06 - Rule of Thieves (15 page)

“They probably don’t. But they’re at least prepared to go through you to get to me, and I can’t ignore that.”

He scowled. “I’m not afraid of these people. If they’re the ones responsible for Martyn’s death, I welcome the chance to fight them.”

I made an impatient sound. “They’re not going to fight you, Jarrod. They’re going to crush you without thought or effort to reach their real goal. Anyway, the decision has been made. The distraction of protecting you leaves me vulnerable, and that’s just what they’d like. So I’m sending you to stay with a friend, a priest named Hadrian. He’s the most trustworthy person I know, and he’ll keep you safe at the Temple of Light.”

Jarrod scowled. “I don’t need to be watched over like a child, and I don’t want to stay at any temple.”

“I’m sorry to say suiting your wants isn’t high on my list of priorities right now,” I said. “I’d rather keep you alive. Now go get your things together, and we’ll leave for the temple immediately.”

Seeing the stubborn way he set his jaw and the spark of defiance in his eyes, I had the strangest sense I was now in Brig’s place and his son in mine. I hoped I hadn’t been half as muleheaded at that age.

I watched Jarrod storm away. It didn’t occur to me until he was gone that I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight.

Jarrod never did return. I waited awhile before eventually setting out to look for him. No one I questioned had seen a sign of the boy, and a quick check of his sleeping place revealed his belongings were still there. He hadn’t packed them up as I’d instructed. It appeared he hadn’t even returned to the room after our fight.

I tried not to worry. The youngling was angry with me. He’d probably found some out-of-the-way spot to sulk. There was no reason to suppose any ill fate had befallen him.

Nonetheless, I went down to the Fists’ training yard behind the stables. This was where the veteran soldiers trained new recruits for combat and where they all sparred to keep in condition.

Stepping onto those grounds felt like voluntarily entering a bear’s den. But concern for Jarrod left me no choice. Anyway, my connection to the Praetor should offer some protection. While he had use for me, no one would risk his wrath by doing me harm.

That knowledge didn’t keep my hands from itching for my bow as I felt the hostile gaze of the Fists who were present. Except for a single knife tucked down my boot, I had left all my weapons back in my room. That suddenly seemed like a stupid decision.

I spotted Terrac across the yard, practicing the sword with a youngling who had all the markings of a Fist-in-training. For a second, I felt like I was seeing a scene from the past. This yard was where I had hid with Fleet all those years ago, the two of us concealed behind the low wall as we spied on a much younger Terrac. Only this Terrac was no longer a skinny young boy in need of rescue. And instead of being trained by older soldiers, he was now doing the training.

I stood aside and waited for his match to end. As I watched him block the advance of his young student and launch his own attack, slowly driving back his opponent, I saw that the student was allowing him to win. Terrac’s HisHiHiadamaged arm hindered him as badly on the field as off. He had bound the weak limb into something like a sling, as if to keep it out of his way during the fight, but it threw off his balance just the same.

Even as he defeated and disarmed his opponent before my eyes, I had the disquieting thought that if he had been fighting an experienced warrior with a real desire to destroy him, he would be dead by now. And I could sense by the waves of frustration rolling off him that he knew it.

But for now, Terrac’s young student retrieved his sword from the dusty ground. The two exchanged words and parted ways.

As soon as Terrac was alone, I approached.

“It was a good match,” I lied casually while Terrac put away his practice blade. “But you have to take more care in guarding your weak side. As soon as an enemy sees that’s where you’re vulnerable, he’ll try to put you off balance.”

Terrac looked briefly startled at my sudden appearance but recovered quickly. “Since when are you an expert on the sword?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “I seem to remember you prefer other weapons. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve had time to adjust to my condition. Any Skeltai raiders taking me for an easy target will quickly learn their mistake.”

Despite his bold words, the flexing of his jaw told me he knew better. Probably he even knew his young student had allowed him to win just now.

I said, “Maybe you can handle yourself. But I’d have a care all the same.” I climbed up to sit atop a low stone wall lining the ring.

