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Chapter III
A year passed. A very long year that
trudged on almost devoid of any real importance. Life with Jack's
little band of child-thieves continued as it had for the year before, though
with the noted loss of one young girl. That is how I thought of Leila
for that year: one young girl. Her name, written in blood by my grief-steadied
hand, would always appear in my mind; there was no need to ever say it
- or even think it. I slept alone, remained alone. Except for
what little discourse was necessary, I did not talk to anyone. Jack
would often take me aside and teach me apart from the others. I had
the inkling that he was training me to replace Leila in his band.
It was a prospect that I regarded with both tremendous pride and not a
little regret. But that night when Leila died, when I saw her engulfed
in those unholy flames and Luna joined me in my grief - that night something
died within my young heart. It was almost something intangible, but
there was now something missing which I could just barely sense.
Many nights I would
stay awake late into the twilight hours watching the moon and the stars
anxiously. I felt that I was searching for something. But just
what I was searching, I was not sure. Often on those lonely and almost
meaningless nights my hand would bump against a small, finger-sized lump
in my pocket. I would take the figurine out and examine it closely,
touching it gingerly and with the utmost care and reverence. I would
gaze at it lovingly, a bitter-sweet smile gracing my lips. With every
passing day - especially with Jack's special attention - I felt that I
knew more and more of Leila's world. She filled my dreams and my
daylight wondering.
During these twilight
vigils when I could not sleep - which was often - I would wander away from
the safe and engulfing familiar darkness of my sleeping place. I
had found a new special place for these times. A place of which I
was sure Leila would have approved.
I can remember well
the first night that I had wandered away. Under the brilliant, cutting
silver light of a crescent moon I felt strangely compelled to just leave.
Having no real reason not to do so, I leapt from the roof-top perch and
landed softly upon the gravel-strewn street. I could suddenly hear
sweet music floating on the crisp spring breeze. With cat-like grace
- faintly reminiscent of Leila - I turned and swept quickly down the street.
The music became louder as I neared a tavern. Bright, golden light
poured from the open doors and windows onto the barren, black street.
The music swelled on the breeze's current and swept over me like great
mournful waves. The richest, most beautiful voice floated just above
the music, dipping occasionally to meld and mingle with the perfect notes
in perfect melody. I found myself enraptured by the bard's bitter-sweet
song. As I edged cautiously up to the window and peered in she came
to the last verse:
And the trumpets blew,
and spirits flew
And you're all I'll
need, and you fill my dreams
There's a love that
the gods put in your heart.
I can still remember
those stinging lyrics to the very word and exact tone even three hundred
years later. They reverberate in my head at night, stinging so sweetly.
Unlike most of her
occupation, the woman bard played in that tavern every night, and far into
the star-filled hours - often until dawn. Each night before I fell
asleep I would listen for her sweet voice and beautiful music floating
lightly down the street. During my visits I would crouch low beneath
a window, being careful not to be seen. And I would close my eyes
as she sang, allowing the living music and narrative lyrics to conjure
whatever they may. This bard was my one connection to the world of
feelings that during the day I would cut off - that chaotic, rolling and
swelling world that had been endangered by Leila's death. I loved
this woman for opening that door each night I visited her.
Occasionally I would
dare to look in the window and gaze at her as she played. The woman,
not beyond her mid-twenties, was strikingly familiar. But I could
never place exactly who she resembled. I did not let it trouble me
much. Jack had taught me well upon letting the trivial fall by -
there were often more important things to ponder.
Of course, it seems
that fate has been forever destined to destroy every bit of heaven I seem
to find. Chance is not so cruel.
One early spring night
of my seventh year I crouched outside of the dilapidated tavern, engulfed
in the perfect richness of the bard's performance. The tune ceased
suddenly, in a place where I knew the song did not usually end. My
eyes opened swiftly, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood suddenly
in apprehension. Something was wrong, and I felt a terrible wrenching
of my stomach.
I leapt to my feet
without a sound and gazed inside. The sudden change of light hurt
my eyes, but only for a moment. In a brief second I could see why
the bard had stopped playing: two young but haggard men, full of bravado
and far too much ale, had drawn their blades and were snarling deep and
gross curses at each other. An air of tension had filled the tavern
in a short moment, and I felt the thieves' tempers fraying quickly.
Obviously, to me,
something had to be done. Foolish little boy.
I burst into the tavern,
dagger brandished. I was half-way across the floor when I noticed
that the bard had already moved over to these two idiots and was trying
to settle them with her cool voice. Though one thief's back was to
me, I could see by the half-drunk, half-crazed look on the other's face
that this woman had only another few seconds to live. I ran even
faster. Then, in a desperate move, dove past the bard and tackled
one of the thieves.
