Magic of Thieves (10 page)

“You wake me at dawn’s first light and drop me from a tree so I can run and fetch for you?” he demanded in disbelief.

“I need the parcel now,” I explained patiently. “I’ve told you how to retrieve it and I don’t intend to waste the morning arguing, so away with you. And be quick about it or I’ll be forced to set you in your place. Again.”

Waving a dismissive hand in the direction of Red Rock, I lay back in my lofty perch to gaze into the leafy green branches above. A pinecone was lobbed past my head, but I ignored it.

My companion grumbled, a low string of phrases unworthy of a priest, but eventually the crackle of sticks and the rustle of underbrush told me he was walking away. I wondered absently if he would bother to return, then decided even if he didn’t, at least I was finally rid of him.

It was hours before I saw him again. He still had a grim set to his mouth and an offended air about him as he set the required parcel at the base of the tree and shouted up that if I wanted it, I could come down and get it.

Ignoring his injured attitude, I scrambled down, snatching up the leather-wrapped package.

“What took you so long?” I demanded. “Get lost along the way?”

“Yes,” he said sullenly. “You knew I would. I can’t tell one of these rotten trees from another.”

I sat down, my back against the tree trunk, to unwrap my bundle. Stripping away the oiled strips of leather I had wrapped it in for protection, I held the brooch in my hands. When I flipped it over, the tiny letters etched across the back looked just as I remembered them. They seemed less strange to me now that I had practiced writing a bit myself, but I was still not familiar enough with the letters to sound them all out. Irritated, I thrust the brooch at my companion. “Here. Tell me what this says.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Read it yourself.”

“You know I cannot,” I answered testily.

“I know that you could learn if you wanted to badly enough.”

“But at this moment I cannot,” I emphasized, as if speaking to a child. “You already read, while for me it will take months, if not years, to learn.” I shook the brooch at him. “This pin was given me by my dead mother, who claimed it held the secret to protecting me. Maybe this writing will give me some clue as to what she meant.”

He folded his arms, unmoved. “Then you’d better start attending your lessons. Now there’s something you’re suddenly eager to read, you’ll work twice as hard at your letters. Coincidentally, as Brig grows impatient with your lack of progress, your renewed efforts will spare me a beating from him. Let us consider that to be your good deed for the year.”

“I’m not the priest,” I reminded him sourly.

“Neither am I. Or have you forgotten?”

“Yes,” I said. “You lie so convincingly it’s easy to forget the truth.”

I saw his confidence falter. “I don’t lie,” he said. “If I’ve allowed Rideon to mislead himself, it’s only because I don’t care to be murdered.”

Before I could slip in a cutting remark, he changed the subject. “But never mind that. Let’s speak of your problem. I’ll make you a bargain. If you’re willing to redouble your efforts and pay attention to what I teach you, I promise I’ll have you reading by winter. Come now, that isn’t far off.”

I leaned forward. “Now I’ll make you an offer. You tell me right this moment what the writing on the brooch says or I’ll tell Rideon you’re not really a priest.”

Terrac winced but held his ground. “Tell Rideon I’m not a priest and I’ll tell everyone how he knocked the feathers out of you.”

I knew he was waiting to bring that up. I sank back in defeat. “You win, priest boy.” I conceded ungraciously. What choice did I have? Terrac was a fair teller of tales and too honest to skim over details. I knew by the time he finished the story, I’d be a laughing stock around the outlaw camp.

“Good,” he said now. “We’ll give up this sulking nonsense and return to Red Rock first thing tomorrow morning, where we will resume your lessons.”

Too dispirited to object, I nodded dumbly, returned the brooch to its protective leather wrapping and tucked it into my tunic.

***

But as it turned out, we didn’t wait for the following morning to return to Red Rock. Brig found us that very afternoon. The purposeful way he strode into our little camp told me he hadn’t found us by accident. I ground my teeth. Obviously, Terrac had talked to him. I should have known better than to send the priest boy back to camp for the brooch. Brig stood silently before us and looked me up and down.

