Thief of Lives - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,3

lasting peace.

Leesil dropped the garrote into the box, shut it, and wrapped it in the sail scrap. He gathered his bundle and turned toward town, and the new Sea Lion tavern, where Magiere might now be preparing for their opening night. He wished he could speak to her, tell of his fears for her and how much he wanted to protect her from what he knew was coming. But that was just one more thing she wasn't ready to hear.

"Oh, Magiere…" he whispered sadly, heading down the forest slope toward their new home. "It's never going to be over—not now. And you can't even see, can you?"

After months in this small port town, Magiere never tired of hearing waves lap upon the shore. It puzzled her that she'd lived nearly all of her twenty-five years so far inland, only recently discovering her love of existing on the edge of an ocean. Not given to romantic notions, she now found the sea a mystical wellspring of life. The salt-laden air was cleansing. She walked with long strides along the docks toward a small warehouse.

Black tresses pulled back with a leather thong, she felt the tail swing like a pendulum between her shoulders. She cared little if people stared at the sun-sparked scarlet glints in her hair. Like a birthmark, they were simply part of her now. She rarely wore her leather hauberk anymore, preferring the soft comfort of dark breeches, a loose white shirt, and an oversize leather vest. Her two small amulets hung in plain sight around her neck—one a simple topaz set in pewter, and the other a half oval of bone set against a tin backing.

At her side trotted Chap, tall and wolfish of build with silver fur and translucent blue eyes. Occasionally, the dog's ears perked and his gaze darted quickly about the crowd of dockworkers, bargemen, and local merchants. But nothing seemed important enough for him to bolt off on his own, so she didn't worry about him. She couldn't say the same for Leesil.

Her half-elven partner had taken to disappearing before dawn into the wooded hills above the south end of town. Magiere had no idea why or what he did there alone, but she somehow felt reluctant to ask. She'd taken careful note of his return each morning and, by that measure, he was late. Today of all days, his presence would be useful. At least that was the reason she held on to when she peered between buildings to the tree-coated slope south of town.

Their tavern had been burned little more than two moons past. With the townsfolk's help, the Sea Lion had been rebuilt. She'd ordered two casks of wine, three barrels of ale, and stocks for the kitchen in anticipation of heavy patronage. Tonight would be the grand reopening.

When she'd stopped by the tavern to check on the stores, nothing had been delivered. Not a tankard's worth. Leesil was better—more tactful, he would say—at dealing with such matters, but she'd waited until nearly noon for his return, and then decided to take matters into her own hands.

Chap bounded away to sniff at a stack of crates. An old man nearby, sewing up a net, looked down. The dog lifted his muzzle in reply, and the man reached in his pocket to pull out a tuft of jerky and toss it into the air. Chap caught it, barely chewing before the morsel was down his throat. He barked once, tail switching expectantly across the dock planks.

"Chap," Magiere called out. "Come on."

The old man laughed, holding up empty hands as a sign he had nothing more to offer. Chap's tail stopped, and he let out a groaning whine, hanging his head in pitiful disappointment.

Magiere had the strange notion the hound might well have learned this ploy from watching Leesil wheedle extra cream cakes at their friend Karlin's bakery. She closed her eyes briefly.

"Chap, enough begging!"

At Magiere's insistent tone, the hound loped after her, and she headed down the waterfront. Sometimes Chap displayed startling intelligence.

And sometimes he just acted like a dog.

As she approached the run-down warehouse, the number of dockworkers seemed fewer than normal. Too few. People were everywhere along the docks, more than she'd seen in the past, but it was different. So many new faces made up the surplus, and that made her strangely anxious.

Amidst common waterfront faces were now others. Merchants were present, but not all of them were making arrangements with warehouses, as was standard practice. Instead, they haggled