws are not to be questioned or changed. Tell your magicker friends they are neither needed nor welcome in this province. We are more than capable of defending ourselves against all outside forces.”

His arrogance was as startling as it was foolish.

“I believe you will regret this decision to turn away allies,” I said. “I have faced the Skeltai shamans, and they are stronger than you know.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I know. And never again attempt to negotiate peace with those I have declared enemies. You have been permitted much thus far because of your usefulness with the outlaws. But even you are not irreplaceable, Ilan of Dimmingwood. Remember that.”

Before I could protest further, he dismissed me with instructions not to leave the keep lest he have need of me soon.

Our audience over, I had accomplished nothing. I concealed my anger only until Terrac had led me from the chamber and we were alone in the hall.

Then I burst out, “The man is a fool. He underestimates the power of the savages, and the province will suffer for his pride.”

Terrac glanced around the empty hall. “I advise you to keep such dangerous opinions to yourself. And certainly not to voice them to me. I cannot be seen to let treasonous speech pass, not even from you.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I guess it’s just as well I don’t forget which side you’re on.”

For just a moment, he looked regretful. “Some might suppose our oaths to the Praetor put us on the same side for once.”

“You know me better than that. He’s still the same evil man who killed my parents, oaths or not.”

“Then you will seek opportunities to betray him?”

“I will keep my promises to the letter. But he will not have my loyalty or respect.”

“Then you walk a thin line,” Terrac warned. “If you imagine you can be true to your thief friends and the Swiftsfell magickers while also serving the Praetor who outlaws both, you may soon find yourself the enemy of all and friend to none.”

I was about to respond with something harsh but then remembered I owed him thanks for getting me out of that dungeon cell.

“I could have told the Praetor the truth about you,” I said. “I still could at any time. Knowing that, it would’ve been in your interests to ensure I never had the chance to see him. Why didn’t you?”

His expression was unreadable. “For the same reason you didn’t betray me.”

Before I could respond, I realized we were no longer alone. A young woman in the black and scarlet livery of a house servant had appeared and was hovering within earshot.

“That is Eisa,” Terrac told me, suddenly brisk. “She doesn’t speak much, but she knows her way around the keep and she’ll look after you.”

The girl’s face was expressionless. From her youthful features, I guessed her to be about fourteen years old, but I had the impression somehow that her mind was younger still.

Terrac said she would show me where in the keep I was to be quartered and would bring me anything I needed. When he departed, leaving the two of us alone, Eisa wordlessly led me off down the passage. My attempts to strike up conversation with her as we walked were one-sided, for she answered none of my questions. I wasn’t sure whether she was unable to speak or simply unwilling.

The room I was shown to was a small chamber, barely big enough for the narrow bed, stool, and storage chest crowded into it. There was a fireplace and a long slit window looking down onto the courtyard and stables below. It was a plain space but no regular servants’ quarters either. What furnishings existed were durable, and there was the luxury of a single tapestry on the wall. It was drawn back from the window now to let in the sunlight but could be closed on cold nights to keep out the weather.

Most significantly, I had this space to myself in a place where I suspected servants like Eisa were probably packed three or more to a room. In all, my new living arrangements clarified my position here more thoroughly than any conversation with the Praetor. I was being lodged as something above the humblest sort of servant but as less than a guest. This was better than I had expected.

But from the way Eisa wrinkled her nose, it was clear something wasn’t meeting
her
expectations. She had stood in the doorway, watching silently, as I surveyed the room. I saw now that she looked at my clothing with distaste. Its appearance or its smell, either one, could have been the cause. It had been a long time since I had last bathed in a clean stream or washed out my travel-stained Kersian-style costume. The night spent in a dungeon cell and my recent bloody brawl with the Fists hadn’t helped either.

Eisa made some confusing gestures and left me, returning in a short while with a bucket of water, a sliver of strong-smelling soap, and a washing cloth. She brought a fresh outfit as well and waited for me to remove my old one before departing, carrying the grime-encrusted clothing away with her. I wasn’t sure whether she meant to wash my old things or burn them.

The water was cold but refreshing, and I felt I was washing away not just dirt and sweat but the memory of the filthy dungeon as well. After the bath, I dragged on the black hose and tunic Eisa had left for me. They bore a strong resemblance to the livery I had seen worn by male servants around the keep. Eisa must have noticed I didn’t favor feminine clothing.

Although I put on the rest of it, I rejected the soft-soled shoes in preference for my sturdy boots. I also refused the scarlet half cape that served no apparent purpose except to make its wearer look foolish. Anyway, pairing the scarlet with the black would have put me in the colors of the house of Tarius, worn by the Praetor’s soldiers as well as his servants. I might be sworn to serve the man, but I could still rebel in small ways, such as refusing to wear his colors.