“Sorry,” Terrac mumbled. “He caught me and threatened to beat it out of me. He knew something was wrong when you stayed away so long.”

I could see by Brig’s lack of reaction to my battered face that he already knew what happened. Yet another thanks I owed Terrac. I was relieved at least when he asked no questions.

“Let us see the damage, Ilan,” he said, turning my face to examine the bruises. “Nothing serious,” he observed. “But you should’ve come back earlier and let me clean up these little cuts. For that matter, you’d have done better to avoid a fight with the Hand in the first place. Still, a beating is nothing to be ashamed of. Sulking about it, though, that’s another matter. Hiding away from camp only makes you look like a weakling.”

 It stung that Brig, of all people, would kick me while I was down. That was why I said, “You ran away to hide in the forest when your Netta left you and took your sons. Maybe that’s why she went—she didn’t want to be married to a coward. I’m not surprised you’ve nothing to say to me about standing up for myself in a fight but criticize me instead for failing to run from one. When have you ever stood your ground for anything?”

Even as I said it, the unwanted memory flashed through my mind of Brig withstanding Rideon’s orders to protect a little orphaned girl. Right away I could have bitten my tongue out, but it was too late to call the words back.

Brig’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and pain. I thought if he hit me I would deserve it. I heard Terrac clearing his throat and backing away. But Brig wasn’t going to let me off so easily. He took a long breath and it was a moment before he spoke.

“You’ve developed a sharp tongue, Ilan,” he observed quietly. “I think I liked you better when you were that silent little hound.”

Filled with remorse, I tried to apologize. “I’m sorry, Brig. I don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t true.”

He held up a hand. “Never mind. If you feel you owe me an apology, you can make it up by coming back to camp. Stop skulking around out here like a petulant child I have to be ashamed of.”

“Alright.” My voice was heavy with regret, but if Brig noticed, it didn’t soften him. Terrac and I followed him back to Red Rock where I faced an unpleasant handful of days to follow.

***

The bruises on my face attracted a certain amount of attention back at camp and a few of the outlaws asked if I’d stuck my face into a badger’s den. I told myself they meant no harm with their jokes and that for every man who remarked on my battered countenance, there were just as many who appeared not to notice it at all. Still, I knew everyone had heard my story and that was deeply humiliating.

I avoided Terrac during this time. Although I knew he hadn’t meant any ill in betraying me to Brig, I couldn’t shake the notion none of this would have happened if not for him. Of course I realized I couldn’t keep away from him forever. Sooner or later I must stick to our agreement about the lessons. But how could I do that when I couldn’t abide the sight of him anymore? My anger at him grew and the strength of it only made me more miserable. I had grown accustomed to his odd, deprecating company and now I found myself strangely lonely without him.

As for the Hand, he treated me as if nothing had ever happened. It stung to think my captain could dismiss me so quickly after his former harsh treatment, but I told myself it was for the best. I would keep out of his way until another opportunity to prove myself came along. Then I wouldn’t fail him.

Out of all the worries preying on my mind over the following days, my disagreement with Brig loomed largest. Since our heated words, he didn’t seem to look at me in the same way. I couldn’t say he treated me unkindly. But there was something missing from our friendship that had always been there before. I felt I no longer had his trust.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Time passed and my fourteenth birthday came and went with little to mark it. It wasn’t the true date of my birth anyway, but the day Brig and I had chosen to celebrate it, as I could never recall the real one. The two of us used to pass this day in some pleasant way, with the cooking of a favorite treat or the giving of a small gift. Other times, we might simply spend the day together, hunting in the forest or visiting one of the little woods villages. But this year, neither of us mentioned the occasion.

My lessons with Terrac resumed. Brig finally noticed I was avoiding them and put an abrupt stop to it. This time I set to work with an interest born of determination, promising myself I would soon be able to decipher the writing on my mother’s brooch. At first, I held on to my resolution not to speak to the priest boy, but it was difficult to ignore someone you had to be close to for an hour out of every afternoon. Inevitably, the day came when he asked me a question about my lesson and I unthinkingly responded. As easily as that, the feud between us was broken.

