Page 25 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)
Gareth
I dreamt of Dorset, of red curls brushing against my nose in the morning, of his cool, pale cheek pressed against my warm, tan shoulder, of red eyelashes flickering sleepily, of brilliant green eyes drowsy with sleep.
His morning grumble, I thought, was adorable even as he attempted to trap me under the weight of his legs and his arms, unwilling to let me go.
How could I say no? I turned to him, drawing him into a tight embrace and enjoying his haunting scent.
I wanted to stay there with him forever.
I closed my eyes… and woke groping next to me, only to painfully hit the bare wall to my left.
Ugh. I sat up, suddenly remembering that I wasn’t back at the castle.
I was stationed in a small hidden cottage on the northern edges of Shrosebury Forest. Thoughtfully scratching the dark scruff that now covered my chin, I contemplated the hope of getting a bath and a shave sometime soon.
I wasn’t betting on it. We were hot on the trail of clues that my secret contact within the Blades had sown.
I simply needed one last piece of guidance in order to properly spring a trap.
As if reading my thoughts, a light knock resounded on the door.
Tossing the blanket aside, I stretched, patted at my now wrinkled and sweaty traveling garments, and went to the door.
Two shadows in the dawn gloom stood waiting silently.
One short and broad—Two Fingers, my scout.
The other was tall and narrow and wrapped in a hood, a scarf, and several layers to ward against the damp spring morning chill. I grinned in welcome.
Alan. The mage stepped through, silently shoving a small package of food into my hand. My stomach rumbled. Two Fingers left, equally silent. With the door shut, I turned to Alan.
“You got the items I sent you?” I asked as Alan slipped through the door of the small cottage I had commandeered during my hunt. “Did you check the roads? You made certain to follow the path I told you?”
“I have it. I did. And I did. I wasn’t followed.”
I sat down and began to work through the hunks of bread, boiled eggs, and strips of bacon that had been packed for my breakfast. On the other side of the table, Alan, not wasting time, pulled out a map from his satchel.
I caught a glimpse of his scrying implements as well as the small dagger that Dorset had worn the day he had infiltrated my estate.
“I went down to the Standing Stones for the best reading. If I could, I would have brought him, but…” Alan trailed off, and worry began to subtly radiate off him. “He’s in hot water. Between the rest of our friends, it’s taking everything to delay the chopping block—or the hanging tom’s noose.”
“Then best get to it,” I said dryly, refusing to crumble under the pressure of time. “What did you find?”
“A location,” Alan said. “The gods were particularly eager to help for some reason. Just like last time. It was… odd. Perhaps the fate of Sumarene plays a greater part in our world than even I can imagine.”
“A location?” I asked, focusing on the map markings. The matters of the gods would be better put to use by more gifted hands than myself. “It was the village after all.”
“And this place in particular.”
“A barn,” I said. “We’d already done a sweep… If it’s there, then it must be underground. Some kind of cellar.”
“A cellar,” agreed Alan. “I asked Dorset in private. He said hidden rooms behind cellars were the Blade’s favored rooms of meeting. Underground. In the dark. Typical.”
“Hm. So the dagger was linked to… Shade.” I eyed Alan’s satchel. “So it may be him… Or it may not.”
“It will be him,” Alan assured me. “The gods spoke. The tom you seek, they said, is there.”
“Well…” I shook my head in wonder at the power of Alan’s magicks. “Now that we know, we can close in on him. I’ll find that hidden room if I have tear that barn apart with my bare hands.”
“And you have made certain he cannot escape?”
“I have the King’s Blades all along the road.” I grinned widely. “If he so much as coughs, we’ll know about it. We’ll move in now. The sooner we have him, the quicker we can extricate… Dorset.”
I nearly called him Little Mouse in front of Alan. Not that Alan would mock me for it, but I would rather keep the pet name private for those spare moments I could spend with the thief who stolen my heart.
Tearing my thoughts away from the memory of Dorset, I focused on the task at hand.
After my short breakfast, I would send out the signal and the plan I had already worked out with the King’s Blades would be set in motion.
While eating, Alan and I discussed the plan I proposed, and then, once I was finished, we packed up and moved out.
