Circle of Thieves: Legends of Dimmingwood (14 page)

Under-Lieutenant?  The last time I had seen Terrac he’d
spoken of becoming a Fist, but I wondered what he had done to bring about such
a quick advancement.

The Praetor leaned forward in his chair and said to me, “My
spies bring me word you and a circle of your followers are responsible for the
anonymous information that, until now, has helped us keep the foreign invaders
in check.”

I shifted, as much to stall for time as to relieve the
numbness in my knees.

“I command no circle of followers,” I lied. “I’ve always
worked alone.”

The Praetor frowned. “You needn’t protect your friends. For
the moment, I’ve no interest in learning their identities or uncovering their
hiding places. I have the ear of their leader and that is enough. Now I am
going to explain to you my dilemma, and the solution I have worked out for it,
and you will nod your head and say, ‘As my liege wishes.’”

I blinked. “My
liege
? If you think for one moment I’m
about to swear any oaths of fealty—”

The Praetor cut me off. “I’ll have no impudence, woods
thief. Still your wagging tongue, or by my mother’s ashes, I’ll have it sliced
out.”

Sensing he meant the threat, I fell silent. I didn’t dare
look at Terrac right now. Would he defend me if the Praetor’s men did lay hands
on me? I wouldn’t bet my knives on it.

Settling back into his throne-like chair, the Praetor said,
“Here is how the matter stands. The situation with the Skeltai invaders is
intolerable, yet we have no method of stopping them. I am told they travel by
means of the dark art of
magic.
”

He made a distasteful face and even the guards and advisors
gathered around shuddered. I remembered it was likely in this very room, and
before a number of these people, that the prejudices and allegations against
magic had first been born. This was where the Praetor had determined it was the
wielding of magic that was responsible for beginning the rotting plague that
swept the province years ago. From here had come the decree that all those
known to possess the gift be slaughtered for the greater good. I tried not to
think of my parents. This wasn’t the time for it.

The Praetor continued. “Thanks to their command of the vile
arts, Skeltai sorcerers and their evil minions are capable of appearing at any
time in whatever place they wish. For all we know, one could materialize right
here in the next instant. Clearly such a state of affairs is intolerable, yet
due to the mysterious nature of their foul talents, my best men are unable to
devise a means of countering these attacks. The only instances in which we were
able to fend them off were on those occasions when anonymous informants,” he
inclined his head to me, “—saw fit to pass us word of their movements within
Dimmingwood. That flow of information has recently ceased.”

He paused as if expecting an explanation, but I kept silent.

He continued. “I do not ask to know the reason for the
silence. I do not even concern myself with how you and your spies procured
information my people could not. I am disposed to credit even one such as you
with a twisted sense of patriotism. If I was persuaded there was treachery
behind your knowledge you would not be alive here now. No, I simply want my
information network back. Whatever has become of your spies, get them back into
place. Needless to say, you will all be paid handsomely for your efforts.”

I laughed then. I couldn’t help it.

I heard the chink of armor as my Fist escort drew back to
slap me, and this time the Praetor didn’t call his man down. The blow fell, ringing
across my skull. For a second I saw blackness. Ignoring the echoes of pain, I
fought off the rising darkness until the afternoon sunlight slanting through
the windows and the dimensions of the big room gradually came back to me.

The Praetor proceeded as if there had been no interruption.
“I expected you and your friends would be reluctant to accept my authority. But
let us not forget what your people are, after all. Forest brigands. Thieves and
miscreants of the worst nature. Believe me when I say you may spew
self-righteous drivel against my rule, but when my coins flash before your eyes
you will snatch them as greedily as a pauper stealing bread.”

My anger rose all the more because there was truth to what
he said. Hadn’t the circle been eager enough to accept his money before?

He said, “I see you recognize the sense of my words, and I
will take it then that we have an arrangement, although naturally I will
require oaths of obedience to secure my trust. You will kiss the ring like any
other vassal pledging himself to my cause.”

