Padrig darted around Nurse Maddi
and the tray she was carrying, zipped past Clerk Jim and his armful of ledgers,
and mostly avoided careening into the hard stone walls outside his father’s
study.
“Sorry!” Padrig shouted without
looking back. Father had summoned him! Father never called anyone to his study
unless he had important business to discuss!
Even as excited as he was, Padrig
remembered to knock and wait for his father to growl, “Come,” before entering.
No one went into father’s study without permission, not even Aunt Drusilla, who
terrified everyone except for Padrig’s oldest brother Doran.
Greatlord Garis Taegrim sat beside
the fire reading a letter and swirling firewhiskey in his favorite glass. Even
seated, the Greatlord was a towering mammoth of a man that would frighten even
the ugliest trolls in Nurse Maddi’s stories. A wild mane of thick black hair
sprouted from his scalp and a beard just as thick and long hung down from his
chin. His fierce grey eyes soaked up the firelight, making them seem orange and
red – an altogether more fearsome sight, which Padrig knew was not at all
necessary. His father could inspire fear better than any man in the kingdom –
maybe even the world!
Padrig drew himself up as tall as
he could and tried to position his shoulders in such a way that they looked
broader. He was the youngest of the Greatlord’s six children, only eight and by
far the scrawniest of the brood. Even Shea had a lean strength to slight frame,
as she was fond of showing Padrig when he said something that annoyed her.
“You came quickly,” Greatlord
Taegrim said without looking up from his letter.
“Thank you, my lord!” Padrig
replied a bit too loudly. He tried not to wince at his own foolishness. Father is not an old man that needs to be shouted
at in order to be heard!
Father chuckled and finally set the
letter aside. “You can be nervous as a maid in a room full of drunken soldiers,
do you know that, boy?”
“Yes, my lord,” Padrig admitted
sheepishly.
“Well never mind that. I have a
task for you. Your sister and the Icethorns will be arriving soon. I need you
to gather the whole family in the Great Hall to receive them. Can you do that,
boy?”
Padrig nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, my lord!”
“Off with you then.” Father shooed
him on his way with one of his massive hands.
Padrig spun around so fast he
nearly ran into the door. Hoping father had already gone back to his letters,
Padrig opened the door and left as quickly as possible.
“Who to find first?” he asked
himself. The twins would be easiest to find. They were always in the practice
yard beating each other bloody with practice swords even after master-at-arms
Karl Avers got bored of trying to teach them skills beyond brute force.
Padrig ran down the hall, took the
stairs two at a time on the way down, and bounded out into the rain-drenched
yard. “No time for you,” he told his favorite mud puddle. “Hey! Oxton and
Oswald!”
“What do you want, pipsqueak?” Oxton
asked as he circled his twin…or perhaps it was Oswald. Padrig had a hard time
telling them apart even without their armor on. The twins were identical,
eleven, and obsessed with becoming the greatest warriors of all time. Tall for
their age, all their time training with swords and axes had given them strong
arms and broad chests. Padrig secretly feared how burly the twins would become
once they were properly grown.
“Father sent me to…hey! Are you
listening to me?” Padrig demanded.
“No!” Oxton and Oswald said
together as they unleashed a flurry of blows at one another.
“Father said to meet in the Great
Hall!” Padrig shouted at his brothers.
“What?” Oswald asked between
strikes.
Padrig tried to think of what Doran
would do if the twins ignored him, but that was stupid. No one was foolish
enough to ignore Doran. The oldest Taegrim sibling could whisper and everyone
in the room would shut up and strain to hear then jump to do as he said.
Grumbling to himself, Padrig fell
back to his next best inspiration: his sister Shea. He grabbed the nearest rock
of a large yet manageable size and threw it at Oxton’s head. The rock clanged off Oxton’s helm without doing
any harm. It did get the twins to stop sparring long enough to turn around and
stare at Padrig.
“Father says to get to the Great
Hall right away!” Padrig said in a quick rush before dashing off. He was far
faster than his brothers, especially when they were in full armor.
