Redemption of Thieves (Book 4)

by C. Greenwood

  I dabbed self-consciously at the dried blood crusting my upper lip.

  “It shouldn’t be fine,” he said quietly. “You took a hard blow.”

  I had no desire to explain how the Skeltai shaman had tended my injuries or to relate his offer regarding the bow. Suppose Terrac tried to persuade me to accept the offer and spare all our lives? What I had to do was hard enough. I didn’t know if I could hold out against any more pressure.

  Unaware of my thoughts, he took hold of my jaw and turned my head from side to side, studying what must have been a fairly impressive bruise spreading from nose to cheek. His hands were gentle.

  I swallowed. “I said I’m alright. Could you not do that please?”

  I moved to pull away and was surprised when he didn’t let me go. My eyes went to his.

  I heard a soft snicker from one of the Fists in the background. I had all but forgotten their presence. My cheeks burned but I supposed it was good that the men could still laugh at something. It showed they hadn’t given up altogether.

  Terrac snapped at the offender, “Could we have a little privacy please?”

  The Fist looked abashed but one of his companions chipped in cheekily, “We’d be glad to grant you some alone time, sir, but unfortunately the savages have locked us in.”

  “Then let’s be looking for a way out,” I said and scrambled to my feet, trying to dust away the foolish feeling that had overtaken me.

  I tugged at the bars along the wall, feeling for a loose one. The whole of our party stirred at this faint show of hope and followed my lead, searching for a weak point or another way out. Terrac worked alongside me and for the first time I was glad of the shadows, knowing they concealed the high color in my cheeks.

  We all worked in silence except for the scuffing sounds of feet across the dirt floor and occasional grunts of discouragement when an idea was tested and proved fruitless. I was painfully aware of the time slipping by. Through the bars I could make out the shadowy figures of our savage guards standing by and although it was too dark to make out their faces over the distance, their heads often turned in our direction. It seemed to me they observed our failed efforts with amusement.

  I slowly realized we were wasting our last hours on a doomed attempt. If there was a way to get us out of these cages, away from the Skeltai forest and back home, this wasn’t it. I said nothing to the others but let them hold out hope while they could. I stumbled wearily into that same dark corner Terrac and I had shared earlier and sank to the floor, my face resting on my clenched hands. I needed to think. Two possibilities kept repeating themselves in my mind.

  One, was it time to reconsider my answer to the shaman? Should I give up the bow? The other question… I pushed it to the back of my mind, doubting I was even capable of carrying out such a feat. Despite Hadrian’s tutoring, there was too much about my magic I didn’t understand. I could only guess at the risks of what I contemplated being attempted by a novice. But the shaman’s offer: our freedom for the bow. It seemed foolish not to trade a simple object of wood and string for my life. Had it been my decision to refuse or was it the bow refusing to release me? I wanted to believe the choice was mine. But in my heart that claim rung hollow. This was about my mind having become so deeply ensnared by the enchantment of the weapon I could no longer call my will my own.

  Terrac came to join me. I was very aware of him sitting close beside me, his shoulder touching mine, his knee against my knee. Soothing warmth flooded me and I couldn’t tell if the sensation was only physical or the result of his comforting presence washing over me.

  I cleared my throat and said, “I need your advice.”

  “Really? Since when do you seek my counsel?” he teased gently.

  “Since I can’t trust my own. A decision needs to be made and there’s something holding me back. I can’t be sure of myself.”

  It was difficult to admit that, even to him. Especially to him.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “It’s about my bow. It’s enchanted.”

  He was silent a moment but looked unsurprised. “I’ve noted the changes in you since you took up that weapon,” he admitted. “But I said nothing because my suspicions seemed foolish.”

  “Don’t be so quick to doubt your instincts,” I answered. “This bow holds a life and a magic all its own. I’ve carried it with me long enough to know. It slips into your mind, guiding thoughts and decisions until you can no longer be sure where you end and it begins.”

  And then I told him. I opened the gates and poured out everything from the night I found the bow right up to this one, admitting all the strange choices I had made, the brave decisions that had been so unlike me. I confessed my doubts as to whether it had been the real Ilan at all who had been responsible for her actions of late. I’d never shared these thoughts with another person. I had been alone inside myself with only the bow for company for too long. Sharing felt good and yet even as I did it, a tiny voice inside my head whispered recriminations.

  Traitor! Betrayer of secrets! We do not need this man who fights with the long, steel claw. He is a threat to us!

  I gritted my teeth.

  Get out of my mind! I want to make my own choices again, to trust my instincts without questioning where they come from!

  Terrac must have guessed at the storm raging in my head.

  “Maybe you should give me the bow,” he said gently. “I’ll toss it through the bars, far into the night, and you’ll be free of it.”

  I flinched and grabbed the bow as if to protect it, even though he made no move to act on his suggestion. He waited patiently for me to ask. But I could not.

  “There are consequences to be considered,” I said, stalling.

  “What consequences? Surely we are to die soon enough anyway,” he said.

  “That’s just it. The bow could be the key to our freedom. All I have to do is say yes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I told him all the Skeltai had revealed to me of the bow and of their great desire to possess it. I left nothing out—not the threats against the province or my loathing of their offer.

