06 - Rule of Thieves Page 6

  The room I was shown to was a small chamber, barely big enough for the narrow bed, stool, and storage chest crowded into it. There was a fireplace and a long slit window looking down onto the courtyard and stables below. It was a plain space but no regular servants’ quarters either. What furnishings existed were durable, and there was the luxury of a single tapestry on the wall. It was drawn back from the window now to let in the sunlight but could be closed on cold nights to keep out the weather.

  Most significantly, I had this space to myself in a place where I suspected servants like Eisa were probably packed three or more to a room. In all, my new living arrangements clarified my position here more thoroughly than any conversation with the Praetor. I was being lodged as something above the humblest sort of servant but as less than a guest. This was better than I had expected.

  But from the way Eisa wrinkled her nose, it was clear something wasn’t meeting her expectations. She had stood in the doorway, watching silently, as I surveyed the room. I saw now that she looked at my clothing with distaste. Its appearance or its smell, either one, could have been the cause. It had been a long time since I had last bathed in a clean stream or washed out my travel-stained Kersian-style costume. The night spent in a dungeon cell and my recent bloody brawl with the Fists hadn’t helped either.

  Eisa made some confusing gestures and left me, returning in a short while with a bucket of water, a sliver of strong-smelling soap, and a washing cloth. She brought a fresh outfit as well and waited for me to remove my old one before departing, carrying the grime-encrusted clothing away with her. I wasn’t sure whether she meant to wash my old things or burn them.

  The water was cold but refreshing, and I felt I was washing away not just dirt and sweat but the memory of the filthy dungeon as well. After the bath, I dragged on the black hose and tunic Eisa had left for me. They bore a strong resemblance to the livery I had seen worn by male servants around the keep. Eisa must have noticed I didn’t favor feminine clothing.

  Although I put on the rest of it, I rejected the soft-soled shoes in preference for my sturdy boots. I also refused the scarlet half cape that served no apparent purpose except to make its wearer look foolish. Anyway, pairing the scarlet with the black would have put me in the colors of the house of Tarius, worn by the Praetor’s soldiers as well as his servants. I might be sworn to serve the man, but I could still rebel in small ways, such as refusing to wear his colors.

  After dressing, I realized how tired I was. I had slept awhile in the dungeon, but it had not been a restful sleep. My bed with its thick blankets suddenly looked inviting, and I sank into it. Accustomed to the firmness of earth, I didn’t usually sleep well in beds. But this time I was too exhausted to care and drifted off easily.

  Chapter Six

  When I woke, the shadows in the room had grown long and the day filtering through the window-slit was fading. Eisa stood beside my bed, silently staring down on me. Startled at having allowed myself to be crept up on, I was instantly awake.

  “What is it, Eisa?” I asked. “Did you want something?”

  The mute girl merely indicated a scattering of objects she had arranged on the blankets around me. My heart leapt as I recognized them. My knives, my dragon scale on its chain…. And my bow! It was missing its coarse cover but seemed undamaged. Where had it come from? Why had it been returned? Had the thieving Fists not realized what they had?

  My eager questions were answered with the silent shrugs and gestures that appeared to be Eisa’s standard means of communication. It was maddening that I could get no explanation for the theft of my belongings or their sudden reappearance.

  I slipped the dragon scale augmenter around my neck, relieved once more to have access to my magic. Next, I returned all my knives to their proper places, while Eisa looked on with an air of impatience. I didn’t need my newly returned powers to see she wanted me to do something. She moved to the door, beckoning me to follow. I cast a hesitant glance at the bow. I could hardly carry it around the keep with me, but I was reluctant to leave it behind so soon after regaining it. Quickly, I thrust it beneath my blankets where, with any luck, it would be safe from prying eyes. Then I hurried after Eisa, who had taken off down the corridor we’d traveled earlier in the day.

  Eisa didn’t take me to the Praetor’s audience chamber this time but to a great noisy hall. Here, the castle’s common residents crowded around trestle tables laden with food. Children and dogs played on the rush-strewn floor, their cries and barks mingling with the hum of conversation throughout the hall and rising to the rafters high above. At the far end of the room, there was a table on a dais, where I saw the Praetor eating with other finely dressed persons who were doubtless too exalted to crowd elbow to elbow with the folk at the low tables.

  The aroma of food filled the air, making my stomach rumble. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. A day ago? Two?

  Since Eisa had disappeared, I weaved my way alone through the busy room. I glanced fleetingly toward the high table, where I had caught a glimpse of Terrac. He belonged there, now he commanded the Iron Fists. But I was fairly certain a person of my status would not be welcome to sit down and eat with the Praetor, even had I wished to. Instead, I chose an empty seat at a long table full of strangers who, by their shabby dress and grubby appearances, appeared to be rough laborers. The house servants at least were clean and had their tidy liveries, but these people looked lowlier than they.

  Someone shoved a basket of bread at me, and I tore into it ravenously. A plate of savory mutton arrived, and I wolfed it down as well. It wasn’t until I had satisfied the empty ache in my stomach that I began to slow down.