Coming to rest beside me, he changed the subject. “I didn’t expect to see you out of your sickbed so soon. After the near miss you had, I thought you would take more time to recover.”

I brushed that aside. “The whole business was nothing. I’m fine now.”

I had no intention of admitting to the lingering shakiness I felt in my limbs whenever I overextended myself. It would surely pass soon enough.

“You know, I looked in on you several times while you were sick but you were always asleep,” he said suddenly. “Everyone was talking about the poisoning and saying you were certain to die. If that was the case, I wanted you to know at least that I was there, watching over you.”

I remembered the brief glimpse I had caught of him one night. “I knew you were there,” I said.

I didn’t add that I was glad he had come. I sensed he knew it already.

It was my turn to change the subject. “So all the castle knows what happened to me?”

“They know the
official
story,” he emphasized. “That a high-ranking servant to the Praetor was poisoned but miraculously survived, thanks to the skills of a healer.”

His tone made it clear he suspected there was more to it.

Remembering he was uncomfortable with magic, I made no move to confirm his suspicions. I could hardly be surprised, after all, that the Praetor had credited my recovery to the efforts of his personal healer rather than his own magical healing powers. It was not the sort of information he would want to get out.

I also let pass the description of me as the Praetor’s “high-ranking servant.” Much as it rankled, it was a fairly accurate summary of my position in Selbius.

I brought up a different complaint. “Praetor Tarius has assigned a Fist to follow me about and play bodyguard.”

Terrac glanced around. “And I see you’ve managed to lose him with ease.”

“So you knew about this?”

He merely shrugged. “If you don’t let the guard do his duty, you’ll get the poor fellow in trouble with his superior. And since that’s me, I’d rather you just ignore the Fist and let him shadow you. He’ll do you no harm, and you might even find him useful.”

I ignored that. “I hear Tarius has set Counselor Branek to work sniffing out my would-be killer.”

“I hear the same.”

I noted his expression didn’t alter when he spoke of the counselor. If he had any misgivings against Branek, he didn’t show it.

He only said, “Whoever is responsible is unlikely to try the same method twice. But you should be on guard against other forms of attack. Your relation to Tarius can afford you only so much protection.”

I knew my old friend well enough to sense a subtle shift in his emotions when he spoke of the Praetor. A coolness that had not existed before. It reminded me suddenly of my last conversation with the man who was my uncle. How would that revelation effect Terrac’s future? Did he guess what was coming?

I sighed, knowing he deserved to be forewarned that his favored status with Tarius might be approaching a swift end.

And so I told him about my exchange with the Praetor. I explained how Tarius now knew it was I and not Terrac who was his long-lost kin. That I had made it clear the misunderstanding was not of Terrac’s making. And that what the consequences of all this might be for either of us, I didn’t know.

Terrac took the news calmly, appearing unsurprised. But I knew he had to feel some bitterness as everything he had worked toward these past few years came under shadow. He could lose everything to me. Or we could both lose everything together.

As a chilly silence descended, I rose to leave. Then abruptly I remembered what had originally brought me here. “Could you do me one favor?” I asked Terrac. “Would you keep an eye out for Jarrod?”

I briefly explained the boy was missing and I feared he might be endangered by his association with me. Terrac looked mildly interested, on learning of the boy’s connection to Brig, and I knew he would do his best to locate him. He had always had a higher opinion of Brig than of most outlaws.

We parted ways after that, and I returned to the castle, resolved to turn the place upside down until I found the missing boy.

____________________

I spent the rest of the afternoon searching the stables and castle grounds for Jarrod. By dinnertime, I had satisfied myself he wasn’t on the premises. Resolving to go out into the city and look for him, I dropped by my chambers to collect my twin daggers and wrist-sheaths. After recent attempts on my life, I wasn’t about to go wandering the evening streets without protection.

I no sooner reached my room than a servant appeared to summon me to dinner. It wasn’t the mute Eisa this time but a somber young man with dark hair cut straight along his jawline. I vaguely recognized him as one of the servants I had seen waiting at the Praetor’s table on my first night at the castle.

