alerting the master thief. Still, the way Brea Godin was looking around, you’d think she was out in the wild being stalked by a feral something, not chatting to Meli Tofarn about the other woman’s dress.
Inside was a different matter. There were just the seven guardsmen and the Sherriff, standing quietly by their pillars. At the head of the room, the Stable Rods stood on their bare stone plinth, shimmering even without Clearsight. Good for hundreds of years yet. The Gift-Giver couldn’t have been here about those.
Trying to force himself to focus, Rel walked straight up to Pollack, who said, “No change?” The Sherriff was a broad man, running to fat in places, and round cheeks and a double chin took most of the anger out of his glare.
“None. Sir, if you want things to go according to the Clearviewing, I have to be here, on-hand.” Rel glanced at the clock above the entrance, and chewed his lip. There was no need to sound quite so desperate. Yet.
A sneer pulled at Pollack’s upper lip for a moment. “You’re sure we’ll catch the swine?”
“If I’m here, sir. If not, I don’t know. He may not even come. Deviating from the viewing can produce strange results.”
“Pah! He’s coming here, boy. He’s been coming North for months and not missed a single Hall. We’re next.” Spittle flew as the Sherriff spoke. Rel ground his teeth. He was nineteen, not a boy, and he knew Clearsight. Pollack knew very little, except how to get on Rel’s nerves.
“If he sees me around the town somewhere, he might be able to sense my Gift. It might scare him off.” Rel’s neck hurt, though whether from looking up at the Sherriff or the effort of being reasonable while explaining for the fiftieth time, he couldn’t tell. Stronger Gifted could sense the presence of other gifts, and everyone knew Van Raighan was strongly Gifted. No-one seemed to know which Gift, though.
“Same arguments as before, hum?”
“Sir, you have to let me be here! Do you want Van Raighan to succeed?” It was all Rel could do to keep from begging. Few towns were closer to a Sherim than Federas. Without the Warding, there would be Wildren in the streets, maybe even in the houses.
Pollack made as if to spit, then caught himself. Who knew what would alert the thief? At least he’d got that through his thick skull. Instead he made a sound half-way between a sigh and burp, and said, “Alright then. Take Willer’s place. But leave that bloody bag somewhere out of sight.”
Rel slung the bag off his shoulder. “Um, sir? I saw Dora, with Beris and Notia, up on the canal path. They were heading for the Sherim.” He looked down at his hands and realised they were fretting at the buckle of the bag. Dropping his arms to his sides, he continued, “There was a wilder with them. A Gift-Giver.”
“Not your business or mine, boy. You just get rid of that bag and get quiet behind that pillar. Van Raighan’ll be here any minute.”
Eleven minutes yet. Not exactly hours, but no call to be pushing him around. Rel looked up. The peak of the vaulted roof was twenty feet up; he’d never been in a building with higher, though there were towers in the old city a dozen times that.
He called, “Pevan!” His voice echoed slightly, but he knew his sister was up there somewhere.
Of course, she chose to step out of the pillar behind him. He yelped as she dug her fingers in under his ribs. “Tut, tut, Relvin. Keep it down! Van Raighan might hear you.” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him, grinning. Clearly she’d talked Pollack, and mother and everyone else involved, into letting her wear trousers. She was boyish at the best of times, all straight lines and narrow bones, and why was he thinking about this? Trousers made her look stupid, but she did need to be able to grapple with Van Raighan. Her Gift gave her an edge no-one else in Federas had when it came to sneaking up on people.
He shoved the bag at her, hard enough to make her stumble backwards. At least she caught it. “Put that back at the house. There isn’t time for me to walk there and back.”
She glared at him, but made a Gateway on the pillar and slung the bag through. Rel couldn’t quite stop himself twitching at the thump, but nothing in there was really breakable. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Gateway flickered and Pevan stepped through before he got a sound out.
With that done, all they had to do was wait. Rel took Willer’s place behind the pillar furthest from the door - the scrawny guard slouched out, doing an excellent impression of a bored guard making the rounds - and tried to focus on keeping his legs awake without moving. The only sound was the clunk of the clock’s minute hand. Rel tried counting the minutes in his head, but lost track around... six? Seven?
Van Raighan’s footsteps were like a feather falling on linen, only audible because there was nothing else to hear. This time, Rel managed to keep count, edging ever-so-slowly around the pillar, keeping it between him and the thief. The other guardsmen did likewise. Then there was a series of grunts and muffled curses, and it was time to move.
