Magic of Thieves (3 page)

Wim cried, “Brigands!”

He slapped the mare with his reins, urging her to speed. The frightened animal charged ahead, and I clung tight to the edge of my seat as we shot forward. The road was rocky and pitted and the wagon lurched alarmingly from side to side, and as we drew nearer to the obstacle ahead, I didn’t know which danger was greater, that we would plow full-speed into the felled tree or that our wagon might tip before we reached that point and both of us would be crushed beneath it. Cold fear dug its claws into my belly and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Wim must have realized the disaster we drove toward, for at the last possible instant, he hauled back on the reins. Even braced as I was, I was nearly thrown from the wagon as we jolted to a sudden halt. I had been desperately wedging my toes against the footboard while bracing my back against the seat behind me, but neither precaution prevented my being slung sideways. My head smacked loudly against the back of the seat and I couldn’t help crying out. Beside me, Wim seemed to have been jarred by the stop as well.

“Don’t think about turning that rickety cart around,” an unfamiliar voice warned us. “We chose this spot for the narrowness of the path.”

I gaped at the speaker, an immense mountain of a man with a mane of wild, half-braided red hair that flowed to his waist. He towered at least a foot taller than an ordinary man and, with hands massive enough for uprooting saplings, looked as impassive a barrier as the fallen tree he stood atop. The men flanking him appeared to be awaiting a signal from this giant, but instead of giving one, he leapt down and strode toward us.

Wim glanced back the way we’d come and tightened his grip on the reins, but the big stranger was right. There was no room for turning our wagon around and the peddler must have been reluctant to leap to the ground and dash for escape. A man of his age had little hope of outrunning anyone, even without his crooked knee.

The giant seemed to follow Wim’s thinking, too. “A wise decision, old bones,” he said. “You wouldn’t get far before my friends shot you down. They’re always eager for some live target practice, although I fear you would make poor sport with that twisted leg.”

Coming to lean easily against the side of the wagon, he tapped Wim’s bad knee for emphasis. His height was even more impressive at this proximity and I noticed now the series of long, ridged scars slashed at an angle across his face, lending a hard look to features that might otherwise have been cheerful.

Ignoring my perusal, the big man said to Wim, “Now then, old man. Suppose we come to an agreement that will mutually benefit both of us and speed you on your way.”

“You speak of robbery,” Wim snarled.

“Not at all. Think of it, instead, as a much needed donation to the favorite cause of our band’s captain.”

“And what noble cause would that be?”

“Why, that of feeding himself and his good followers, of course,” said the giant. “I can see you’re a compassionate man who would never deny a handful of hungry strangers the coin to purchase a decent meal.”

“Would it do any good to refuse what you’ve already decided to take from me?” Wim asked, glaring darkly.

“That’s the spirit, good fellow,” said the giant. “Now empty your pockets into this little bag and be quick. My companions and I are wet, weary, and not our usual, patient selves today.”

He produced a worn sack, which he extended with a little flourish, but Wim ignored the offering.

“The Praetor has no use for thieves in his province,” he warned the big stranger. “Steal from an honest peddler today if it pleases you. But I warn you, soon enough you’ll all be hunted down and hung.”

“I won’t argue with you, old man. I’ve advised you to pay the toll. If you lack sufficient coin, we won’t mind helping ourselves to the goods in your wagon. No need to make a fuss. No one will be hurt so long as you cooperate, and I feel sure you’ll have the wisdom to do just that.”

But Wim, no longer cowed, said, “You vermin will see no coin from me and you’ll keep your filthy hands off my wagon. I’ll report you to the Praetor when I reach Selbius and see the lot of you arrested. I see many of you already bear a thieves brand, so the second offense means death.”

He smiled grimly, as if already witnessing the lot of them swinging from a gallows.

One of the listening outlaws, a wiry man with a cudgel, showed his teeth. “Maybe we’re too desperate to care,” he said. “Maybe we’re hungry enough to eat skinny old peddlers before they go running to the Praetor.”

Wim licked his lips as if realizing he may have spoken too vehemently and his hand disappeared inside his cloak.

The giant broke in with, “Enough talk. Let’s see some coin.”