We tumbled to the
hard wooden floor and grappled for a few moments. I knew that I had
to act quickly: drunken or not, this man's steel was just as sharp as mine.
With a practiced and swift motion my blade found a deep and bloody home
in the man's midriff. He gasped with the sudden and unexpected pain.
With a another equally swift movement the man's throat was cut.
I was on my feet and
facing the other thief in the next breath. I was ready to dive straight
for him - when I saw that this man was not as drunk as I had thought.
He had the bard clutched closely to him, both of them facing me.
His bright steel knife was pressed close to her neck, already drawing a
thin, dark line of blood.
He grinned demonically,
and his gaze laughed at me in silence. "So now we have Sir Jack's
pet brat," he said. "My, my, what do we do?"
I raised my dagger,
ready to fling it at him.
"Oh, no," he said,
hugging the bard closer, digging the knife in just a little deeper.
The young woman whimpered. "We're playin' cards here, kid.
And I'm playing the fact that you wouldn't want any harm to come this little
lady."
I grimaced, thought
a moment, and then lowered my arm. But I would not sheathe the blade.
"Very good," he hissed.
"Now, I'm going to bet that since we don't want to see this precious soul
in my clutches carried out of here in a box, I'm willing to bet that you'll
tell me a few things I want to know."
I scowled at the man.
He wanted Jack, that was readily evident. So, we're playing cards,
I thought. And the stakes are quite high. I knew he wasn't
bluffing. But I don't think he knew just what - not who, what - I
was. My burning gaze returned to the thief. I scowled deeper.
Then I looked to the woman bard. "I hope you live," I said.
I was quite honest.
"Hope?" the man said.
"Oh I'm sure we can be more sure than ho-"
In the next breath
I had drawn back my arm and let my dagger fly. My aim was never in
question. Jack had drilled all of us to the point where we could
kill flies with hand-axes. What was in question was speed of the
thief's reaction. I was counting on the few drinks had bought earlier
to slow him.
Luck was with me.
My dagger buried itself deeply into the thief's neck before he could dig
his blade deeper into the bard's. He fell to the floor, a look of
total astonishment frozen upon his paling face.
A few moments passed
in total silence as the bard and I shared a gaze. Then I blinked
and walked past her to retrieve my dagger.
"Th- thank you," she
finally managed to stutter. She held a hand over the wound on her
neck.
I looked at her for
another moment without saying anything. "You should dress that cut,"
I said at last.
"What? Oh, yes,
I suppose I should." Another silence fell as her eyes swept the floor.
Suddenly she stopped on something and stooped to pick it up.
My eyes grew
wide when I saw my figurine in her hand.
"What's this?"
She looked at me. "Is it yours?" There was a desperateness
to her question and a softness in her face that struck me.
I nodded slowly.
"Yes," I croaked. My mind was suddenly racing. What if she
had not found my figurine? I would have lost it. Forever.
The thought horrified me. Chance, I've learned, can be kind as well
as cruel.
"This looks just like
my daughter," the bard mused. "The long straight hair, and the face.
It's uncanny." She handed the figurine back to me. "Well, here,
this is yours."
My fingers snatched
it away from her and gripped it tightly before I returned it to my pocket.
I looked down at the floor now. A questioned pounded on my mind with
such an urgency: "What's her name?"
"My daughter?"
A deep and horrible sadness overtook her face. "She disappeared many
years ago when she was very young. Her name was Leila."
Horror drained onto
my face as it paled. The bard's forehead furrowed as I stumbled toward
the door.
"What?" she asked.
"What is it?"
I could not answer.
The words once again clogged in my throat. Tears threatened to tear
at my eyes.
"What's your name?"
The question stopped
me dead in my tracks. My name would have no significance to her.
But still I could not find it in me to tell her. So I told her one
of my greatest wishes: "I... have no name." And with that I turned
and fled from the tavern. I ran as swiftly as I could down the street.
Tears welled in my eyes and burned down my cheeks. I found my sleeping
place and dove face-first into the pile of blankets that was my bed.
The lyrics that I had first heard the bard sing rang clearly in my head.
How odd, it seemed, that we had been thinking of the same child.
I wept myself to sleep that night.
It is the greatest
injustice to lose a child, whose death is the greatest tragedy.
The next morning I
knew something was amiss: Jack himself dragged me out my deep slumber.
There was a deep scowl on his face that only meant trouble. Handling
me like a little girl's rag doll, he flung me against a hard stone wall.
But I was awakened more by his knife-edged voice than the concussion.
