Thief

by Kris Kramer

  ***

  As much as I hated the man, Riose proved that he at least knew what he was doing. I could respect that. To a point.

  He’d kept my hands bound tightly behind my back, and a short length of rope around my ankles kept my gait short. The two were connected, though whether it was by a third piece of rope or through a complicated system of knots I couldn’t tell. But the end result was that my movement was severely restricted. To top it off, he was leading me by yet another rope that wrapped below my wrists, but since they were behind my back, the rope had nowhere else to go except through my legs. That meant I couldn’t dawdle without feeling that rope dig roughly into places I didn’t want it to be. That was more than enough motivation to keep my pace consistent with his. It was a brilliant idea, and one I’d have to remember later on. After I killed him and escaped.

  Unfortunately, escape would be nothing more than a random gamble at this point. We'd only been walking for half an hour, but it was so dark that I couldn't keep track of where we were going. Just because I could see in the dark better than a full human didn't mean I had a clue as to where we were, or where I would go. Those were details I could worry about later, though. For now, running in the opposite direction should be enough.

  “Kieran Riose,” I said, enunciating every single syllable.

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing,” I said, not looking at him. “Just saying the name. I want to remember it, so I know who to come after later. I don’t like to forget who my enemies are.”

  “Oh, you won’t forget me," he winked. "When you’re hanging from the gallows, or putting your head on the block, I’m pretty certain my name will be one of the last things you ever think about. Right up there with wishing you’d never stolen whatever it was you stole in the first place.”

  “I’m no thief,” I said, only vaguely wondering why I felt the need to defend myself to him. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” I put a particular emphasis on 'stolen.'

  “Never?” he asked, feigning surprise.

  “Never.” I thought for sure he would have some kind of retort, and he opened his mouth to say something but held it back. Maybe he believed me. Maybe he didn’t care. "I'll get out of this," I said, trying to sound confident. I was confident. I always am. But it's important to be able to sound like you are, too. "I hope you have somewhere to hide when I do."

  "Why hide? I'll just set another trap for you walk into. And you'll do it, too."

  "How stupid do you think I am?" I asked, then immediately regretted it. I was starting to sound like Arnum.

  "You're not stupid,” he said, pushing low hanging branches out of the way. “You're predictable."

  "Predictable? I just escaped ten men sent to capture me, or kill me more likely."

  "Ten, huh? Admirable. I guess it was lucky I chose not to go to Harfort, then."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you were obvious. You wanted to be found there. You set the trap, baited it, and someone bought it. Arnum, I'm guessing?"

  I didn't answer. I didn't want him to know he was right.

  "You beat Arnum, which isn't the most difficult thing to do in this world, and walked right into my trap. You were predictable."

  "You were lucky."

  "Yes, I was," he said, his expression serious. "But only up to a point."

  I decided to keep my mouth shut after that. I was sick of his smug remarks, and I didn't want to talk to him anymore, not even to taunt him. Everything he said only made me regret all the decisions I'd made tonight. He was right. I'd lured everyone to Harfort, and lulled them into a false sense of confidence, which worked. But if my plan to escape had been so brilliant, why was I here? Why was I tied up like a criminal being led to his death? It was because I planned for the stupid bounty hunters, not the smart ones. I let arrogance get in the way, and now, unless I came up with an even better plan, I'd be dead in a few days. Arnum may not get his bounty from me, but he would certainly be standing there watching when the headsman chopped into my neck, gloating that he outlived me, and I couldn’t bear dying before him. Being caught by Riose wasn't nearly as bad as knowing that idiot Arnum would spend the rest of his life content in my death. That was the ultimate kick to the groin.

  Why the hell did I send Saras down the other path?