Lhind the Thief (17 page)

“Tir?” I said out loud, wondering if it was still asleep.

No answer.

“You awake?” Kee’s head popped up from the other side of the
platform. “Food’s ready. Let’s get going.” Kee disappeared.

“Coming,” I called, hastily looking around.

No one in view. I yanked up my tunic and untied my sash. My
idea was to rearrange it more securely, until I could snag some better clothes
for hiding things in.

But my gaze was caught by Princess Kressanthe’s diamond
necklace lying there in the jumble of tools, coins, and rings. I hadn’t really
looked at the thing since I’d pinched it. I stood staring at it now, a sense of
vertigo tugging at my vision. I found it difficult to look away from the winking
lights in the faceted stones. The longer I stared, the more distinct became the
gut-curling sense of warning inside me.

I wrenched my gaze free by squeezing my eyes shut. I folded
the sash, to hide them, the stones clicking against that bone carving with a
sound like ice crunching against teeth.

My neck hair lifted, and I shook myself to get rid of the
eerie sensation. Pretty as it was, I’d be glad to sell that loot and be rid of
it.

I found the ladder going down, and soon had joined Kuraf,
Kee, a grinning Nill and several others on the big platform. We ate an
excellent hot meal of cakes and baked fruit, then Kuraf cleared everyone out
but a tall, dark-haired young man, Kee, and myself.

Below, her followers gathered on the grassy turf, with
targets set on the opposite side of a clearing. And there, in the dappled
sunlight of early morning, they began practicing, some with swords, and some
with quarterstaffs. Kuraf seated herself at the extreme end of the platform so
she could watch them below, yet see me.

“We’ll discuss your route,” Kuraf said, “but first some
straight talk, young Hrethan.” Her eyes narrowed to points of cool gray
scrutiny.

The tall young man moved to flank me, his hand on the hilt
of a long knife. Sidling quick glances from side to side, I noticed at least
two possible escape routes. Escape through the trees, that is. I wasn’t about
to take on all those drilling warriors below.

But trees were my old friends. I could move very fast in
them.

I turned back to Kuraf, who said, “If a Hrethan has become a
liar and thief there’s a reason, and don’t think I am unsympathetic.
Howsomever. His highness’s life depends not only on your speed, but on your
completing the journey even if it’s difficult. His cousin may not dare to kill
him now, but that will last only until he’s sure of his hold on Alezand. We’re
going to be spending our time harrying his forces, to keep that hold unsure—but
we must know that someone goes to the capital. You agreed mighty quick last
night, and you have not been Alezand’s partisan.”

“A blood-oath will get her there,” the young man said
quietly. “And will enable a sorcerer to trace her if she doesn’t.”

“Maybe so. Maybe so. But even for a good purpose, blood
oaths are too close to blood magic, and I will not use such. Yes, I know they
are legal, but there are different sorts of law, one might say. Though I bow my
head to the old laws of the land, it is this law I obey first.” She thumped a
fist against her chest, glanced down at the warriors as the clack of sticks and
the ring of steel echoed through the glade.

The young man flushed, made a gesture of peace by pressing
his palms together, and sat back.

Kee crossed her arms, giving me a scornful glance; we were
eye to eye, and it occurred to me that she assumed I was her age. “I can make
it alone, Grandmother,” she said. “I don’t see the need for any of this. Or for
her
.”

“You would make it,” Kuraf confirmed. “But you’d never get
into Erev-li-Erval.”

“Try me,” Kee retorted. “I can get into any city.”

Kuraf smiled. “I make no doubt you could sneak in, child,
but that is more likely to earn you a stretch in a dungeon than an audience
with Aranu Crown. And you cannot risk speaking to any of the toadies who hold
audiences for lesser folk: any of them could be under Lendan’s pay, and you’d not
know it beforehand.”

“So he’s part of the empire?” I asked. “He called himself a
Prince of the Golden Circle. I’ve traveled a lot of places, but never heard of
that land.”

Kuraf called down, “You four, there. Archery now. The rest
of you, keep drilling.”

Then she turned back to me. “How much do you know about
inheritance in the empire?”

“Nothing,” I said, biting back a
And I have less interest
.

