Redemption of Thieves (Book 4)

by C. Greenwood

  And there at the center of it all stood one lone figure, straight backed and hard faced with a bow slung across her back. Somehow I knew she had the power to stop them all with a single word. But her mouth was shut tight and no plea or command escaped her lips. Within her she contained the strength to end this horror, but she was either too stupid or too uncaring to employ it, choosing instead to wait. To watch as they killed him and then another prisoner and another until finally it would be her own life taken.

  Watching that stupid young woman, I was outraged at her refusal to act. Her stubbornness disgusted me. I wanted to sweep her up in my hand and crush her, to snatch her up from where she was and bring her here, where I could… I could…

  I could snatch them all up.

  The flash of clarity broke through my anger. I was experiencing one of those magical rifts Hadrian and I had talked about. Somehow I had created this rift, had willed my mind back to Dimmingwood. What if I could take myself there in body and the other prisoners with me? In theory it was possible, but I had never used my magic for anything so big before. Breathing deeply and refusing to think of the consequences of failure, I commanded my mind back into my body. I felt my awareness floating like a feather on the breeze, carried down, down…

  The stone dais was beneath my feet again. The Skeltai guards still held me pinned in place. Terrac was before me and below I sensed the watching eyes of the other frightened prisoners. Mentally, I swept them all up in my arms. Terrac, myself, the Fists and the stolen villagers. Even the shaman who was bent over Terrac with a knife because I didn’t know how to separate what stood so close. I drew us all away from the torch-lit clearing, away from the heart of the Black Forest, and into a world of blasting wind and deep shadows.

  There was a rushing sense of speed as we traveled through utter darkness. I didn’t try to understand where we were or how we passed through this space. If I relaxed my concentration even for a moment, relinquishing my hold on the others, I might never summon the strength to gather them again. There were so many of us. I felt the bounds of my magic shrinking around me and, panicking, I did what I’d never done before, strained my power to its limit. I drew on the well of magic until I thought it would go dry if it didn’t burn me out first.

  But somehow I didn’t let go. I held on until I had that image of RedRock cave in Dimming firmly fixed in my mind again. I saw the cave and the little clearing with the cold stream dashing past. I breathed deeply and found the scent of pine in the air.

  The ground beneath my feet grew solid. Not the solid of the stone platform in that other place, but the comforting and familiar feel of damp earth covered in leaves and twigs. The feel of home.

  Chapter Nine

  I was drained, utterly spent, and it was all I could do to remain on my feet, swaying slightly. Dizziness and nausea swept over me, the effects of overusing my magic. Looking around, I found myself surrounded by strange men, women and children. The woods villagers huddled together in groups, looking dazed and fearful. It hadn’t yet come home to them that they were safely returned to their world.

  The Fists were here too. Disoriented, robbed of their weapons, and with their faces cut and bruised, they looked considerably less fierce than they used to. But they were quick to assess the change in their situation and already some were untying one another.

  I had done it. I had brought us home. Murmurs of triumph and approval stirred at the back of my consciousness but I wasn’t ready to listen to them just yet. I was too exhausted to be swept away in the flood of relief and elation I should feel. It was a powerful thing to be facing certain death one moment and in the next to be snatched away and returned to safety. The woodsfolk weren’t the only ones uncertain how to react.

  Above me, the leafy rooftop of Dimming swayed in the breeze and to the east the first orange and gold streaks of dawn were lighting up the sky. I looked at the encroaching forest and the shadow of RedRock cave looming out of the emerging grayness and realized I ought to be making plans for moving this body of frightened people back to the shelter of their villages. They had a terrible experience behind them and more hardship lay ahead. There were dead to be mourned and homes to be rebuilt. As for me, there was the Praetor to be informed of all that had happened. I had best get to work.

  I would settle these folk here at RedRock to rest and recover from their ordeal and then I would go on to Selbius. Just thinking of the journey ahead made me heavy with weariness, but I forced my chin up and straightened my shoulders for the task. I would pick out a Fist or two to accompany me and leave the rest in charge of the rescued captives.

