06 - Rule of Thieves (12 page)

But in my head, I heard Brig’s words from many years ago, arguing that outlaw life was no fit thing for a child. I had been the child referred to then, but surely the sentiment held doubly true for his own son. No, it was useless fighting it. I had to do what my old friend would want were he alive today.

Jarrod must have noticed how I slowed my horse as we approached the fork in the road.

“Are we going into the woods?” he wanted to know.

The tree line looked shady and tempting, but I passed it by.

“Not today,” I said. “But someday when the time is right, I’ll take you into Dimming and show you where your father spent his last years.”

I felt Jarrod’s shrug, although I couldn’t see it since he sat behind me. “I’m not sure I want to see,” he answered. “I barely remember him anyway. I was mostly an infant when he went away.”

His words were careless, but his tone gave away the lie in them.

I said, “I never asked Brig much about his family, but I always knew it grieved him to be apart from you.”

“That’s not what my ma told us. She said he didn’t care to see us anymore.”

“That much is certainly untrue,” I said. “As I heard it, your mother took you away because she did not want you to follow your father’s path in life. That’s not the same thing as him abandoning you.”

“Maybe. But either way, he chose something else over us.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that, because it was true. And what must sting more for Jarrod, and for Martyn when he was alive, was discovering that I’d had the benefit of Brig’s care throughout my childhood while his own sons had not.

I wanted Jarrod to think well of his father, but there was no way I could explain the motives of a man long dead. I was glad when Jarrod changed the subject to ask how much longer before we reached Selbius. I too was impatient to end this awkward journey. Not least because I had the uneasy feeling I had been away overlong and my absence may have been noted by someone I was not ready to provoke.

____________________

One advantage of my position in the Praetor’s house was that I no longer had to invent excuses to get me past the gate clerk. I now had legitimate business in Selbius.

Jarrod was not as wide-eyed as I had been on my first time crossing the great bridge and entering the walled city. Apparently he had come this way a few times before when the miller brought him on errands. Still, he looked with interest at the passing crowds and shops along the street as we made our way up the main thoroughfare to the castle.

In the courtyard, I was relieved to slide down from my horse, although the big animal had given me no special trouble. I was unaccustomed to the saddle, and having spent the last day and a half in one had left me sore. I found a use for Jarrod, tossing him the reins and telling him to return the borrowed horse to the stable. The youngster would have to start learning his way around the castle sooner or later. Might as well be today.

My arrival at the keep was greeted with no particular notice. I stopped briefly by my room to drop off my things and reassure myself the sole possession I had left behind was safe. The bow was exactly where I had left it. And there it would remain for a while yet, because I had unpleasant business to take care of next.

I found the Praetor’s audience chamber empty except for a gray-haired, birdlike man with twitchy hands and a formal manner who was fussing with a stack of papers at a small table in the back of the room. He wore the same livery as all the servants, but the scarlet half cape trailing from his shoulders and the decorative badge below his collar identified him as one of higher status than most. He was the house steward, as it turned out, and he informed me Praetor Tarius would not be in audience today.

Undeterred, I left the long chamber and headed for Praetor Tarius’s study where I guessed I might find him. No doubt it broke with all kinds of protocol to seek out the important man when he had not sent for me. The twitchy house steward would be horrified. But I hadn’t asked to be a guest in this cheerless castle, so I had no qualms at being a poor one.

I rapped my knuckles boldly against the thick door. When there was no response, I let myself inside. I walked in to find the Praetor half-undressed and seated in a deep chair with a small elderly man at his side mixing a vile-looking green concoction in a goblet.

The old man was saying, “I’m afraid it is no better or worse than it was, my lord. But if you’ll remember, I did warn you to take a better diet and exert yourself less.”

At my entrance, he broke off speaking. Both the room’s inhabitants stared at me.

“Can a man not be examined by his personal healer in the privacy of his own rooms without drawing an audience?” growled the Praetor.