The next easiest relative to locate
was probably Uncle Faust. Padrig left the keep in search of his uncle’s
favorite gambling den. Taverns and brothels were plentiful in the Abyss. The
people of Taegrim’s Claw were passionate to a fault according to Doran. The
only other place that Padrig had been was to Greatlord Icethorn’s castle and
everyone there had seemed so dreadfully somber and boring. Padrig was sure that Doran was right–he always was–but,
Padrig just didn’t understand how it could be better to dull than to have as
much fun as the people his father ruled over.
Sure enough, Uncle Faust was at the
Sultry Opus with a serving girl on
his knee and a cup of dice in his hands.
“Kiss the cup for me, dearie. For
luck.” Uncle Faust held the wooden cup out for the girl to kiss, which she
happily did. Faust groped her breast as he rolled the dice. Evidently the kiss
had worked, because Uncle Faust shouted for joy and kissed the serving girl on
the cheek.
Uncle Faust was not as fierce as
his older brother. He was a skilled swordsman, to be sure, but his passions lay
elsewhere. He had wooed a beautiful girl from some place in the eastern half of
the kingdom and brought her home to the Abyss only to continue drinking,
gambling, and womanizing. Padrig was not entirely clear as to what “womanizing”
entailed, but he had been assured by several reliable sources that Uncle Faust
was the master of it. Faust kept his long hair neatly groomed and his beard
trimmed short. Visiting ladies always complimented him on how handsome he was.
He was not as broad across the chest as the Greatlord, nor half as strong, but
he was lightning quick. His blue eyes always had this twinkle like he knew some
joke that he wasn’t telling anybody else about.
Padrig approached the dicing table
cautiously. Uncle Faust did not like to be interrupted when he was drinking,
gambling, or womanizing and judging by the nearly empty tankard of ale on the
table next to him, he was currently engaged in all three.
“Damn you to hell, Faust Taegrim!”
a familiar voice shrieked from the entrance. “You unscrupulous bastard, I’ll
kill you!” Aunt Evina tried to storm across the floor in a righteous rage, but
she was having a great deal of difficulty walking in a straight line and
crashed into a chair. She tumbled gracelessly to the Sultry Opus’ dirty floor. Evina was a beautiful blonde lady who was
the very picture of Eastern Courtesy when she was sober…which was almost never.
She drank and fought with Uncle Faust constantly.
Uncle Faust laughed raucously at
the sight of his wife on the ale-drenched floor. “Enjoying the view, my lady?”
“Get that whore off your lap right
this instant!” Evina demanded as she climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“She isn’t a whore, you worthless
twat! This is a proper woman, and a hell of a lot younger than you!” Faust
chortled and pulled the serving girl closer.
Her rage renewed tenfold, Aunt
Evina lunged at Faust. Padrig, seeing the murder in his aunt’s eyes, kicked a
chair into her path. Again, Aunt Evina clashed with her old nemesis: the floor.
This time she hit rather harder and uttered the most pitiful groaning whimper
that Padrig had ever heard. She remained on the floor, muttering curses at
Faust and begging someone to bring her another cup of wine.
“Good lad.” Faust ruffled Padrig’s
dark hair. “I assume you’re here to fetch us for the big welcome?”
Padrig nodded.
“Then we’d best be off.” Uncle
Faust threw his drunken wife over his shoulder and stepped out into the rain
with his other arm around the serving girl’s waist.
Slightly stunned by what had just
taken place, Padrig left the Sultry Opus
and headed for the Old Fountain. Technically, when Taegrim’s Claw had joined
the rest of the kingdom fifty years ago, they had given up worshiping the Water
Goddess and converted to following the New God. In practice however, everyone
from the Greatlord down to the poorest farmer prayed to the Goddess.
The Old Fountain was actually a
series of massive fountains and rainspouts that formed their place of worship.
There were no walls or benches and no place to give a proper sermon, but
everyone agreed it was the best place to seek the wisdom of the Goddess.
It was here that Padrig found his
cousin Dragomina. She was Aunt Drusilla’s only child, her father being
Drusilla’s first husband. Dragomina was…peculiar. She was thirteen, had purple
eyes, and slept in trees rather than in her bed. She was not violent like her
mother, at least not all the time. Sometimes she would become enraged for
reasons even Drusilla did not understand.
