Free Magic of Thieves by C. Greenwood Page A

everyone who failed to meet his standards, but even this snobbery seemed unconscious. At times, I asked myself why I had saved him at all. Then I would grudgingly recall those rare occasions when we actually had a good time together, those days when we explored the forest, swam in Dancing Creek, or hunted stink snakes in Heeflin’s Marsh at Dimming’s edge.
    But today I was in no mood for such charitable memories. “Why do you even do this?” I demanded impatiently. “I’m hopeless at these letters! You can’t enjoy teaching me. Not unless you derive pleasure from laughing secretly at my mistakes. You shouldn’t allow Brig to force you into it. You always do whatever you’re told and no one respects you for it. No one but me even likes you.”
    “They don’t?” He sounded confused and slightly hurt, but I didn’t care.
    “No, they don’t. They laugh at you to your face and you take it like a dumb animal.”
    He looked thoughtful. “Honored Thilstain taught me it was a priestly duty to be humble, to seek peace and to serve all.”
    I snorted. “I can’t even imagine how little pride you must have,” I said.
    He looked wounded. I could see his mind working as he struggled to form the right reply, but I gave him no opportunity to voice it. I was in a difficult mood and I felt it wouldn’t require much provocation for me to take my frustration out on him. He was a slight figure, still frail after his recovery, and I was sure I could knock him into tomorrow without expending much effort. “I’m leaving now,” I said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You can tell Brig whatever you want.”
    “But your lesson!” he protested, dismayed. “Brig swore he would beat me senseless—”
    “So stand and take it,” I said unsympathetically. “I think you owe it to me. Have you forgotten how I nursed you back from the brink of death? And I pretty nearly saved your life again only the other day when you almost drowned in Dancing Creek. You were thrashing around, crying out for help, and no one else came running. But did I throw you a stone?”
    “No, but—”
    “No, indeed, I didn’t.” I answered my own question. “I leapt straight in and dragged you from the water at no small risk to my life and limb.”
    “Life and limb?” he cried incredulously. “You’re taller than I! The water scarcely reached to your neck!”
    I shrugged. “Can’t blame that on me. Maybe you should’ve been the girl.”
    His face reddened and he surprised me by kicking the wooden writing slab off my lap. “You want a fight?” he demanded, voice squeaking in fury. “Is that what you’re looking for?” He doubled his fists and took a fighting stance.
    I couldn’t hide my amusement. I’d never seen him in such a temper.
    “Think you can fight, do you, boy?” I looked up, startled, at the voice that belonged to none other than the Red Hand himself. Where had he come from? We were in an out of the way spot and I hadn’t heard his approach. I stirred uneasily, wondering what he wanted. I could see his presence unnerved Terrac.
    “We weren’t fighting,” I assured Rideon. “Just playing around.”
    “Ah, I see. Play-fighting.” Rideon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He turned his calculating gaze on Terrac. “Wouldn’t you rather learn to fight for real?” he asked.
    Terrac looked uneasy and I found myself feeling unexpectedly protective of him, so I broke in with, “He’s a priest, Rideon. He cannot do violence.”
    The outlaw smirked, looking Terrac up and down. “A flimsy excuse,” he said. “I won’t have such a cowardly pup in my band. If he wants to live among us, let him learn to defend himself.”
    Terrac said, “With all due respect, I don’t consider myself a member of your criminal band.” There was a cold light in his eyes that, for a moment, drowned out the fear as he added, “But while I’m forced to live among you, I earn my way. I do my chores around camp and I work as hard as