"Do you want to start
a war?!" Jack demanded. "Do you want to get us all killed?!"
I looked at him dumbly
for a moment, and the realization dawned upon me. A look of stark
terror filled my face. "Survival is the name
of the game," Jack said, quoting his very first rule. He dropped
me to the cold ground. "And you're doing a wonderful job at getting
us all killed!"
My hands covered my
open mouth as I thought about what had happened the night before, about
what I had done. I had killed two of the Guild's men. There
was no doubt that they knew, especially if Jack already did. The
Thieves' Guild was always watching. But any threat to the Guild was
quickly exterminated. It was a small miracle that Jack and his little
band had survived so long.
"That man you killed
last night," Jack said sharply, "was the Master Thief's nephew."
He was seething.
Jack had been a small
thorn in the Guild's side for years, but now - now I had just turned that
small thorn into a very painful wound. A wound that needed to be
very quickly eliminated.
I scrambled to my
feet, my mind racing at incredible speeds. What the hell were we
going to do? Panic was fluttering through my veins. Gods, what
in all the hells were we going to do?!
Jack's hateful glare
answered my question before he said it. "There's only one real answer,
of course." I swallowed hard as I realized this next stark horror.
"There's really only one thing that the Master wants more than me.
And that's you."
I pressed myself hard
against the wall behind me, keeping my face to Jack. With mad and
hysterical motions I tried to climb. But it was no use. As
Jack reached out his arm in a snake-like motion I turned and tried to literally
climb straight up the wall in desperate panic.
I cannot impress upon
you the pure horror that filled me as Jack took hold of my collar and dragged
me away, kicking screaming. I bellowed and fought him as we traveled
down the street toward the Guild. Like a snake in the hawk's clutches
I flailed madly about, knowing full well that all my efforts were futile.
Jack was calm and calculating, as usual, except now he was taking his prize
student for a sacrifice to the jackals of the Guild.
We reached the front
gate of the Guild fortress in a matter of minutes, and for the first time
I stopped my screams and twisting. As I gazed into the foremost courtyard,
thieves and assassins and mercenaries milled about, the jackals and parasites
of the world. A quiet tension and excitement filled the air.
All attention was quickly put upon Jack and me standing outside the gate.
I felt the cold hostility of their glares cut the cool morning air like
a wicked knife. And I shivered. I wished to curl into the tiniest,
most infinestimal nothing. Anything that would keep them from staring
at me like that.
"I have your bloody
little killer right here!" Jack announced in that voice which made the
listener pay attention whether he wanted to or not. He held me up
by the collar, my feet dangling helplessly from the ground. I had
never felt so vulnerable before in my life: dangling helplessly in space,
with my mentor offering me like some helpless little lamb to the jackals
on the other side of the gate. I could feel their bright, evil red
eyes boring into me with a hunger that burned. I let a small whimper
escape my mouth.
The gate slowly opened
and Jack tossed me to the feet of tall, lanky and hirsute man. "Take
him," my mentor spat. "Do with him as you please."
The final, total realization
was hammered home into me at just that moment. My first reaction
was despair. I looked at Jack with deplorable eyes, those of a child
betrayed and destroyed. But Jack looked back with only cold inhumanness.
The fire that burned inside me flared alive as my hatred burned bright
red against him then. I leapt to my feet and began to dash towards
him. "You sonofabitch!" Strong, ungiving hands wrapped tightly
about me, dragging me away and into the courtyard. I fought hard
against them, not so much as to escape but to get to Jack. Every
fiber of my being wished to kill him at that moment. "You betraying
ass!" I cried as they dragged me away. I could feel at least three
men pulling me back, and hear more coming to help. Still I strained
at their grips, my hand reaching for my dagger, but someone had already
taken it. I hurled another number of deeply cutting insults at Jack.
He did nothing except turn and walk calmly down the street, his back to
me, unhearing.
In a final wrench
I broke free of the myriad holds on me and rushed to the already-closed
gate, pressing myself so tight against it that I might have pushed through
by sheer effort. "I'll get you for this, Jack!" I screamed, my staccato
voice echoing down the nearly-empty street. Hands, a dozen hands,
wrapped about me and began to drag me away again. "Mark me, Jack!"
I continued to scream at the top of my little lungs. "I'll kill you
for this! I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!"
At last, they overwhelmed
me. I was buried in a small mountain of arms and legs and sweaty
faces. It took almost a dozen men to subdue a child of seven, so
great was my rage. Even as they finally bound me and carried me further
in the fortress I writhed and struggled, screaming at Jack who was no longer
anywhere in sight.
"I'll kill you!
I'll kill you!"
