Magic of Thieves (Legends of Dimmingwood Book 1)
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In a province where magic is forbidden and its possessors are murdered by the cruel Praetor, young Ilan, born with the powerful gift of her ancestors, has only one hope for survival. Concealment. In the shadow of Dimmingwood, she finds temporary protection with a band of forest brigands led by the infamous outlaw Rideon the Red Hand.
But as Ilan matures, learns the skills of survival, and struggles to master the inherent magic of her dying race, danger is always close behind. When old enemies reappear and new friendships lead to betrayal, will her discovery of an enchanted bow prove to be Ilan’s final salvation or her ultimate downfall?
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Also in the LEGENDS OF DIMMINGWOOD series:
Betrayal of Thieves ~ Book II
Circle of Thieves ~ Book III
Redemption of Thieves ~ Book IV
Journey of Thieves ~ Book V
Rule of Thieves ~ Book VI
remember huddling against Brig, shivering and half-frozen after my return trek from the woods village. I stared up at the outlaw leader and Rideon the Red Hand gazed down on me coldly. He spared us a long suspense, declaring emotionlessly, “The hound may stay. From this day on, she will live and work among us and be treated as one of ours. And, as she cannot remain a hound forever, today I also give her a name. Ilan, after a faithful tracker I once had. That stenched dog could trail a mole
return home. These men, the Iron Fists, were the bravest soldiers of our province and were led by the son of the old Praetor himself, she explained. I barely listened to her words. I couldn’t see how the Praetor, his son, or their soldiers had anything to do with me. Why should I be interested in people I’d never met? Now, if any of the Praetor’s men could ride Carp Wildtooth’s meanest bull, well, that would be a thing worth hearing about. We reached Journe’s Well late in the morning. Although
avoid it. This wasn’t sentimentality on his part; it just made sense to antagonize the Praetor as little as possible. I was glad of this rule, in view of the wailing little heads I saw poking out of the canvas-covered wagon. We rounded up all our prisoners and ordered them to sit cross-legged on the ground. Brig and another man, Dannon, stood guard over them, clubs in hand and threatening to dash the brains out of anyone foolish enough to attempt escape. The remaining outlaws began sorting
Garad and Resid from Molehill were among them.” My stomach lurched at the mention of Brig. Surely he was mistaken—Brig couldn’t have been among those slaughtered. The possibility was too shattering too accept. I struggled after a shred of hope, anything to hold onto. None escaped, according to Garad, I reminded myself, but hadn’t Garad been in such pain that even Terrac admitted half his words were senseless rantings? One other might still have survived—must have survived—I decided desperately.
pushed me toward the door. Her grip dug painfully into my flesh and I gave a little squeal of protest, but she appeared not to hear it. I was amazed at being permitted to go outdoors with bare feet in the dead of winter, something that had never happened according to my short memory. I still wore my sleeping gown beneath my cloak, and my silver-white hair remained matted and uncombed. Mama threw open the door and an icy blast of wind slapped me in the face, cutting through my clothing. I peered