Her smile increased briefly as if she could read my mind.
Below, arrows twanged. “Did you know that the emperors and empresses choose
their heirs?”

I shrugged.

“In some lands, it’s the eldest child. In the empire of
Charas al Kherval, for the past couple of centuries, the ruler chooses whoever
he or she thinks is best suited. Usually, but not always, among their own
children. The ones unchosen were given the title ‘Imperial Prince or Princess
of the Golden Circle,’ which doesn’t come with any land or holdings, but means
they had precedence directly after the rulers at court.”

I gazed in surprise. “So Geric Lendan is the empress’s son?”

“No, he’s descended, third generation, from a prince who was
not chosen. Now, as the generations went by, the sons and daughters of the
Imperial Princes and Princesses of the Golden Circle were also called Princes
and Princesses of the Golden Circle. Not
Imperial
Princes and Princesses, which meant they still had precedence over dukes and
the rest, but behind their parents. Unfortunately, as you might imagine, by
that third generation there were rather a lot of Princesses and Princes of the
Golden Circle cluttering up court, which was fine, but some of ’em inherited a
sense of privilege along with their fancy titles, and no sense of service.
Unlike the rest of court.”

“All right, so back to Geric Lendan,” I said, as arrows
thudded into the targets below.

“I’m coming to him. So Aranu Crown, who spent a lot of time
among privileged, spoilt Golden Circle princes before she came to the throne,
decreed almost first thing after she put on the imperial crown that henceforth,
the Golden Circle will be reserved only for the empress’s children who are not
chosen as heir. And their children will carry no titles, unless they marry
them.”

“So Geric Lendan is not really a prince?”

“Oh, he’s a prince, but he’s the last generation who will
have that title, outside of Aranu Crown’s own children. Any children he has—and
I find that a daunting thought—won’t inherit land or title. Unless he annexes
land. So that’s what he’s trying to do.”

Thud! Was this display an everyday occurrence, or a hint?

“Now. To you.” Kuraf’s hand waved between me and the dour
young man. “My son wants your oath. But as I said, I mislike forced oaths, with
or without magic. I ask you, therefore, to tell us now: do you go to the
capital, or shall we give you your freedom and food for a day’s march?”

I hadn’t really thought of the future. That was not my
habit. I had always dealt with each situation as it arose, with my independence
of foremost importance. On the other hand, conflicting feelings pulled me
toward the promise. I did not like the idea of Hlanan and Thianra captive, and
I resented the contempt in Kee’s face; amid the cloud of strong, but
unidentifiable, feelings drawing me toward a yes was a distinct desire to make
her admit she was wrong to judge me.

So I said, “The capital is where I’d find my folk, they told
me. I guess I’d be going there anyway. Why not combine it with your errand?”

“There will be danger on this venture,” Kuraf said. “Geric
Lendan will have all roads east watched.”

“I’ve seen danger once or twice,” I put in.

Kuraf smiled. “Yes, I’ll wager you have.” Her brows rose,
and her face eased a little. “Then there’s an end to it,” she said. “Come here,
you two. Let’s discuss your route.”

Her son grunted, and crossed to a low carved chest. He
opened it, drew out a rolled paper, and spread it carefully on the table before
Kuraf.

“Here we are,” Kuraf said, pointing to a mountain area with
letters carefully painted on it. “And, to the east, Namas Ilan—” She frowned up
at me. “Can you read?”

I shook my head.

“I have the map by memory,” Kee said shortly. “Erev-Li-Erval
lies east. Which road is best?”

“None of the eastern ones,” the son said. “Lendan will have
spies on every road. You’ll go west at first. You don’t want to go south to
Keprima.”

I shook my head, remembering the disaster at that inn. I
still had no idea who “she” was who had paid for us to be attacked.

“You’ll have to get down to Letarj, and sail north,” he said
at last. “Then cross through Liacz—”

“But that land is very warlike, Uncle Coran,” Kee protested.

“Most of Liacz’s warriors seem to be south of their border
these days. If you are circumspect, you ought to be fine. The most important
thing is, that route will be unexpected, lessening the chance of your being
hunted by any of these contract soldiers in gray. Cross the mountains, drop
southward and enter the capital from that side.”

