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right,” Kane nodded. “The Brotherhood has lost the ability to forge old steel weapons. We think the secret was held by only one family but for some reason our records are unclear about which one. But in light of how old steel reacts to you there obviously is more we need to understand about it. Maybe you can help us with that?”

  “No. ” Brenna shook her head decisively. “You may think I’m some long lost descendant of kings, but I don’t believe it. And I work alone. It’s much safer that way.”

  “But the Brotherhood can keep you safe,” Kane said. It was hard to keep his growing panic and frustration from his voice. He had to get her somewhere where they could protect her. The Brotherhood couldn’t lose the Caller after waiting so long. He couldn’t lose the Caller. He’d taken an oath when he’d joined the Brotherhood and he had no intention of not honouring it.

  Brenna shook her head again. “Having the Brotherhood around will only make me a bigger target. I’ve spent far too much of my life trying to go unnoticed to be comfortable with that.” Kane started to speak but she held up her hand to stop him. “I know you think you’ve got good people, but it’s the difference between a predator and prey. The predator hides and watches and thinks they are completely invisible, but the smart prey, the prey that grows old, they know where the predator is, how long it’s been there, what its last meal was. Thieves Quarter is full of people who have been prey all their lives. If you put watchers on me someone will notice. Eventually someone will decide that knowing that the healer is being watched is worth something. And the information will be passed on and on, and sooner or later it will get to someone who will find it very interesting. Like your High Bishop, or Duke Thorold. I won’t help you put a bigger target on me. If I keep my head down and stay out of trouble this will all be forgotten in a few months. But not with the gods know how many Brothers watching me. So call off all your men and stay away from me.”

  “Well, that were better’n I expected,” Pater said. They were back outside at the older man’s fruit stand.

  “Really? In what way?” Kane was exhausted. On top of his lack of sleep, his discussion with Brenna had been tiring. If he’d thought about what it must have taken a woman to become a thief, and survive in the Quarter, he might have been better prepared. Of course she resented strangers coming in and trying to tell her what to do. He would too.

  “Well, she heard us out, for one.” The old man laughed. “Though for a bit there I didn’t think she would. Don’t be so hard on yerself, lad. We did what we went to do. We warned her about the danger she’s in, we let her know who was behind it, and we offered her more help. Just ‘cause she don’t want our help today don’t mean she won’t want it tomorrow. Besides, you don’t know her like I do. Brenna’s smart as they come. She’s real good at staying out of trouble.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Kane said. With the kind of trouble that was following her she could end up dead.

  Brenna peered out the window and watched Kane stride off down the street. Pater was back at his cart and when he looked up at her window, she let the curtain drop back into place. Slowly she paced her small room. She was angry - angry with Kane and Pater for trying to get her to give up her whole life and fall in with the Brotherhood - angry at the situation she found herself in - but most of all she was angry that Kane’s offer of safety tempted her.

  Last night, when she was followed from the library, she’d been afraid. Now that Kane had confirmed that the church was looking for her, she was even more afraid. She shuddered. She knew what the church of the One-God did with those they had grievances against.

  Last summer she’d seen the body of a woman who had disappeared after the church had come to question her. Brenna had been on a roof across from the church waiting for the occupants of a nearby house to settle for the night when the church doors had opened. Two men had been carrying something between them and a strong gust of wind had lifted the cloth cover. In the light from the street lamps Brenna had seen an arm, limp and pale and streaked with blood, or so she’d first thought. But as one of the men fought to pull the cloth back over the arm she’d realized in horror what she was actually looking at. It wasn’t a streak of blood - it was raw flesh where a strip of skin had been peeled away. When the men had deposited their burden in the bed of a waiting cart, a third man had come from the church, a bundle of cloth in his arms.

  “Burn this too,” she’d heard him say as he shoved the bundle into the cart. And at the top of the bundle was a scrap of material with a blue and yellow checked pattern. A perfect match for the scarf the missing woman was last seen wearing.

