Read Online Journey Of Thieves (Book 5) by C.Greenwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C.Greenwood
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do you speak of? Who was your father?”
My words sounded rough, but looking on a face as familiar to me as if I were seeing a ghost, my stomach squirmed.
His eyes were defiant. “My father was Brig. An outlaw of Dimmingwood.”
The name, even though part of me had been expecting it, struck like a blow.
He sneered at my stricken expression. “I see you remember him now. Doubtless it’s hard to forget a friend you betrayed to his death.”
Even stunned as I was, I could not let that pass. “I never betrayed Brig,” I murmured. “He was like a father to me, and I cared about him to the last. When he was dead, I killed the man who turned on him, a spy named Resid.”
But I wasn’t thinking about the explanation as I gave it. Instead my mind was yanked powerfully back into the past.
I was a small child, lying in a pile of moldy leaves in a cave hidden deep in the heart of Dimmingwood. Feigning sleep, I eavesdropped on the conversation of the two men standing over me.
“Brig, you know this child’s not yours to keep, right?” one of them asked. “You understand she can’t stay long in Dimmingwood? Your sons are gone and Netta with them. There’s no bringing your family back or replacing them with this girl.”
Right from the beginning, that was the first thing I learned of Brig, the man who saved my life and eventually adopted me. That he had once had a family, and they were gone. He would never speak of where they were or why they had left him, although others would gossip behind his back. Exactly what had become of his two small sons was always a mystery to me. Until today.
My mind was drawn back to the present by a disbelieving snort from the enemy before me.
“A convenient story,” he said. “But I’ve heard better and from lips I trust more than yours.”
“Whose would that be?” Past the initial shock, I was angry now. “Who invents such an evil charge against me? For I will stand any other insult but never the lie that I turned against Brig.”
He did not give the name of my accuser, but a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Off his guard, his features no longer twisted in fury, his resemblance to Brig was striking. It was as if I had turned back time and stood looking at the man himself, twenty years younger than when I knew him. It was a sight to make my eyes sting and my throat tighten.
I wasn’t aware of lowering my bow until I saw the youth reach surreptitiously for the dagger at his belt.
“Don’t do it,” I warned, training my arrow again at his heart. For a tense moment we stayed like that, he with his hand on the knife’s hilt, me holding my breath, sweat trickling down my back as I prayed he wouldn’t draw the weapon. Could I shoot him if I had to? Could I put an arrow through Brig’s flesh and blood?
My expression must have said I was prepared to.
Slowly, reluctantly, he drew his hand away from the weapon. “So what happens now? Is this the part where you murder me, as you did my father?”
I didn’t rise to the bait this time but ordered him to disarm very slowly and to toss me his waterskin. He obeyed, and after collecting his things, I backed away.
“Here’s how this is going to play out,” I told him, slinging his waterskin onto my shoulder to join my own. “My destination is a two-day journey across this wasteland. With an injured leg and no water, you’ll never make it that far. Even if you were foolish enough to try, you’re unarmed, and I would shoot you down the first time I caught you following me.”
His eyes glittered with hate. “So you leave me to die in this desert?”
“There’s nothing stopping you from binding up your leg and limping back to the river. It’s a kinder option than you would have given in my place.”
“If our positions were reversed, you would be dead by now and my father avenged.”
He was either stupid or made fearless by his hatred of me. I didn’t have the patience to deal with either possibility. “Your
My words sounded rough, but looking on a face as familiar to me as if I were seeing a ghost, my stomach squirmed.
His eyes were defiant. “My father was Brig. An outlaw of Dimmingwood.”
The name, even though part of me had been expecting it, struck like a blow.
He sneered at my stricken expression. “I see you remember him now. Doubtless it’s hard to forget a friend you betrayed to his death.”
Even stunned as I was, I could not let that pass. “I never betrayed Brig,” I murmured. “He was like a father to me, and I cared about him to the last. When he was dead, I killed the man who turned on him, a spy named Resid.”
But I wasn’t thinking about the explanation as I gave it. Instead my mind was yanked powerfully back into the past.
I was a small child, lying in a pile of moldy leaves in a cave hidden deep in the heart of Dimmingwood. Feigning sleep, I eavesdropped on the conversation of the two men standing over me.
“Brig, you know this child’s not yours to keep, right?” one of them asked. “You understand she can’t stay long in Dimmingwood? Your sons are gone and Netta with them. There’s no bringing your family back or replacing them with this girl.”
Right from the beginning, that was the first thing I learned of Brig, the man who saved my life and eventually adopted me. That he had once had a family, and they were gone. He would never speak of where they were or why they had left him, although others would gossip behind his back. Exactly what had become of his two small sons was always a mystery to me. Until today.
My mind was drawn back to the present by a disbelieving snort from the enemy before me.
“A convenient story,” he said. “But I’ve heard better and from lips I trust more than yours.”
“Whose would that be?” Past the initial shock, I was angry now. “Who invents such an evil charge against me? For I will stand any other insult but never the lie that I turned against Brig.”
He did not give the name of my accuser, but a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Off his guard, his features no longer twisted in fury, his resemblance to Brig was striking. It was as if I had turned back time and stood looking at the man himself, twenty years younger than when I knew him. It was a sight to make my eyes sting and my throat tighten.
I wasn’t aware of lowering my bow until I saw the youth reach surreptitiously for the dagger at his belt.
“Don’t do it,” I warned, training my arrow again at his heart. For a tense moment we stayed like that, he with his hand on the knife’s hilt, me holding my breath, sweat trickling down my back as I prayed he wouldn’t draw the weapon. Could I shoot him if I had to? Could I put an arrow through Brig’s flesh and blood?
My expression must have said I was prepared to.
Slowly, reluctantly, he drew his hand away from the weapon. “So what happens now? Is this the part where you murder me, as you did my father?”
I didn’t rise to the bait this time but ordered him to disarm very slowly and to toss me his waterskin. He obeyed, and after collecting his things, I backed away.
“Here’s how this is going to play out,” I told him, slinging his waterskin onto my shoulder to join my own. “My destination is a two-day journey across this wasteland. With an injured leg and no water, you’ll never make it that far. Even if you were foolish enough to try, you’re unarmed, and I would shoot you down the first time I caught you following me.”
His eyes glittered with hate. “So you leave me to die in this desert?”
“There’s nothing stopping you from binding up your leg and limping back to the river. It’s a kinder option than you would have given in my place.”
“If our positions were reversed, you would be dead by now and my father avenged.”
He was either stupid or made fearless by his hatred of me. I didn’t have the patience to deal with either possibility. “Your
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