Thieves' Honor

by David Combs

  “It’s good for you, boy,” said Nestor. He grinned. “Puts hair on your teeth.”

  “Oh, that explains your mustache then,” Galen joked. “Anyway, I’ll find you two later. If I haven’t settled this up before midday, then I might just end up back where we all started again.” The thief waved as he disappeared into the crowd.

  “Why do I have the feeling that somehow that boy is about to get us in even deeper trouble than we’ve already been in,” asked Nestor.

  “What could possibly happen,” asked the wizard. He tried to ignore his friend’s amazed glare, as well as the disconcerting answers to his own question that began to fill his mind.

  ***

  Galen was led by armed guards into the vault that had nearly killed him. A large man bellowed at a cringing worker, and Galen knew at a glance that this was Merkalan. The aristocrat’s fine clothes dripped with jewels. Years ago, he had been an officer in Tarnath’s military. When he came into his inheritance though, he threw down his sword and armor in exchange for a life of luxury and excess. There was still strength evident in the nobleman’s frame, though, even if he hadn’t touched a weapon in over two decades.

  “Why don’t you clumsy buffoons go ahead, and finish the job of destroying my home,” he shouted at his cowering employee. “It isn’t enough that there is broken glass and burned walls, but you idiots have now chipped the statue of my great grandfather! Get out of my sight before I have you drawn and quartered on a bed of hot coals!” He whirled around to see his guard with Galen. “What,” he snapped.

  “Galen Thale to see you, sir.” The guard looked visibly relieved when Merkalan dismissed him with a wave.

  The aristocrat looked Galen up and down. “So you are the scruffy street urchin who sought to part me from my treasures.” The nobleman scoffed. “Better than you have tried, and failed, boy. I’m sure it was only pure fortune that you made it as far inside as you did.”

  “I’m not here to take your insults, Lord Merkalan. I’m here because I have to repay you for the damage caused. Let’s settle this matter so I can get upwind of you again. After all, it appears that you do have a lot of renovation work to do here.” Galen smiled wickedly as the nobleman’s face went red with fury.

  “If you think that some petty thief with a few high connections can ruin my holiday, destroy my personal property, and then think to satisfy me by simply throwing money in my direction then you are sadly mistaken.”

  Galen sighed. He had expected this kind of reception. “Then pray tell me what it is you would like from me, milord?”

  Merkalan shoved Galen back a step. “I want your head on a plate, boy,” he roared. “However, since someone of your acquaintance has greased the magistrate’s palm, I am denied such a luxury. I have no choice but to settle for far less than I demand. However, you will still give me more than you have been ordered.” He played absently with a thick gem-studded necklace around his neck. “In addition to the cash settlement for the damages you’ve caused, I want you to tell me in detail about how you bypassed the traps so easily. I will need to design better defenses now so that such an unfortunate incident never occurs again.”

  Galen bowed, hoping that the gesture hid the rolling of his eyes. “As you wish, Lord Merkalan. First, I simply waited for your incompetent perimeter guards to pass by on their rounds. I knew they were only making their patrols every half an hour or so.” The thief grinned as some nearby guards squirmed. “After I climbed the wall, I easily picked that flimsy excuse for a lock you had on the balcony door. Once inside, I made my way down the hall to the gallery. Your pressure plate trap is an effective choice, but only if you are trying to catch a stampeding bull. It was obvious to an experienced thief that it was hidden under the rug.” Merkalan scowled, but Galen talked on. He was happy to see that his explanations irritated the aristocrat.

  “The dart trap in the archway was, again, only able to catch the unwary. I spotted the trip wire at the entrance well before I was upon it. The false gems were likewise easy to locate since each had a large hole through the middle. Having passed unmarked through all of that, I easily found myself in the main gallery. I quickly located the seam of the false door to the jewel vault, as well as the opening mechanism right along with it. Then I was inside. I must admit that I was surprised by the strength of the crystal case, and even more so by that fire trap. That was a good stroke on your part.”