  It wasn’t until then that I realized Terrac wasn’t among the Fists or the villagers. My heart twisted in sudden panic even as I whipped around, scanning the clearing in the half light, praying to see his tall figure just beyond that group of villagers or standing there at the edge of the trees. But he wasn’t here. He was nowhere.

  Had I left him behind in the Black Forest? Had I lost my grip on him in that dark place between this world and that? Was he floating alone out there somewhere, lost in nothingness, doomed to be trapped forever in an unknown plain of existence?

  And then I saw him. He stood with his back to me at the edge of the stream. It was a scene that stirred up memories. I recalled as if it were just minutes rather than years ago the time I built a lean-to just there and nursed a dying priest boy back to health. I’d thought him annoyingly sanctimonious then but there was a stubbornness to him I had admired right away and a hidden core of strength below his surface. It had just taken me a long time to discover it.

  It didn’t realize my feet carried me toward him until he turned at the sound of gravel crunching beneath my boots. He held his injured hand against him, blood from his missing fingers leaking onto his torn shirt. His face was pale and he swayed weakly. But he knew me. I could tell by the joy that leapt to his eyes as he forced a faint smile that seemed to say, you did it, Ilan. I knew you could.

  In that instant, several things happened at once. Something moved at the corner of my vision and I picked up an extra life sense. Inside my head, the bow shouted danger.

  But I was too slow to move.

  A Skeltai savage, the old shaman, was at the edge of the clearing. I remembered inadvertently transporting him here with us. A lethal weapon of magic hovered over his fingertips—a ball of heat and flame that would pierce flesh like a blade and burn through the vital organs with swift agony.

  Terrac saw the same thing I did—the weapon aimed at me and me powerless to stop it. My magic was spent and even my body betrayed me, refusing to attempt a physical dodge from the death about to be hurled at me.

  Terrac leapt into action, throwing himself between me and the shaman.

  Something came over me then. I saw the shaman’s eye fall on Terrac, knew with certainty that in the next breath, the magic would be released that would drop my friend as surely as a bow shot. My world jerked to a halt, thought and reason abandoning me, as sheer instinct took over. I had always imagined that in such a defining moment, with everything on the line, some inner part of me would take over, that Ilan, the hound, and all the other pieces that made up me would fall away and I would simply do what I had been raised to do. Fight.

  But instead, panic took over. I lunged forward even as I opened my mouth to scream a hopeless warning. If the words came out, I never heard them. My heartbeat filled my ears, joined by the heavy thrum of powerful strains of magic being released to vibrate through the air. In my fear I released a magical weapon of my own, although I had no idea what or how. It was as if some other presence was responsible for the action and not me at all. No time to wonder. Fear filled me with one aim, to protect Terrac. There was no why or how, only this thing that must be done at any cost.

  The few feet between us might as well have been a chasm. I knew even as I dived toward Terrac that I couldn’t reach him in time. I saw him waver from an invisible blow just before I slammed into him, hurling us both to the ground. My immediat
e instinct was to shield my friend and so I blanketed him with my body, part of me knowing already it was too late.

  Terrac lay limp in my arms as I curled over him. I closed my eyes, rested my forehead against his chest, and waited, uncaring, for the next volley of enemy magic that would destroy us both.

  Only it didn’t come. I waited for death but it was denied me. Terrac grew heavier in my arms. Every moment I became more aware of how still he was, how lifeless and breathless. And still no merciful darkness came to banish my pain.

  With trembling limbs, I shoved unsteadily to my feet, one thought pounding through my brain. For killing my Terrac, the shaman must die.

  But when I looked for the magic wielder, I discovered I was to be denied my vengeance. He already sprawled upon the ground, victim to that mindless flash of raw magic I had instinctively hurled at him moments ago.

