by Jaxon Reed
Her eyes grew wide in realization, and she nodded. She raised her wooden sword and faced the new opponents.
The first approached her and assumed the stance of a Sapphire fighter. She recognized the style, reciprocated, and they traded blows. Her father had hired one of the best fighting tutors the ambassador to the Sapphire Kingdom could find, and he had been a good teacher. A few minutes passed before the princess found an opening, shoving the tip of her sword through her opponent’s defenses. She stabbed him in the chest and knocked him off balance.
The facsimile disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, and she turned to face the next one.
This one attacked her quickly, in a flurry of blades. She defended herself while trying to place the fighting style. She decided it had to be something known as “High Sandstone.” One of her tutors versed in many different styles of swordplay showed her the method once, in a wide-ranging survey of techniques.
Fortunately, he had been careful to explain the strengths and weaknesses of each style, and she had paid attention. She stepped backward again, quickly blocking the many blows the facsimile rained down on her.
She smiled suddenly, remembering what the old swordsman had said about the High Sandstone method. Its adherents tended to exhaust themselves if they could not quickly overcome their opponent.
She maintained a defensive posture, blocking every blow as the attack continued. About the time she began wondering if the wizard’s creations would adhere to normal human conditions, the facsimile slowed.
She became more aggressive, forcing her opponent to spend more energy. He continued slowing, his response times lagging.
At last she reached in for the kill, and the facsimile disappeared in a poof of smoke.
Aldwald looked over toward Oldstone and smiled, then took a sip of wine. Etta stared straight ahead, her arms crossed in disapproval.
The third facsimile approached Mita with a style she had never seen before. She used every ounce of her skill fending off his attacks. He beat her back, and she stumbled as he bore down on her.
One of her best tutors had been a man named Volden, widely considered the greatest fighter in the Crystal Kingdom. A memory flashed back to her from one of his first lessons.
“If you find yourself overmatched by an opponent, Princess, then you must fight dirty to win. Winning, and staying alive, is far more important than fighting fair.”
She kicked, lashing out with her foot, and popped the facsimile’s kneecap. He tumbled down with a groan. She jumped over him, slicing at his head with her sword in one swift motion. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
The king chuckled in delight.
“You don’t know how much gold I spent to get her to this level, Oldstone.”
The queen harrumphed, tightening her crossed arms. Oldstone pulled his beard thoughtfully and nodded.
The fourth and final opponent approached the princess.
As their swords clacked together, Mita realized she again faced a style with which she was unfamiliar. The facsimile’s steps and posture were completely foreign. She thought it would have been interesting to watch if she weren’t fighting him.
She fended off his first attack, his second attack, then his third completely surprised her. She felt the blunt edge of his wooden sword thump against her ribs, leaving an ugly bruise under her blouse.
The facsimile stopped, turned and bowed toward the wizard, then disappeared in a puff like all the others.
Oldstone clapped, slowly.
“Very good, Princess. Very good, indeed.”
He turned to the king.
“I must say you are correct, Aldwald. She has been trained very well. I am impressed.”
The queen snorted.
“She lost.”
The wizard looked at her and smiled.
“She wasn’t expected to win, Queen Etta. The only question was which one she would lose to. She lost to the highest skill level, one in which she has not yet been trained to fight.”
“She should have lost at the third level. She clearly cheated to defeat your man.”
The wizard nodded in acknowledgement.
“That was impressive, too. It showed clear thinking under pressure. ‘Cheating’ is only the manipulation of reality in order to gain the desired results.”
The queen glanced away, choosing not to argue.
Oldstone looked between the king and queen carefully.
“I apologize, Majesties, for bringing up such a delicate subject. But, has she started menstruating yet?”
Etta’s face reddened a bit. Aldwald spoke up.
“No. She’s a late bloomer, and that’s another reason I asked you here to consider her.”
“I see. Yes, that’s good. Princess, please come over here.”
Mita stepped off the performer’s stage and walked toward the wizard and her parents. She stood before their table, still holding the wooden sword at her side.
“Princess, do you know what goes into becoming a battlemaiden?”
She looked down at the floor and considered a moment before answering. Then she looked up and met the wizard’s eyes squarely.
“I think I know some of what goes into it, from what I’ve read. I don’t know everything, though.”
Oldstone nodded, pleased with the answer.
“That is correct. There is a lot you don’t know about the process. I will say this, much of it is unpleasant. You will spend months, years, apart from those you know and love. You will undergo training that is grueling, almost unbearable at times. You will be lonely, and likely unhappy for long periods. There is a lot about training to become a battlemaiden that is neither fun, nor romantic, nor particularly enjoyable.”
He locked eyes with her for a long moment.
“How is your magic?”
She shrugged.
“It’s alright, I guess.”
“Show me your favorite trick.”
She held out her right hand to him, squeezed it into a fist, then opened it palm up. A flower quickly grew from her palm. It reached full height, and blossomed into a pretty white orchard. She plucked it with her left hand, and handed it to the wizard.