  “Yes, I was rather proud of that one myself. Or at least I was until it went off, and burned up the room.” Merkalan beckoned a skinny man who carried a ledger with him. “See to it that all of the guards who were on duty that evening are given their severance, and relieved from service. Instruct the house mage to devise something more subtle, and less destructive when it erupts.” He turned back to Galen. “Now then, I suppose you’ve kept your end of the bargain. Pay me for the damages you’ve caused, and then get the hell out of my home.” He held out his hand to the thief.

  Galen grudgingly reached inside of his shirt to remove the gems, jewelry, and coins that he had accumulated on his way to the nobleman’s house. “I hope this will suffice,” he said coldly. Merkalan carefully inspected each bauble with careful scrutiny, nodding his approval over each piece. Finally, he put the payment in a small sack that he tossed to the skinny assistant.

  “This concludes our business, thief. Spread the word to the other filth you associate with that the Merkalan family is too clever for common thieves. That’s why my family is as wealthy as it is today. Tell them not to mess with us again.”

  Galen quickly grasped the nobleman’s hand and fell to one knee. “You may rest assured milord, that I will spread the warning among all of those who hunt the night. All shall know of your great wisdom.” Merkalan pulled his hand free from the thief’s grasp, wiping it on his assistant’s shirt as he walked away. He went back to roaring at the help when a fire-blackened statue crashed to the floor.

  “Too clever, indeed,” whispered Galen as he tossed a gold ring adorned with a great emerald into the air, and deftly caught it. He tucked it into his pouch and wondered how long it would be before the idiot even realized that it was missing. He spun on his heel, then headed for the door.

  As he exited the vault into the main gallery, the mural of the elven warrior with the glowing sword caught his eye. The thief stopped and stared. The red-eyed beast that was driven into the dark cave burned away the cobwebs of the young man’s memory. It was just like the paintings he had seen in the sewer. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow the thief knew that the monster depicted in Merkalan’s home was the same creature that adorned the artwork from the sewer. Galen grabbed the sleeve of the worker who scrubbed at the soot and ash adorning the picture.

  “Sir,” he said as his voice squeaked with excitement, “can you tell me anything about this painting? I am curious as to the history of the image.”

  The man regarded the thief with annoyance. “If the master of the house catches me talking instead of working, he’ll go through the roof.” He pondered his words a moment then smiled. “What the hell. It’s a copy of some old, elvish painting. The elf depicted there is some ancient elven hero or general. Gilgorad was his name, I think. Was supposed to be a mighty warrior back when Khasharsta was in its glory days. Centuries ago. The stories say that with that glowing sword you see there, he single-handedly fought off some nasty creature that had been hunting down the elves. Pretty gory legend, actually. Everyone is always getting their throats ripped out. Probably wasn’t a monster at all. Likely it was just a bear or something with a taste for elf meat.”

  “What about the sword,” Galen asked. “Is it a legend or did it really exist?”

  “Who knows? The legends say that it was created by the most skilled elven smith with the help of the mightiest wizard the elves had ever produced. This hero, Gilgorad, was supposed to have fought some mighty battles with it. Now, I really should get back to work, if you don’t mind.”

  The man turned back to the wall and focused ag
ain on his task. A moment later, he felt a tug on his coin purse. Reflexively, he clutched at his belt and looked around, but he saw nothing. It wasn’t until several hours later that he opened the pouch and saw a large emerald ring within.

  ***

  Kellen stared out the window as Galen retold the tale of his encounter at Lord Merkalan’s home. The trio had found Lord Ambrose surprisingly receptive to the excited young thief’s account of his information on Gilgorad and the elf’s enchanted blade.

  “The blade was known as Shadow Reaver,” said the nobleman.

  “Then you have heard of it,” asked Galen when he had finished his story.

