Dance of Thieves (Dance of Thieves 1)

“Stop clenching it.”

His eyes were ice, and his jaw remained rigid.

At last, the settlement came into view. Our long line of horses and wagons had to be a formidable sight. One by one, settlers gathered in front of their homes carrying hoes, shovels, and pikes. When we were still a good distance off, Jase raised his hand to the line of those behind us as a signal to stop and wait.

As we neared, Jase stopped to look at the barn, burned down to the timbers, a hulking skeleton ready to fall over in a stiff wind. His eyes swept the charred sheds next, and then the pens that were noticeably empty. Only a few chickens pecked and scratched near a trough. The scorched grass reached all the way to the homes. The only thing that was green was the small vegetable garden we had seen Caemus hoeing the last time we were here. The settlers looked like they were ready to defend it to the death.

“Watavo, kadravés!” I called. “Sava Kazi vi Brightmist. Le ne porchio kege Patrei Jase Ballenger ashea te terrema. Oso tor—”

Caemus glared at Jase. “Riz liet fikatande chaba vi daka renad!”

I looked at Jase but didn’t dare translate. “He’s happy to see you,” I said.

Jase scowled and got down from his horse, bypassing my mediation. “You understand Landese?” he asked Caemus.

“We understand,” Caemus answered.

“Good. And I know enough Vendan to know when I’ve been called a horse’s ass. Let’s get this straight right now, Caemus. I’m going to offer you a deal, and it’s a helluva one. But it’s only good for this minute, right now, right here, and it will never happen again because I hope to never lay eyes on you again after today. We’re going to move you. Everything. And we’re going to rebuild your settlement on a better piece of land that’s far away from us.” Jase spit the terms and details out firmly, then took another long, scrutinizing scan of the burned buildings. “We took your shorthorn as payment for trespassing, but we didn’t do this and don’t know who did. We’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again, but if you ever wrongly accuse us again, it’s going to be more than a barn that you lose. Accept or not?”

Before Caemus could answer, a small boy who’d been standing behind him ran forward wielding a stick and swung it into Jase’s knee with a loud smack.

Jase bent over, wincing, cursing, grabbing his knee with one hand and yanking the boy by the collar with the other. “You little?

?”

“Don’t hurt him!” Caemus said, stepping forward.

Jase looked puzzled by Caemus’s command but turned his attention back to the boy. “What’s your name?” he growled.

The boy was smaller than Nash, and even though an angry man held him by his collar, his large brown eyes were still full of defiance. “Kerry of Fogswallow!” he snapped back.

“Well, Kerry of Fogswallow, you are personally going to help me dig fence posts. A lot of them. Understand?”

“I’m not afraid of you!”

Jase’s eyes narrowed. “Then I guess I’ll have to work harder on that.”

The boy’s eyes grew just a little bit wider. Jase released him, and the boy ran back behind Caemus.

“We accept,” Caemus said.

I heaved out a controlled sigh. As Synové might say, this was off to a jolly start.

The next hour was spent walking the property, taking inventory, assessing what was salvageable, loading up tools and chickens, grains and crates, dishes and people. As the brothers surveyed the grounds, I sensed there was a sobering awareness of how little time it took to collect all the Vendans’ worldly goods. At times, Jase simply stared, as if he was trying to figure out why they were here at all. He eyed the tethers of bones hanging from their hips too. Vendans didn’t wear them into town because of the attention they drew, but here the bones clattered at their sides as a remembrance of sacrifice.

Wren, Synové, and I quickly helped a few women pluck ripe beans from the garden, dig up root vegetables, and then layer them into barrels with straw. We pulled up the herbs, root balls and all, and placed them in crates for replanting later. Anything that could go would go. As we worked, I spotted Jase, Gunner, and Mason walking up a hill some distance away. It seemed odd because there was nothing out there—no outbuildings or livestock. They carried rocks in their hands, and when they reached the crest they placed them on a mound of rocks that I hadn’t noticed before.

When they returned from the hill, I asked Jase about it. He said it was a memorial marking the spot where Greyson Ballenger had covered his dead grandfather with rocks to keep animals from dragging away the body.

* * *

The new site was fifteen miles south, but with so many wagons, supplies, and horses, it took the whole afternoon to get there. On the long ride, Jase and I rode at the head of the caravan together. He was mostly quiet, still stewing over something.

“So you understand some Vendan after all?” I asked.

He shook his head and smirked. “No, but some words don’t need interpretation. It’s all in the delivery.”

“Well, you were astonishingly accurate. I guess it’s not hard to interpret a club to the knee either. How’s it doing?”