Dragomina was seated next to one of
the pools the rainspouts emptied into and sloshing her bare feet back and forth
in the water. Padrig sat down next to her. He was not surprised that she did
not say anything, Dragomina rarely spoke unless she felt it was absolutely
necessary.
After watching the fountains for a
while, Padrig cleared his throat nervously. “My father would like you to go get
your mother and bring her to the Great Hall. Acacia and the Icethorns will be
arriving soon and he wants the whole family there to greet them.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it was definitely the
quickest way to locate Aunt Drusilla and it meant Padrig did not have to
confront her. Last time he had called on her she had been dissecting a corpse
and he had nightmares for a week.
Dragomina hopped to her feet,
smiled at him, and patted Padrig on the head before hurrying off without a
word. Padrig hoped that was a good sign. He stood and went to find his other
cousins.
Not surprisingly, Uncle Faust’s
children were to be found in a tavern, the Drunk
Pumpkin it was called. Sixteen year old Merritt was using his good looks to
enthrall two pretty, but obviously not very smart girls. Not to be outdone by
her legitimate half-brother, Faust’s fifteen year old bastard daughter Genni
had three young men drooling over her ridiculously low cut dress. Genni
appeared to be quite drunk, but she handled her liquor much better than Aunt
Evina.
Padrig did his best to be brave and
marched right up to Evina and her three suitors. “My father wants everyone in
the Great Hall immediately.”
Genni giggled. “Can I bring my
friends?”
Padrig shook his head.
“Aww, you’re no fun! You’re going
to turn out as bad as Doran if you keep this up!” Genni chided playfully.
“Thank you!” Padrig beamed.
Genni rolled her eyes for some
reason that Padrig missed entirely. “Sorry boys, duty calls. It’s a hard life
being a lord’s bastard. Barkeep! Get me a bottle for the road!”
Padrig watched Genni walk a
surprisingly straight line to the door before turning back to Merritt. He
scanned the whole tavern, but his cousin was nowhere to be seen. Groaning,
Merritt went to the back rooms. Merritt was doing some womanizing, it seemed.
Padrig pounded on the door of the largest room. Merritt always took the best of whatever was available.
“Open up, Merritt!” Padrig shouted.
“We’re all meeting in the Great Hall!”
“Bugger off!” Merritt growled back.
“I’ll be there in a minute, just go ahead without me.”
“I’m not falling for that again!” Padrig
protested. “Don’t make me bring Doran back here!”
The door opened immediately.
Merritt and his friends were still naked, but he was grumbling and gathering up
his clothes. “Stupid little git, ruins everything! Girls, I’ll be back for you
after the feast. Buy yourselves something nice for me to tear off you later.”
He rummaged through his pockets and tossed them some silver coins as he pulled
his pants on.
Padrig tried not to stare at the
naked girls, but he must not have been doing a very good job, because Merritt
laughed at him and said, “There may be hope for you yet, boy.” Then he was
leaving, still pulling on his shirt and coat.
That left Shea, Doran, and father’s
ward Cailean Icethorn. Padrig’s older sister Acacia lived with the Icethorns
and Cailean lived here with the Taegrims. Those three could be anywhere, but it
was most likely that they were in the forest outside the castle somewhere. A
quick inquiry of the gatehouse guard confirmed this and Padrig hurried in the
direction the guard said Shea went.
It appeared that Shea had followed
a narrow game trail into the woods. Padrig followed the trail as quickly as he
could, scanning the forest for signs of his siblings as the evening light
faded.
Something hard hit Padrig in the
face and he was on his back before he saw what it was. He tried to scream, but
a hand was covering his mouth. Shea’s hand.
His thirteen year old sister held a
finger to her lips as she helped Padrig to his feet. Padrig kept his mouth shut
and followed Shea when she took off down the game trail. Shea was almost as
good at traveling silently through the forest as Doran and Padrig had a hard
time keeping up with her. He felt like a clumsy lummox as he crashed through
the underbrush behind his sister.
Shea came to a halt behind a wall
of thick brush obscuring their trail from a small clearing. She carefully
peered through the shrubbery and gestured for Padrig to do the same. The two of
them peaked through the leaves to see Doran and Cailean with their swords
drawn, two men kneeling before them, and six dead bodies sprawled out on the
bloody grass.