  Now I remembered to thank the woman on my right, who had been passing me the food. An affable middle-aged woman, she introduced herself as Lorea, a laundress. She liked to talk, and despite finding me slow to reveal much about myself, she readily shared with me the private business of everyone around us.

  That suited me fine. Indeed, I was glad to find such an unguarded source of information. I devoted my ears to her stream of chatter and my eyes to observing the people across the room at the Praetor’s table. Interrupting her gossip, I asked who they were. The Praetor I knew enough of, but what about the rest?

  Lorea eagerly informed me that the young lady at the Praetor’s left hand, the sole female in that company, was Lady Morwena. A distant cousin of the Praetor, she had come to the castle only a year ago and was not well liked by anyone, not least of all the servants.

  “She can be mild as milk one day,” explained Lorea, “but unpredictable as the Salaunian Sea the next.”

  I studied this Lady Morwena with interest, thinking if she was a cousin to the Praetor, she was also a distant relation of mine. There was no physical resemblance between us, and I expected none as I favored my mother’s remote Skeltai ancestry. But I did see similarities between her and the Praetor. She shared his deep black hair, although hers was sleek and loosely curled. She had his nose also, which curved slightly downward like the beak of a hawk, looking a little too large for her face. There was nothing striking about her, I decided. She was neither lovely nor plain.

  I turned my attention to the man seated at the Praetor’s other side.

  “What about the fellow with the long copper hair?” I asked. “Is he anybody important?”

  I didn’t know why, but it seemed to me there was something almost sinister in his face and even his posture. His eyebrows were so fair they were nearly invisible at this distance, making his forehead high and bare. His elaborate clothing and his position close to the Praetor suggested a person of significance. But he turned his shoulder to the others at the table, hinting at some secret or perhaps not-so-secret hostility toward his companions.

  Lorea explained he was Counselor Torg Branek, the Praetor’s most trusted adviser. Lowering her voice, she added that he had the reputation of a man not to be trusted. People said he hungered for power and coveted the governorship of the province if anything shoul
d ever befall the Praetor.

  I eyed the advisor and wondered just how important influence was to him. Enough to remove anyone else who might divide the Praetor’s attention? Martyn had said it was someone close to the Praetor who wanted me out of the way. This Torg Branek looked capable of such a plot, and from Lorea’s description of him, it might not be out of his character.

  “Tell me about the new Fist captain,” I suggested.

  I didn’t know what made me ask about Terrac. I already knew him better than anyone here possibly could.

  Lorea said, “Aye, well, he’s been promoted since the retirement of the former captain, Delecarte. He gets the job done, defending us against those pale-skinned savages, and that’s all we want.”

  I watched Terrac across the room, seeing him fumble with a tray a servant handed him, then knock over the tankard of the person seated beside him. It was obvious he was still struggling to adapt to his one-handed state. Knowing how he must hate for the Praetor and those other people to see him as weak or clumsy, my cheeks burned for him. Then I reminded myself it was quite likely he knew more about my recent arrest than he admitted to, and I stopped being sorry for him. I no longer believed him guilty of working against me, but he hadn’t been very forthcoming either. It would not greatly surprise me to learn he was protecting someone.

  There was one other person at the Praetor’s table who interested me, a handsome young man whom the others seemed to ignore. All but Lady Morwena, whose longing looks aimed in his direction left no doubt of her admiration. From what I could see, he returned both the glances and the feeling.

  Lorea recovered her chattiness to introduce him as Asmund Summerdale, another counselor to the Praetor, but one no one took seriously. Except the young women, she added with a wink. She took him very seriously indeed. Unfortunately for Counselor Summerdale, his fellow counselors and the Praetor were less enthralled with him, and it was only his family connections that assured his position.

  Briefly, Lorea summed up all the others at the head table, various advisers, minor nobles, and a retired soldier. The graying soldier was the former Fist captain, Delecarte, whose position Terrac had so recently assumed. I vaguely remembered having seen Delecarte a few times in the past, but I hadn’t taken much note of him then. And there was no time to ask for further information on him now. Most everyone had finished their meals, and the great hall was emptying except for a handful of servants who stayed behind to clean up.

  I headed back to my room, trying to remember all the turns that had brought me here. I followed the direction I thought was right only to find myself soon lost in a series of corridors that looked remarkably alike. This was a quiet part of the keep. I had passed no one in the halls for some time.

  As I wandered, lost, I gradually became aware of an uncomfortable feeling shivering its way down my spine. The sense of being watched by unseen eyes. Surreptitiously, I glanced around the dimly lit corridor. Orange light from the intermittent wall sconces cast eerie shadows dancing up the walls, making the tapestries appear almost to move as if a living thing writhed beneath them. Anyone could be hiding behind those long tapestries, watching me. I had an unknown enemy in the keep, after all, one who had not hesitated to send an assassin after me once before. Who was to say they would not make an attempt on my life right here? I surely presented a tempting opportunity walking the lonely halls at night.

  Flexing my fingers, I resisted the temptation to reach for the pair of sharp knives concealed up my sleeves. If someone was spying on me, waiting for their chance, I didn’t want to chase them away too soon. I must draw them out.

