Nijar ran across the rooftops, clutching the stolen purse to his chest.

“How was I supposed to know the loudmouth had attracted robbers?”

Garet of Bellbottom was a well-known drunk. The morning after every festival, he’d fill Sister Margarita’s square with his drunk songs. Nijar hadn’t believed the man, when the drunk proclaimed to all and sundry that he’d be rich soon. “I’ve been blessed by the Gods! A gift from the Heavens!” he’d shouted, jolly, wobbling in the middle of the square.

In the early morn, before sunup. The man was clearly addled by the spirits he favoured.

No one paid him much attention. He told queer and strange tales often. Rumour was, Garet used to be some mage’s apprentice, until he overstepped his station and called up some horror. One that left him nothing but a broken wreck of a man, unfit for anything but labour and drink.

“At least he wasn’t an angry drunk.”

Wasn’t, for Nijar had been looking for an easy mark after a fruitless night casing one of the shops over on Weaver Street. He’d figured tailing the mad drunk might lead to a few coins from his pockets, when he passed out in some ditch. He’d even pull Garet out, to earn them. Not an easy feat with his elfin strength.

As he jumped over another alley, a crossbow bolt went wheezing by his ear and Nijar decided it was time to get out of sight. He caught the ledge of the roof and dropped down two floors, his long legs letting him land on the rough stone without injury. From the glimpse he’d seen of his pursuers, they were monkey boys, not birds like him. Human rogues could clamber with the best of them, but no one did jumps like elves.

Nijar had an extra trick. He knew these streets like the palm of his hand, so the moment his roll was done he slid sideways into a tight opening meant for the rain and disappeared into the sewers.

“That should throw them off.” the sixteen year old thief figured. He’d ended up in this mess by following old Garet to a loan cutter, only to hear them shouting, arguing. Something about some jewels, or such. Wasn’t long, before the drunk left in a huff.

Nijar had trailed him, but it wasn’t long before he noticed the man had other shadows. They waited until he was on his lonesome and gave his neck a smile. Nijar had been shocked. The free city of Kulvur wasn’t the nicest place, but murder in the streets would be the talk of town for days to come. They didn’t even bother trying to hide the body!

“Loathsome outsiders, coming in here, killing decent folk over a few coins.”

Not that Garet was truly decent, but he was one of them. Nijar decided there and then to trail the killers and report them to the Guard. It was a thrill like no other, but he kept his wits about him.

He had no intention of ending up like Garet.

***

His duty done, he’d taken advantage of the Guard raiding the hideout to sneak up through the back terrace and filch anything shiny he could get his hands on. A small reward for his selfless service to the city.

The moment he popped the door, there’d been real gold, strewn across the desk. Gold and actual jewels!

Nijar could admit, the gold got the better of him. He bonked the pale coin counter on the back of the head with his sap and grabbed everything he could. Unfortunately, a falling body was loud enough to be heard over the shouts of the Guard, and some of the robbers had come after him.

The young man walked on in the dark sewer tunnels, moving from light to light. No candles lit up the stone passages. Nijar only had what light could seep in from above through the tight drains. He was less familiar with the sewers and the tunnels, than the roofs, but at least no one was trying to shoot him down here. Even if they had traced him to the drain, few men would be able to follow.

The young elf didn’t like coming down here. All sorts used the underways and he never knew who he might run into.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

***

Nijar had done his best to stop the clinking of the bag, taking off his shirt to stuff the jewels in it as well. He must not have done well enough, for while passing under the taverns on Wayfarer’s, a thick hand suddenly reached out and grabbed him by the throat. The elven boy didn’t think, he reacted as his already tense heart beat like a drum.

His knife flashed up, carving into the wrist holding him and he ran. He heard pounding footsteps come after him and cursed the footpads, while he did his best not to slip, running for his life.

But running in the dark sewers was a dangerous sport. At least one of the thugs chasing him slipped, for Nijar heard them curse and splash. He couldn’t turn back to look, all his attention focused on peering at the dark floor, less he slip himself.