“You have raped, murdered, and
stolen the property of your neighbors. I offer you a quick death now or, if you
choose, I will take you before my father to face a slow death in the dungeons
of the Abyss,” Doran told his two captives. Doran was nearly as tall as father,
but only seventeen and slender like Uncle Faust. He had black hair that he kept
short the same way he did his beard. His grey eyes were cold and merciless.
Doran did not care if you lived or died so long as you did not disobey him.
“Please, m’lord! We never meant to!
She was just so tempting, she was askin’ for it, I swear!” one of the men
wailed while the other tried to kiss Doran’s boots.
Doran kicked the man trying to grovel
in the face and sent him sprawling to the side. “You do not seem the type to
choose a clean death. I will take your begging as desire to die by inches in
the dungeons.”
“No, m’lord! Please! You didn’t see
this girl! She wanted it, I swear it on the Goddess, she did!” Tears streamed
down the ugly rapist’s cheeks.
“I have seen a thousand girls,”
Doran replied icily. “What I have never seen is a woman ask to be tied up and savaged half a hundred times by eight men
missing more teeth than they still possess.”
“It weren’t like that, m’lord! Me
and Steeg never touched the girl, it were them six that did the rapin’! I
swear, m’lord!” The dirty man waddled toward Doran on his knees.
Doran regarded the pair of them for
a long moment in silence. “You have moved me.”
The prisoner grinned from ear to
ear. “Oh, thank you, m’lord! A thousand blessings on you! I knew you was
generous and fair, I told Steeg as much when you caught us, I did!”
“I will give you a clean death
after all.” Doran swung his sword around in a quick arc that flowed seamlessly
into a second cut that left both prisoners headless before they could even
scream.
“Shea, you and Padrig can come out
now,” Cailean said as he sheathed his sword.
“How did you know we were there?”
Shea asked as she dragged Padrig out of the bushes.
“Padrig needs to work on his
woodsmanship,” Doran answered.
“I…I will!” Padrig assured him.
“But now we need to…um…”
“Get to the Great Hall to welcome
Acacia home.” Cailean grinned. “Lead the way, Padrig.”
*
The Abyss was as grim as foreboding
as ever. Named for the cavern-like valley that one had to pass through in order
to reach the castle, the Abyss was one of the few castles in the realm that had
never been taken by force. Of course, that had a great deal to do with the men
who had held the castle since its construction more than five hundred years
ago.
Though her relatives annoyed her
with their drunken shenanigans, Acacia was fiercely proud to call herself a
Taegrim. Hers was a family that did not get swept up in the politics of the
East. They ruled the Claw with iron fists and rarely took their armies to other
lands. From time to time exceptions were made however, as the three houses of
the Red Rebellion had learned too well. Acacia’s father and Greatlord Icethorn
had exterminated all three rebel families as they led their bannermen to
victory in the king’s name.
“You look pleased to be home,”
Gaius said as he rode beside her. Greatlord Icethorn’s eldest son may as well
have been an eighteen year old copy of his father. Full of cold courtesy and
driven by an overdeveloped sense of honor, Gaius fit every stereotype of House
Icethorn that existed.
Acacia nodded. Greatlord Icethorn
had asked her to dress all in deep blues because it was Gaius’ favorite color.
“I suppose I am, though I will miss your father’s library while we’re here.”
“I brought along some books on the
Western Conquests, you are welcome to them,” Gaius offered.
“Thank you, if I finish all the
books I brought I will take you up on that.” It was very like Gaius to bring
historical accounts of a bloody military campaign to read for pleasure.
They rode in silence the rest of
the way through the valley. When their party reached the gate to the castle
proper the sun was hidden behind the surrounding mountains and the Abyss was
dark. The peasants would all be gathered near the keep for the feast. The
Taegrims were the only great house that Acacia knew of who invited the common
people to join in their festivities. It had always been that way on the Claw
though, and it was unlikely to change anytime soon.
Crowds of people milled about
eagerly as the Icethorns approached. Few of them paid any heed to Acacia. The
common people respected her father, feared her older brother, and got drunk
with her uncle. Acacia had been seven when she left to foster with Greatlord
Icethorn. She had been longer away than she had lived here and those who would
have been her people did not know her.