  Eyes stinging, I swallowed the boulder that seemed to be jammed in my throat. I dropped to my knees and huddled beside my friend’s motionless body, waves of grief pulling me under. I gave in to the aching loss, weeping loudly until my throat was raw and there were no more tears left.

  When I could draw a steadying breath, I looked up with red eyes at the Fists and villagers crowded around. The bow burned warm on my back but I ignored its calling. Somehow I felt it was responsible for everything. It had changed me, had directed the course of my life, costing me the closest friend I’d ever had. No—he was more than a friend. I had loved him. My lips drew back in a bitter smile as I imagined what mockery he would have offered that little piece of information had he lived to hear it. Of course, without his death, it would never have been admitted…

  “Erm, miss…?” one of the on-looking Fists ventured hesitantly. At any other time I would have been amused to receive such a civil address from a Fist.

  Realizing how demented I must look to him and the others—worse, how weak I surely appeared—I shoved my hair back from my face and scrubbed the tear streaks from my cheeks.

  “Yes, what is it?” My voice, hoarse with emotion and rough from weeping, came out harsher than I intended. The Fist took a step back.

  I remembered then that my actions today had surely identified me as a magicker. I could expect to be treated with fear from now on. At least until someone got around to killing or imprisoning me for possessing the forbidden talent.

  “It’s the Under-Lieutenant…” The Fist gestured uncertainly toward Terrac.

  I looked where he indicated and my heart stopped. Terrac’s chest was rising and falling. I didn’t know how, but it was. I put my ear to his chest and caught the faint thudding sound of a heartbeat beneath his ribs.

  Suddenly there was hope in the world again. But I mustn’t get too excited yet. He showed no signs of waking and he might slip away at any moment. A memory flashed through my mind of a time I had delved into the consciousness of Garad, an injured outlaw, and had lent him some of my strength. I tried to remember how I had done it as I reached inward to gather my talent.

  But I stopped short in surprise on finding none there. I had expended my last shreds of magical strength to destroy the shaman. Even my life sense was gone. I couldn’t feel Terrac’s presence near me or the warm glow that should have come from the dozens of strangers at my back.

  It was no good trying to help him this way. I had no choice but to resort to healing in the only way I had ever had much success. I ripped up his shirt and swiftly used the strips to bind the bloody flesh of his hand. If I didn’t put a stop to the flow of blood soon, it would kill him before the shaman’s magic had the chance. I issued orders as my hands flew.

  “You there,” I snapped at the nearest Fist, “break up some pine boughs and get to work constructing a shelter beside the stream.”

  As he leapt to do my bidding, others gathered around to watch me work. I told a second man, “Go into that cave. You’ll find it’s been inhabited in the past. There should be all sorts of debris in there and you can rummage around for some warm bedding and anything that might pass for healing supplies. We’ve got our work cut out for us keeping your lieutenant alive until we can get him to a qualified healer.”

  I couldn’t see any sort of burn wound on Terrac from the shaman’s magic, just the cuts and scrapes he had gained in Skeltai territory along with the missing fingers. One thing was sure, he would need more help than I could give him.

  I said to the Fists, “Whichever of you is the fastest on foot and has the best head for direction needs to set out for Beaver Creek. If you don’t find the Praetor and the other soldiers there, run all the way to Selbius if you have to. Don’t waste any time or come back without the Praetor. And a healer.”

  I couldn’t tell them why I was so desperate to have the Praetor here. I was hanging all my hopes on his magical powers of healing. But I wouldn’t out him as a mage. Not yet. I was reserving that card for future use.

  “Go on then, hurry!” I said.

  They jumped into action and moved off in a huddle, bickering over who was to go for help and which of them would stay. Only one remained at my side.

  “Help that other Fist get started on the shelter,” I said.

  He hesitated. “Wouldn’t the Under-Lieutenant be more comfortable if we carried him into the cave?”

