Circle of Thieves: Legends of Dimmingwood (7 page)

Chapter
Eight

It was exactly three days after the forming of the inner
circle that we met with our first success. Two of our members sent out on
reconnaissance came upon the discovery of a lone Skeltai scout stalking a tiny
settlement along the Dimming Road. Our men became overly enthusiastic, and
rather than setting one of them to tail the Skeltai, and the other to report
back to us, they decided to jump him alone. They managed to take the Skeltai
alive but not without sustaining minor injuries to themselves as well as
presenting the rest of us with a dilemma.

We had no place to keep a prisoner, no predetermined form
for dealing with an uncooperative one, and perhaps most important, no notion of
how to keep this particular captive a secret from the rest of our band. Rideon
had kept a prisoner or two for ransom in the past, but then we had just bound
them up and tossed them into Red Rock cave with a guard assigned to them. We
could hardly take this prisoner to Boulder’s Cradle and parade him in front of
Rideon and the men. This was business of the circle and had to be kept quiet.

But it was hard to keep a snarling yowling Skeltai warrior
quiet. We stuffed rags in his mouth, bound him thoroughly with rope, and for
want of a better plan, took him to an abandoned woodsman’s shack Nib knew of a
little distance from Horse Head Rock.

The shack was ill-constructed
,
and all but caving in at the roof, but seemed ideal for our purpose as it was
an hour’s walk from Boulder’s Cradle—far enough distant that no one
inconvenient was likely to stumble over it.

Once we had our prisoner safely stashed away came the
debacle of what we were to do with him next. Attempts were made to question
him, but he spoke not a word of our tongue, or if he did, refused to acknowledge
it. I would have called for Ada to interpret, but she was away on an errand for
Rideon. And so, I was left to deal with the situation.

I stood in the center of the crumbling little shack, dust
motes swirling around me, and a stiff wind cutting through the cracks in the
walls. I knew I faced my first test as leader of our circle. Just now I wished
to be anything but leader.

I glared at the prisoner trundled into a dark corner who was
the cause of my dilemma. It struck me that the Skeltai didn’t seem in the least
intimidated by his situation. I had never seen a prisoner appear so at ease.

I vented my annoyance on the men I considered most
responsible for bringing this situation about. “If you’d only had the sense to
follow him instead of attacking him,” I snapped at the men who had made the
capture, “we might have learned something useful. We could have seen where he
was going, if he was meeting others, and discerned something of their plans.”

The outlaw pair shifted nervously. “We didn’t want to risk the
savage escaping,” one of them explained nervously.

I said, “The only danger of his escaping would have been if
he’d magicked a circle into the ground beneath his feet to drop into!”

They exchanged uneasy glances and I realized that was
exactly what they had feared he might do. And who was I to say he couldn’t. How
much did we really know about these people anyway? Ada was our only source of
knowledge on Skeltai magic, and even she admitted herself to be of little use,
since she didn’t possess the skill.

I frowned at the bound Skeltai warrior heaped in the corner
and wondered if he was likely to disappear in a poof of smoke at any moment. It
was an unnerving thought.

“Get yourselves cleaned up,” I told the two outlaws. “Hide
your injuries or invent a likely story as to how you came by them.”

They had taken a few cuts and bruises in their skirmish with
the Skeltai. We would just have to hope nobody decided to be overly curious
about how they’d acquired them.

Their footsteps moved away, and already I forgot them. I
moved to stand over the Skeltai in the corner, and he gave a little start at my
approach. Maybe it was crazy, but I had the brief impression there was
recognition in his eyes.

“Take the rags out of his mouth,” I told Nib.

Nearby, Dradac frowned and said, “We’ve already questioned
him. He doesn’t speak the civilized tongue, and even if he did, I got the firm
impression he wouldn’t tell us anything.”

I noticed he had helped the prisoner into a sitting position
that was probably more comfortable than the one we had dumped him in.

“Dradac, why don’t you go looking for Ada again?” I
suggested.

“I just got back from searching for her not an hour ago. I
told you, she’s not to be found.