I thought quickly. “That would be difficult considering I
haven’t been allowed off my knees since I arrived.”

I felt Fleet beside me stiffen in surprise at my easy
acquiescence.

The Praetor nodded to my Fist escort, and I was hauled to my
feet. My numb legs nearly gave way beneath me, but I was permitted time to work
the blood back into them before climbing the dais and kneeling at the Praetor’s
feet. A large hand was extended to me, and I bent my face to it, even as I
reached surreptitiously into the top of my boot.

“Vow obedience,” the Praetor intoned formally. “Vow fidelity
and service.”

Fidelity and service.
The motto of the house of
Tarius. An image flashed through my mind of the brooch my mother had given me
so long ago with those words engraved upon it. My mother who was dead because
of the laws of this man.

There was only one ring on the long fingered hand he
extended to me, a thick circle of silver encrusted with red gems and the
ancestral emblem of past Praetors graven into the center: a rearing bear.

My lips hovered over the ring, even as my fingers inside my
boot found the bone handle of my dagger.  My heart beat fast, and I forgot
to breathe. Now was the moment I had been waiting for all these years.

I swept my knife from its hiding place and the rags around
the blade fell free. Sunlight gleamed off the poison tipped steel.

Chapter
Fifteen

There was an audible gasp throughout the room, accompanied
by the ring of swords being drawn, but I scarcely heard any of it. I looked
into the eyes of the man I hated and slashed my knife across the hand I held so
firmly in mine. Deep red blood flowed instantly from the wound, running to the
floor.

The Praetor looked at the minor wound uncomprehendingly
while I sat back, task finished, and waited to die. I heard the thundering
footsteps of the guards descending on me, but didn’t turn to meet my death.

“Hold!” The Praetor’s order ripped through the air.

The guards froze and every eye in the chamber focused on
their lord, whose attention was still on the thin trickle of blood flowing from
his hand.

A murmur rose from his counselors.

“My lord, you are injured!”

“Is it serious?”

“Allow us to send for a physician…”

From the Fists, a similar buzz arose.

“Let us kill the woods mongrel, my lord!”

“She attempted to assassinate you.”

“My lord, I beg the honor…”

I didn’t dare listen for Terrac’s reaction among the others.
That he should be present for this was my only regret.

The Praetor coolly waved them all to silence. “Disarm the
prisoner,” he commanded and the order was instantly followed.

“She is not to be killed without my order,” the lord
continued. “Her attempt has failed, and I have sustained nothing but a simple
cut.”

I interrupted. “I am afraid it is more than that. What seems
but a shallow cut is in fact a deadly wound. My blade was tipped in poison and
in a moment you will keel over, lifeless. It is no use calling for a physician.
I am assured it is a fast acting toxin. Perhaps you feel its effects already?
Dizziness? A faint numbness spreading up the limb as the poison travels toward
the heart.”

My enemy failed to display the expected horror. Even as his
guards and advisors erupted again into a clamor, he only looked at his sliced
palm with interest and massaged his forearm, muttering under his breath. I
couldn’t make out the words he whispered and no one else seemed even to notice.

His soft chanting finished, the Praetor looked me in the
eyes. I shivered at his cold gaze but his only words to me were, “Cleverly
done, young one.”

Then he turned aside to his advisors, commanding, “Give me
something to stem this cursed blood.”

A fine velvet sash was proffered and applied to the wound.
Only then did the lord look around him and take stock of the situation.

“Stop gasping and gaping,” he ordered his counselors. “Have
you never seen blood before?”

It was clear many of them hadn’t.

“Verikk, bring me the weapon,” he said, and an aging warrior
stepped forward with the poisoned dagger I had been relieved of.

With barely a glance, the Praetor tucked the weapon into the
folds of his robe.

What, I wondered, could he want with the thing? But it was
clear no explanation would be forthcoming.

“Now,” he said, settling back in his seat and assuming a
comfortable position, “We shall resume our business. I believe you were about
to swear obedience to me, woods thief.”