A pure black raven,
perched on the outer wall, looked down at my struggling figure with its
blood-red eyes and laughed.
So I came to know the
power of betrayal. To this day I harbor nothing but the purest rage
for Jack in the end. He pawned me off like nothing but so much meat
to the jackals of the Guild. The one man who I had managed to trust
above all others had betrayed me into what I had been sure was death.
You may wonder why,
if I have had such a terrible experience with betrayal, that I still practice
it. You see, there is such a thing as Balance in this universe, and
such a thing as Justice. Betrayal, as much as I hate those who do
it - including myself - plays a vital role.
Do not ask me
to explain more. It is a tremendous burden to hate what you are.
Still kicking and screaming
at an incredible pitch, a half dozen men dragged me from the gate to an
inner courtyard and then flung me into the center. I swung myself
to my knees in a heartbeat, and looked about with a cold and cutting glare.
Easily a hundred thieves and dregs of the Dark Quarter were lined along
the wall which formed this courtyard. More stood atop the wall.
I snarled at them like the cornered hound that I was. Suddenly, I
was lifted from behind, and the ropes that had bound my feet and hands
were loosed. The moment my hands were free I reached behind me, grabbed
two handfuls of a shirt and flung the man over my shoulder. He landed
with a loud thud before me, and I was atop him in a moment. My hands
quickly found his knife and in the next breath his throat was cut and blood
poured onto the stone courtyard.
I jumped to my feet,
remaining in a crouched position, and whirled about, seeing that I was
surrounded on all sides. I was a dead man, and I knew it, but I would
be damned if these hell-spawned jackals were going to take me without a
fight. Jeers and laughter swirled in the cool morning air, taunting
me from afar. I sneered at them, but continued to turn a slow circle,
not letting my guard down for a moment.
When I heard
the soft crunch of gravel underneath a boot I whirled in the direction
of the sound. A tall, lanky man had stepped forward from the crowd.
He held a black-bladed short sword in his hands, and from the way he carried
it he was quite a master with the weapon. I recognized him as the
man at whose feet Jack had thrown me just a few minutes before.
Still keeping a wary eye on the rest of the raucous crowd, I remained facing
this man as he approached.
The look on
his face was deadly serious, and so was the one on mine. We both
knew from the moment he had stepped away from the crowd that only one of
us would leave this fight alive. I accepted this without a pause,
and I was sure he had done the same.
"So this is
the infamous Jack's prize brat?" the man mused aloud.
I merely glared at
him with such enmity that it would have caused a lesser man to flinch.
"Let's see just how
good his best pupil has become." The man lunged suddenly, an obvious
and very open move that I was well-prepared for. In mid-motion, while
easily dodging his slashing blade, I wondered why had begun with such a
sophomoric attack. Then it dawned upon me: feints within feints within
feints, the way of the thief. I twisted to the side just in time
as he slashed out with a hidden dagger.
The first attack had
taken not more than a few moments, though in it I had learned much.
Enough, perhaps, to keep myself alive. My attacker whirled to face
me, pausing before another pass. "It seems that the old Master has
taught you quite well," he remarked. Then his eyes formed narrow
and deadly slits. "All the more reason to kill you now."
Faster than most eyes
could follow, he dipped low and flung his dagger while in the same fluid
motion he swung his blade at my chest. To most, this attack was beyond
deadly, it was devastating. But my two years of training gave me
a certain edge that most did not posses. Twisting to the side to
avoid the flung blade, I raised my knife to parry the on-rushing short
sword. I smirked slightly as my opponent grimaced in frustration
for a moment. But in the next fluid motion, I lowered my knife sharply
and cut deeply into his wrist.
The man howled as
my blade cut deep. His sword fell to ground as he opened his fingers
from the sudden pain. In a whirling motion I wrapped myself around
to behind him, holding my knife tight to his throat and dragging him away
from his dropped sword. "It seems that your old Master has taught
me a few tricks that you have not learned," I whispered into his ear.
My voice dripped with pure rage and burning anger.
The courtyard had
lapsed into an utter silence, and I gave a swift look about to be sure
that no one else was attacking. Not a soul moved.
"Stop!"
I looked up to see
a black-clothed figure standing upon a balcony, he arms spread wide.
The Master Thief, I thought. With a violent wrench my knife
tore through my victim's throat, taking the head almost clean off.
He fell to the ground with a wet thud, his blood making an ever-growing
pool of crimson beneath him. I walked past him, straight towards
the balcony. My gaze never left the man that stood there. It
burned with hate and rage.
The Master Thief put
his hands on his hips and stood akimbo, grinning demonically as I approached.