My gaze didn’t leave the prisoner. “So go out and make a
long circuit of the perimeter. We don’t want unwelcome folk stumbling in on
us.”

I thought he would protest, but he must have realized then
why I wanted to be rid of him. I had a great affection and respect for the man,
but as leader of the circle, I couldn’t afford to let his sympathy for our
captive get in my way.

Dradac’s mouth clicked shut, and I waited for him to
withdraw. Instead he said, “Thanks, but I’ll stay.” He sounded reluctant but
determined.

“Fine.” I shrugged and nodded for Nib to remove the rags
from the prisoner’s mouth. Then I squatted down level with the Skeltai. His
eyes hadn’t left me all this while, but it wasn’t until I was close to him that
I realized it wasn’t me alone. He was equally interested in my bow. As the
savage and I stared at one another, I thought he should have seemed frightened.
He was in a strange place and surrounded by so many enemies. But his expression
was stony. If he felt fear, he gave no sign.

This was my first chance to get a good look at a Skeltai
warrior, and I took my time getting to know the face of my enemy. His silvery
blue hair was waist length and strung into a multitude of tiny braids with long
feathers and bits of bone that rattled whenever he moved his head. His most
startling feature was the blood-red paint covering his face and body. Only
glimmers of skin as pale as milk showed through. It was skin that looked
unnervingly familiar because it was so like mine. But I wouldn’t think about
that right now, wouldn’t consider the possibility that this savage and I shared
common ancestors.

Because he was clad only in a loincloth, I could see the
collection of wicked looking scars tracing his arms and torso. These were no
battle scars, as I might have expected, but trailing designs, intricate shapes
and swirls that were almost graceful. I wondered if the carvings were
self-inflicted or if he had allowed someone to etch designs into his skin.
Considering how much of the Skeltai culture was magic related, I wondered if
these scars could have a more sinister purpose than mere decoration. Maybe they
had something to do with spells.

I shook aside my uneasiness. The prisoner was flesh and
blood, no different from the rest of us.

Our captive had been studying me even as I examined him, and
it was clear he had something on his mind. His eyes kept flickering to the bow.
By this time I was used to people’s unusual reactions when they noticed the
weapon for the first time but his was more marked than most.

I reached over my shoulder to stroke the smooth wood of the
bow’s arm. “You know something about this?” I asked the prisoner, never
removing my fingers from the wood. I felt the bow stir slightly to life beneath
my touch.

The prisoner scowled. “I know the barra-banac.”

I started at the heavily accented words, the first
understandable syllables he had uttered. So he could speak the common tongue if
he chose.

“What is this
barra-banac
? Is that what you call my
bow?” I asked.

He only looked at me scornfully.

In the face of his silence, I tried a different tact. “Tell
me how the Skeltai warriors travel so quickly from the Black Forest to
Dimmingwood,” I commanded. “It is an immense distance, yet you cover it quickly
and invisibly. Is this done by magic?”

I thought of the circle we’d found etched in the ground near
Hammond’s Bend and remembered the lingering sense of fresh magic still on the
air. How it had felt almost as if a door had been shut and locked in the face
of any who would follow through the portal.

I took a guess.  “Is it only your shamans who can
operate the portals, or do all of you have that ability? How far can they
transport you and for how long does the magic hold them open?”

A sudden change come over the prisoner’s face. His lips
remained set in a flat line but his eyes took on a vacant look as if he stared
straight through me to some invisible place beyond. I had never seen a
breathing being look less alive.

Unnerved, I forgot all my questions. I waved a hand before
his face and received no response, not even the batting of an eye.

“What’s he doing?” Nib breathed nervously from behind me.
“Is it some heathen mind trick?”

“Maybe it’s the Skeltai magic,” Dradac suggested.

I didn’t respond to either outlaw but stretched out with my
talent, seeking any foreign threads of magic surrounding the prisoner. There
were none. Whatever he did, he did within his own mind.

“I think it’s just a rigid form of concentration,” I said.
“He doesn’t want to talk so he mentally takes himself someplace where he
doesn’t have to.