“Never,” said Wim.

The big man shrugged and stepped back, saying, “Very well then. I fear we won’t part on kindly terms.” He nodded to his companions. “Fellows, see what you can do to persuade this old fool to change his mind, without killing him. Murders only make the way patrol more vigilant.”

He settled himself on a nearby tree stump, as if preparing to watch some form of entertainment, while his companions closed in. In a flash, a burly man with a beard and shaved head seized me roughly by the neck of my cloak and tried to remove me from his way. Instinctively, I sank my teeth into his arm and, as the brigand thrashed, attempting to shake me loose, I was dragged out of the wagon and hit the ground headfirst. The pain stunned me and a fuzzy blackness ringed the edge of my vision. Dizzily, I tried to summon the inner flame of magic I had touched so effortlessly once before, but I couldn’t find it.

When the world stopped turning and the pain and darkness receded, I remembered Wim. One brigand had grabbed the old man and was attempting to drag him down from his perch on the wagon seat. The peddler struggled and I saw the glint of steel as he retrieved a short knife from inside his cloak. He was about to plunge it into his attacker when the other man stabbed him first. I stared, horrified, as the old man’s lifeless body fell forward, landing heavily near me. A pool of crimson blood quickly pooled around him.

If I was frozen with shock, no one else was. The red-haired giant swooped in and struck the face of the man who had done the killing, shouting at him about disobeying orders, while the other brigands ignored the arguing men and swarmed over the wagon, quickly emptying it of anything of value. Although I was distantly aware of these activities, my mind scarcely took them in. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Wim’s wide eyes, staring unseeing toward the treetops.

Someone came to stand over me. He was speaking, but I didn’t respond, and when he waved a hand before my face, I ignored that as well, keeping my gaze fixed on Wim. Had my Mama’s eyes stared blankly like that when she was dead? Had Da’s?

“What have you there, Brig?” asked the redheaded giant, joining the man beside me.

“I don’t know,” the first one said. “A vicious little cur, I think. Bites like one, at least.” He knelt and, with surprisingly gentle hands, turned my face away from Wim’s corpse, asking, “Where are you from, child? Do you live nearby?” I recognized him as the man with the shaved head, whom I had bitten.

When I held my tongue, he tried again. “Do you have a name? What’s your father’s name?”

Again I refused to answer and the bald man frowned, saying to the giant, “I don’t know about this one, Dradac. What are we to do with it?”

The giant shrugged. “I think
it
is female—a little girl, to be exact. As to what’s to be done with her, I suggest we leave her right here. She’s no concern of ours.”

“But she’s only a wee one, isn’t she? What if she dies or comes to some hurt?”

The giant said, “Don’t care if she does. Children are a cursed plague. But I imagine someone will pass this way and find her in a day or so. If you’re concerned, put her up on the mare and send her back the way she came.”

It’s a long ride to the nearest village,” the bald man pointed out. “Do you think she’s big enough to stay on the horse and keep it to the road?”

“How should I know? I’m not the one with children. Maybe we could tie her onto the horse?” As he spoke, the giant stooped to examine me more closely and winced, evidently unimpressed with what he saw. “Ugly little critter, isn’t she? If we do save her, I don’t think any future sweethearts will be thanking us. What’s she got on her mouth?”

“My blood. She took a chunk out of my hand earlier. Look at it.”

“A revolting sight. Let’s leave the little biter to fend for herself.”

“I don’t feel I can do that.”

“Then she’s your problem,” the giant said. “The rest of us are moving out. But a word of advice. If you’re considering doing anything stupid, like bringing her back to camp, think again. Rideon would have both our hides.”

The bald man was silent a moment before apparently coming to the same conclusion. He rose and turned away, following the other brigands as they tramped off into the underbrush.

After they were gone, I stirred enough to wrap my arms around myself as shivers wracked my body, not all of them from the cold. Even with my head averted, I couldn’t get the memory of Wim’s corpse out of my mind. I had seen many deaths lately.

I became aware of the sound of something large crashing through the underbrush. The noise grew nearer and then the returning brigand broke out onto the road.