Greatlord Garis Taegrim threw open
the doors of the Great Hall and roared with delight. “Icethorn! You always make
me wait, you frosty old bastard!”
Greatlord Icethorn dismounted and
met his friend on the steps. “And you always get drunk waiting,” he said with a
smile stretching across his gaunt face.
Doran strode down the steps towards
her with Cailean in tow. Her brother stretched out a hand to help her down from
her horse. “Sister, welcome home.” He managed to look happy to see her without
smiling. Doran did not smile.
Cailean, on the other hand, was
grinning like an idiot. “As always, I am charmed to see you again, Acacia. You
look even more radiant than the last time we met.”
Acacia had no notion what the
proper response to such a greeting was. She tried to think of courteous reply,
but had to settle for, “Thank you,” after a few seconds ticked by and Cailean
started to look panicked by her silence.
Doran offered her his arm and the
two of them entered the Great Hall with the rest of their family and the
Icethorns. The hall was packed with people both of great importance and meager
birth. Rank meant little on the Claw, that was refreshing after time spent in other
parts of the kingdom. The men and women of Taegrim’s Claw were by turns
passionate, rageful, and jubilant. Trying to tell one of them they couldn’t do
something because of who their parents were would result in a fistfight if you
were lucky and a stabbing if you weren’t.
The fiddles and horns and drums
burst suddenly to life as they entered. Doran led her to their place at the
front of the room. The food was greasy, the ale potent, and six men and two
women had to be taken to the healers after being stabbed or beaten badly in
fights. All in all, a standard Taegrim feast.
Acacia sat between Doran and Gaius,
which afforded her the rare opportunity not to make useless small talk during
the feast. Both men never said anything unless it was important and Doran never
discussed important matters where others could overhear. Thus, she ate her meal
in silence and enjoyed a fair amount of ale. After all, what was a homecoming
on the Claw without ale?
Father rose drunkenly to his feet
and proclaimed that it was time for dancing. Desert had not yet been served,
but no one besides Doran seemed sober enough to notice. Everyone hurriedly
pushed the tables and benches back against the walls.
“Shall we dance?” Acacia asked
Doran. She always made him dance with her even though he hated dancing.
Saying nothing, Doran wiped his
mouth on his napkin, took her hand, and led her into the middle of the hall
where the dancing was taking place. The tune was lively and the more drunken
guests were doing more tripping over their partners’ feet than actual dancing.
“I don’t think Gaius has figured
out that his father wants the two of us to marry yet,” Acacia blurted out after
a few turns and twirls.
Doran gave her a level look.
“What’s that look for? You didn’t
spend the last six months with him! He has no idea, but I have to suffer
through Greatlord Icethorn picking out my dresses because they’re his son’s
favorite color!” Acacia glowered at her brother as they danced. Well, truth be
told, Doran was dancing while she
followed. Perhaps she’d had a bit too much ale.
“That is not what I was
questioning,” Doran replied curtly.
“What then?” she asked.
“I would tell you that you will see
for yourself later, but I sincerely doubt that will prove true.” Something had
caught Doran’s eye over by the remaining benches and he was slowly guiding them
in that direction.
“Tell me, dammit! You know how I
hate not knowing things.” Acacia craned her neck to see what Doran was staring
at, but he was much taller and soberer than she was.
“I know.” The song ended and Doran
left her standing on the dance floor.
“Hey! Come back here and tell me!”
Acacia shouted at Doran’s back as he disappeared into the crowd.
“Tell you what?” Cailean asked. He
had appeared behind her, as he always did after she finished her dance with
Doran.
Acacia sighed. She did not really
feel like dancing with Cailean. He was not a very good dancer and he always
talked about the most ridiculous things while they danced.
*
Shea had seen Doran take note of
something and guide Acacia towards it as they danced. Excusing herself to seek
a chamber pot, she abandoned her younger relatives to listen to eleven year old
Levina Icethorn natter on and on about her dresses. Levina was her mother’s
daughter and not at all like the rest of the Icethorns. Cailean and his kin
were glum and prone to brooding, but Shea was used to their harsh sternness after
growing up with Doran. Levina and her mother spent most of their time in the
East where fashion and politics ruled everything. Listening to her always made
Shea want to throw up all over Levina’s stupid clothes that she loved so much.