  “Of course. My father always told me stories of Gilgorad and so many other tales of legendary exploits as he tucked me into bed as a child. However, my research over the years has shown me that the general is not simply a child’s fantasy. Much of what your contact told you is accurate, Galen. Gilgorad lived many centuries ago, and Shadow Reaver was given to him for his great service to the elven nation. Khasharsta was a thriving trade and cultural center for the western lands of Belynna. Today it is a ruin buried deep in the Thelvenin Wood. Over the years, I have also found references stating that a ‘creature that hunted the night’ ravaged the elven lands long ago. I have no idea if it might have been Darian, but Gilgorad fought the beast with his enchanted blade, and saved the lives of many elves.”

  “Is there anything else you could add to Galen’s story,” asked Tyrell.

  “Regrettably, no. All I know of the weapon and the general are small bits and pieces. Fragments of information gathered over a lifetime of study. Shadow Reaver was allegedly a weapon that was the bane of great evil. Of course, who can say if it’s legendary might came from powerful enchantment or simply because of the wielder’s own morality and ability.” Kellen looked at the mage and shrugged. “We know it existed once. Whether it does today is hard to say, and doubtlessly harder still to find.”

  “Yet, I suppose you’ll be sending us after it just in case,” said Nestor.

  “If Shadow Reaver could be found, and the legends about it are true, then it would certainly be a great asset in our fight against Darian.” He waved his hand. “However, this is likely a fool’s errand, and I certainly wouldn’t order you to go on the search. You three saved my life, and our accounts are settled so far as I am concerned. If you were to undertake this quest, it would have to be of your own free will. Be advised, though, that our vampire knows who you are, and now that you have thwarted him, he may still have designs of revenge against you for that.”

  Galen looked at his friends. “I am the one who brought this up. I guess that sort of obligates me. Besides, what kind of thief would I be if I refused to go on a treasure hunt?”

  Tyrell smiled. “I’m in. If we have to search the Thelvenin Wood and the ruins of Khasharsta, then you will need someone along who knows about magic. What about you, Redbeard?”

  Nestor threw his hands in the air. “Bloody hell. Why not? What else have I got to do? Besides, there’s no telling what trouble you two will get into without me.”

  Kellen smiled warmly. “Thank you, my friends. I’ll arrange for everything that you may need for your journey. You may leave for the ruins of Khasharsta at when it suits you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’d give myself over to Darian for just one day of dry weather,” yelled Nestor over the pouring rain. Thunder boomed, and lightning flashed across the sky.

  “I’d do the same if you’d quit griping,” replied Galen. “We’re only a few hours away from Del Torac. There we’ll find an inn where we can stay for the night.”

  Tyrell rode in silence. He was lost in thought, and oblivious to the bantering of his companions. The night before their departure, he had spent many hours in Kellen’s library. He read what lore he could find about the lost elven kingdom of Khasharsta and the mysterious Thelvenin Woods. He had found a few passages that related to the life and victories of General Gilgorad, but there was not a single mention of the sword, Shadow Reaver. Kellen had insisted that the blade did exist, but his own records lacked references to support his claim. For all they knew, Shadow Reaver could be a tiny needle in a massive haystack.

  Tyrell was also deeply concerned about the ruins of the city, assuming that they could even find their way inside. Specifically, he was troubled by the possibility of potential inhabitants. Since the fall of the elven kingdom, stories had abounded of strange and wondrous creatures that were believed to be leftover creations and abominations of errant elven sorcery. The region where the ruins supposedly lie could be crawling with all manner of unnatural and dangerous beasts.

  Of even greater concern to the wizard was the remaining force of any surviving ancient elven magic. Tyrell had no doubts that he would be able to sense any magical emanations, but had time weakened them enough so that his feeble skills could prevent a magical trap from blasting apart he and his friends?

  Tyrell played over the same debate he had gone through a thousand times before. How could he risk the safety of those people close to him by tampering with such dangerous powers? His hands weren’t the only scars he carried with him. He couldn’t live with himself if the screams of Nestor and Galen joined those that already filled his nightmares.

  “. . . and when I woke up, the wench was gone with all of my clothes and money,” roared Nestor. Galen was laughing so hard that he nearly fell from his horse. “I had to walk bare-assed to a tailor, and bargain for a pair of trousers.” Tyrell smiled at the end of the ribald tale.