Pevan had Van Raighan in a hug, of all things, her arms wrapped around him, pinning his to his sides. He was even smaller than he’d looked in the Clearviewing, scrawny enough to make Pevan look sturdy. The guardsmen surrounded them quickly, and Van Raighan stopped struggling as soon as he spotted them.
Rel stood slightly back from the huddle as the Sherriff grabbed Van Raighan’s arm, holding it up so the thief was almost lifted off the floor. So far, everything was going as predicted.
Pollack said, “Chag Van Raighan, I arrest you for grand theft and abetting Wildren.”
Van Raighan gave a sharp, bitter chuckle. “Abetting, huh. When did I do that?”
“Two people were eaten at Af, boy. Or was that beneath your notice?” Pollack’s face had gone red.
“I appeal on grounds of Coercion.” Van Raighan spoke quietly, but Pollack exploded all the same. Now he actually did hoist the thief off the floor, slamming him against a pillar, one hand planted firmly on his chest. Van Raighan grimaced, and Rel found himself stepping forward, pushing between the guards.
“People died, boy,” Pollack growled. “Seven towns without their Stable Rods. We were lucky it wasn’t worse. And you dare make jokes about Coercion?” The law was clear. If a criminal could prove he’d been the victim of Coercion by a Child of the Wild, he was exonerated. A victim in truth.
“If I might... have a moment... to explain?” Van Raighan gasped.
Pollack actually snarled. Pevan and a couple of the guardsmen stepped back, but the Sherriff knew the law. He let Van Raighan drop to the ground. The thief staggered slightly, but straightened with a glare at the big man. He glanced at the circle of guardsmen, raising an eyebrow when he saw Pevan, then raised a hand in front of him. That was where the Clearviewing had ended. Rel took a clumsy step forward on legs suddenly stiff with anticipation.
A bubble formed in air above his hand, growing until it settled into his palm, less than a foot in diameter. Rel caught his jaw as it dropped open. Van Raighan’s Gift was Witnessing? Not even a strong Gift, by the way the bubble seemed to flicker occasionally. Witnessing was the most useless Gift, certainly not of any use to a thief. How had he pulled off seven robberies?
Colours burst across the inside of the bubble, grey, black, yellow, orange, green, spreading out into vague shapes and starting to resolve into focus. A huge, dark space, a ledge overlooking a chasm, underground somewhere. Tall, narrow patches of colour that had to be brightly-clad people. Sweat rolled down Van Raighan’s brow. The Gift must be weak indeed in him.
The people were Wildren; one had silver skin, another a face far too long and aquiline to be human. At their feet lay a human in tattered grey wool, a huge bruise visible on his cheek. Someone gasped as the silver-skinned wilder kicked the man on the floor, sending him sliding into the wall. Rel realised the wall was artificial, not bare rock. Concrete. Something from before the Realmcrash.
There was no sound with the Witnessing - just as with Clearsight - but the figures clearly exchanged words. One grabbed the human, pulled him to his feet, then lowered him slowly into the
floor as if it was mud. He ended up buried to the waist in solid stone, pawing frantically at it. The Wildren turned to leave, and the bubble popped neatly.
Rel jumped. What was he supposed to have done? He’d been too surprised by Van Raighan’s Gift to pay attention. Fortunately, the Sherriff was still focussed on the diminutive thief.
Pollack said, “What was that supposed to prove?”
“My brother Rissad.” Van Raighan cringed slightly, then shot a frown straight at Rel. “Those Wildren will kill him.”
“That’s not Coercion and you know it,” Pollack’s voice rumbled until Rel was sure he could hear it in his own gut. Or maybe that was just the nagging suspicion he’d messed things up. He should have stepped in by now, surely? What could he have done?
Van Raighan gave him a longer frown, then turned back to the Sherriff. The thief’s face was red, twisted with emotion, maybe even terror. “He’s my brother, Sherriff! What else could I do? They said I could have him back if I got them twenty rods.”
Too many things didn’t add up, and Rel could see it as clearly as he could see that the Sherriff wasn’t buying it either. The Wildren made Stable Rods. And why hadn’t they used actual Coercion on Van Raighan? His Witnessing couldn’t be false - that was the point, a reliable record so that human grievances could be brought to Second