Magic of Thieves

by C. Greenwood

  “Yes, I’m sure you do,” Terrac said, frowning. “How is it I’m the one handling the dangerous part when this was your idea in the first place?”

  How, indeed? I scrambled for a plausible excuse. “Because you’re the quicker of us and have the best chance of slipping back and forth unseen.”

  His expression showed he wasn’t buying that horse, so I struck out with a better lie. “And because I’m, um, afraid.”

  “Afraid?” The mingled surprise and disbelief in his voice made me wish I had thought of something better.

  I hurried to elaborate. “I mean, I’m afraid for Brig. You know how close we were and you’ve seen what the Fists do to their enemies. I’m afraid of what we could find down there and of how I’ll react. I might go mad and do something foolish to get us captured or killed.”

  I inwardly blessed his gullibility as I saw the disbelief fade from his face. He nodded and said, “I suppose there is sense in what you say. Maybe it would be for the best if I’m the one to go. I'll bring the news back to you, whether good or bad.”

  Suffering an unexpected stab of remorse, I caught his arm as he started to turn away. I opened my mouth to confess, but what came out instead was, “You’re a good would-be priest, Terrac. An honest man. You can tell that to anyone.”

  I couldn’t be sure if he detected the instruction behind my words, but he seemed to catch the seriousness of my tone. “I don’t know how good I am, but I think any friend would do as much. Now I’d best do this thing quickly if I’m going to do it at all.”

  A part of me felt relief that he hadn’t understood. “Yes, of course,” I said. “Thank you, Terrac.”

  He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then he was away. I kept my head low, watching his awkward progress as he moved off. Slithering down the hillock on his stomach and scrambling to his feet at the bottom, he ran doubled over in the direction of the hold house in the clumsiest stealth approach I’d ever seen.

  I returned my gaze to the sentry I had previously observed lurking beneath the shadowed eaves of the house. I could only hope he would take my friend in for questioning, rather than killing him on the spot, but there was little I could do to ensure that and my conscience smote me. Terrac was my friend and here I was betraying him for my own schemes. But when I thought of Brig, my guilt was instantly silenced. For me, Brig came ahead of any other and this was the only way I could think of keeping the Fists busy while I searched for him.

  From here on out, speed was important. I slithered quickly through the grass until I made it down the brow of the hill and then kept low to the earth as I circled to the back of the hold yard. The looming shadow of the barn was my goal because if Brig was dead, I imagined the Fists would have stowed his corpse in just such a place. I had to cancel out that horrible possibility before I could lay any rescue plans. I reached the barn without being seen and kept to the shadows, creeping around to the front entrance. The door was rotten and protested softly when I tried it so that I hesitated to test it further.

  Abruptly, a strangled cry rang out across the yard. Although I’d been expecting it, I started anyway. The shout was immediately followed by sounds of a struggle and I dropped flat to the ground, training my gaze on the house. I made out two dark silhouettes scuffling in the shadows. The smaller of the two was actually giving a fair account of himself, but inevitably, his larger opponent soon drew something from his belt, possibly a knife. I was too far away to be certain. He hooked his arm around Terrac from behind, pressed the object against the boy’s throat and Terrac immediately stiffened and fell still. I held my breath, praying he would have the sense to heed the Fist’s orders. Apparently he did, and I watched as he cooperatively allowed the knife man to drag him backwards toward the entrance of the house.

  I wasn’t the only one to hear the struggle. A handful of Fists came rushing to fill the open doorway of the house. Apparently caught sleeping, no one had taken the time to throw clothing on and they stood in various stages of undress, many of them barefoot, but all with swords in hand. A few stepped out to help their comrade with his captive, while others cast wary gazes out into the wet night, probably wondering whether they could expect more intruders to descend at any moment.

  Everything was in Terrac’s hands now. I could only hope whatever he told our enemies would dissuade them from searching the yard for his companions. I couldn’t afford to linger any longer and used my enemies’ brief distraction to try the barn door again. I winced at its muffled groan but didn’t hesitate this time, slipping through the doorway and into the building. The blackness within was even deeper than that outside and I stood, disoriented, just inside the door. I allowed my eyes time to adjust to the dimness before beginning a swift search of the interior from top to bottom.