Nib frowned. “Well he may think he’s escaped inside a dream
world of his making, but he won’t be staying there long.”

He seized the Skeltai by the hair and slammed his head back
hard against the wall, before shouting in his face, “Answer the questions! What
attacks do you savages plot against us next?”

The Skeltai didn’t move nor make a sound. Not so much as an
indrawn breath. His discipline was unsettling.

Nib dealt him a vicious punch to the belly that would have
had even the toughest of men doubling over. The force of the blow sent the
prisoner toppling to the floor, where he remained, making no move to right
himself. Another outlaw seized his hair and dragged him upright again, propping
him against the wall. A thin trickle of blood ran from the captive’s split lip
and his face was marked red where the blow had fallen but his eyes were still
fixed on a distant spot.

I sensed rising desperation in my companions. None of us had
ever encountered an enemy who failed to respond to a beating. Even as I admired
the Skeltai’s self-control, I knew we needed to break him. We had to discover the
magical capabilities of the enemy, what their plan of attack was, and where
they meant to surprise us next. The answer to any of these questions could lie
inside this prisoner’s head. I was keenly aware that lives depended on what I
discovered here.

So we tortured him. Or rather Nib did while Dradac and I
stood by and said nothing to prevent it.

But hours later, the sinking sun found us no closer to
answers than we had been. I could come up with no explanation for the Skeltai’s
incredible self-control but not once did he utter a single scream or a curse or
even a gasp. Not even when Nib took up a knife and added to the extensive
decorations etched up and down his torso.

I finally called a halt to the proceedings. The Skeltai was
bleeding heavily, and beyond the sheen of sweat slicking his skin, he showed no
reaction to our treatment; I felt sure no human being could endure much more
and survive.

“He’s useless to us as a corpse,” I pointed out, secretly
unsure whether it was the prisoner or I who could take no more of the
stomach-turning violence. I ordered his wounds cleaned and bandaged, lest we
lose him sooner than we wanted to infection or blood loss, and assigned two men
to guard him. The chosen guards complained it was excessive, but I couldn’t
forget we weren’t dealing with any ordinary prisoner.

I was relieved to call it a day as I stepped out of the
dimly lit little shack and into the waning daylight. It grew dark early in
Dimming due to the density of the forest canopy.

“How much longer do you think this will go on?” Dradac
asked, following me outdoors.

“As long as it has to until we find out what we need.”

I suspected that might be a very long time, but aloud I only
said, “I hope we’ll have more success when we have Ada here to ask the
questions. Either way, we begin again at sunrise.”

The giant said nothing, but I was aware of his reluctance
and privately shared it. I wanted to ask if he thought less of me after this
day’s work but didn’t dare voice the words for fear he would say yes. Silently
we headed back to camp. We would allay suspicion by making an appearance around
the fire, and then I would be off to my shift on the night watch.

I sighed. I hadn’t slept at all today and was going to have
difficulty keeping my weariness from showing before those who would question
it. Heading the inner circle as well as appearing a normal member of Rideon’s
band was proving harder than I’d thought.

The following morning Ada was back in camp. I took her out
to the prisoner’s shack, dreading what was to come every step of the way and
regretting that, as leader, I couldn’t invent other duties to take me away. I
couldn’t show softness before the others, of course, but inwardly I doubted our
prisoner himself could face the day with more trepidation than I did.

The guards I had assigned to watch the shack where nowhere
to be found as we approached. I called out to let them know who was coming but
received no response. An eerie sense of premonition tickled at the back of my
mind, but I pushed it away. I was so accustomed to the bow’s soft whisperings I
scarcely paid attention to them anymore.

We rounded the shack and found its door standing open,
squeaking on one hinge as it swung in the wind. We dropped everything and ran
then, ducking through the doorway to find both the guards sprawled bloody and
motionless on the dusty floor. Their throats had been mercifully cut, but I
couldn’t determine whether that had occurred before or after deep marks had
been carved into their flesh. Their hands were unbound, their weapons rested on
them, untouched, as if the men had never had a chance to draw them. But their
faces were frozen in expressions of horror that said they’d known what was
coming.