I stopped just below the balcony, my gaze locked with his. The caw
of a raven could be heard in the distant background. My hand gripped
my knife tightly. I was still a dead man, I knew it. But here
was the object of my greatest hate, merely waiting to be slaughtered.
"Don't think you can
kill me," the Master said at last. He leaned upon the banister of
the balcony, his hands gripping it tightly. "No matter how fast you
are, I can kill you faster."
In a fluid and perfectly
graceful motion he lifted himself over the banister and leapt to ground.
From the height of three men he landed without a sound, his dagger already
drawn and not a hand's-breadth from my face. I did not flinch.
If this man was going to kill me, then so be it. He was fast, faster
than me, but I was fast enough. If I died he would die with me, and
he knew it.
"You're very good
you know," he said. I glared at him in a silent response. "But
there's something more than your speed and talent that I like." He
leaned closer, still holding his dagger ready. "I like your spirit."
I spat in his face.
The Master Thief smiled
and wiped his face clean. "There's a fire in you, little one," he
said. "A fire that would be hard to extinguish." Gods, how
bitter is the ignorant prophecy in that. "That's why I want you on
my side."
My gaze changed swiftly
from one of hate to confusion.
"Oh, yes. Don't
think that I would so easily waste such a perfect thief as you."
The Master sheathed his dagger and began to walk away from me. "From
the day you joined Jack's little band you've managed to avoid us, to take
our spoils. Do you realize how incredible that is?" He turned
to face me, and I wondered suddenly why I hadn't killed him when I'd had
the chance. "You're touched somehow, I swear! A small child
such as you has confounded the greatest Guild in the kingdom for two whole
years! You should be proud."
I gazed at him in
silence. Something in the back of my mind reminded me that this could
merely be a complicated ruse to get me to drop my guard.
"You realize, of course,"
the Master said, "that should you try to betray me, I'll kill you in a
heartbeat."
"That's no reason
not to bring you to your knees with this blade," I said.
"Oh, but it is, little
one." He approached me again. "You see, when I die there will
be another Master Thief, and when he dies there will be yet another.
We could keep on going forever, really. This Guild will never die,
and there is nothing that you could ever do to stop it. You and I
are insignificant nothings in the eye of eternity. Do you now realize
how futile killing me would be?"
I gazed at him, unmoving.
His logic made some sort sense.
"Now, you have a very
simple choice to make. Either join me, or die. Live to reak
revenge upon that bastard Jack or die right here and now. Come now,
let's hear your decision."
Jack's bitter betrayal
replayed in my mind, and I sneered. This Master Thief knew what strings
to pull to play anyone like a marionette. "What am I to do?"
An enormous smile
wrinkled the Master's cheeks. "Very good!" he exclaimed. A
tension that had been building in the silence of the courtyard broke with
a large wave of bustling and talk as the thieves and mercenaries that had
been lined along the wall drifted into a hundred different directions.
The Master Thief leaned
so that he was only a few finger-breadths from my face. "You do know
that you've killed my nephew and three of my best men. There will
a punishment for that."
I spat in his face
again. "To the hells with you and your punishment," I said.
"I am the best the damned thief you have." I stuck the knife in my
hand into my belt. "And don't you forget it." I turned an walked
away from him into the crowd. I stopped suddenly, and turning: "And
I want my dagger ba-"
Where the Master had
been standing just a few breaths before there was no one, and neither was
he anywhere to be seen. I looked about the courtyard carefully, knowing
really that I would not find him. "I still want my dagger."
The caw of a raven came to me through the noise of the crowd
in the courtyard. I looked to the top of a turret to see it staring
down at me. Its beady red eyes warned me of the dark power and sentience
behind them. I murmured a curse at it and then slipped quickly inside
the main building of the fortress.
Life in the Thieves' Guild
was both unbelievably better and worse than that of the streets.
I was given my own room, completely furnished with a bed and chest.
Food was available upon command from any one of the servants, most of them
haggard wenches with a perverse sense of humor. I spurned them as
I spurned everyone, keeping mostly to myself. Most of the time spent
in the guild I would merely brood in my room, which was found rather deep
beneath the main building. It was always lit from some unseen source,
and at first I marveled at this magic. But soon I came to take it
for granted, along with the many other things which were incredible luxuries
to a street urchin. The thieves of the Guild lived in a decadence
that I found appalling. I remained away from the main lounge except
to exit and enter the building to get to my room. There men and women
lounged and smoked and played a hundred different games of chance and occasionally
sex.
Most of my time, though,
was spent on the streets. Most thieves stuck together in small packs,
or at least pairs. But I found no want for any company to be found
at the Guild, and so I prowled the streets alone, day and night.
