by C. Greenwood
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.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. Greenwood is the fantasy pen name of author Dara England, who lives in Oklahoma with her husband, two young children, and a Yorkshire terrier. To receive updates on future books, visit www.DaraEnglandAuthor.com and sign up for her monthly newsletter.
WRITING AS C. GREENWOOD
Legends of Dimmingwood Series
Magic of Thieves ~ Book I
Betrayal of Thieves ~ Book II
Circle of Thieves ~ Book III
Redemption of Thieves ~ Book IV
Other Titles
Dreamer’s Journey
WRITING AS DARA ENGLAND
The Accomplished Mysteries
Accomplished in Murder ~ Book One
Accomplished in Detection ~ Book Two
Accomplished in Blood ~ Book Three
The American Heiress Mysteries
Death on Dartmoor ~ Book One
Murder in Mayfair ~ Book Two
Other Titles
Beastly Beautiful
Love By The Book
The Magic Touch
Eternal Strife (The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance)
Contents
Title page
A BEGINNING
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR