Legends of Dimmingwood 02:Betrayal of Thieves (16 page)

Gazing over the dark waters before me, I tried to convince myself the tiny ripples disturbing the moon’s reflection were only fish snatching at insects on the surface. The rustling noises occasionally coming from the surrounding greenery were surely just small animals creeping into the cemetery to nibble at the plants. Even so, the goose pimples standing out on my flesh weren’t due entirely to the cold. Something nudged my shoulder softly and I whirled around, but it was only the spindly branch of another potted tree.

A flash of movement on one of the distant walkways spanning the cemetery waters caught my eye. The moon was behind a cloud, but even in the shadows, I recognized Terrac crossing the walk. He appeared to hesitate, stopping halfway across the bridge to peer uncertainly into the shadows. My heart picked up pace at the sight of him, although it was only a matter of hours since I’d watched him at sword practice. I didn’t try to puzzle out the unexpected rush of emotion I experienced as I felt his familiar presence wash over me. This was a time for action, not contemplation.

I waited just long enough to be sure he was unaccompanied and, when my searching senses confirmed we were alone, abandoned my hiding place. I saw him start as I left the shadows and crossed into the open and, even as I stepped onto the bridge, Fleet’s final words of warning rang in my ears. The street thief hadn’t wanted me to come alone, had tried to dissuade me from coming at all. "There was something untrustworthy about this Terrac," Fleet said. I tried to shake away the doubts, but a niggling voice kept reminding me how easily I could be walking into a Fists’ trap.

We met at the center of the span. I hadn’t exactly been expecting a teary embrace, but a simple “good to see you” would have been nice. Instead, we paused with a short distance still between us, eyeing one another warily. The night breeze whipped back Terrac’s long coat, affording a glimpse of the Fist-style blade buckled at his hip.

My eyes flickered toward it for only a moment before returning to the face of my childhood friend. Viewing him up close, I was vaguely alarmed to realize I could almost have been looking at a stranger. More subtle changes had taken place than those I noticed back at the Fists’ practice yard. He was taller and broader, but I could deal with that. I’d known the day would eventually come when I would have to tilt my head to look up at him. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the way the past few months had added years to his face. The boyish roundness had melted from his features, leaving his cheekbones and stubborn jaw more prominent than ever. A jaw that, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, now sported the faintest shadow of whiskers.

If this wasn’t shock enough, there was something unfamiliar in his gaze. I was reminded suddenly that I had dressed uncharacteristically in a city woman’s billowy skirts and wore my hair loose, instead of in its usual braid down my back. No wonder he scarcely recognized me. But still he knew me. There was a glint in his eyes that said so, just as I couldn’t mistake him, even with a little maturity added to his face and the clothes of a city man on his back.

I watched in dismay as his initial expression was replaced by one of distrust. I’d known him long enough to guess what he was thinking.

“I didn’t come here to make trouble for you, Terrac,” I said.

From the way he started it was clear he’d forgotten how easily I used to guess his feelings, but he recovered quickly. “Why then?” he asked. “You’ve seen I do well for myself now. Why should you suddenly show up, if not to gain anything? I suppose Rideon sent you to discover what I’ve told the Fists, maybe even to silence me. If so, you can tell your great captain he has nothing to fear. I haven’t compromised any of his secrets, not because I was unwilling to, but because I didn’t know anything… A small favor and the last he’ll be getting from me. Tell him so.”

My jaw could have scraped the cobbles. And not only because he’d never had the nerve to speak to me like that back in Dimming, but because his speech made it clear he now considered me the enemy. No, worse than that, he thought I was the lowly
messenger
of the enemy.

But I kept my feelings under control. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about, Terrac, but Rideon didn’t send me and would be furious if he knew I was here,” I said.

“So, what then? Am I supposed to believe you came merely for the sake of friendship?” he asked.

