Fortress Draconis by Michael A. Stackpole

southlands.Why she wants to do it is not my concern.”
    Will frowned. “But if you knew why, couldn’t you stop her?”
    The man canted his head for a moment, then nodded. “An interesting observation, young man. I suspect we shall never know her motivation, but perhaps a tale hinting at it might be very popular indeed. I shall think on it. Thank you.”
    With that, Distalus stood and held his hand out for Sephi. “Come, child, we shall retire early so the crowd will thin and our friends can sleep. Good evening to you. Sleep well.”
    Will frowned as the girl left, but then she turned back toward him and gave him a little finger-wave that Distalus could not see. This brightened his heart and put a smile on his face.
    A smile so broad even the landing of Resolute’s hands on his shoulders couldn’t kill it. The Vorquelf had used the distraction Sephi supplied to slip from his chair and come up behind Will. The youth started to rise and Resolute spun him around. Will’s chair clattered to the ground and he fell forward against the Vorquelf for a second, then Resolute hoisted him from the floor by his upper arms.
    “Where did you put his money?”
    Will shook his head. “I didn’t steal it.”
    Resolute shook him once, hard. “You did. You took it when you tripped.”
    “No, I didn’t.” The youth’s nostrils flared. “I tripped, truly tripped, and caught myself on him. I didn’t take his money.”
    “It was a clumsy attempt at a theft that anyone could have seen through, boy.”
    Will kept his voice low, but an edge slid into it. “I’m much better than that, Resolute.”
    “A regular Azure Spider are you, boy?”
    “Not yet, but I am good!” Will flipped his right wrist and a pouch heavy with coins clunked down in the middle of the table. “I’m that good.”
    The Vorquelf dropped him, then felt his own belt. “Just now? You took that from me, just now?”
    Will nodded as he appropriated Sephi’s chair. “Yes. And I didn’t take Distalus’ coin because he didn’t have any.”
    Resolute snatched his purse from the table and retied it to his belt. “The fact that you know that, though, means you would have taken it.”
    Will blinked. “If a hart crossed your trail, you’d shoot it.”
    Resolute’s hands curled down into fists. “If you cannot understand the difference, boy…”
    Crow turned in his chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The difference is this, Will. Resolute would shoot the hart, but only if he needed the food. You didn’t need the money. You don’t need to steal.”
    “But that’s what I do.” Will shrugged. “I’m a thief.”
    “Not anymore, Will.” Crow poked a finger against his breastbone, spearing the pouch in which lay the leaf. “The theft of that ended your old life. You’re meant for better now.”
    Will spent a restless night there on the floor of the Hare and Hutch. Early on he was too warm, then too cold, with parts of his body going numb from sleeping on this knotted piece of wood or that. He tossed and turned and, half asleep as he was, would have welcomed a kick from Crow or Resolute that would have wakened him fully.
    Worse than the physical conditions were his dreams. In little bits and pieces he could see things he knew were not meant for him. He felt himself springing from the saddle of a flaming horse that furled its wings. Tongues of flame formed his cloak, leaving scorched patches on the red carpet. He marched along toward the throne, seeing a defiant woman there—one who looked like Sephi. They spoke, cordially at first, but always strained, then harsher. The woman waved him away and he reached out, grabbing her throat. With the ease of thumbing a head off a flower, he decapitated her, then placed her head in her son’s hands.
    When he caught sight of himself in a mirror, he wore Crow’s face, but much younger.
    That dream nearly woke him all the way, but then simple idylls seduced him back. He and Sephi, or sometimes the Vorquelf, Charity, would walk hand in hand through spring fields,