  It was as I was giving up a hasty exploration of the hayloft that I made a peculiar discovery. My foot scuffed against something hidden beneath the thin layer of moldy straw on the floor and hurried though I was, instinct made me kneel to uncover the object. Certainly I had no time for distractions, but the thing had an odd shape and for a moment curiosity took over so that I quickly dusted aside the straw to pick it up. In the darkness it was difficult to discern what it was and I nearly cast it aside as a crooked bit of wood with a string tied to it. Then, recognizing its feel, I took a closer look and realized I was holding a bow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  This seems like an unlikely place to find such a weapon, I thought, turning it around in my hands and noting how light and sturdy it felt. From the little I knew of bows, I judged this to be a good one. In the darkness, my fingers traced a line of carvings spiraling down the wooden arms. I’d never heard of anyone putting such detailed effort into the making of a bow, and I thought I would like to see it in better lighting.

  I had no sooner had the thought, than the weapon warmed beneath my touch and glowed with a faint orangey light. What evil magic was this? Startled, I threw the weapon away from me and it sailed over the edge of the loft. After a moment’s hesitation, I worked up the courage to clamber down the rope ladder after it and found it lying in a pile of straw.

  When I dared to reach out and tentatively take the bow into my hands again, I was relieved to find it cold once more. The glow was gone too. Had I only imagined it before? Yes, that must be it. Impulsively, I slung the bow over my shoulder and returned to my search.

  I made a hasty exploration of the rest of the interior, disturbing the Fist’s horses as I went so that they began whickering loudly and shifting in their stalls. Fearful lest anyone come to investigate the noise, I abandoned the barn and moved on to the outbuildings. I crept from one building to the next, heart sinking as I failed to find Brig locked away in any of them. I told myself this was a hopeful sign. If he wasn’t out here, he must be under guard in the house and that at least meant he was alive. What was happening inside the hold house now? What were they doing to Terrac and what was he telling them? I quickened my search.

  The next shed I poked my head into was a privy and the one after that appeared to be a place for storing herbs. Dark shapes hung from the ceiling and it took me a moment to realize they were bunches of dried plants suspended upside down. The pungent scents of thickleaf and ravenspoison were heavy in the air. There was a low worktable scattered with cracked earthenware pottery and the rotting remnants of more clusters of weeds and leaves.

  The shed held the bitter smell of decay and I lingered only long enough to determine Brig wasn’t there. Backing out of the building, I pulled the door to and turning away, stumbled over something. A stick of wood? No, it was a man’s outstretched arm. In the shadows I could barely make out his still form lying in a heap against the side of the shed. His shaven head was tilted at a side angle, his bearded face half buried in the dirt. Large crimson blotches darkened the back of his tunic. My stomach clenched and with a strangled cry I dropped to my knees and flipped the body over.

  I knew Brig was dead even as I felt for a heartbeat. Always before, when he
was near, I could sense the life burning within him. But now I felt nothing from him, not even the barest tendril of warmth. He had been dead a while, and mingled grief and fury coursed through me as I saw evidence of torture. Despite what I felt, I couldn’t seem to shed tears. My throat hurt, but my eyes were drier than sand. I bent over him, gathering his still form in my arms as best I was able. He had always been a heavy man and in death, his body had grown rigid, resisting my efforts. I huddled over his form, cradling it protectively, as he had sheltered me when I was small. My teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached and I welcomed the pain, wishing for more.

  I sat there for an age, drowning in grief and anger and forgetting all sense of time or purpose. Eventually I became aware of the weight of my new bow slung across my back and strangely, this brought me back to myself. I remembered I had a task before me and my heart hardened with resolve. I remembered how Rideon said they would display Brig’s remains as a gruesome spectacle in Selbius. I thought of the sons Brig rarely spoke of, probably young men by now, and wondered what was the likelihood they would ever visit the city, see their father strung up in that way, and know him? I thought of Netta, who had left him for his thieving ways and wondered whether she would be pleased or sorry to see him come to such an end. Whatever she felt, I knew Brig would have hated her to see him so.

