by Jane Glatt
him the truth. Maybe he could help her understand what was happening to her.
“It’s like someone’s humming a tune that I can’t quite make it out,” Brenna said. “I can tell where it’s coming from though. I can’t say how, but I know it’s coming from the two swords and three knives behind you and not from any of the other weapons on the walls.” Brenna gestured to the assorted weapons and shields lining the walls.
Feiren nodded and stared at her with a far away look. “And when you touch them, what happens then?”
Brenna started. Touch them? Like when she touched Kane’s sword? She wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. Touching Kane’s sword and the priest’s knife hadn’t physically actually hurt her, but it had been unsettling. Did she want to do that deliberately?
“Don’t worry,” Feiren reassured her. “I’m not going to ask you to pick any of them up, not until we know more. My nephew and Dasid will be here later. Dasid is a bit of a historian for the Brotherhood and he’s been searching through the oldest records looking for references to old steel and the Caller. So far he’s found only one obscure passage that refers to a light.” He leaned back in his chair. “I am curious about what happens though, what you feel from old steel.”
“Well it was different both times,” Brenna said. Then she stopped and really thought about it. It had felt different the two times she touched old steel.
“The knife,” she continued. “The one I was trying to steal. I don’t really remember feeling anything other than shock at the light. The two worst things for a thief at night are light and a witness. I got both.” She paused. “The second time, in the jail cell, Kane simply grabbed my hand and put it over his on his sword. My whole body tingled. I don’t remember feeling that with the knife.”
“Hmm,” Feiren looked at her through lowered lids. “What do you know about the Call?”
“What, oh not much. Just something I read somewhere.”
“Really. Read where?” Feiren asked. He leaned forward and stared at her intently. For the first time Brenna was reminded that he was a military man, with years of command experience. She forced herself to meet his gaze calmly.
“The Brotherhood has spent the better part of two thousand years trying to stay secret,” Feiren said. He leaned back in his chair. “We’ve spent considerable effort to acquire any and all documents and texts that reference us. I’m concerned that we’ve missed something. ”
Brenna hesitated. She didn’t want to involve Randell more than she already had. And then she had a terrible thought. What if the church already knew about him?
“I have a friend at the library at the Collegium,” Brenna said. “He helped me find an old book that referenced the Brotherhood. It told of the vision of Wolde’s daughter Aruntun, and the Call.” She paused. “That was on the night I was followed. I was coming back from the Collegium and now I realize I may have put my friend in danger. Is there any way you can send someone to check? Maybe warn him about the church? His name is Randell.”
“I’ll send someone at once,” Feiren said. “I’ll be right back.”
He left the room and Brenna sighed in relief. She didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble for Randell. He’d always been good to her.
With Feiren gone, there was nothing to distract Brenna from the old weapons. They drew her. A low hum - tantalizingly familiar – urged her up and out of her chair until she stood directly in front. Hesitantly she reached out a hand. The closer her hand came to a knife the more her body tingled. She tentatively touched one finger to the hilt.
Immediately the length of the knife blazed with a blue white light. Startled, Brenna snatched her hand back and the light went out. She looked at her finger. There was no mark, nothing to indicate that her touch had caused the knife to light up and she hadn’t felt any pain. She wasn’t afraid that she would be harmed in any way - in fact, there had been a measure of acceptance, an almost overwhelming sense of rightness. Curious, she took a deep breath and reached for the knife again. This time she was prepared for the way her arm tingled and the knife blazed to light.
With her finger in contact with the knife Brenna examined the effect. The whole knife was illuminated as if from within. Then the illumination spread from the first knife to each of the other four old weapons until they all shone brightly.
As the light spread the humming increased and Brenna found that she could hear and feel differences in pitch and frequency. Each blade had its own distinct note and when she squinted, she could see subtle differences in coloration between them.