After dressing, I realized how tired I was. I had slept awhile in the dungeon, but it had not been a restful sleep. My bed with its thick blankets suddenly looked inviting, and I sank into it. Accustomed to the firmness of earth, I didn’t usually sleep well in beds. But this time I was too exhausted to care and drifted off easily.

When I woke, the shadows in the room had grown long and the day filtering through the window-slit was fading. Eisa stood beside my bed, silently staring down on me. Startled at having allowed myself to be crept up on, I was instantly awake.

“What is it, Eisa?” I asked. “Did you want something?”

The mute girl merely indicated a scattering of objects she had arranged on the blankets around me. My heart leapt as I recognized them. My knives, my dragon scale on its chain…. And my bow! It was missing its coarse cover but seemed undamaged. Where had it come from? Why had it been returned? Had the thieving Fists not realized what they had?

My eager questions were answered with the silent shrugs and gestures that appeared to be Eisa’s standard means of communication. It was maddening that I could get no explanation for the theft of my belongings or their sudden reappearance.

I slipped the dragon scale augmenter around my neck, relieved once more to have access to my magic. Next, I returned all my knives to their proper places, while Eisa looked on with an air of impatience. I didn’t need my newly returned powers to see she wanted me to do something. She moved to the door, beckoning me to follow. I cast a hesitant glance at the bow. I could hardly carry it around the keep with me, but I was reluctant to leave it behind so soon after regaining it. Quickly, I thrust it beneath my blankets where, with any luck, it would be safe from prying eyes. Then I hurried after Eisa, who had taken off down the corridor we’d traveled earlier in the day.

Eisa didn’t take me to the Praetor’s audience chamber this time but to a great noisy hall. Here, the castle’s common residents crowded around trestle tables laden with food. Children and dogs played on the rush-strewn floor, their cries and barks mingling with the hum of conversation throughout the hall and rising to the rafters high above. At the far end of the room, there was a table on a dais, where I saw the Praetor eating with other finely dressed persons who were doubtless too exalted to crowd elbow to elbow with the folk at the low tables.

The aroma of food filled the air, making my stomach rumble. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. A day ago? Two?

Since Eisa had disappeared, I weaved my way alone through the busy room. I glanced fleetingly toward the high table, where I had caught a glimpse of Terrac. He belonged there, now he commanded the Iron Fists. But I was fairly certain a person of my status would not be welcome to sit down and eat with the Praetor, even had I wished to. Instead, I chose an empty seat at a long table full of strangers who, by their shabby dress and grubby appearances, appeared to be rough laborers. The house servants at least were clean and had their tidy liveries, but these people looked lowlier than they.

Someone shoved a basket of bread at me, and I tore into it ravenously. A plate of savory mutton arrived, and I wolfed it down as well. It wasn’t until I had satisfied the empty ache in my stomach that I began to slow down.

Now I remembered to thank the woman on my right, who had been passing me the food. An affable middle-aged woman, she introduced herself as Lorea, a laundress. She liked to talk, and despite finding me slow to reveal much about myself, she readily shared with me the private business of everyone around us.

That suited me fine. Indeed, I was glad to find such an unguarded source of information. I devoted my ears to her stream of chatter and my eyes to observing the people across the room at the Praetor’s table. Interrupting her gossip, I asked who they were. The Praetor I knew enough of, but what about the rest?

Lorea eagerly informed me that the young lady at the Praetor’s left hand, the sole female in that company, was Lady Morwena. A distant cousin of the Praetor, she had come to the castle only a year ago and was not well liked by anyone, not least of all the servants.

“She can be mild as milk one day,” explained Lorea, “but unpredictable as the Salaunian Sea the next.”

I studied this Lady Morwena with interest, thinking if she was a cousin to the Praetor, she was also a distant relation of mine. There was no physical resemblance between us, and I expected none as I favored my mother’s remote Skeltai ancestry. But I did see similarities between her and the Praetor. She shared his deep black hair, although hers was sleek and loosely curled. She had his nose also, which curved slightly downward like the beak of a hawk, looking a little too large for her face. There was nothing striking about her, I decided. She was neither lovely nor plain.

I turned my attention to the man seated at the Praetor’s other side.

“What about the fellow with the long copper hair?” I asked. “Is he anybody important?”

I didn’t know why, but it seemed to me there was something almost sinister in his face and even his posture. His eyebrows were so fair they were nearly invisible at this distance, making his forehead high and bare. His elaborate clothing and his position close to the Praetor suggested a person of significance. But he turned his shoulder to the others at the table, hinting at some secret or perhaps not-so-secret hostility toward his companions.