Thus, Shea was ecstatic to have
found an excuse – any excuse really – to have left her seat at the high table.
She would have even accepted an offer to dance with a boy even though that was
just the stupidest thing in the whole world. Girls like Levina loved dancing
and dreamed about boys, but Shea had better sense. As though thinking about
having better sense summoned him, Shea spotted Cailean awkwardly leading Acacia
across the dance floor. She rolled her eyes. “That fool boy,” she muttered to
herself as she seared the crowded seating area for whatever had piqued Doran’s
interest.
A strong hand grabbed her by the
collar and yanked her back behind the fat man she had been about to peer
around. “Wait, little fox. You’ll spook her.”
Shea looked up at Doran. His head
was pointed at Acacia and Cailean, but she was fairly certain he was watching
something else entirely out of the corner of his eye. “Spook who?”
“There is an old woman here that I
don’t recognize,” Doran answered.
Shea considered her older brother quizzically.
“That’s it? An old woman you don’t know? What’s so interesting about that?”
“I speak to all the elders in the
castle regularly. They keep me informed of criminals that need to be hunted
down and brought to justice as well as young men in need of a good scare to set
them on a more righteous path. A strange old woman appearing at the same time
as a visiting Greatlord is worth keeping an eye on.”
“Right,” Shea said, unconvinced.
Doran was never wrong, per se, but he
could be a tad paranoid at times.
“If you don’t want to help me, you
are welcome to go back to your riveting discussion with Levina,” Doran offered.
Shea shuddered. “Actually, this
seems like a job you’ll need a second set of eyes for.”
Doran nodded. “She’s wearing the
grey cloak and has a hideous wart on her nose. Look around Bartholomew, do you
see her?”
Shea glanced casually around Fat
Bart. Once Doran described her it was impossible to miss who he was talking
about. “I see her.”
“Keep an eye on her. If I’m right
about her being up to something she will move away once I approach her.” Doran
walked towards the old woman and sure enough, she shuffled away in the opposite
direction.
Shea watched the old woman dart
behind a pillar and a burly pair of men drinking and singing a completely
different song from what the musicians were playing. Doran appeared to lose her
in the crowd, but knowing Doran that was just a ruse to put the old hag at
ease. Shea followed as the wart lady slipped away from the crowd and up the
back steps.
Following someone in a castle was
similar to tracking someone in the woods, but at the same time very different.
There were so many hard angles and relatively few places to seek cover. The
best cover, Shea had found, was to pretend you were supposed to be going the same
way your target was.
Unfortunately, this old woman was
crafty. She dropped her bag and sat on the floor putting all of her random
knick-knacks back in at a leisurely pace. Not wanting to give herself away,
Shea was forced to walk on by while her query rummaged. She quickly hid behind
the next corner though, and peeked stealthily back the other way to see which
way the old woman went next.
Wart-nose eventually finished re-stuffing
her purse and took another flight of stairs, this one leading up to the guest
rooms. Shea followed from far behind, she had a fairly strong suspicion where
this shady character was headed. Up the stairs she climbed, to the highest part
of the guest tower. Shea heard little scritch-scritch
sounds from around the next bend and stopped to listen.
The unmistakable sound of a lock
opening made Shea wish she had her bow handy or at least one of her long
hunting knives. Then she heard Doran’s voice and she stepped around the final
turn of the stairs to see Doran holding the old woman in the air by her throat
with one hand. In his other hand he had a dagger pointed at the crone’s eye.
“What are you doing breaking into
Greatlord Icethorn’s rooms?” Doran asked calmly.
“I just needed a bit o’ gold, m’lord!
My granddaughter is sick with the plague and I ain’t got no coin for medicines!”
the old woman pleaded feebly and kicked her little legs.
“Don’t lie to me. You’re barely old
enough to have a daughter, let alone a granddaughter.” Doran flicked her
wart-blemished nose with his dagger and the whole thing slid off to reveal a hooked,
but utterly un-repulsive nose.
Doran’s prisoner frowned. She
stopped kicking and relaxed, she must have been stooping under her disguise because
her long legs nearly reached the ground from where Doran held her. “What gave
me away?”