  When I finished, his expression was thoughtful.

  “So this holds the key to all our lives,” he said.

  He reached out to touch the bow and I had to steel myself against stopping him. Even now it was hard to see another handling the thing I was so possessive of.

  “This decision must be yours,” he told me.

  “I have made it already.”

  “And you decided not to give the bow up?”

  My gut twisted with guilt.

  Yes. I will sacrifice all our lives to keep the thing.

  But I couldn’t stop the words that came out. “There is nothing else for me to do,” I said. “I think giving the bow up would destroy me more thoroughly than anything the Skeltai could do.”

  “Then you must keep it.”

  “What? How can you say that?” I asked. “By trading this bow, I could save us.”

  “This isn’t about saving us. It’s about saving our homes and our province. Didn’t the Skeltai tell you that’s why they wanted the bow, to destroy us? What good would it do any of us to get home again, only to watch our land crumble, destroyed by the very weapon we placed in our enemy’s hands? What would be worth such a tragedy?”

  I looked at him. “You’ve changed so much. Every time I think I’ve got to a place where I understand you again, you throw me another surprise. The Terrac I remember would trade his own mother to buy life. Now I’m offering you a chance to trade something else, a possession that isn’t even yours, to avoid a gruesome death and you refuse.”

  “You’ve changed too over the last couple years. But not all changes are bad.”

  As he spoke I felt his gauntleted hand creep over mine. I resisted the startled instinct to snatch my hand away and sat still until the hammering of my heart slowed. Gradually I began to feel comfortable with his hand resting atop mine and the silence los
t its awkwardness. For a brief while I could almost forget our impending doom.

  Nighttime insects buzzed around us and a sharp rock jutted from the earth beneath me, but I was reluctant to slap at the bugs or to shift and resettle myself. I knew if either of us moved or spoke, the gentle spell would be broken and whatever was passing between us in the stillness would be lost.

  It was Terrac who broke the silence. “Ilan, if death is around the corner, there’s something I’d like to get off my conscience before I go. Call it the old priest boy in me.”

  Now he had me curious. “Alright. What is it?” I asked.

  “Remember the last day we were together in Dimmingwood? Back in Red Rock cave, when neither of us realized the Fists were surrounding us?”

  I remembered all too well. It had been the first time the bow made me aware of its influence.

  He went on. “You and I argued over a leather packet you kept hidden in the wall. You wouldn’t tell me your secret plans or let me see what was in the parcel. I guess that made me angry. So on our way outside I pretended to fall against you, using the opportunity to steal your packet and slip it into my jerkin.”

  I thought of the parcel and the brooch from my mother that had been nestled inside.

  I said, “I searched my clothes for that packet later. It was something very precious to me. Not until much later did I realize you had taken it.”

  “I’m truly sorry. But it didn’t matter in the end because I didn’t get the chance to open the thing. We were ambushed by the Fists and I was carried away prisoner. I woke in the dungeon of the Praetor’s keep with him standing over me, demanding to know where I had come by the brooch inside that packet. He claimed it belonged to his family and asked if my father had given it to me. I was in so much pain at the time. I didn’t understand what was happening. So I gave the answer he seemed to want—a lie. I said yes, the brooch was my father’s, given to me on his deathbed. After that he healed me. He returned the brooch to me—told me to wear it proudly. We never spoke of it again but it was immediately after this that he made a place for me in his household.”

  My pulse pounded in my head. All the pieces of the puzzle were suddenly falling into place. So much about Terrac’s connection to the Praetor now made sense. Only none of it was really about Terrac at all. It was about me.

  I seemed to hear my mama’s voice echoing back from the past. A snatch of overheard conversation between her and Da.

  “But your family…”

  “Are far away and they don’t know we have a child. Even if they did, what does it matter? I’m sure his anger has cooled by now—”

  For the first time, I knew who he was. I remembered the miniature portrait of my father hidden inside the Praetor’s silver box. Remembered how my parents had feared the fury of a dangerous relative who forbade them to be together out of hatred for mama’s magic.

  I began to tremble and felt sweat break out on my face.

  “Ilan? Are you all right?” Terrac asked with concern.

  I waved him to silence. He was suddenly the last person I wanted to discuss this with considering how much his theft of the brooch had unsettled both our lives. I scowled fiercely at my feet and turned the truth over in my mind, trying to get used to it.

  In the background the chanting of the savages grew louder and faster, as if they built toward the central point of their ceremony.

  I tried to set aside Terrac’s revelation and think of a solution to our immediate danger. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply, counting my heartbeats and turning my thoughts inward. The singing of the Skeltai faded until there was only me, alone in the darkness. Me and the bow’s subtle yet familiar presence vaguely tickling at the back of my mind. I centered my thoughts on stillness, on peace, and stretched toward the well of magic always just a short distance away. There must be no hurry here. I had all the time in the world.