Brenna closed her eyes and concentrated on the note from the first knife. She was able to block out all the others until she heard only that single hum. She opened her eyes. There on the wall, only the first knife shone. She removed her hand from the knife and continued to concentrate on that sound, but the light quickly died. A movement from the doorway startled her and she looked over her shoulder into Feiren’s amazed gaze.
“That was incredibly beautiful,” he said. He came and stood beside her, his eyes on the weapons on the wall. “I’ve lived with most of these weapons all my life,” he caressed the hilt of the knife that she’d touched almost reverently, “and at no time did I ever think they were capable of this.” He smiled down at her. “My nephew, although eloquent, still was not able to capture the beauty. He also said he felt something when you both handled his sword. I’d very much like to try that, if you’d care to experiment later. For now,” he gestured to the chair she’d vacated and moved around the desk, “I’d like to discuss some other matters. For instance, what makes you believe that Duke Thorold is the amassing the old steel weapons?”
Distracted, Brenna sat down. What had just happened with the old weapons, the old steel, as Feiren called them? She’d been able to control them, just a little. With practice would she be able to do more? And what did this mean for the prophecy? She couldn’t really be the heir, could she? That she did not want. It would be far too dangerous, even with the Brotherhood on her side. No, she wanted to go back to her simple life.
“Brenna.”
She looked up, startled. Feiren Rowse met her gaze, his mouth quirked up in a smile.
“I’m sorry, Feiren,” she said. “I’m a little … Sorry, what did you ask?” She’d been about to tell him that she was a little unnerved. Now why would she do that? Even if it was true, she didn’t want him to know. Even that tiny piece of knowledge could potentially be used against her.
“No worries lass,” Feiren said. “I was simply asking why you think Duke Thorold is collecting old steel.”
“I have some contacts,” Brenna said. “In the Quarter. I’m a healer by training but it’s not something you want to make a full time living from in Thieves’ Quarter.”
“There’s not enough payment?” Feiren asked.
“Well there’s that,” Brenna said. “Folk have little to spare, that’s true. But the biggest risk is that you’ll be named a witch. Just like Sabine Werrett.” A woman who had done nothing except be mistaken for Brenna. She clamped down on her anger and guilt. The church was responsible, not her.
“I know,” Brenna continued. “That Kingsreach is not as bad as some of the other duchies - thanks in no small part to the Kingsguard - but the church seems to be targeting people they don’t like by calling them witches. It seems to me that calling someone a witch is a church-sanctioned opportunity for theft.”
“How so?”
“The church has been so outspoken that it’s easy to madden a crowd by accusing someone of being a witch,” Brenna said. She’d thought this scenario more likely than what had happened to poor Sabine. “While the so-called witch was running for his or her life someone can move in and take their possessions. Even if the witch escaped the crowd and came back for their belongings there would be no way to recover anything. And likely no help.”
Feiren nodded. “So by only occasionally healing you are able to deflect that kind of fear?”
“Yes,” Brenna said. �
�And I’ve been around the Quarter for a long time. Folk know me more as a thief than a healer. But the interesting thing about healers is that sooner or later everyone needs one. Including those who trade in information.”
“Ah, back to your contacts. You trade healing for information.” Feiren’s look held a glint of admiration. “As you said, everyone eventually needs a healer.”
“Yes.”
“So what do you do with all this information?” Feiren asked.
“I keep it,” she replied. “I piece it together in order to see which way the bigger pieces will fall. Then I make sure I’m not in the way. And I gain favors by tipping a few folk off.” She paused. “And sometimes I use the information to target specific items for my own personal gain.” Brenna nervously looked down. Feiren knew she was a thief, but still, with his ties to the Kingsguard, admitting it made her uneasy.
“And Duke Thorold, he is a particular target of yours?” asked Feiren. “Kane said you’d told him you make it your business to know what Duke Thorold of Comack is up to.”
Brenna nodded to him. “That’s right. He’s the most powerful man in Soule, even though he’s not king. I find it useful to know what he’s interested in. ” She was not going to tell the leader of the Brotherhood that she had a personal history with Thorold or that he was her grandfather. She could