I sold my employer’s necklace and told her it was lost by the jeweler.
Guilt and gloating buffeted him from all sides, screaming into his head. Finally, he broke into a run. Had to get away! Make them quiet!
Martin bustled past a maid in the house where he lived. No! He did not want to know her innermost thoughts. He charged into his rooms, slamming the door. Back against the wooden panel, he panted. What was happening? Why had his parents died too young to instruct him in the use of any mage talents?
From what little his gran had said, reading thoughts was something only powerful mages could accomplish, perhaps one of the reasons they were deemed too dangerous to live.
He sucked in air and released the breath slowly, willing his jangled nerves to calm. Plopping down on his bed, he took his head in his hands. What was he to do? If he couldn’t find other mages to teach him, he’d have to learn on his own, or else the magic might consume him.
In time, Martin learned to tune the voices out, except for the louder ones, usually from someone who’d not only hurt another but reveled in their misdeeds.
“Did you hear?” Commander Enys said when Martin came to work one day. “A wealthy merchant’s daughter is offering a reward to anyone who finds her missing father.”
Two days later, Martin liberated the merchant from kidnappers, delivering the grateful man to his daughter’s house.
The first of many successful recoveries.
Well-paying recoveries.
But what Martin wanted most, even his skills couldn’t deliver.
He couldn’t raise the dead.
Chapter Thirteen – Two Autumns Later
ThestreetsofE’Skaaraweren’t paved with marble slabs like the villagers once claimed. In his younger days, Martin believed every word. Now he knew the truth. Cobblestones paved the streets of the upper city, while the lower city’s streets mainly consisted of packed dirt and horse shit, with cobblestones as window dressing for the main thoroughfares. Couldn’t have wealthy citizens seeing dirt when they traveled from a ship to their mansions in their fine carriages.
Cloak wrapped tightly around himself to dispel the autumn chill, Martin made his way down the bustling main avenue. Taverns competed for coin, with garishly painted facades and names like the Lion’s Paw and the Broken Wheel.
A pickpocket bumped into him. “Sorry, sir,” the man slurred, feigning drunkenness to explain his clumsiness. Nevertheless, his thoughts clearly announced his intention to divest Martin of his coin purse.
Martin caught a bony wrist in one strong hand, yanking the man around to see eye-to-eye. “You have just taken a small leather bag from my pocket. It could be full of coins or scorpions. Which do you think?”
“Let me go!” Eyes wide, the wiry little man tried to jerk away.
Martin let out a practiced laugh. He’d learned to be intimidating since he often prowled less-desirable parts of the city. Intimidation had been his most reliable weapon—until he’d filled out and his size kept robbers and bullies at bay. Not this man.
“I asked you a question.” Martin gave his captive a shake. “Why don’t you open your prize and see?”
“H… here. T… ta… take it back,” the man spluttered.
“Ah, but you wanted my purse enough to steal from me. If you needed coin, did you not consider asking? Perhaps I am a generous man.”
The thief tried again to return the pouch.
“Open it,” Martin growled.
Hands trembling, the man loosened the leather thongs holding the purse closed. The mouth gaped open. The man winced while pouring the contents onto his palm. Three shiny silver coins. The man breathed a sigh of relief.
The coins shifted between one second and the next into three scorpions, tails raised to strike.
“Yah!” the man shrieked, yanking his arm free.
This time, Martin let him go, deftly catching the discarded coins before they hit the ground. Several curious gazes met his, then snapped away, the honest folks—and dishonest—not caring to draw his attention.
Onlookers merely witnessed a man dealing with a scoundrel who received his due. Scorpions? What scorpions? Those were for the thief’s eyes alone. The thief would never admit seeing coins turn into potential death and risk accusations of madness, or worse yet, magery. Who would believe a thief?
Martin would love to walk away knowing the thief departed from a life of crime. But no. Three days at most before he ventured out into the only world he knew.