“Well, isn’t that what we are? Friends?” I asked. “I don’t think anybody who considered themselves less than a friend would follow you all the way to Selbius and put themselves through the risks I have to help you escape.”

He looked confused. “Escape? Escape from what?”

“From the Fists, of course,” I said. “You can’t tell me you
want
to be their prisoner? I’ve come to take you home.”

His laughter frightened the birds in the treetops overhead, and they scattered into the night sky. “Home?” he repeated. “You cannot be serious. You really think Dimmingwood was ever home to me?”

Despite myself, I was nettled by his ingratitude. “I fail to see what amuses you,” I said. “I’ve sacrificed a lot to save your worthless hide. But I’m not about to waste one more day in this city, so I suggest you stop yammering and we get busy putting this place behind us. I hope you brought everything you plan on taking with you, because I’m not going back to the Praetor’s keep for anything.”

He ignored the question. “So let me get this straight. I finally break free of the band of villainous brigands who’ve been holding me prisoner for over two years, make it to a place of safety where I can return to my interrupted life, and now here comes one of the outlaws, offering to drag me back to their miserable forest?”

I masked my hurt. “That’s about the size of it,” I said. “Shall we get started?”

He snorted. “Can you really imagine I’m eager to go running back to the place where I spent the worst days of my life? I was little more than an unpaid servant to your disgusting company of criminals, whereas I have a comfortable place here.”

“Here?” I asked blankly. “Here meaning the Praetor’s household?”

When he looked surprised, I added, “Yes, I know all about that because I’ve asked around about you. I’ve heard how you crawled into the Praetor’s employ, and I’ve seen you train side by side with his Fists. Tell me, what are you playing at? You talk of reclaiming an interrupted life, but the last I remember, you were headed for the priesthood. How can you have changed so much?”

If the sense of betrayal I felt showed in my words, it didn’t move him as it once would have. Terrac only narrowed his eyes. “My private plans are my own concern,” he said. “You’d best look to yours, outlaw.”

Stunned, I lashed out with the first thing that came to mind. “The Terrac I remember wouldn’t have turned his back on old friends to join with their enemies.”

That appeared to shame him a little, and an uncertain expression flitted across his features. For just a moment, I felt I was looking at the old Terrac.

“Did you truly come to save me?” he asked quietly.

“I did. But it grows clear my efforts aren’t wanted. Since it turns out you’re enjoying the company of your captors, I suppose I’ll leave you to them.”

“I told you; I’m no prisoner,” he said. “As soon as it was discovered I was an honest man caught up in bad circumstances, I was released. The Praetor himself spoke for me.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

“I was grateful, of course, for his generosity in giving me a place in his house,” Tearrac continued.

“Generosity?” I said. “Boast of the Praetor’s generosity to the people he’s murdered over the years for opposing him.” It didn’t seem the wisest time to bring up the cleansings instigated by the Praetor so long ago to destroy all the magickers in the province. Neither was I ready to reveal that my parents had been among his victims. Instead, I said, “What about those who’ve been starved and forced out of their homes by the Praetor’s taxes?”

Terrac scowled. “Say what you like, but he’s not a cruel man. If you’ve had a dark view of him, maybe it’s because you’ve been looking on from the opposite side of the law.”

His expression turned thoughtful, as he added, “He’s a hard sort, I’ll admit, but far from evil. He spared my life, after all.”

"If the Praetor goes out of his way to save anybody, it’s because he has a use for them,” I warned.

“And you know him so well you can say that with authority,” Terrac retorted, but there was little bite to his response. His eyes had taken on a distant look, as if recalling something he didn’t especially like.

“My memories of those days in prison are shadowed in confusion,” he said. “No matter when I awoke, it always seemed to be night. There was flickering torchlight, terrible smells, screams from out of the darkness… I had no way of marking the time, but I think I spent most of it in a feverish sleep. During rare moments of clarity I was aware of searing pain. I believe the wound from the arrow was infected, because the feeling was akin to what I suffered when Illsman stabbed me in the side. You remember? On the day we met?”