Though I was already familiar with most of it, I soon came to know all
of Near Capital. I knew every turn and side street, every secret
alley and switch-back. No one knew the city as well as I. I
never had any set pattern or beat, Jack's teachings still well-ingrained.
Some days I would return to the Guild with nothing, and others I would
spend half an hour emptying my pockets of riches. Any treasures,
of course, went to the Guild. What need did we thieves have for them?
Everything that I could ever want was at my finger-tips. In a matter
of weeks I was soon very comfortable with my new place, Jack and his pack
of brats were soon hardly longer any part of my thoughts.
I can remember very
clearly the first time I met a pair of them during my daily prowls.
It was just a little while after dawn, and I spied two of them creeping
slowly through a small hole in the Dark Quarter wall. A little girl
of perhaps five and a boy of eight, holding hands, slipped quickly into
the deep morning shadows. My eyes narrowed and I frowned. I
knew both of them, the boy had been with Jack before I had joined, and
the girl came not a year after me. I had no real feelings for them
one way or another. They were not objects of my hate. But,
neither did I hold any love for them. With a sleek and swift motion
I melted into the crowd and followed them, being sure not to get too close.
They continued down the street, heading quite obviously for the Crossing
at the center of town. I would have to intercept them before then.
Though I have not
mentioned it until now, the Watch was certainly and object of every thief's
attention and concern. Though most of the officers were bull-headed
and ignorant brutes, their commanders were still capable leaders, and not
a few thieves found their fate in the shackles and dungeons of the Watch.
To kill these two children in the wide openness of the Crossing was nothing
less than suicide. Dozens of Watchmen prowled there during the daylight
hours, and not a few all night.
I quickened my pace
and soon was ahead of the pair of children. Following close to a woman
so that it might have appeared that I was her son, I entered an alley that
they were sure to pass. I would not have much time. Not only
were there dozens of people about this early summer morning, but I knew
the boy to be quite proficient with his knife.
I crouched low in
the shadows near the lip of the alley and waited. I did not have
to wait long. The girl in front, they came whisking by my hiding
place. With snake-like suddenness I reached out and dug my dagger
deep into her collar-bone. As she shrieked I saw the boy draw his
knife, but in the next moment my foot connected with his stomach and he
was knocked hard to the ground. Wrenching my dagger from the girl's
shoulder, I dove onto the boy and in the space of a breath he was dead.
The girl still shrieked in horrible pain, blood oozing from her horrible
wound. I paused a moment before I slit her throat. It was sad,
almost, that I had to kill one so young. Almost.
By now, of course,
a number people had seen what had happened, and the low yells of a Watchman
were coming down the street. I swiftly disappeared into the shadows
of the alley and then to roof. I sped away a quickly as my feet would
carry me.
After almost half
an hour of running I allowed myself to pause. I looked down at my
knife, which was still dripping with deep red blood. I cleaned it
quickly and sheathed it. There was an odd sensation in my stomach,
something close to nausea. It could not be sadness, I would allow
myself no grief. Blood was blood, and the taking of a life... well,
I was a thief, was I not?
That all too
familiar caw scraped my ears again. I looked to where it had perched
on the edge of the roof. Damn that bird, I thought. Will it
always follow me? Who had sent it, anyway? As I looked at it,
it stared back. Its blood-red eyes seemed to be laughing quite maniacally.
As I continued to stare at it, it dawned on me that I had just betrayed
those two children.
I looked down at my
dagger in its sheath, and then back to the raven. Its eyes were still
laughing.
"Stop it!" I yelled
at it. "Just stop it!" I lurched for it, drawing my dagger,
but the bird took to flight, cawing loudly as it flew away. Damn
that bird, I thought again. Will it ever let me be?!
Not for a long time.
The Master Thief could
make himself an greatly imposing presence when he wanted to. I stood
in his official audience chamber along with two other of my associates-in-crime.
His large and ornate chair, not really a throne, stood regally upon a slight-raised
dias. Already a large man, the effect of the chair on its dias and
the dark tapestry which hung behind it made the Master seem quite an enormous
man. I refused, however, to let it humble me. I still deeply
resented this man, though due to circumstances I was forced to respect
him.
"I have a task for
you, little one," he said, ignoring my two older companions, who stood
just a half-pace behind me. "One which, if completed and completed
well, will absolve of your sin against me and mine."
I held back the urge
to spit in his face again. I didn't give a damn about his grace.
"What?"
"I want a jewel,"
the Master said. "A very special one."
"Where?" I was
never in the mood for a thief's glib tongue, especially that of the Master.
