Thief's Fall

by C. Greenwood

  Hurrying out of the yard, I encountered Javen hanging around the mouth of the alley.

  “I’m getting an early start at the market today,” he told me. “I want to get to the sellers while they’re distracted with setting up their stalls. That’s always the easiest time to lift something. I thought you might want to join me.”

  “Not today, Javen,” I said distractedly. “I have someplace else to be.”

  I asked him for directions to Deerwood, a place I had never heard of before Tarius mentioned it.

  He seemed confused as to why I would want to go there. It was the spread of trees behind the castle at the top of the hill, he explained. But I should be wary of entering that wood, as commoners were severely punished for trespassing on the praetor’s private hunting grounds.

  Undeterred, I got him to draw me a map in the dirt that would help me find the area I wanted, the place where Tarius had said I would find his father alone.

  When Javen asked what business I had in that particular spot, I said I didn’t have time to talk about it and made a hasty escape.

  I left the ragged quarter and jogged along the broad street that led uphill toward Selbius castle. The words of the praetor’s son rang through my head.

  These things happen so easily in a hunt. One moment someone is alive, and the next they’re toppled on the ground gasping out their last breath.

  My stomach squirmed uneasily. With only an hour until dawn, I had a very short time to find my courage and determine how to carry out an assassination.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Deerwood reminded me of a smaller version of Dimmingwood. The thick stand of trees spread from behind the castle all the way to the city’s back wall, where it stopped only because it reached the lakeshore. But it could probably be crossed on foot in a single day.

  I arrived just as the sky was lightening and climbed a low rock wall that was the only barrier to entering the praetor’s private hunting grounds. I tried not to think of Javen’s warning about what happened to trespassers caught on this property. From this point on there was no going back.

  As I hurried through the deep shadows beneath the trees, patches of dark gray sky were visible through the canopy overhead. Soon it would be dawn, and I would have no more time to prepare. Luckily, I had Javen’s directions to the spot where I was supposed to encounter the praetor imprinted on my mind. I looked for the landmarks he had described to me. In a wood of this size, it wasn’t long until I found them.

  When I came across the place, it was unmistakable. There was a tall pile of boulders overlooking a low waterfall that flowed quietly downhill and trickled in thin streams over a ledge of rocks into a brook below. The brook was so narrow I could have stepped across. It was obviously a water source for the wild animals of the forest. Their tracks were visible in the soft mud around the bank.

  I quickly scanned the clearing, looking for where I could get the best vantage point. I was fairly certain from what direction my target would come, because of the density of the underbrush and the positioning of the big rocks and ledge above the stream. There was only one natural direction to enter the clearing.

  Clambering atop the pile of boulders, I found this was the ideal hiding place. From here I could conceal myself behind the rocks and look down on anyone who entered the area. I would see him coming long before he saw me. Now all I had to do was wait.

  To quiet the nervous quivering in my stomach, I pulled my bow around, selected my best arrow, and took a couple of practice draws. If I could be sure of nothing else, at least this action was simple. When the moment came, all I would have to do was aim, pull, and release. Reduced to the mechanics, all emotion stripped away, it should be a straightforward business. With any luck, when the victim was found, the arrow protruding from him would be taken as a shot gone astray from some member of the hunting party—an innocent accident. I wasn’t even worried about missing my shot at a moving target on horseback. Since gaining and repairing the bow, my skill seemed to have magically grown. My shooting was more accurate than it had ever been. I almost felt that I couldn’t miss, that the bow wouldn’t let me.

  That was why I had selected this method for the praetor’s demise. I was confident in its success, and maybe more importantly, it put distance between me and my target. I could kill my victim without ever having to look him in the eye. It was a cowardly choice but the only way I would ever be able to get through this business. I was acutely aware that what was ahead wouldn’t be anything like when I had killed the wild man who attacked me in Dimmingwood. There was no question this time of self-defense, no instinct to fight or be killed. Only a cold and calculated decision to lie in wait for a weak old man.

  To ease my conscience, I thought of Ferran and how the person I was about to destroy was responsible for the terrorizing of us both these past many weeks. The man with the scarred chin and his red-bearded companion had been ready to kill me. What did that say of the ruthlessness of the master who employed them? How innocent could he be when such actions were taken in his name?

  The gloom over the surrounding wood lifted. As the forest animals became accustomed to my presence, birds began to sing in the near trees. Dawn had arrived.

  * * *

  It seemed an eternity before I heard the hunting horns and the bay of the hounds. At first these were distant sounds, but gradually they grew nearer, accompanied by the noise of thundering hooves and heavy crashing through the underbrush. The hunting party was heading this way.

  Just as I thought they would all come riding through together, they veered off. My ears told me they had begun heading north. I felt a brief rush of relief, wondering if Tarius had failed in whatever plan had been meant to ensure his father passed by this location. He had said this was the old man’s favorite spot. Probably he knew the animals were attracted to the stream and, once in the clearing, would be easily trapped by the surrounding rocks and ledges. But what if Tarius failed to flush the game in this direction? Then the plan would fall apart and I would lose the opportunity to carry out my deadly deed. I half hoped for such a result.