Surrounding the barn, we cut off all exits.
The odd farmer or laborer that wandered down the road quickly picked up their pace and scurried on, not wanting to get involved in whatever matter was afoot.
Any others who slowed down to stare were taken into custody for questioning.
So far, we had caught a lingering tom and a molly who I figured might be linked to the Blades.
Another problem for another day. For now, I focused on the mission.
Once we had completely secured the area, we moved in.
The ground level of the barn was swept clear, planks and wood and a thick horse rug pulled away, and an innocuous trap door revealed.
At my command, it flicked open. I jumped in—straight into the sweeping arc of two blades.
My own short blades met his. Behind me, two other toms hopped down.
Despite the fact that we now outnumbered the enemy three to one, taking the masked and hooded fighter down alive was no simple task.
Was it Shade? Mourn? I didn’t know. Instead, I focused on dodging the swishing swipes of his daggers, blocking the worst of his heaviest blows, and slowly whittling down his endurance.
My eyes, now accustomed to the dark, were able to pick out a neat row of beds, a table, and a couple chairs.
When the Night Blade tried to trip me up or tossed various furniture at me, I was able to dodge the worst of it.
Leaping forward and back, our feet shuffled across the floor.
Our blades clashed. My focus honed into a single thought— Get him.
A thought that repeated over and over again in my mind as I pursued him further and further back.
All I could hear was the sound of his breathing, the movement of his feet, and the whisper of his blades.
All I could smell was his deep musky scent of sweat and unwashed grime.
All I could see was the glint of his blades and the slit of dark eyes glaring back at me.
We closed in again, more toms pouring down the ladder.
Five versus one. The Night Blade fought like a mad cat, but finding a striking opportunity, I sliced across a wrist, forcing him to drop one blade, and the rest was fairly simple.
We pinned him down, bound him, and dragged him away. Dorset’s salvation had been assured.
But would I make it in time?
With my handpicked guard, the unknown Blade, and Alan at my side, I raced back to the capital.
I heard the bells tolling, and I knew, from Alan’s grim news, that the trial had been called.
Changing horses three times and riding hard for Rimefrost, we spent the morning in relative silence.
The unknown catkin lashed to the saddle spoke no word, and we offered few comments in turn.
Cobblestones clattered under the horse hooves as we burst into the thoroughfare that had been carved out for transportation.
I glanced around. As usual, guards patrolled the walls and the outer perimeter of the castle.
Along one side of the courtyard, the nobles and their respective guards had gathered about.
Opposite them, a loud, raucous crowd shouting with displeasure at the proceedings.
Landis and his guards had taken up a seat of honor set on a specific dais close by the castle’s Great Hall.
Landis’s face was pale and set. His lips set in a thin line, blue eyes wide.
And Dorset. My gaze, after darting about the environs, honed in on his slight figure.
He had been led up to the wooden platform of the hanging tom’s galley, where he stood, arms bound behind him on top of the usual trapdoor.
Two masked catkin stood on either side of him.
One shoved the rope about his neck, while the other hefted the usual sacking thrown over the criminal’s head.
Rage blurred my vision red. Dorset. Gods.
Urging my charger forward, I raced up to the gallows, bellowing at the two executioners to call it off.
Landis rose. Corrin stepped forward, hand on his pommel.
The first executioner hesitated, giving me the chance to vault off the horse and slash at the rope above Dorset’s head.
Jerking the sacking off, I stared down at Dorset who gazed at me with wide eyes rimmed with silver.
His lips moved wordlessly. I wished I could draw him into an embrace and claim his lips, making him publicly mine, but there was no time.
Instead, I cut him free, drew him close to my side, looked over the crowd, and beckoned at the hooded King’s Blades who dragged the struggling Night Blade onto the dais.
Out in the open, where everyone could see.
The catkin looked like many other Sunna—tan, dark blond, graying hair, and deep blue eyes.
Dorset sucked in his breath. At the sight of Dorset, the catkin Night Blade cursed.
“Which one is it, Dorset?”
“Sh-shade,” he whispered. “How did you?”
I grinned and glanced over at Alan who strode through the crowds and mounted the stairs.