The Master looked
me sharply in admonition. I glared in return. "The chapel of
Kraz," he said courtly. "Just outside of the city." I felt
a cold shiver run down my spine at those words. "It is a blood-red
ruby speckled with black. It's worth a small fortune, of course."
He stood. "I want it. And you're going to get it, or die trying."
I nodded. The
word `Kraz' still reverberated in my head, sending little waves of fear
through my body. Every last fool knew about the great god Kraz: the
master and god of assassins and thieves and all that is black in the world.
He was the embodiment of the child's worst nightmares and the deepest,
blackest fears of even the greatest man. But the command of the Master
was the command of the Master and the bastard was to be obeyed. A
small price for the life of luxury I led. I turned sharply on my
heel and walked past the two men behind me, motioning them to follow.
"Gods," Carl exclaimed.
"The chapel of Kraz? Is he mad?"
"No." I stopped
suddenly and turned to face him. "I'm the mad one." I grasped
his collar tightly and yanked him down to look him in the eye. I
had been with the Guild for a number of months then, just less than a year,
actually. Fear of me had been well placed in everyone's mind if not
their hearts. Carl's eyes were open wide in a sort of terror.
"You an' me an' Kers here will raid that chapel tomorrow," I explained,
my voice cold as ice. "It'll be real simple an' real quick.
If you make a mistake, a single mistake, I'll kill you if the priests don't.
Get it?"
Carl nodded slowly.
I looked to Kers, who was having trouble remaining still in his fear.
The dark-haired man nodded quickly.
"Good. We'll
leave tonight and arrive just before dawn." I released Carl and stumbled
back with the force of my shove. "You will both be ready at midnight."
I walked swiftly and silently done the hallway, leaving the two oafs behind.
This humor was not
uncommon whenever I dealt with anyone of the Guild. Carl and Kers
were two of the best thieves in the city. But I was the best, and
I would not take anything less than perfection from anyone. Those
who were not capable of perfection fell by the wayside to either pick themselves
up again or be killed by those who fed on the weak.
Do you see how inhuman I
had become? I still demand perfection of my thieves, and those who
make mistakes find them to often be quite fatal. "Survival is the
name of the game." Jack's first rule, and one which I have followed
for more than three centuries. Anyone who stands in my way is removed.
I have felt this way since I was eight, eight.
But such cruelty is
necessary in my world, you see. "Survival is the name of the game."
Life as thief can be reduced to a simple maxim: kill or be killed.
How I long now for
the latter.
The night was overcast.
Thick, black clouds blocked any rays of light from Nuin-covl. We
made our way out of the city will a silent swiftness, posing as postmen
with an urgent message for the Bhyd Outpost which stood a few days east
of the city. The city guards let us pass with little more than a
cursory glance. In total silence, and hidden well by the overcast
sky, we traveled the few miles to the black chapel of evil in a matter
of hours. About an hour before dawn, as the sky began to darken even
further, we came upon it.
The chapel stood ominously
upon a hill in the near distance. Even at the dozen-minutes' travel
that we were from it, its dark and impressive power could be felt palpably
in the air. Kers murmured something to Carl, and I gave them both
a sharp glance. There would be total silence from now on. We
spurred our horses and covered the distance to the chapel in a matter of
minutes. I watched the building carefully as we approached, but I
could see no signs of anyone inside. I knew far better than to think
that it was deserted, but still I wondered.
Of course, we did
not know where the ruby was being held in the chapel. We did not
even know what the inside of that unholy building was like. But we
were the best, such hindrances were little more than slight nuisances.
We would be back in town, quite safe within the Guild, by noon.
We arrived, quite
boldly, at the front doors. Two stained-glass windows adorned the
front of the chapel, though they were stained a pure and deep black.
I looked at the flat, black-stained double doors of the front entrance
and decided that, into a chapel such as this, one entrance was as good
any. With a court nod the three of us dismounted and approached the
doors. Carefully, I reached out and gave one door a gentle push.
We jumped back, expecting tricks and traps as always, but the huge portal
swung open easily.
The sanctuary inside
was lit by tall torches that were spaced widely apart along the walls,
filling the huge chamber with shadows. Some of the shadows, I guessed,
were not natural at all, though. We could see no one. I grimaced,
and noted that Carl and Kers did, also. This was too easy.
Carefully, very carefully,
we entered the huge sanctuary. We quickly formed a circle, each with
his back to the others. Facing outward in three directions at once,
we slowly made our way down the central aisle. I felt Kers tap me
lightly on the shoulder. When I looked, he pointed to a bright red
gem that sat quite unguarded on a platform before the black altar at the
end of the sanctuary. I nodded. This was a trap if I had ever
seen one.