Refusing to apologize, I said stiffly, “I tried the great chamber, but the house steward told me you would not be there today.”

“Perhaps that is because I wished to be alone.”

“If that is the case, I will wait outside until my lord sees fit to call me in.”

My lord.
How it grated every time I was forced to utter those words.

“Never mind.” He relented as I was about to depart. “You may wait here.”

Obediently, I stationed myself near the door and pretended to be immersed in studying the opposite wall tapestry while the Praetor re-dressed himself.

I remembered Lady Morwena’s claim that her cousin was very ill. Was there, after all, more truth to that story than I had given her credit for? Why else should he have his healer in attendance?

I heard him dismiss the healer. The frail little man, who looked about a hundred years old, shot me a disapproving glance on his way out.

When the door closed behind him, Praetor Tarius said, “Now. I assume this impudent intrusion means you bring to me a matter of some urgency, worthy of my attention?”

“Two matters,” I said. “Firstly, I have acquired a personal servant, a boy of about twelve years, who will require regular food and a place to sleep.”

He looked bored. “Take it up with the house steward. I have no time to be consulted on such trivial matters.”

He stretched his feet out onto the stool in front of him and settled deeper into his chair. Closing his eyes, he maintained a listening attitude.

Did I detect faint circles beneath his eyes? If so, that and a slight thinness were the only signs of weakness about him. He looked healthy in all other respects and fitter than most men his age.

While he was off guard like this, I caught myself examining his face for some resemblance to my father. As they were brothers, there ought to be a similarity in looks, if not manner. But there was none. From what I remembered of my da, the two could not have been more different.

Absently, I touched the family brooch pinned to my collar. I had been wearing it openly ever since reclaiming it from Terrac.

The Praetor broke into my thoughts. “You were saying you had another question? Or have you forgotten it, preoccupied as you are with inspecting me for signs of impending death?”

At my startled silence, he opened his eyes. “You see? I am giving you your chance to examine me and calculate the time I have left. Does it make you pity your master to see him so weak?”

“About as much as I’d pity a desert viper,” I replied without hesitation.

He looked approving. “Good. You are not easily moved by the plight of one you deem inferior. We are alike in that if in nothing else. And you do think yourself my superior, don’t you? Even now that circumstances force you to serve me, you do not bow or seek favor.”

I wasn’t sure I cared for the way he painted me. “Unlike you, I don’t determine inferiority by birth but by deed,” I said. “And it is there I find you wanting.”

“Bold words for an insignificant thief from the woods whom I could have hanged at a snap of my fingers.”

“If that were your intention, you’d have done it already,” I pointed out. “But as you’ve said yourself, I’m useful to you.”

“And your outlaw friends? The street thief? The wily priest? Are they of use to me too?” he asked lazily.

The cruel suggestion behind his words made my blood run cold. It was the one thing I feared from him, his ability to punish others for my failure to satisfy his expectations.

“There. That frightens you,” he observed. “I’m glad something does.”

I had almost forgotten his magery gave him the ability to sift through my mind at will. I had experienced such an intrusion once before, long ago. But if he were employing it now, his touch had grown more subtle, for I detected no breech of my thoughts. All the same, I slammed up my mental barriers, as Hadrian had taught me, to keep my feelings my own.

An amused twitch of his lips told me he knew what I was doing. He said, “You may rest easy. Even were there anyone in this room with the forbidden power to read your mind, he would not be so squandering his energies when they are needed to bolster his own strength.”

“Then it is true? You are dying?”

He had closed his eyes again, but now he opened one. “A blunt conclusion. But yes, that is the essence of it.”

“And you cannot, er, take any steps to prevent this outcome?” I was never quite sure how openly we were to speak of the magic we both knew he practiced.

“I have the means of slowing my decline,” he admitted. “But what troubles me is no natural sickness. Its power is beyond my ability to cure.”