  I shook the thought from my mind. If I wanted to spare my old friend that fate, I needed to keep my head clear. It was past time I took all of us away from this place, Terrac, too, if I could manage it. The plan I formed was not a clear one and certainly not brilliant, but it was all that came to me just then. I had no time to dwell on the particulars or the many possible failings.

  I forced myself to abandon Brig’s lifeless body and ducked back into the herb shed where I collected all the crushed ravenspoison I could find. It was dark and I had to identify the vials of dried herbs by smell, rather than sight. I mentally thanked Javen for teaching me all he knew of herbal concoctions and remedies. I worked quickly, stuffing my pockets full of vials, mindful my presence could be discovered at any moment. Then I hurried back to the barn, moving stealthily along the edges of the yard. I managed not to attract the attention of the sentries if there were still any around and slipped back into the relative safety of the shadowed building, where I emptied the vials entirely into the drinking water of the Fist’s horses. I spared only one mount, a strong looking gray I had need of.

  I also found the Fists’ waterskins hung up alongside the riding gear, and I tipped a little herbal powder into these as well. I had no real expectation of anyone drinking enough to do them harm, since the taste should quickly warn the drinker against further sampling. Still, I thought it worth a try. Several of the horses were dipping their noses into their water buckets even as I left. I felt bad about the animals but reminded myself ravenspoison wasn’t fatal, only sickening enough to put a man—or a horse—off his feet for a day or two.

  Outside, I found a battered old onion cart. Its sides were rotten, but the bed and wheels might be sturdy enough for my purpose. I slipped back into the barn for horse and harness, which I brought out by way of a narrow back door I discovered in my earlier search. Even with the use of this concealed exit, I couldn’t imagine how my movements had thus far failed to capture my enemies’ attention. I could only be grateful for whatever Terrac was doing in there to keep them occupied. If only he could buy me a few more minutes... I longed for something to happen, anything, to keep all eyes away from me a little longer.

  A shout went up in the distance. “Fire!”

  That would do. I didn’t have time to wonder who raised the cry or what sparked it. I could only be grateful for the sudden commotion that erupted, as other shouts joined the first, followed by the echoing bang of the farmhouse door being flung open and the thundering of many feet pounding outdoors.

  I led the horse forward and the rickety cart followed, wheels creaking and wobbling as if it would collapse into pieces at any moment. We kept to the outer ring of the holding, immersing ourselves among the deepest shadows. I could see the hold house now, one wall burning and greedy tongues of flame licking up to the wood-shingled roof. Fists poured out windows and doorways, scrambling to removed themselves and their gear from the path of the flames. The lightly falling rain did little to dampen the blaze and the winds of the storm spread the flames all the swifter.

  A new shout rose up in the distance. “This is the boy’s work! Find him and bring him back!”

  No one paid heed to the order.

  I almost smiled to myself. It appeared Terrac was a little cleverer than I’d thought him. I only hoped he had the sense to put this place behind him. When I reached the shed, I left my cart in the shadows. Stooping over Brig’s motionless form, I took hold of his shoulders and attempted to lift him from the ground. He was heavier than I expected and I grunted with the effort. I realized my back suddenly felt strangely warm. Was that the bow again, radiating heat through my tunic? I hesitated in confusion.

  The sound of a footfall behind me was all the warning I had. I dropped my burden and leapt to one side, dodging none too soon as a thick cudgel descended where my head had been mere seconds before. Rolling to my feet, I slid my knives from their wrist sheaths… and became vividly aware of a powerful stirring at the back of my consciousness. An unfamiliar, inner voice seemed to be hissing instructions at me, only I couldn’t make out the words. Startled, I nearly froze in my confusion, but hesitating at this moment would mean death. I shoved the distracting voice aside and dove for my attacker with the single thought of silencing him before he alerted others. He clearly hadn’t anticipated I would choose to attack him directly and I could have caught him with a blade squarely in the chest then. But I stayed my hand at the last possible second. This enemy had a familiar face. Not a foe, but one of ours. Resid.