It was how he missed the large crevice on the side of the tunnel and the rats hiding in it. They poured out of it as he ran, right into his way and feet. He stepped on one, others bit him, and Nijar was forced to defend himself with knife and sap. Both from the swarm of rats before him, and soon enough, from the dark shapes that caught up to him.

That was a losing fight and the price of losing was his life.

So Nijar threw the bag into the middle of the channel, gold and jewels spilling all over the sewers.

He hoped to distract the pursuit, for no gold was worth his life. The young thief hoped some of the scattered wealth would escape their notice. No one could linger here long, digging at the filth, without attracting larger trouble. It worked. The first shadow cursed: “You little shit!” and leapt after the bag.

“You’re the one covered in it!” Nijar cursed them, as he took a nasty blow to the arm that left it stinging and barely able to hold the sap. As some of the rats split off to go after the footpad’s chasing him, Nijar saw an opening. He leapt into the crevice. If his idea of where they were was right…

It was a very tight fit for the slim elf lad. Far too tight for the others to follow him, though he took several bites for his daring from the rats and a nasty blow from a club on his leg.

“You idiot! You should have grabbed him!” came the muffled shout as he wedged his way through, wiggling like a snake past the slick and dirty stones. He emerged into a well-stocked basement, covered in filth.

Nijar didn’t stick around to find out if the thugs had more friends up top. He leap to his feet and sprinted up the staircase and out of the “Lovely Lasses” Inn’s basement. The cook saw him and started yelling: “Thief! Thief!” but Nijar was used to that.

He’d nicked a wheel of cheese on his way out. “It is the least I should get for all this trouble.”

***

When he came back, that same evening, Nijar was strung tighter than a hangman’s noose. He’d bandaged the bites as best he was able, but he could do little for the large bruise on his thigh. In the evening’s soft light, the sewers were near pitch black. He wasn’t a gnome but he’d talked to Kirak, cajoled the old codger to come help him look.

For a part of the take, but that was just good sense. “Decide in advance how much of the take each member of the caper will be taking home.” Rule six of the Thieves’ Code.

Nijar had offered the old gnome a third, or half if there was trouble of the violent kind. Mostly, he needed him for his tunnel vision. At night, the sewers were a dark quagmire of shadows and pitch darkness.

They didn’t find much. Not of the whole bag of wealth Nijar had held. It had been enough to make him someone, maybe buy a small hut in the merchant’s districts. Or an apprenticeship.

Turn his life right around.

“Not that I'd want that. If I wanted to slave away at the forge, I would have kept the first one my Ma arranged.”

No, Nijar was a thief, and he was good at it. This would make for a fine tale and that suited him better. If he had kept the whole thing, he probably would have given away half to the church and another half of what remained to Zola, for her dream of opening a small patchwork’s shop.

The priests claimed all should act according to their talents and blessings. Nijar was soft of foot and deft of hand. He didn’t care for blood or weaving, so thievery it was.

“A messenger, maybe?” He could see himself as one of them, if he could gather the gold to pay the Guild tax. He was quick enough, Nijar was sure of that.

They found a few gold coins and no trouble. That and two bodies. The thugs must have had a disagreement, with that much wealth at hand. Kulvurians were good people, but that many shinies could go to anyone’s head, in the moment.

Dragging the bodies up for the grave wardens to carry would have been the right thing to do. But they were both sick of digging in the filth, looking for anything shiny, to bother dragging that much dead weight out of the sewers. Someone else would deal with them, sooner or later.

“Or the rats will.” Perhaps not the most charitable of views, but they had tried to rob him.

***

Nijar and Kirak left with their loot, mostly happy with their take. They should have looked harder.

Buried in the filth, mixing with the spilled blood of one of the bodies was a particularly large red jewel. Thrown there when Nijar scattered everything.

An amateur would have called it a ruby. It was nothing so mundane.

Insects and rats started feeding on the discarded body and other predators and vultures would soon come as well.

The gem soaked in blood and the souls of the dead departed within but a few steps of the blood red jewel. It was enough to empower it.

Trapped within the Dungeon’s Crystal Heart, Helena woke up.