I could not be expected to feign sympathy. “A pity. One might almost wish all the magic healers in the province had not been killed or driven out over a decade ago.”

“Yes,” he agreed dryly. “One could almost wish that.”

As the conversation hit dangerously close to home, I found it impossible to conceal my feelings. I said, “You speak so casually of events that ruined the lives of many. Do you know how many families were destroyed by the cleansings? How many surviving children can no longer remember the faces of their dead parents?”

“I suspect that is a question you could answer better than I,” he said, watching me thoughtfully. “Considering your abilities. Or perhaps you think I have forgotten what you are capable of?”

I swallowed, unaccustomed to speaking of my magic. “When did you first realize it?” I asked. “Even before the Black Forest incident a year ago?”

“From the beginning. If I’d had any doubts, they would have been extinguished when you performed that remarkable feat of transporting dozens of survivors from Skeltai territory back to Dimmingwood in a matter of moments. When my Fists told me of their impossible rescue, I knew there could be no other explanation.”

Now that we were speaking of the unspeakable, I had to ask, “Why did you do it? Why outlaw magic so long ago and kill the magickers?”

I fully expected to be told it was not my place to question such decisions. But he surprised me by answering.

“I was angry. My brother had made a… regrettable decision, abandoning his family and position to attach himself to a silver-haired female of certain unsuitable ancestry. I warned him if he abandoned his blood duty he would suffer for it.”

So that was it. I had waited for what seemed a lifetime to hear the true explanation of my parents’ deaths. But now it came, I could hardly accept that so many had died to satisfy this man’s need for personal vengeance against my father. Did he guess that too? That his brother was my father? Was that why he taunted me with this information? I could not ask. I felt curiously numb.

He cut into my thoughts with, “You are wondering why I have turned a blind eye to your magickery.”

I wasn’t. I knew him well enough by now to understand the answer.

He continued, “At first I found your feeble powers amusing. And then I quickly realized they, like your other talents, could be useful weapons in my war against the Skeltai. You have darkened your hair now but you cannot conceal the sharp ears and fair skin that marks you of their descent. So I asked myself, Who better to fight the savages than another savage?”

I said, “There are others who would take up the fight, if you will allow it. You have only to revoke the law.” My voice sounded wooden, even to me.

“You speak of your friends in the magicker community. I expected you to bring this request before me again.”

I waited for him to reject the suggestion as before. Instead, he said, “If our situation becomes desperate enough, it is possible even the most distasteful course would prove preferable to the alternative. If our situation is ever that dire, I will take it under consideration.”

It was the closest thing to a concession I had ever gotten from him, but I felt no relief. My thoughts were too full of my parents and their unnecessary deaths.

The Praetor rose abruptly and went to his desk where he took up a scroll and perused its contents. He seemed to forget I was there, and as the silence stretched, I wondered if I was dismissed.

Inching toward the door, I prepared to let myself out.

His words stopped me.

“Do you know what this is?” Praetor Tarius indicated the scroll in his hand. “It’s a letter of recommendation, to be sent to the king in Lythnia upon my death. The role of Praetor is not a hereditary or elected position. The power of appointment lies with the king. But by tradition, he will almost certainly name whatever man I put forth as my successor. There are some among my advisors who suspect the seriousness of my condition and aspire to replace me when the time comes. They hope it is their name I will write here.”

He tilted the scroll so I could see that it had been mostly filled, but there was an empty space. “It only remains for me to enter my choice and sign the document.”

I couldn’t imagine why he was telling me any of this.

He continued with, “Torg Branek especially covets the position. He imagines I do not know of his ambition, but none of my counselors can hide their aims from me. Asmund Summerdale is another who would rejoice to see the way cleared for him. But he is as weak and foolish as Branek is shortsighted. With such a poor selection, you can see why I have yet to reach a decision.”

He looked at me suddenly. “Perhaps I should put your name down here, and we could have a rule of thieves. Would you like that?”