I did.

He continued. “There’s one memory that stands out. I once awoke to find myself being rolled over, the movement causing such pain I couldn’t help screaming. I heard someone saying, ‘Easy, you fools, don’t damage the boy!’ My blood-encrusted bandages were removed with surprising care—I have no memory of how they came to be there in the first place or of the arrow being removed. Suddenly, cool hands touched my injury and then that harsh voice again, muttering strange, low words I couldn’t recognize. I’d been in pain already, but now it was rolling over me in waves. Then, just as I was expecting to die,
wanting
to die, the agony vanished as quickly as it had come and with it, all traces of my injury.”

Terrac’s voice was low and in the glow of the moonlight I could see the sheen of sweat standing out on his forehead.

I understood it wasn’t the memory of the pain that was disturbing him.

“You were healed by magic,” I said.

He shifted uneasily. “Maybe.”

There was no doubt in my mind. Healing through touch could be accomplished in no other way. More than that, the chanting Terrac had heard indicated the magic was the Trained work of a mage and not that of a Natural. My heart quickened as I thought of my earlier encounter on the street with a mysterious mage. From my experience and from what Terrac described, I was more certain than ever the mage was the Praetor. But that opened up a confusing array of questions.

I asked cautiously, “Do you know who this healer was? Did you get a look at him?”

“No, I sank into a long sleep after the healing,” he said. “I never got a look at the man’s face or had a chance to thank him.”

I had always been able to tell when Terrac was lying, and he was lying now. But before I could ask whose secret he was protecting and why, we were interrupted by the distant clang of the bell in the city watchtower, striking the hour. Both of us flinched and Terrac appeared to come back to himself.

“I should be going. I have early weapons practice tomorrow,” he said. “Besides, the city guard patrols these grounds and I don’t think it would be good for either of us…”

I smiled thinly. “Of course. You can’t afford to be found in company like mine now that you’ve got such a bright future ahead of you.”

“It isn’t me who’s in danger here. I’ll never know what possessed you to take such risks, but if you’re wise you’ll get out of Selbius while you can. Go back to Dimmingwood, where you’ll be safe.”

I eyed him. “I detect a note of urgency in your warning. Why such haste? Am I in danger of betrayal?”

He looked everywhere but at me. “I won’t report your contact with me this time,” he mumbled. “But I’ll be honor-bound to in the future. Now that the Praetor is my master, well… Plainly spoken, it would be best if we didn’t meet again.”

“I see.” I wasn’t sure who I was angriest with, him for his betrayal or myself for feeling disappointment. What had I expected from him anyway? He had grown up, cast aside his old ideas about honor, and was learning to protect himself first and forget everyone else. Wasn’t that something I’d struggled to teach him for years? Evidently his new master, the Praetor, had been able to accomplish the lesson more quickly.

I had no opportunity to put these thoughts into words because Terrac was already backing away, his boots scraping over the stone walk. I sensed his eagerness to end this uncomfortable interview and realized suddenly that I shared it.

“Good-bye then, priest boy,” I said quietly. But he was already so far away I couldn’t be sure he heard.

NOT AN ENDING, BUT A RESTING PLACE

It isn’t until now, as I stand on the deck of the river barge, battered by the wind and the spray of the storm, and look toward the dark, distant walls of Selbius, that I realize what disturbs me most about my meeting with Terrac. He was wearing my brooch, the gift from my mother that had been supposed, at one time, to save me. I know how he came by it, remember him pocketing it shortly before the ambush at Red Rock. But why does he wear it now and what, if any, part does it play in his newly found good fortune?

Lightning splits the sky and a clap of thunder deafens me, but neither is what sends me scurrying for the dry shelter of Seephinia's hut. Something in there calls to me, a haunting voice sighing through my mind, whispering plans for the future. It belongs to the bow.

Continue Ilan’s journey in Book III, Circle of Thieves.