  There it was. A deep, cool pool at the edge of my vision. I had no idea what the magic actually looked like, but it always helped if I mentally summoned this image of a well. I envisioned my hand dipping deep into the shadowy pool, setting ripples flowing as I broke the surface. Power rushed through me, thrilling and seductive, but I clung to my purpose. I mustn’t be distracted by the endless possibilities the magic offered. I had come for one thing only. I drew deeply on the magic, then holding the power wrapped within me, I released the image of the well and slipped back into darkness. This was the tricky part. I had no idea how the Skeltai shaman did it, so I had to explore the shadows blindly, searching for the way.

  Scouring my mind of doubt, I coaxed the magic.

  I needed a window. A small portal, just big enough to let a sliver of light pierce the darkness. Only enough to see the way to my home on the other side.

  I envisioned a spot I knew well—a grassy patch at the foot of Horse Head rock in Dimmingwood. I imagined a tear in the ground, a little black hole ringed with blue fire, a door from this place to that. My manipulation of the magic was clumsy and unpracticed, like trying to paint a picture of a place I had never seen. Except that I had seen the boulder at Horse Head countless times. I knew precisely where the portal must be, visualized the dew-moistened earth where the hole should open, the arrangement of every scattered stick and pebble. I sharpened the image, adding details by the second, sensing clarity to be essential to my task.

  Then I created the portal.

  I held my breath but nothing happened. There was a narrow, circular gash in the earth below Horse Head boulder but there was no fiery blue ring. Just a shallow pit leading to nowhere.

  Of course.

  I needed to open a window on this side too. I concentrated on the firm earth beneath me, the tiny pebbles poking into my flesh, the uneven slope of the ground. I willed the earth to fall away, dropping me into a dark tunnel…

  But no. Nothing was happening on this end. I must be doing something wrong. Already my power felt drained but I forced myself to redo the mental process over, differently this time. Time crawled by. I didn’t know how long I struggled to find a solution. I cut rents in the ground all around Horse Head and attempted to open air portals on both this side and that. All I accomplished was slashing and churning the earth in Dimmingwood.

  Once or twice in our confining cage a faint breeze stirred the air around me but I couldn’t be sure whether it was due to any efforts of mine. All I could be certain of was that no portal stood open before me.

  At last, I let go of the magic, surrendering. I couldn’t make a portal. Why had I thought I could?

  I was exhausted by the effort. My body ached, cramped from sitting motionless for so long, and drops of sweat trickled down my forehead.

  “Are you all right?” Terrac asked. “You’ve been quiet so long I thought you fell asleep sitting up.”

  I could tell he was impressed I was able to do that in the middle of the horrible situation we were in, so I allowed him to think it. I had never explained to him about my Natural magic, and considering his allegiance to the Praetor, it seemed unwise to do so now.

  In the distance the Skeltai chanting rose to a crescendo before abruptly cutting off into silence.

  Chapter Seven

  The sudden stillness was thick on the air. A night bird screeched in the distance. My breathing and that of the companions around me seemed loud in the darkness. The quiet lasted only a few heartbeats and then was split by a series of terrified screams nearby.

  We all scrambled to see what was happening. I put my face to the bars, Terrac following my example, and together we watched the scene unfolding in the clearing. Dark figures in feathers and hides moved among the cages, spears held aloft, the distant glow of the fires revealing splashes of scarlet paint standing out on their pale flesh. The result was hideous, the feathers and animal skins giving the impression of giant beasts walking upright, while the red paint looked like smears of blood.

  They flung open doors of cages I hadn’t realized were occupied and dragged out terrified men, women and children, wh
o wailed and wept and tried to plunge away from them. These prisoners were from my province. I recognized the homespun clothing of woodsfolk and the flashes of sun-darkened skin that stood out against the pale flesh of our Skeltai captors.

  The savages’ spears flashed out to lodge into any who tried to escape the lines they were being shepherded into. It was obvious the captives lacked the strength or courage to save themselves, and they quickly fell into order. Skeltai warriors moved down their ranks with grim efficiency, mercilessly silencing protesters and cutting loose those they killed from the ropes binding them to their partners.

  A numbed silence descended, broken only by the guttural grunts of the savages giving one another orders. The lines began to move out of the clearing, toward the firelight glowing through the trees. I knew these kidnapped woodsfolk went to a horrible fate, one I was powerless to prevent.

  As if reading my thoughts, Terrac squeezed my hand. “Reconsidering trading the bow?” he whispered.

  I licked my lips. “Maybe.”

  “You told me once you’d die before you’d be parted from it.”

  “That was before I dreamed anybody would take me up on it.”

  There was no time to say more. The door of our cage was thrown open and several dark figures plunged into our midst, hefting threatening spears and herding us away from the walls and toward the door. During the jostling Terrac’s hand slipped from mine and I let it go.

  We were shoved roughly into a double line and quickly rebound, tied wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle with one another, each pair secured by a longer stretch of rope to the one behind it. There was just enough rope to allow walking but none of us would be able to break into a run without tripping the others or dragging them along. It reminded me of a silly race I used to see children playing in the woods villages. I’d laughed with them then but it was far less amusing now.

  Our captors never turned their eyes from us until we were all secured in this fashion. Then we filed out the door and into the open.