He took the flower, and nodded in approval.
“Harvester’s magic is unusual for someone your age. Again, I am impressed.”
He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. In fact, he reflected, her demonstration probably could not have been duplicated by anyone else in the entire castle.
“Are you absolutely certain this is the path you wish to choose, Princess?”
She took a deep breath. She glanced toward her mother, who remained sitting with her arms crossed. Etta broke eye contact, and looked down at her lap.
Mita looked at her father. He looked back with love in his eyes, and gently nodded encouragement.
Finally, her eyes returned to the wizard.
“If you are willing to take me, Wizard Oldstone, I am willing to go.”
CHAPTER 3
Stin shut the door to the stairwell quietly behind him. He pursed his lips in a silent whistle at the opulence of the hallway before him. Mahogany inlaid with marble lined the walls. The ceiling featured planks of cedar, imbuing the air with a fresh scent. A long, luxurious carpet stretched along the floor, likely imported at great expense from the Ageless Isles if his experienced eye was correct.
He had half a mind to roll up the carpet, turn around and go back down the stairs and out the door. But he controlled himself. This townhome, belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Windthorn, contained far greater treasure.
He started down the hall and stopped at the first door to his right. He jiggled the handle and found it locked. He was neither surprised nor perturbed.
He pulled a set of lock picks from a hidden pocket in his jacket, and quickly set about adjusting the mechanism’s tumblers.
Stin stood a couple fingers over five and half paces, a modest height. Over the years, he had discovered many benefits to modest height. A tall man, for instance, stood out
in a crowd. Everyone noticed him. Short men seemed to be well remembered, and people always associated them with dwarves. But a man of modest height, neither very tall nor very short, could blend in anywhere and become forgettable. And blending in was paramount to Stin’s chosen profession.
Fortunately he was neither blonde nor as pale-skinned as many in Coral, his home country. His skin tone was neutral, neither dark nor light. His hair was a non-descript brown. Everything contributed to blending in, and he could be taken for a native of most any country except Sandstone, where skin tones tended to be much darker than elsewhere.
The lock clicked open, and he swung the door inward. It revealed a maid’s pantry, with shelves of cleaning supplies, a mop and a broom.
He closed the door quickly, resetting the bolt.
Why lock a room like that? he wondered. It’s not like someone would steal the mop.
He walked briskly down to the next door in the hall, jiggled the handle, then addressed the lock with his picks.
It opened to a modest bedroom, featuring a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The chest seemed interesting, but again he controlled himself. This was not the room he wanted.
Closing the door, he dusted off his fine jacket. He was attired perfectly for the luncheon taking place below. The jacket appeared to be entirely silken, all the way down to the long tails hanging near the back of his knees. In fact, only the outer shell was silk. The inside had been constructed from much less expensive cotton.
This was a trick in holding down expenses a tailor friend told him many of the lower nobility used. Unless one stepped inside the clothing, there was no outward way to tell the garment was cheaper than its purely silken cousins.
The outer shell was bright red, the color of the Ruby Kingdom. The shade seemed much more garish, he thought, than the more muted orange-red of Coral, but he wore it anyway. One must blend in, after all.
He kept the jacket through all his travels, often employing a local tailor to sew a new silk facade in place, matching the color of whatever kingdom in which he found himself.
The original tailor had crafted several hidden pockets throughout the jacket, and Stin went well armed with three folding knives, a stabbing dagger, two throwing knives, and a set of metal knuckles.
He jiggled the handle on the third door and heard the latch to the stairway open behind him. He froze, then turned to see the butler staring at him in shock. The older man stood a good three or four fingers higher than Stin, hair graying and balding on top.
“I say! The Duchess does not like guests to be up here, milord. The top floor is private.”
A couple of potential replies raced through Stin’s mind, most revolving around trying to find the urinal. But those would not remove the butler from the hallway, an outcome Stin desperately needed.
He smiled graciously at the butler, and walked toward him.
“Yes, yes, I know. That’s why I’m here, in fact.”
The butler’s head snapped back in surprise.
“Yes. You see, her niece, the lovely Nessa . . . you know the one?”
The butler’s back stiffened.
“Of course, milord. I know all the family members of Windthorn quite well.”
“Yes, well, I have no choice but to confide in you, sirrah. Nessa asked me to meet her in the top floor hallway to share a few private words. She assured me this hall would be deserted, and we would have utmost privacy.”
The butler stared down at the floor, and Stin knew he had hit upon a plausible story. Hobnobbing with the upper crust in Ruby City the last several weeks, Stin had learned as much as he could about all the prominent families. Nessa was the wildest daughter in the Windthorn family. Her uncle’s butler could well understand she might want to sneak off with a young man at a party.
Now to prey on his ingrained sense of service, Stin thought.
“My good man, could you do me the finest favor? Could you go back down to the party, and surreptitiously mention to milady that Sir Hemphnor awaits her? No doubt she has found herself caught up in some fascinating conversation. If you could but remind her I await her presence in patience, doubtless she will soon find her way up here.”