  I hesitated and the outlaw seized the opportunity to launch another blow at my midsection. He hadn’t got his full strength behind it, but when his cudgel connected with my ribs, the force still knocked the breath from me and sent me reeling backward to slam into the wall of the shed behind me. Pain raged like fire up my injured side as my adversary lifted his club for another swing, this one aimed at my head. Again, the whispered commands hissed through my mind and I could almost make them out this time. I dodged Resid’s swing, feeling the wind from it whistle past my ear, and staggered sideways, the pain in my ribs slowing my movements. I tripped over Brig’s sprawled form and reeled backward, attempting to keep my legs under me, knowing if I allowed myself to meet the ground, the fight was over. I would be finished as surely as Brig was. Brig, who had been sold out by a comrade, a man he believed he could trust.

  The angry thought sent a surge of strength through me. I regained my balance and lashed out with one booted foot, catching Resid in the belly. My enemy doubled over and I dodged in to swipe my twin knives at him. I aimed for his throat, but he turned his head at the last instant and I dealt him, instead, a shallow slash across one cheek and a deeper stroke into the side of the neck, inadvertently finding an artery. A dark fountain of blood spewed outward.

  An approving murmur seemed to come from somewhere in my head. Was it my magic speaking to me? That had never happened before, but I had no time to puzzle over it. Resid, stunned and weakened, stumbled toward me still. He moved awkwardly and I had no difficulty ducking beneath his next onslaught and slashing across the wrist with which he held his cudgel. The weapon fell from his fingers and I moved easily in to open his throat with my blades. My enemy collapsed at my feet and I felt no pity. He should never have turned on Rideon. Or at least, he should not have killed Brig in the bargain.

  Looking down on Brig, a wave of misery washed over me and in this sudden bleakness, my original plan felt useless. But I had gone too far to turn back now. I pushed aside my weariness and the throbbing pain in my ribs and knelt again to haul at Brig’s shoulders. I wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the burning in my side, but the dead man now felt like a load of bri
cks, and for all my efforts, I couldn’t have dragged him to the cart if the simple act could have restored his life. Giving up, I sat and leaned my weary back against the rough wall of the shed and rested my head in my hands, scarcely aware of the tears slicking my cheeks.

  That was how Terrac found me. Unconsciously, I sensed his approach, even before I felt his hands gripping me firmly by the shoulders and raising me to my feet. I didn’t bother to resist.

  “You can’t sit here crying,” he said. “The fire has spread to the barn and the Fists are distracted. If we’re ever going to escape, this is our chance. Get up.”

  Ordinarily, I would have been angry at his ordering me around, but I was empty of any emotion now, except pain. What did anything matter anymore, when things could never be right again?

  I didn’t realize I was sobbing until Terrac snapped, “Be quiet. There’ll be time for grieving later. But for now, you have to do what I tell you or we’ll never get out of this alive.”

  I obeyed and stopped my bawling, only because it felt like too much trouble to argue. I allowed him to lead me to the onion cart, where he told me to stand at the horse’s head and keep hold of the bridle.

  “Don’t move until I return,” he ordered and he left me there. He disappeared around the shed and returned a few minutes later, dragging Brig’s lifeless body along behind him. I kept my eyes forward but listened to the muffled grunts and sounds of him struggling to lift the heavy corpse into the back of the cart. He didn’t ask for my help, which was good because I didn’t know that I was in a condition to give any. Lost inside my own wretched world, nothing of what occurred in this one seemed of any significance.

  There was a heavy thud as Terrac achieved his goal and then he was beside me again, snatching the horse’s halter and leading the animal forward. I shuffled alongside the cart, because I knew he would prod me if I didn’t, and we moved away from the hold yard with its crackling blaze and out into the night. Terrac never tried urging the horse to speed, but gently coaxed the nervous animal every step of the way. We moved with nothing like stealth as we lurched along with our creaking, rickety cart and in a different time, I would have been amused by our pathetic retreat.