  Just as I was about to give up waiting, my ears picked up sounds that made my heart beast faster: the noise of a lone rider approaching, charging through the underbrush. There was the sound too of something smaller running this way. A deer or a wild boar?

  The rider surprised me a moment later by bursting into the clearing from a different direction than expected, his gray mount leaping the brook in one long stride. Running ahead of him was a great boar, a vicious-looking animal with thick, dark hide and sharp tusks.

  The frantic boar hesitated briefly before the waterfall, its exit blocked by the rising ledge. Drawing back on his horse’s reins, the hunter drew up opposite the animal, readying his spear.

  Tarius’s description of his father as a weak old man had been an exaggeration. It was true the praetor was silver-haired. But the signs of illness I had imagined upon him the one time I had laid eyes on him before were not apparent now. His face flushed with the excitement of the hunt, he sat well on his horse and was strong enough to hold steady the heavy spear he aimed at the boar.

  While my target was distracted by his prey, I notched my arrow and aimed for the spot between his upper ribs, where I might puncture his heart.

  Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my pulse throbbed in my ears.

  “This is the only way to be free of him,” I whispered to myself. I thought of this man’s schemes against Ferran and me. Anger stoked, I was ready to release the shaft.

  But my body betrayed me. My hands trembled faintly, making my aim unsteady. I lowered my bow for a moment to wipe away the sweat trickling into my eyes.

  In front of me, the boar gave a sudden, startled squeal as the praetor hurled his sharp spear at it. The lance missed its mark, smashing into the ledge behind the pig.

  The boar dashed away, fleeing the clearing in the only direction open to him.

  As the praetor prepared to charge after him, I knew this
was my last chance. If I didn’t shoot now, the opportunity would pass.

  I raised my bow again and sighted my target down the long shaft. My hands were firm now, the tip of the arrow steady. Even the bow whispered at the back of my mind, urging me on.

  But at the last instant, the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees overhead reflected off the ring I wore on my thumb. The silver glint caught my eye. It was my father’s ring, the signet of a congrave of Camdon. And it was about to be worn on the hand of a murderer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Struck as if by lightning, I eased back on the bowstring and lowered my arrow. I couldn’t do it. Not while I wore that ring. It was as if my dead father were watching me. I couldn’t commit such a dishonorable and cowardly act.

  I sighed and put down my bow. Then I slumped back against the rock. Only the boulder I thought was behind me wasn’t where I expected it to be. I leaned back into nothingness.

  With a startled yelp, I fell through the empty air and dropped a short distance to the ground below. I landed with a crash that knocked the wind out of me.

  Lying sprawled on my back, I struggled to breathe again. Pain radiated through me from the force of the impact. For a few seconds all rational thought was driven from my mind.

  Dimly, I became aware of a trembling in the ground, of a heavy thundering noise rushing closer. Sucking in air, I lifted my head in time to see the commotion of many riders on horseback arriving at the scene. Their horses’ hooves drumming over the ground nearly trampled me. At the last possible moment, the riders reined in their mounts. This must be the rest of the praetor’s hunting party.

  Realization of the danger I was in forced strength back into me, and I dragged myself upright.

  “You arrive just in time,” I heard a ringing voice greet the riders. “It seems I have discovered a young weasel hiding among the rocks.”

  The praetor nudged his horse over to where I stood, blocking my exit. With the boulders to my back, the praetor before me, and the new arrivals gathering to my side, I had nowhere to run.

  Instinctively I fumbled for my bow before realizing I had dropped it atop the boulders. I was defenseless except for the small knife at my belt. I rested my hand on the weapon but didn’t dare draw it, lest I make my situation worse.

  With a creak of saddles and a stamping of boots, several armed men, probably the praetor’s personal guard, leapt off the backs of their horses and rushed at me. Before I could react, they had taken my knife, shoved me roughly against the face of the rock, and pinned my arms back.

  I was helpless to move.

  Slowly the silver-haired praetor dismounted and walked over to where I was being held. He looked me up and down with sharp blue eyes that reminded me of his son’s.

  “You have interrupted my hunt and caused me to lose my quarry, boy,” he said. “What is it you do here in my woods?”

  Before I could speak, one of the men holding me interrupted. “My lord, he was armed with a knife.”

  “And a bow,” added a second man, noticing my quiver of arrows.

  I knew if they searched the area, they would quickly find my bow where I had left it.

  The praetor looked at me from beneath lowered brows. “Equipped like that, you are either a robber, assassin, or poacher. I hope for your sake it’s the latter. I don’t take kindly to any sort of intruder on my land, but some receive more mercy than others. Speak up now, or I’ll have no choice but to assume the worst.”

  My mind raced to form an excuse, to find a way out.

  In the prolonged silence, they all stared at me, waiting for answers. Then a terrible thing happened. One of the guards holding back my arms made a discovery.

  “Look here above his wrist,” the man exclaimed. “I’ve seen this mark before.”

  He held my arm out and dragged my loose sleeve up to my elbow. The fresh pink X was visible for all too see.

  “We’re familiar with this brand, my lord,” the guard told the praetor. “It’s the symbol of the thieves’ guild here in the city. All their people wear it.”