  Brenna paced her room. She’d just be extra careful. She couldn’t let her fear get the better of her. She stopped at her work table. She needed a distraction, needed to do something. She selected some herbs and quickly measured them into her mortar. She ground them into a powder then dug her hand into a jar and scooped out some beeswax. The familiar actions of mixing the salve for Mistress Dudding’s arthritis calmed her, and after a few moments Brenna felt her breathing slow and her shoulders relax. She would stay out of sight, even if it meant locking herself in her rooms for a few weeks. The church would not find her so there was no reason to accept Kane’s offer of protection. Besides she didn’t believe she was the prophesied one. How could she be? She was a healer and a common thief. And that suited her just fine.

  six

  Duke Thorold glared at the lad who had brought the message. Fridrick, his most learned scholar, had sent him with word that he’d not made any progress in his search to understand the ancient weapons Thorold had been collecting.

  The youngster was literally shaking, head down and afraid to look up at him.

  “Boy,” Thorold said. “Tell Master Fridrick that I will see him at once. And tell him I will accept no excuse for delay.” When the boy hesitated Thorold bellowed. “Go!” He watched in satisfaction as the boy hastily backed away, then turned and ran from the room. Fridrick should know better than to send a servant with his report. It was a mistake the scholar would regret, he’d see to that. A few minutes later Master Fridrick entered his study. Duke Thorold deliberately ignored him. Finally the scholar coughed slightly to make his presence known.

  “You wished to see me, my Lord?” The old scholar was wearing a long gray tunic with various smudges and ink stains. His hair was plastered to his head and pale scalp showed through as Fridrick stood before him, head bowed low.

  “Yes, I did.” Thorold said.

  Fridrick straightened but kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. Thorold smiled and gazed steadily at his scholar until the man swallowed nervously.

  “Do you know why I’ve called you here?” Thorold asked.

  “You wish to discuss any progress I’ve had on the ancient weapons?” Fridrick’s voice trembled slightly.

  “Correct. And I wish to hear it from you! Not some stuttering youngster.”

  “I’m sorry, my Lord. There was nothing new and I thought not to waste your time.” The scholar bowed low again.

  “I will decide what wastes my time, not you.”

  “Yes my Lord Duke. I assure you, I am doing all I can to uncover the secrets to the ancient weapons. Since we found that family history that referenced the Brotherhood of the Throne, I’ve had no luck finding any living relatives. It seems that the old man who died of the fever truly was the last of his line. None of the interviews with his neighbors has turned up anything of interest. As I indicated previously, the weapons that have been collected all seem to date from the time of King Wolde to about the time of King Marto.”

  “And you think that there is some significance to this?”

  “I must do more research, my Lord, but it seems that all these weapons were forged before the Church of the One-God was present in Soule.”

  Thorold nodded at the scholar. “Made for followers of the old gods, yes, that fits. Especially since a few of these weapons have been found in the hands of Aruntian witches.” And one of the oldest weapon
s they’d found was the knife he himself had taken from a witch.

  “Exactly so, my Lord.”

  When Fridrick sighed with relief, Thorold smiled at him. “That was not so tedious, was it Master Fridrick?”

  “No my Lord Duke. I will not send a servant in my stead again.” Fridrick bowed to him and backed away.

  “Good.” Thorold waited until the scholar was almost to the door. “That boy you sent, who is he?”

  Fridrick looked up quickly. “He is my niece’s son, my Lord.”

  “As a reminder to you of your failure he is now my indentured servant,” Thorold said.

  Fridrick closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped.

  “I will, of course, allow him to serve you for as long as it pleases me.”

  Fridrick bowed his head. “And if I may ask, my Lord, what price is his bond? I must inform my niece.”

  “Can’t you guess my good scholar? The price of the lad’s bond is the solution to the puzzle of the ancient steel. Now, be off. I’m sure you are eager to get back to your tasks.”

  After the scholar shuffled from the room, Thorold looked at the cache of weapons on the wall behind his desk. These were among the oldest of the ancient weapons he’d been collecting. And then there was the first one he’d collected, the one hidden in his desk