The youth informed me Praetor Tarius required my presence in the great hall. I was startled at the request. Tarius had never invited me to his table before. I was aware such an order was usually considered an honor and equally aware acceptance wasn’t optional.

After dismissing the servant, I toyed with the idea of not answering the summons. But however satisfying it might feel temporarily, this wasn’t the best time to antagonize the Praetor.

Making my reluctant way down to the great hall, I wondered what were the odds I might see Jarrod there. After all, the boy had to eat sometime.

My own belly rumbled, reminding me I had neglected it all day. I would dine quickly, I told myself, stepping into the crowded hall. And then I would get out and continue my hunt for Jarrod.

My gaze swept the scene before me. There was no sign of the missing boy among the gathering in the hall. The place looked just as it had last time. I hadn’t inhabited the castle long enough to feel as though I belonged anywhere in particular among the noisy crowd. But I knew as I passed the lower tables that I would have been more at home sitting behind any one of them than at the raised table at the head of the room.

This was where the Praetor belonged, along with his well-born companions in all their finery. I approached the space, recognizing the Lady Morwena and all the same counselors who had been present on the last occasion. Tarius’s own chair was conspicuously empty, as was the chair where Terrac had sat last time. I wondered if I was the reason for Terrac’s absence now.

His was the only chair available, so I snagged it and settled behind the silk-draped table as easily as if it were my accustomed place. I refused to be intimidated by the noble company.

Whatever conversation the regulars had been engaged in ceased at my arrival. I wondered for a breathless moment if any of them would try to throw me out of my place. The fashionably dressed young counselor directly across from me, Asmund Summerdale, stared as though I were a toad who had hopped onto the table. But as I met his gaze evenly across the distance, neither he nor anyone else challenged my presence.

Before anyone could speak, Tarius appeared. It was the first time I had seen him since our last conversation, and I was surprised by his sunken eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. Had healing me really drained so much of his strength? Or was his illness simply progressing at a faster pace? Nobody commented on his appearance as he took his place at the head of the table.

His arrival was so well-timed I wondered if he had intentionally delayed it in order to keep us waiting. Some men of his station might have expected no one to take their seats until their lord had assumed his. But I was learning Praetor Tarius preferred things informal, if only as a subtle way of making others uncomfortable.

“I assume we are all acquainted?” the Praetor asked, his gaze falling on me for an instant before passing on to the others. Was it my imagination or was there a glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he noted my presence? He had called, and like any obedient servant, I had come.

Stifling a flash of irritation at the thought, I spoke up. “Lady Morwena and Counselor Branek I have already met.”

“Then allow me to introduce Counselor Asmund Summerdale and Counselor Delecarte, former captain of my Iron Fists.” Tarius indicated the two men. Waving a careless hand toward me, he added, “Counselors, I present our resident outlaw.”

Counselor Delecarte said, “Who does not know of the famous Ilan of Dimmingwood and her daring exploits against the Skeltai?”

If there was irony in the retired soldier’s words, at least there was no hostility. His lined face was fixed in a cordial expression, his eyes sharp and unreadable. Despite his gray head, I sensed in him a cunning mind that missed little. And he was a former Fist. That alone marked him as one of the more potentially dangerous members of the company.

Everyone soon turned their attentions to the meal before us, but I watched them all furtively and listened to the conversations around me. I especially watched Counselors Branek and Delecarte, trying to determine which, if either, of them posed a greater threat.

Asmund Summerdale, across from me, gave every appearance of being as shallow and foppish as rumor had him. He might shoot the occasional disapproving glance my way, but it was difficult to take the handsome young man seriously regardless of his wealth or position. He forgot his apparent distaste for me long enough to flirt heavily with Lady Morwena throughout the meal.

I wondered if there was an understanding between them. It was hard to imagine Tarius marrying his ward to one whose political future was likely limited to his present place. Yet the Praetor betrayed no affection for Morwena that I could see, so perhaps he would be pleased to get her off his hands wherever he could. To a man like Tarius, the strangely dramatic young woman was as mystifying as she was disappointing.