  “By the way, lads,” added the warrior between chuckles. “We’re being followed. I noticed some riders trying very hard to keep a discrete distance for the last couple of hours.” Tyrell and Galen strained to see through the downpour, but the curtain of rain obscured their sight. “Trust me, lads, they’re back there, and I’ll buy the first round in Del Torac if their business isn’t about us.”

  The wizard glanced back over his shoulder as a bolt of lightning flashed. “We better get moving then, and try to put some more distance between us.” He spurred his horse, and his friends galloped after him.

  ***

  They were more interested in escaping the storm than they were their pursuit, and the trio rode hard to the gates of Del Torac. After a brief formality with the gatekeepers, they were waved through, and soon found themselves comfortably seated in the Belching Griffin Inn. The sign that hung above the doorway showed a mythical beast holding up a foaming mug, and the locals considered it a fine compliment to the establishment to belch after a satisfying meal. The noise in the tavern was predictably obnoxious.

  “So who do you think is following us,” asked Tyrell.

  Nestor shrugged, and ‘complimented the house’. “Probably more of those damned cultists. They’ve likely been told to keep their eyes open for us, and report on any new business we may be about.” The barbarian surveyed the crowd, searching for anyone who appeared to be paying them too much attention.

  “And where the hell is Galen at now,” grumbled the mage. “I sent him after a drink ten minutes. I swear that boy can disappear better than any wizard ever could.”

  “I imagine he’s either got his hand on some poor sot’s coinpurse or on some barmaid’s. . . .”

  “Wrong on both counts, Redbeard,” said the thief from behind the fighter. Nestor jumped at the sudden arrival of their friend.

  “I wish you’d stop doing that,” he growled. “I swear one of these days you are going to get run through.”

  “So where have you been, and where is my drink,” asked Tyrell.

  “Still in the bottle, I’m afraid. I didn’t get it because I think we may want to shorten our stay.” The thief casually nodded to a couple of rough looking men near the door. “Those men aren’t the simple timber men that they appear to be. I caught a glimpse of a dagger with the same design and craftsmanship as the weapons carried by the cultists we fought in the Fen.”

  Tyrell nodded. “Good work. We’ll have to ge
t out of here. Nestor, any suggestions on how not to get ourselves into a barroom brawl?”

  “Would I have been in so many if I did?”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  The two lumberjacks must have realized that they were a topic of discussion for they rose from their seats, and slowly pushed through the crowd towards the table. Their hands were hidden beneath the cloaks they wore, and their once-casual glances at the three friends were now replaced by pointed stares.

  “Galen,” whispered Tyrell, “vanish in the crowd and meet us over by the door. Nestor, stay seated until I tap your leg. Just act casual. When I signal you, drop to the floor and head for the door as well. Go quickly, but quietly.” The mage closed his eyes while Nestor finished his drink. He wondered what Tyrell had in mind. Galen blended into the crowd behind them, vanishing as he lost himself among the numerous faces.

  The strangers conferred for a moment. They now stood only a few feet away from the table. Without warning, they drew two small crossbows from beneath their cloaks and fired at Tyrell and Nestor. A barmaid screamed as the quarrels hummed through the air on a direct course for the seated men’s chests.

  The wicked points punched through the wooden backs of the chairs, yet Tyrell and Nestor showed no sign of injury despite the quivering bolts that had nailed them to their seats.

  “Illusion,” cursed one of the bowmen. He and his fellow looked around frantically, spotting their quarry on their feet as they pushed through the crowd towards the door. One of the attackers reached for his knife only to find that the blade was gone.

  “Looking for this,” whispered Galen in the man’s ear as he clubbed the would-be assassin with the hilt of his own dagger. The second man swung his empty crossbow at Galen’s head, but the thief easily jumped away from the clumsy attack.

  Near the door, Nestor snatched a mug away from a surprised patron and hurled it into the second attacker’s face. Galen vaulted over a table landing nimbly near the door next to his friends.