“Little old ladies have frail bones
and hardly any muscle left. You were far too heavy to be who you were
pretending to be,” Doran said and he tore away the false wrinkles and wig she
wore.
The would-be thief was of average
height for a woman or perhaps a bit taller, it was hard to be certain with her
dangling in the air like she was. Shea guessed her age to be about nineteen or
twenty. She looked thin, but that was hard to say with her disguise hiding most
of her body. She had pale skin, jet black hair, and feisty eyes that were blue,
green, or brown depending on how the light struck them. Her chin came to a
sharp point and she had a sharp jawline with a wide mouth. Doran had taught
Shea to memorize details like that when tracking criminals. She could draw this
bandit’s face if need be and pass the drawing out to help bring her to justice.
Not that that would be necessary in this case, Doran had already captured her.
“Calling a girl fat, not the best
way to make a first impression.” The thief smirked at Doran.
“Neither is lifting her off the
ground by her neck. I admit your impression of me was not my primary concern,”
Doran answered.
She rolled her eyes. “If you were
any other man I would try to seduce you, you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve
gotten out of this exact situation by batting these lovely long lashes at
someone.”
“You should have tried to rob my
uncle or my cousin. They would have thanked a pretty thing like you for it,”
Doran replied.
The burglar lass laughed at that. “So
I heard. I did my homework on you Taegrims before coming here. You were the
only one I was really worried about, but I must admit a little part of me hoped
that you would catch on to my plan so I could get a measure of you myself.” Her
wide mouth spread into a wicked grin. “In that I wasn’t disappointed.”
“What were you planning to steal?”
Doran asked. Shea could see that he was keeping a careful eye on the woman’s
hands.
“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit
of that. Nothing of—” She suddenly cut off and spit something shiny at Doran
that sliced his cheek and left a thin trail of blood trickling down his face.
“That was unwise,” Doran began, but
then he slumped and toppled sideways, leaving the thief standing serenely in
her ridiculously short tattered gown.
“Sorry, dearie. I only brought one
poison dart and it was always my backup plan for your brother.” She brought her
leg around faster than Shea would have thought possible and the last thing she
remembered was the burglar’s foot hitting her head and knocking her into the
stone wall of the stairwell.
*
“This is an outrage!” Greatlord
Garis Taegrim bellowed from his throne in the Great Hall. “A theft in my own
castle! And of my best friend and staunchest ally’s belongings! The shame! How
could you allow this?”
“It is inexcusable, my lord,” Doran
answered, stoic as always, but likely beside himself with anger at having
failed. Shea was also in attendance, mainly to share in the shame of letting a
petty crook escape under her nose. She looked far more abashed than her
brother, that one was a proper Taegrim and she wore her emotions on her sleeve
for all to see.
Garis seethed. Doran had never
failed him before. True, this wench had used a concealed poison dart to take
him by surprise, but still! Doran should have knocked the bitch out and
questioned her in a cell after she had been thoroughly searched!
His head pounded from last night’s
drinking. They had not discovered the robbery until late that evening when
Greatlord Icethorn had left the feast to seek his bed. Icethorn had discovered
Doran and Shea both alive but unconscious and some secret and very sensitive
article missing from his rooms.
“You will set this right, Doran.
Greatlord Icethorn is furious. Track down this woman and return with her head
and Icethorn’s stolen article,” Garis commanded.
“Yes, my lord.” Doran nodded. No
doubt he knew that he was to be charged with correcting his mistake. “I would
ask your leave to bring Aunt Drusilla and Lora Kell with me.”
“The stable master? Very well, hunt
this woman with our women. It makes not matter to me how you do it so long as
it is done.” Garis rose to dismiss his children, but before he could do so Shea
spoke up.
“Father! I mean, my lord. I want to
go too. I can track and fight and it’s just as much my fault as Doran’s that
she got away!”
Garis frowned at that. Shea was a
capable lass, to be sure. But she was also just thirteen. Ought he to allow her
to ride off into danger after this burglar?
1) Yes! Shea is a Taegrim, not some prissy
Eastern Lady! It is past time she tested her mettle out in the real world.
2) Are you insane? Shea is thirteen and a girl
besides! Bad enough that Doran is already taking two women with him on this
venture. She stays home.