The butler’s eyes narrowed and he nodded, coming to the conclusion Stin hoped he would.
“Right away, milord. I shall return with her posthaste!”
He hurried back to the stairwell door. As soon as it shut, Stin whipped out his lock picks and worked on the third door.
He sighed in relief when it opened to a library, filled with shelves and tables. Along one side, a giant set of drawers covered the entire wall, reaching up to the high ceiling. Along the other side, an equally impressive bookshelf spread along the wall’s length. Windows covered the far wall, several of them open to allow circulation. Throughout, various valuable books and artifacts sat on tables scattered throughout the room.
“This must be the place.”
He pushed the door shut, locking it behind him, and approached the giant set of compartments to the right. Hundreds and hundreds of drawers lined the wall, reaching up to the ceiling, spreading out across the length of the room in both directions.
He recalled the instructions Felway the Fence had given him: 32D, 61R.
“A combination?” he had asked.
Felway shrugged, and told him, “You’ll know what to do when you see it.”
Someone had hired Felway to obtain the object. Felway hired Stin, in turn. Privately, Stin wondered how much Felway’s employers were paying for the object. Felway had offered Stin a hefty bag of gold to retrieve it. Stin could only guess Felway would earn much more.
He put such thoughts aside.
“Greed kills the thief.”
It was a proverb he tried to live by. No sense getting greedy since one can always steal more later. He had no way of knowing who Felway’s employers were, and thus no way to cut out the middleman. Best to take the gold and move on.
He stared up at the wall of drawers reaching to the ceiling, eyeing the ladder nearby which offered access to the higher compartments.
He stood there a moment, thinking.
Surely this must be it, he thought to himself.
His eyebrows shot up with an epiphany. He started counting down from the top left corner drawer. At eye level, he stopped.
“That’s thirty-two down.”
Next he started counting to the right, walking alongside the drawers until he came to the sixty-first one.
“Sixty-one, right.”
He pulled on its handle. Not surprisingly, he found it locked. He took out his picks and set to work.
The lock felt strange. In his time as a thief starting in childhood, and with the thousands of locks he had picked through the years, this one felt completely unfamiliar. He struggled for several long moments trying to manipulate the tumblers.
Out in the hallway, he heard the door to the stairwell open.
“I’M TELLING YOU, Dunken, I didn’t ask anybody to meet me up here.”
“I believe you, milady, but the young man in question was quite certain in his . . . I say, where is he?”
“Who did you say he was, again?”
“His name is Hemphnor. He seemed a finely dressed gentleman, about your age. He appeared to be quite certain you had arranged a meeting with him up here.”
Nessa snorted in frustration, and crossed her arms. Her light brown hair had been cropped short above her shoulders, in keeping with the current fashion in Ruby City. She wore a long red gown with matching slippers and white gloves reaching above her elbows.
If there really was a mysterious suitor wishing to meet her in private, she certainly would be willing to share a few words with him. Nessa loved romance, mystery, and intrigue. Several young gentlemen had already pledged her their hearts, and she continued to receive gifts from eligible bachelors throughout the realm.
But, she knew she had arranged no such meeting today.
“Dunken, I think you’ve been had. You’d better check a
ll the rooms, just in case. Something’s not right.”
“At once, milady!”
STIN GROANED IN FRUSTRATION, and worked harder on the strange lock.
“Come on, you stupid thing.”
The tumblers seemed fiendishly clever. He could lift the first four, but when trying to lift the fifth, invariably one of the front ones fell back in place.
He tried a second pick, thinking he could hold up the front tumblers with one while pushing up the back one, but he found the opening too narrow for both.
Out in the hallway he heard the butler unlocking, then opening and closing doors.
He pulled the picks out and slammed the palm of his hand against the drawer in frustration.
The drawer lock clicked open. At the same time, the butler unlocked the door to the library.
Stin pulled the drawer open and reached in. He took out an ornate dagger, about a pace long and made of dull, colorless metal. The weapon glowed lightly, filling the room with a ghostly aura.
The door flew open and Dunken and Nessa stepped in. They stopped in surprise, seeing Stin by the wall of drawers.
He placed the dagger in a pocket of his coat, shut the drawer, and turned to face them.
He grinned.
“You found her! There’s a good man.”
“I say, Sir Hemphnor, you really mustn’t be in here. This is the Duchess’s most private room!”
Nessa gaped at him.
“Who are you?”
Stin ignored the spluttering butler, and turned his full attention to the beautiful Nessa. He began walking across the room.
“Milady, I have waited so long to meet you, and hopefully share a few private words. It becomes difficult with the help these days . . .”
Dunken spluttered even louder in indignation.
“I say! Look here . . .”
Nessa frowned in confusion.
“I don’t know who you are, or why you’re in my aunt’s library. I think we should—”
Stin put a finger to his lips.
“Sh, sh, sh. Come to the window, Nessa, and let’s talk more about it.”
He headed toward the open windows on the far wall. She tilted her head in confusion, and followed after him, the butler trailing.