  Shoulders tense with the thought of a sudden blade being planted between them, ears straining for the approach of stealthy footsteps, I kept walking.

  Then I heard it. A soft footfall.

  My twin knives were in my hands before I even had the conscious thought to draw them, and I whirled on my attacker.

  But there was no attacker. It was only the raven-haired young woman I had seen at the Praetor’s dinner table earlier. She had come upon me unexpectedly, but she held no weapon, only a glowing candlestick in her hand. There was nothing threatening about her. Very much the opposite.

  At my sudden action, she started and gave a little cry of dismay, nearly dropping her candle.

  I said awkwardly, “My apologies, lady. You caught me by surprise. I had thought myself alone.”

  With wide blue eyes, she watched me resheath my knives.

  “I… I saw you wandering as if you were lost and thought you might welcome direction,” she offered.

  “That’s good of you.” I tried to remember her name. “You’re Lady Morwena, aren’t you? Cousin and ward to the Praetor?”

  Mention of her status seemed to drive away her uncertainty, and her voice grew confident. “The Praetor and I are distant cousins only. The relation is not a close one.”

  I tried to introduce myself but she cut me off.

  “I know who you are. You’re the outlaw of Dimmingwood.”

  “There are a number of those,” I said.

  “Yes, but you are the only famous one. Except for that horrid Red Hand, who is now dead. You are Ilan, who defeated the Skeltai with her magical bow.”

  Her eyes darted over my shoulder. “You do not have it with you?”

  I was uneasy to think word of the bow’s unusual qualities had become so widely known.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint,” I said. “But it hardly seemed necessary to carry all my weapons here within the safety of these walls.”

  She grimaced. “You think these walls are safe? Others have thought so to their misfortune. I could tell stories…”

  The sentence hung temptingly, but I did not take up her offer.

  With a little pout of annoyance, she volunteered more. “Every castle has its secrets, and this one conceals more than most.”

  I said, “I am sure.”

  “There are people within these ‘safe walls’ who are not what they present themselves to be. People who would kill to keep the things I know hidden.” A look of dark fascination crossed her face.

  “Then it must be frightening to be you,” I said dryly.

  If Lady Morwena had appeared tentative at first, she did not seem so now. I was reminded of the remark Lorea the laundress had made at dinner. She had been right about the girl’s changing moods.

  “You’re making fun of me,” Lady Morwena said now. “But I can show you the dangers of which I speak.”

  “I’ll have to decline that offer,” I said “I’ve had my fill of danger for a while.”

  “On your journey through the provinces?” she asked knowingly. “Rumor says you went off with a priest of the blade and the Fist captain to carry out secret business for my cousin. Is that true?”

  I smiled, despite myself. “Only if you consider traveling for pleasure in the company of friends official business for the Praetor.”

  She looked sorry to hear it. “You must at least have had some perilous encounters? Met formidable foes and lived to tell of it?”

  I said, “I suppose I almost died a few times, but that wasn’t as enjoyable as you seem to think.”

  I wondered if she was really asking these things out of innocent interest or whether there was specific information she hoped to get out of me.

  She said, “You will find it dull here, after the adventures you have had.”

  “I doubt that, now that hostilities are resuming with the Skeltai.”

  She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Oh, they cannot touch us here. I am less afraid of the Skeltai than of the civilized folk living among us.”

  “Who especially?” I asked. I might not like Morwena, but it occurred to me I would be a fool to pass up opportunities for information.

  She was willing enough to divulge it. “Counselor Torg Branek is the Praetor’s most influential advisor, but he has achieved that position by destroying all who oppose him. Then there’s the new Fist captain, Terrac. It is believed in some quarter
s that he is unqualified for his place, especially now he is crippled in his arm. There is speculation he received his advancement because of private connections.”

  I said, “Really? I’ve heard he is capable in his new command.”

  “There are those who believe him too young, too inexperienced, and weakened by the injury to his arm. For myself, I almost pity him, considering.”

  I bit back the response that Terrac would not need or want anyone’s pity and allowed her to continue.

  “Of course, the biggest mystery of all is my cousin.”

  “The Praetor? Why? What has he to hide?”

  She wavered visibly, as if suddenly doubting the wisdom of revealing too much. But it was obvious she could not help herself. In the torchlight, her eyes glittered with excitement at the thought of whatever it was she knew.

  “I will not speak the secret,” she decided. “But I will show it to you and leave you to judge for yourself. Come with me.”

  It was my turn to hesitate before giving in to curiosity and following her. She led me down lonely passages and through parts of the keep I had not guessed existed until, finally, we reached the foot of a narrow twisting set of steps leading up into a tower.

  As we ascended, I remarked, “You know your way around surprisingly well considering I heard you were new to the castle.”

  “I’ve had little enough to do but explore since I arrived,” she said. “I grew up in Celestianos, the greatest and most beautiful city in Camdon. After the deaths of my parents last year, I was made the ward of my cousin. Then I was brought here to Ellesus, the most ugly and rustic of all the provinces, and dumped into a horrid crumbling castle in a city too small to deserve the name.”

  Leading the way, she glanced back at me. “I envy you managing to escape this backwoods province, if only for a while.”