My eagerness to learn made a vast difference in the progress of my lessons. The day arrived when I began writing short words and soon after that, I was spelling my own name. Even then, Terrac suggested I continue with our sessions until my skills had grown as far as possible. I enthusiastically followed his advice, for I was discovering in myself something unexpected. I enjoyed learning.

One afternoon I presented Brig with a gift: his name inscribed in large, neat letters on a sheet of parchment.

“And what do you expect me to do with this, wear it about my neck like a sign?” he asked gruffly, his needle barely pausing as it flew in and out of a tunic he was mending.

But I had seen the look of wonder on his face as he contemplated the letters I had set out. Here was I, one he had raised from a child, doing a thing that in all his years he had never learned. Only pretending to look away, I watched from the corner of my eye as he carefully folded the page and tucked it away for safe keeping. His unspoken pride meant more than I could tell. I felt that a brick had been laid, that day, in bridging the gap between us.

Not long after that, Dradac came to me and asked if I’d like to help him out on his road to recovery. His shoulder had healed nicely where he’d taken the crossbow bolt, but Javen said if he wanted to regain full use of his arm, he would need to exercise it often. I was pretty sure this was partially an excuse on the part of the giant to teach me combat skills without upsetting Brig. Either way, I was happy to comply and we settled on the early morning as a good time to begin our exercises.

The following dawn couldn’t come quickly enough for me. I rose with the sun, breakfasted early, and went out into the morning chill to wait beside the stream for Dradac. This ritual became a familiar one in the weeks to follow. The redheaded giant was never there when I arrived and I would sit on the dew sprinkled grass by the water’s edge to wait.

I quickly found Dradac to be a more difficult master than I’d supposed. With his one undamaged arm, he made a more formidable opponent than most men with two sound ones, and he shed his usual, easygoing temper during our practice sessions, so that I sometimes felt I was facing a dangerous stranger instead of an old friend. I realized he wanted me to take this training seriously for my own good, but even so, I was truly stunned on that first morning by the number of times he seized me by the collar and dunked me into the cold pool to ‘wake me up.’ His strength was unsurprising for a man of his size, but more than that, he was quick. I soon learned just how quick as we progressed to mock fighting with knives.

Even with the blades dulled, by week’s end, I had shallow cuts and bruises stretching halfway up my arms and even one or two across my face. Dradac believed in teaching by experience and much as it unnerved me to see him flying at me with whizzing blades, I had to admit it did give me incentive to learn quickly. He was always watching me, forever on the lookout for signs of weakness. I had no idea how I was standing up to his expectations.

The sword wasn’t Dradac’s best weapon, but we worked with those too. I had learned enough by then to know what it was to have a particular aptitude for a certain style of fighting and it was easy to discern how much more comfortable the giant was with a staff or pair of knives than a long blade. Nevertheless, he was skilled enough to defend himself competently with one, which was more than I could say for myself in the beginning.

I was surprised one afternoon to find Terrac skulking around the edges of our training ground as we practiced. Dradac let him watch us for a few minutes. Then, pausing from sparring with me, he wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow.

“Terrac,” he called. “Why don’t you come and practice with Ilan for a bit? Just until I’ve caught my breath.”

Terrac hesitated only a moment before nodding mutely and stepping forward. Dradac decided, with two inexperienced fighters, it would be advisable to trade real blades for the bundled lathes we kept on hand but rarely used. He pressed one into Terrac’s hands, showing him how to grasp it properly, while I snagged another for myself. Then, standing back, he nodded for us to proceed.

As the match began, I tried to go easy on Terrac, remembering how ashamed I’d been after Rideon had forced me to injure him. Pacing circles around the clearing, we parried and blocked one another’s thrusts for a short time. Then, seeing he was working up a sweat and that his hands were beginning to tremble from the unaccustomed weight of the lathe, I felt a stirring of sympathy. That was why I dropped my defense and allowed him to tap me across the chest. It was hard not to laugh because he did it so gently, like he was swatting a fly that had landed on me.