“But my lord!” The interruption came not from me but a white
headed advisor. “Even now, poison courses through your veins!”

The Praetor appeared to find his concern tiresome, saying,
“Do not be a fool, Meivoran. Do I look like a dying man? No doubt that would
disturb all of you. If your lord were dead with no heirs, there would be none
but you to assume my position.”

His accusation was met with a sea of denials.

“My lord, we would never so presume!”

“None of us would dream of such a thing!”

He held up a hand for silence, and I almost admired the way
a single gesture from him froze them all midsentence. Only I was distracted by
his question. It was true; he didn’t look like a dying man. In fact, he looked
unfortunately strong. A picture of health and vigor. My mind whirled with the
possibilities. Had the apothecary cheated me? Had I not got enough poison into
my enemy?

“Enough has been said,” the Praetor was saying. “There was
no poison on the dagger. I myself have examined it. Clearly the girl spoke
falsely, but the time for punishment will come later. We have more pressing
matters to weigh upon our minds. Or have you all forgotten the Skeltai warriors
running unchecked within our borders?”

To me he said, “I underestimated you, woods thief. I shall
not do so again. Mere gold will never be enough to buy your loyalty, will it?”

Not awaiting an answer, he gazed around him thoughtfully.
“What, I wonder, would be a sufficient bribe to ensure you cooperation? Perhaps
the life of your friend here?”

A chill passed through me as, at a gesture from the Praetor,
a pair of Fists dragged Fleet to the foot of the dais. I tried to catch his
eye, wanting him to know how sorry I was I’d gotten him into this situation.

“What’s this?” the Praetor asked. “I believe I detect
concern in your eyes, woods thief. If the money means nothing to you, it at
least appears you attribute some value to the life of your companion.”

He smiled. “I believe we will work out a new deal. You will
work for blood, not money. Bring your spy network to life again. I don’t care
how you do it, or what it takes. I want concise and timely information coming
out of that cursed forest on a regular basis. Until I’m satisfied you are
carrying out your mission adequately, your street scum friend here shall remain
my permanent guest. I am sure he will find the dungeon very comfortable.”

“He has nothing to do with any of this,” I protested.

“Do you really expect me to believe that? At any rate, even
if he was not your accomplice in my attempted assassination, I have compiled a
wealth of other unsavory information about his history. The city guard are very
familiar with him and would be pleased to see him come to his deserved fate.”

I didn’t need to look at Fleet to know what his thoughts
were just now. He wasn’t the sort for heroic sacrifices.
Do what you must
and leave me to die
weren’t words I would ever hear from his mouth.

I nodded reluctant agreement to the Praetor’s proposal. What
else could I do? I had been prepared to risk my life, but I could scarcely
condemn Fleet to death for the simple mistake of being my friend.

The Praetor showed no pleasure at his victory, but looked as
if he had never had any doubt of it. He said, “Understand that I leave no room
for mistakes. Should any dark magicks stir undetected within Dimmingwood again,
should a single Skeltai raid take place without your advance warning, your
friend here will face the consequences. Should you be negligent or slack in
your reports, should you choose to disregard a direct order from me, again your
shabby friend will meet a lingering demise.”

He was setting me impossible standards. The idea that I, or
Fleet, might be held responsible for a single attack I failed to predict was
madness. Yet what could I do? The cards were on the table, and I had not a
single bargaining chip with which to redeem Fleet’s freedom.

Every fiber of me rebelling, I nonetheless uttered the
words, “It will be as you say.”

What followed next went past in a blur. I was so stunned by
the sudden horrible twist in events, I was hardly aware of myself being prodded
forward by the guards until I was again kneeling before my enemy. How had my
freedom, my dreams of vengeance been lost so suddenly?

I heard the Praetor’s words as if from a great distance.
“Vow obedience.”

I felt sick, and my very heart denied what I spoke. “I vow
obedience.”

“Vow fidelity and service.”

“I vow fidelity and service…” I mouthed woodenly.

The Praetor’s ruby encrusted ring felt cold to my lips.