“That will add weeks to our journey,” Kee said.

“Not as much as you’d think. The sailing is a matter of
days, and by crossing the Kertean Mountains in the north, you avoid having to
cross the Anadhan range, which is much fiercer.”

“And no one can hide in the plains,” Kuraf added. “You must
make haste. But we will do our best not to allow Lendan the leisure to plot
pursuit, I promise you that.” She turned to me. “Questions, Hrethan?”

“What about Thianra and Hlanan?”

“We will try to rescue them, of course,” she said. “If we
hear any word. But Lendan has little use for a scribe or a minstrel.” She
shrugged.

Lest I think that a good thing, the dour-faced son rumbled,
“If he hasn’t killed them outright, we’ll spring ’em.”

Hlanan—Thianra—killed? The idea hurt so much that I was
taken aback.

“We know they can take care of themselves. We shall act as
if they have.” Kuraf folded her map with a quick gesture. “Anything else?”

“Only this,” I said, pointing to the green silken tunic
Hlanan had given me the day before. “Feels good to wear, but I don’t want to
travel in it—”

“I’ll trade you!” A moment later Nill, who’d obviously been
listening from above, dropped down onto our platform, holding out a homespun
tunic that laced up the front. “Take this. I’m almost grown out of it.”

“It’s a swap,” I said.

Nill grinned, plainly thinking he was getting the best of
the bargain.

Kuraf descended the ladder with the agility of a much
younger person, and began lecturing her archers as I changed.

A short time later I watched Nill carry the silk up the
ladder again, feeling an odd hollowness inside. Was this regret? I laughed at
myself for this sudden and unwanted wish to burden myself with wardrobe just
because something had been a gift. Or maybe it hadn’t even been a gift, just
something someone had left behind, and Hlanan had brought it because everyone
else was busy.

Face the truth,
I
told myself.
Hlanan had been kind because
it is his nature to be kind. It had nothing to do with you.
The surprise
was my discovering that what he thought of me actually mattered. No, this
couldn’t possibly be the silly sickness coming on me. He was just a scribe, an
ordinary fellow with ordinary brown eyes and brown hair, and a very nosy
manner.

Kuraf turned away from her archers and called, “Those packs
ready, Nill?”

“Coming,” Nill shouted down.

“Let’s go find your mounts,” Kuraf said to Kee and me.

A short time later we rode away on the backs of long-haired,
short-legged hill ponies. Each of us carried a saddlebag full of journey-food,
and a flask for water. They’d also given me a heavy brown cloak. Kee wore a
long knife at her side, twin to her uncle’s. They hadn’t asked if I needed a
weapon, and I didn’t mention the knife in my waistband.

Kee took command of our expedition from the start. “This
way,” she said when we departed, and she led her pony up a difficult trail out
of that valley. The huge trees were very soon out of sight—and within a short
time I had lost the valley as well.

Our trip around the side of the mountain was largely made in
silence. I was happy enough for it to be so. The higher we rode, the happier I
became: the air, crisp as new wine, the light pouring clear and blue down the
mountainside, gradually deepening in shades of green, violet, and then a
thousand shades of gray and black as the stars emerged so bright overhead I
could have reached up to pluck them. And in the morning, the sunlight spilled,
yellow as fresh-churned butter, over the distant peaks, gradually striking
fiery glints in striated levels of multi-colored rock thrust up at slanting
angles, some covered by growth, and some not.

That first morning, as we set out, Kee looked around, then
said softly, “They say Charas-al-Kherval, the imperial city, is just like that.

“Is it in the mountains, then?” I asked. “I’d love to see
that.”

She gave me a quick look, her expression closing over, as if
she regretted the friendly words.

Once again she sank into silence. So I turned my attention
to the birds spiraling upward, the new and ancient rockslides, sudden springs
and waterfalls, and the quick dash of long-legged animals of varieties I did
not recognize.

“I’m thirsty,” I said. “Shall we stop at one of these
springs?”

For answer Kee looked around, then led us to a path under a
rocky outcropping over which fell a trickling waterfall. Leaning out to catch
water in my hands, I drank my fill. Kee knelt silently at the side of the
bubbling stream and drank, then she stood aside while the mounts slurped
noisily at the water.