As we made our way
towards the altar, I looked anxiously about. There was really no
way that we could avoid this trap, not if we wanted to get that ruby.
All we could do was trigger the trap and be prepared for it. The
thought crossed my mind suddenly that the red little rock before the altar
could be a fake, but I wouldn't let myself pursue that line of thinking.
Best to focus on the present problem and worry about that should it arise.
The shadows that filled
the chamber vibrated and shifted in time with the torches' unstable flickering,
but I noted that some moved slower than the rest. At the sudden movement
of one patch of blackness I stiffened, and my partners followed suit not
a moment later. We stood perfectly still for a long moment, straining
our eyes and ears. A low wailing moan made the hairs on the back
of my neck stand on end. It became louder, and louder, until the
horrible, unearthly sound filled the entire sanctuary. Out of the
corner of my eyes I saw Kers and Carl drop their swords and put their hands
over their ears.
Damned fools, I thought,
and then leapt passed them just as the shadows converged upon the two unarmed
men. Their shrieks and howls could just be heard over the raucous
moan. Not wasting any time, I raced to the altar. I had put
my hand on the ruby and began to pull it to myself when a dark but solid
form emerged from the darkness behind the raised platform. It appeared
as if he had been poured from the deep blackness. His red, inhuman
eyes pierced me as I stood there in shock.
I recognized this... thing.
"You," it hissed.
It reached out and gripped my arm with it clawed hand. Its grip felt
hot even through my clothing. "You still dare to defy the almighty
Kraz?" His voice hissed and burned in my ears and I had to fight
to continue to look at him.
But the years had
given me strength. With a grimace I wrenched my arm free of his tight,
burning grip, taking the ruby with me. In the space of a breath I
was already heading down the aisle, perfectly oblivious of the pack of
shadows that stood in my way.
"Return that gem!"
the priest howled.
I did not pay him
any heed, but merely ran more quickly, preparing to simply barge my through
the pack of hungry shadows.
A deep, rumbling roar
came from behind me, followed by an angry and bright wave of heat.
I did not even pause to look, but continued running. A huge, towering
wave of flame followed me down the aisle. I burst through the shadows
with hardly a pause, feeling the flames licking at my heels as I burst
out the door and leaped far away from the chapel entrance. The tall
stained-glass windows exploded from the impact of the magical flames, throwing
glass hundreds of paces. I shielded my face and buried it deep in
the prairie grass.
Finally, my chest
still heaving and my legs shaking with fear and excitement, I stood and
looked to the chapel. Flames, pure and bright, licked up the outside
walls, but the building itself seemed to receive no damage. I cursed
and spat at it before I turned and began to walk away. My horse had
been sliced to ribbons by the explosion of the windows if it had not been
killed by the magical flames.
As I walked away,
I watched as a raven flew overhead and perched atop the burning chapel.
It cawed loudly as the first light of dawn touched it. I scowled
at it, then muttered another curse beneath my breath. The hungry
flames cast demonic shadows upon its face, and its red eyes burned at me.
"Damn you!" I finally
shrieked. "Damn you, you hell-spawn!" I drew my dagger and
flung it at the black bird. The raven did not move, but only shimmered
slightly as the dagger whisked through it as if it were nothing more than
a shadow. I stared at the beast in stark terror for an eternal moment,
then turned and fled. I ran most of the way to Near Capital, the
raven's unnatural voice echoing again and again in my mind.
Flames. Three
hundred years later, the thing I remember most vividly is the flames playing
upon the midnight-black breast of that raven. Seeing my dagger pass
through that unholy creature frightened me to the core of my being that
night. Arriving at the Guild, I remember flinging the ruby at the
Master Thief and then running to my room and locking the door tight.
I did not emerge for another few days.
The curse of Kraz
weighed heavily upon my mind those days of solitude. I could remember
quite clearly that autumn night three years before: the terrifying presence
of the god Kraz, and his bellowing, unholy decry. "It will hurt again.
And then it will hurt no more!" As I lay there, alone, in my deeply-buried
room, I craved for the latter part of that prophecy to come.
How bitter that craving is to me now. Steeped in my immortality
I look upon the mortals who surround me with an envy that you could never
understand. Every day births are celebrated and deaths are mourned,
and I feel myself strangely both disconnected and immersed in each event
of which I will never be a real part again. Mine is a bitter and
mournful existence. Now, do you hate me or
is there pity in your heart?
The actuality is that
I do not care either way. In many centuries you will be little more
than dust and I will stand upon your grave and envy you in ways you could
never imagine.