  The praetor’s mouth tilted down, and I watched as any sympathy he might have had for me drained away.

  “The thieves’ guild,” he said. “Those dogs have long been a thorn in the side of the city guard. I will not tolerate them on my hunting grounds.”

  He turned to one of the armed men who seemed to have charge over the others. “Captain, deal with this filth as he deserves. I suggest stringing him up from the nearest tree as a feast for the crows. Then let us be on our way.”

  “Yes, my lord,” came the rigid response.

  “Wait!” I protested as the praetor walked briskly back to his horse.

  But he didn’t look back. No one else paid my outburst any attention either. Apparently, my chance to speak was over. None now wanted to hear any explanation from me. And what could I say anyway? That I wasn’t here for illegal hunting but to assassinate the praetor? That would hardly make my situation better.

  I could only watch with growing alarm as the praetor’s servants debated the best tree to hang me from. I looked desperately to the rest of the waiting hunting party, as if any of them might intervene. But there was no help to be had from that quarter. The company was a mixture of guardsmen and finely dressed men I guessed to be nobles or companions to the praetor. Two stood out from the rest. I saw the praetor’s eldest son, Habon, near the front. I imagined there was a hint of pity in his eyes but not enough to make him urge his father to spare me.

  Behind Habon, I spotted a more familiar face, that of the praetor’s younger son.

  Tarius looked at me with an expression of casual boredom. If I hadn’t known better, if I hadn’t noticed the faint lines of tension around his mouth and the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, I would have thought he was gazing upon the misfortune of a stranger. Certainly, he gave no sign of knowing me and didn’t utter a word in my defense.

  And he wouldn’t, I realized. Our plan had failed. Why should he admit to having conspired with me? It would do me no good and would only bring a world of trouble upon him. No, he would stand by and let this broken tool be destroyed.

  While all these thoughts raced through my head, my hands were bound and I was forced up onto the back of a horse one of the guards supplied for the purpose. As I was led to a tall tree a distance from the stream, I realized this was the place where I was going to die. Strange to think of hanging from a tree when I used to believe I was destined to die upon a scaffold one day, like my father.

  The praetor and the rest of the company looked on sternly while the captain of the guard asked if there were any further crimes I wished to confess to before hanging.

  It wasn’t too late. I could prevent this if I spoke up and revealed my true identity. If the praetor was made aware that I was a son of the congrave, one of the very heirs he had worked so hard to abduct, my execution would be stopped. But I couldn’t reveal my connection to Ferran. Not without implicating he had some involvement in my assassination attempt.

  With a dazed feeling of unreality, I shook my head wordlessly.

  Someone produced a rope that had probably been intended for dragging home a dead boar. Now it would be put to a different use. It was secured to a lower branch of the tall tree.

  As the captain of the guard formed a rough noose and placed it around my neck, my heart began to pound in my chest and my stomach grew queasy with fear. But I wouldn’t let them see me afraid. My father had gone to his death bravely, and so would I.

  I forced myself to look defiantly toward the spectators and fixed an insolent smile on my face.

  Then I heard the ringing slap of the guard’s hand across the horse’s hindquarters. In the space of a single breath, the startled animal shot out from under me.

  One last fleeting thought streaked through my mind. I shouldn’t have worn my father’s ring today.

  EPILOGUE

  I sit alone in the fading light filtering through the smudged window of our room above
The Ravenous Wolf. I’m still dazed by the events of the day. My throat aches, and the skin of my neck is raw with rope burn, despite the healing ointment Javen has put on it.

  But most of all, I’m confused. I close my ears to the vicious noises of the beast fights in the room below. I need to think, to remember what has occurred, and record it in the leather-bound book before me. But something is wrong. My memory, so fragile of late, has shifted again.

  And I know the reason. The magic amulet beneath my tunic burns hot against my skin. I feel its power seeping into me. There can be no doubt this time. The charm has brought me back to life. Javen swears I was very much dead when he found me in the wood. Ada and Kinsley confirm his version of events.

  From them I’ve learned what happened after my world went black at the end of the rope.

  Concerned at my failure to return to the tavern last night, Ada had sensed something was wrong. She had consulted with Kinsley and Javen. When Javen spoke of my intention to go to the praetor’s hunting grounds, the three of them realized that was where they must search.

  They had found me dangling from a tree beside the stream. The ground was freshly churned by the recent departure of the praetor’s hunting party. My body was still warm when my friends cut me down, but Javen had enough experience as a healer to be certain I was dead. That was why everyone was amazed when, as they debated what to do with my corpse, I suddenly gasped to life. My friends swiftly collected my lost bow and arrows, and together, they half carried me back to our lodgings.

  So here I sit, weighing whether my return to life is worth the price I’m paying for it. Even with the explanations of my friends, my memories of the rest of the day are murky. Just as the magic amulet played with my mind when the riverwoman put it on me after my drowning, I feel it reshuffling my memories again. It seems with every rebirth I lose another piece of my past. I contemplate the gamble of taking the thing off. For all I know, it might kill me to remove the charm. But surely it’s better to die than to lose what makes me myself?