than an accident,” I cut in. “Someone told those Fists to look for me and gave the same order to the guards at the city gate.”
Praetor Tarius’s mouth thinned into a flat line. “Are you saying I do not control the actions of my own men?”
“I am saying you may be unaware of their actions in this matter and that someone else in a position of authority has given commands running counter to yours. Unless it was you who wanted me arrested?”
The Praetor flicked a lazy hand, dismissing the suggestion. “It is not my usual practice to consign to the dungeon persons I have better uses for.”
Despite his words, a shadow crossed his face, and I thought he was more disturbed by my warning than he admitted. A man such as this would not like having his authority usurped by another.
He moved on. “You should have come directly to me on arriving in Selbius rather than ‘skulking’ about the city, as the captain puts it. The province has fallen under threat, and I have need of your particular skill set.”
“You speak of the return of the Skeltai?” I guessed.
He raised a dark brow. “I see our situation is not news to you. Yes, our old enemy has resumed their raids in the forest, and we suspect they intend to move on to larger targets. They have never before expressed ambition to broaden their borders, but we’ve received information suggesting that capturing and holding Selbius itself may be their aim this time. It is important we are kept informed of their movements and swiftly alerted to their arrivals within Dimmingwood if we are to have Iron Fists in place to counter their attacks. For that, I wish to rely on your wretched outlaw friends. They see everything that occurs in that place. Unfortunately, it seems no one can establish friendly contact with the scum. No one but you.”
I might have pointed out the irony in that he was usually eager to destroy the outlaws during times of peace. Yet when he had use for them, he assumed they would be willing to risk their lives to do his bidding.
But I said only, “I anticipated your wishes and have already arranged with the Dimmingwood outlaws to take up their former position as your eyes and ears between the border of Dimmingwood and the Skeltai’s own Black Forest. In return, they would like generous payment and your assurance that those who choose to work for you will be pardoned for past crimes.”
“I am sure they would like that,” the Praetor snorted. “And I would like all the gold in the Arxus Mountains. But I’m unlikely to obtain it.”
I held my anger in check, saying, “They’ve been betrayed by you before, and several of them were hanged despite their service in the last war. Do not think they will be so easily used this time. And the magickers, if they even come, will be still more wary as they have even less cause to trust you.”
“Magickers?” He had begun to look bored by my speech, but now I had his full attention again.
I explained. “During the skirmishes last year, we drove the Skeltai out by sheer luck. But have you considered how much more damage they could do us if they were to make a concerted effort and turn the full force of their magic against us? It seems to me if we are to stand a chance against them, we must match their warrior shaman with magic-wielders of our own. So, when I learned the Skeltai threat was renewed, I sent out a request for help.”
I glanced at Terrac, worried at his reaction to what I would say next, and continued, “During my travels this past year, I encountered a hidden community of magickers who had been driven out of the province during the cleansing that took place those many years ago.”
Again, I looked to Terrac, who listened in the background, but his face betrayed nothing. He had sworn to me he would omit all mention of the Swiftsfell magickers of Cros from his spy report to the Praetor. I could not know whether he had kept his promise.
Certainly the Praetor showed no surprise on
Praetor Tarius’s mouth thinned into a flat line. “Are you saying I do not control the actions of my own men?”
“I am saying you may be unaware of their actions in this matter and that someone else in a position of authority has given commands running counter to yours. Unless it was you who wanted me arrested?”
The Praetor flicked a lazy hand, dismissing the suggestion. “It is not my usual practice to consign to the dungeon persons I have better uses for.”
Despite his words, a shadow crossed his face, and I thought he was more disturbed by my warning than he admitted. A man such as this would not like having his authority usurped by another.
He moved on. “You should have come directly to me on arriving in Selbius rather than ‘skulking’ about the city, as the captain puts it. The province has fallen under threat, and I have need of your particular skill set.”
“You speak of the return of the Skeltai?” I guessed.
He raised a dark brow. “I see our situation is not news to you. Yes, our old enemy has resumed their raids in the forest, and we suspect they intend to move on to larger targets. They have never before expressed ambition to broaden their borders, but we’ve received information suggesting that capturing and holding Selbius itself may be their aim this time. It is important we are kept informed of their movements and swiftly alerted to their arrivals within Dimmingwood if we are to have Iron Fists in place to counter their attacks. For that, I wish to rely on your wretched outlaw friends. They see everything that occurs in that place. Unfortunately, it seems no one can establish friendly contact with the scum. No one but you.”
I might have pointed out the irony in that he was usually eager to destroy the outlaws during times of peace. Yet when he had use for them, he assumed they would be willing to risk their lives to do his bidding.
But I said only, “I anticipated your wishes and have already arranged with the Dimmingwood outlaws to take up their former position as your eyes and ears between the border of Dimmingwood and the Skeltai’s own Black Forest. In return, they would like generous payment and your assurance that those who choose to work for you will be pardoned for past crimes.”
“I am sure they would like that,” the Praetor snorted. “And I would like all the gold in the Arxus Mountains. But I’m unlikely to obtain it.”
I held my anger in check, saying, “They’ve been betrayed by you before, and several of them were hanged despite their service in the last war. Do not think they will be so easily used this time. And the magickers, if they even come, will be still more wary as they have even less cause to trust you.”
“Magickers?” He had begun to look bored by my speech, but now I had his full attention again.
I explained. “During the skirmishes last year, we drove the Skeltai out by sheer luck. But have you considered how much more damage they could do us if they were to make a concerted effort and turn the full force of their magic against us? It seems to me if we are to stand a chance against them, we must match their warrior shaman with magic-wielders of our own. So, when I learned the Skeltai threat was renewed, I sent out a request for help.”
I glanced at Terrac, worried at his reaction to what I would say next, and continued, “During my travels this past year, I encountered a hidden community of magickers who had been driven out of the province during the cleansing that took place those many years ago.”
Again, I looked to Terrac, who listened in the background, but his face betrayed nothing. He had sworn to me he would omit all mention of the Swiftsfell magickers of Cros from his spy report to the Praetor. I could not know whether he had kept his promise.
Certainly the Praetor showed no surprise on
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