Scooping me up in strong arms, the bald man said, “Come along then, little dog. I’ve been thinking on it and I cannot abandon you here.”

At last I found my tongue. “I’m not a dog; I’m a girl. Dogs don’t talk.”

“And girls don’t bite.”

He lifted me up onto his broad shoulders and we moved off after the others, leaving the road, horse and wagon, and dead peddler behind.

CHAPTER THREE

I must have fallen asleep while the man carried me, for I remember nothing of the trek to the outlaw camp. Awaking sometime later, I found myself lying amid an itchy pile of leaves heaped over a hard stone floor. The sound of voices had stirred me from my sleep. Looking into the surrounding darkness, I could see no one. I had no idea where I was but felt too weary to be afraid. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, I was warm and dry and that was enough to content me.

Nearby, I could hear a continuous roaring sound like the rushing of water, but it was impossible to identify what direction it came from. The darkness was deep and the noise echoed loudly around me, bouncing off the surrounding walls. It was strangely lulling and I lay still, eyes closed once more, listening to that mighty roar and feeling the fogginess of sleep rising up to claim me again. I no longer remembered what had awakened me.

Then a second noise filtered through my consciousness—a nagging buzz, a faint murmur at the edge of my hearing. Drowsily, I tried to ignore it, but the sound was persistent and grew louder, soon resolving itself into the low cadence of approaching voices. Men’s voices, frightening and unfamiliar. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and burrowed down into the mold-scented leaves as they drew nearer. I began to distinguish snatches of their conversation.

“Your little hound is snug enough in her leafy bed. Wish I could say the same for myself, but I’ll not sleep a wink, wondering what he’ll do when he hears about her. And he will hear. The Hand knows everything that happens in this forest.”

A second, deeper voice answered. “We’ve a reprieve until morning. Surely by then we’ll figure the best way of explaining everything.”

The gaps in the conversation grew fewer the nearer they came, until the voices were hovering directly over me. I kept as still as a mouse beneath the shadow of a hawk. I was very aware of the little bits of dry leaves that had worked their way into my clothing and were itching against my skin now, but I dared not twitch so much as a muscle to relieve my discomfort.

“Easy for you to say, Brig,” the first voice argued. “You’re not the one he’ll blame. I had charge of you all, so it’s me that’ll be taken to account for what went wrong.”

“I’ll take the responsibility on myself,” his companion rumbled. “Bringing the child here was my idea and I’ll own up to it.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in your place when you do. And don’t forget there’s the dead man to account for as well. The Hand orders us to lie low for a bit and what do we do? We go and kill an old peddler and steal a child, either of which could call the Praetor’s attention down on us.”

I dared open my eyes into narrow slits just wide enough to peer up at the two shadowy figures standing over me. I recognized the giant named Dradac and the bald, bearded outlaw he called Brig.

Brig said, “I doubt there’ll be much fuss over an old man found dead in a forest lane. The Praetor has bigger things on his mind.”

“I hope you’re right. But I reckon there’ll be time enough to deal with our problems in the morning, after we’ve had a bit of rest,” Dradac said.

His footsteps rang hollowly as he moved away, calling out, “What about you? Aren’t you sleeping tonight? Kinsley says you’ve got the midnight watch.”

“Right. Think I’ll stay here until then and keep an eye on the little one.”

The retreating footsteps hesitated. “Brig, you know the child’s not yours to keep, right? You understand she can’t stay long in Dimmingwood? The Hand would never allow it. Your sons are gone and Netta with them. There’s no bringing your family back or replacing them with this girl.”

“What do you know of my family?” Brig asked sharply. “What have you heard? Do the others joke about my story around the campfire?”

Dradac sounded placating. “Of course not. I don’t think most people even remember what happened. You know there’s no place in the band for any man’s past or future. The here and now keeps us busy enough.”

Satisfied I was in no immediate danger, my eyelids were growing heavy. The men’s voices droned on, but I ceased to listen to the words. Drowsiness stole over me again and I dismissed the strange men and the itchy leaves against my skin. My bed was warm and soft and I slipped easily into a deep slumber.

It seemed like only a short time before I was awakened by a rough shaking.