  I contemplated Terrac’s still form. “No, I don’t think so,” I said, remembering how Terrac had never liked the cave. “I have an idea if he’s going to make it at all it’ll be out here.”

  “If you say so.”

  The Fist disappeared, and for a while, Terrac and I were left alone.

  Chapter Ten

  As the day played out, a strange calm descended on me. Almost as if I had seen and done all this before. I bathed Terrac’s minor cuts and gashes, bandaging them as best I could. A handful of the woodsfolk women eventually worked up the nerve to approach with offers to help. I sent them out to gather healing herbs, not because I expected it to do any good, but to keep them out of the way. Terrac was fading fast and I knew by nightfall his fate would be sealed one way or another.

  I set more of the rescued prisoners to work cleaning out the cave in case we had to take shelter inside it that night. They labored with surprising energy, seemingly pleased to have familiar tasks to keep their hands busy. By mid-afternoon the women and children had a comfortable place to rest. A group of men went foraging for food in the woods, while others fished along the banks of the stream.

  Like the rest of them, I sought to keep busy, to fill my mind with small things. Soon the Fist, who I learned was called Burdel, had raised a suitable shelter by the waterside. He helped me move Terrac inside and onto a dry pallet that had been salvaged from the cave. There I sat watching my friend through the passing hours, waiting for him to miraculously open his eyes.

  After a time I began talking to him, more to comfort myself than because I believed he could actually hear me. I whispered all the soothing reassurances I could think of, hollow though they sounded. They were only stupid, useless words, the kind of nonsense you murmur to a child with a skinned knee. But I hoped if my voice reached wherever he wandered in the darkness, it would be something for him to take hold of and cling to until help arrived.

  So I told him how afraid I was when I thought I had lost him so many times back in the Skeltai forest. I said how I admired his courage in coming back and attempting to rescue us, even though he had failed and even though, as I firmly told him, it had been a foolish thing to do. When I finished scolding him, I even told him the discovery I had made when I thought him dead—that I was in love with him. It was strangely easy to say that as he lay quietly sleeping, oblivious to my words.

  The hours crawled by and I was forced to conclude our messenger had gotten lost in the woods. Fists never could tell a sapling from an elder tree. I should have gone myself, but how could I leave Terrac alone?

  I was waiting for my magic to return, testing it every hour to see if it was back. But I remained drained of the talent. Hadrian had once warned me it was possible
to drain yourself so thoroughly the magic would take days to return, if recovery came at all. Was that what I had done then? Burnt the magic out of me forever? It seemed a betrayal to my mother’s memory to say I didn’t care if I had. Yet just now, it was difficult to feel concern for anything but Terrac.

  There was no physical injury from the shaman’s magic. I had searched Terrac’s body and found multiple bruises and minor injuries, but nothing that would account for his current state. I could only guess that my outflung magic during that awful moment had countered the shaman’s spell. Rather than killing Terrac, the combined forces had sent his mind reeling out of his body. If the two couldn’t be joined again soon, the body couldn’t go on living much longer. Already it was failing, and without my magic, I was helpless to slow the downward spiral.

  The day crept on until dusk darkened the sky. A chill crept into the air around us and I knew it was only going to grow colder as the night progressed. Sometime during the dark hours, Terrac was going to drift off into a deeper sleep from which he would never wake and I was powerless to prevent it.

  Drawing the heavy fur blanket up to his chin, I snuggled down on the earth beside him. I rested my hand on his chest so I could feel its rise and fall, offering myself both the comfort of knowing it continued for a little while yet and the anguish of feeling it grow shallower with each passing minute. We weren’t far from the end now.

  From outside came a distant commotion and the shuffle of approaching footsteps, but locked within a world of misery, I ignored them. Terrac’s breathing stopped and he fell perfectly still in my arms. Burying my face in the blanket, I finally let loose the tears I had been holding in.

  There was a rustling sound as someone crawled into the shelter with us. I knew who it was without looking up.