Year 3043 AGD

The Day of New Beginnings

Continent of Terroval

City of Safeharbor

Docks District

The Serpent’s Dagger, Second Floor

Walkins had told Victor he would teach him everything he needed to know to survive on the streets, and he had kept that promise. The old man taught him how to use his dagger for more than just fighting, and he could now open many locks with ease without relying on his skills as a Shaper. The last year had been tough, but Victor had persevered. He had found that many of the things Shaylyn had taught him—the most important of which was the ability to pay attention and think things through—could be utilized in his new profession. He had also come to realize just how many things Shaylyn had neglected to teach him, things that he knew she’d never wanted him to know. Those old and new lessons were allowing him to become quite the thief, however, and he knew he would become even better as time went by.

“Superbly done, Victor. I can sell this for quite a bit of money.” Walkins held up a necklace, encrusted with pearls and diamonds in a web pattern, that any lady of wealth would love to wear. The old man had quit trying to trick Victor into stealing things from “bad men” or “rich fools who don’t care about you.” He still used that method with most of the other boys, but Victor knew better. Victor understood that what he was doing was wrong, but he did what he had to do to survive.

Victor had stopped thinking about what Shaylyn would have said six months ago when he’d realized that he could steal from the rich, who wouldn’t miss most of the things he stole, and use the money he earned to help a widowed mother who was barely scraping by. He had also begun buying coats for the other street kids who didn’t have any winter clothes. Sure, Walkins lost a bit of money, percentage wise, when dealing with him, but Victor always found a way to pull off a big score. The rest of the boys—except for Shawnrik, who was becoming a better thief with Victor around—were still picking pockets or begging.

Some nights, Victor would use his ability with Shaping to alter his appearance so that he looked like a gnome or a halfling. That way, he could go into the taverns and other night houses to gain information that would otherwise be beyond the reach of an eight-year-old, no matter how advanced. It was the most complicated bit of Shaping he knew, and it required a lot of concentration to keep the disguise in place. Besides, it always made his skin itch afterward. He had tried drinking once, just a sip, and had woken up the next morning in an alley, sleeping in his oversized cloak without his money. His skin had gone back to its regular texture sometime during the night, and he was lucky not to have been found out. He decided that drinking was not a good idea and made a vow not to try it again for a long while.

He had also learned about the Syndicate of the Raven, the organization that oversaw the darker elements of the city. People said that Safeharbor was the most secure city on the face of Terrazil, but the Syndicate was the chink in that armor. A large percentage of the Syndicate’s business took place in the back alleys of the Docks District, but they had also managed to take over some of the old strongholds in the caverns far beneath the city. You could find just about anything in the halls of the Syndicate if you were willing to pay the price. There were quite a few business deals that occurred regularly that Victor found quite appalling. Most of them consisted of the sales of creatures or people.

“Victor?”

“What?”

“Were you listenin’?” Walkins’s voice took on the dangerous edge he used whenever he thought one of the lads wasn’t paying attention. It was a tone that promised swift punishment if such a thing were found out to be true, and Ol’ Man Walkins never threatened anyone if he wasn’t willing to back it up.

“Of course. You said that there is a new job, taking some trinket from one of the houses in the Noble District.”

“Close enough. That little trinket is a special pair of manacles that has been stolen from one of our employers.” He looked Victor in the eyes, making sure that he had his full attention. “They’ll pay quite handsomely for them to be returned. They’re made of a silver-mithril alloy, and they’re made for slavers, so don’t accidentally slip one on.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I want to do. Slip on a manacle that’s been Shaped for the slave trade. You can never tell what those things will do.” Victor rolled his eyes.

“Well, sarcasm aside, there are a few people who would probably try it, which brings me to my next point. You’re takin’ Shawn with you. I know you like to go solo most of the time on your jobs, but you may need an extra set of eyes out there. He’s just gonna go with you to the manor and keep a watch outside to make sure you don’t need help. The inside is all yours.”

“Great. When do we start?”

“You’ll leave this evening and should arrive sometime around sunset. Make sure there aren’t any extra guards, and then enter when evening settles in. The manacles should be on the second floor in the center of the display room in the south wing of the house. Shapers have been at work in the house, so be on your toes. I put two release scrolls in your backpack in case you need ‘em. Those stupid mages at the Protectorate are probably dissipating their own work. Ha! So, what you should do now is get some rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time.” Walkins stepped over to one of his drawers and pulled out a grey cloak he then threw to Victor. “Happy birthday, kid.”

“Wow, nice cloak. Thanks.”

“The mages call it a stalker’s cloak. It’ll help you hide better when you have it fully drawn around you. ‘Course, it won’t help with those noisy feet of yours, but nobody’s perfect, not even you, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And kid?” Walkins said, his voice taking on a softer tone.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

Victor fell asleep easily once he reached his bunk. He was used to being awake at night, so this was his usual time for rest. When he awoke a little before dusk, he found Shawnrik sitting at the table studying a book. Victor had begun teaching him to read a few months prior, and the older boy was doing rather well. Victor’s sliding out of bed alerted Shawn to his presence.

“Hey, Vic, c’mere for a sec.”

Victor approached the table groggily and plopped down in a chair next to him.

“What’s this word ‘ere mean?”

“Fertilize… well, it’s when you take the dung of a beast, mix it with some good soil, and plant something in it. Let me see that book.” Victor grabbed it and read a few paragraphs. “Shawn, this is a book on farming. Are you planning on quitting and becoming a farmer? ‘Cause if you are, warn me now, and I’ll know to avoid your house. You might put me to an honest day’s work.”

“Vic, this ain’t no book on farmin’. See ‘ere”—he closed the book and showed Victor the cover— “it says ag…ri…culture. Agriculture. Now, what does a farmer need to know about culture?”

Victor could barely suppress a full belly laugh and had to release a slight chuckle or he would explode. “Well, that’s a good question, Shawny, and you’ll have to remind me to ask a farmer about that one day. Unfortunately, agriculture is the culturing, or cultivating, of the earth. In other words, farming.”

“Really? You ain’t foolin’ me?”

“No, sir, on my honor as a thief.” Victor held up his right hand and did a little flourish that made his dagger appear and disappear in the blink of an eye.

“Damn, Vic, you sure are smart. I wish I was even half as smart as you.” He hung his head, tossing the book onto the pile in the corner of the room.

“Don’t say that, Shawn. I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. It’s not your fault that I got schooling since I was little, and you didn’t. You’re learning all of this stuff from scratch, and it isn’t going to be easy. Shaylyn always said that it’s easier to teach people when they’re really little. Not to mention, you have an eight-year-old as a teacher. I am not exactly academy trained. There are probably a thousand better ways for me to be teaching you, but I don’t know them. You are doing really well. For Cypheria’s sake, you can already read better than most of the people in the Docks District.” Victor chuckled. “And you already know more about life than most of the people in the Noble District.”

Shawnrik grinned at that. “Yeah, them nobles don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout what it’s like livin’ down ‘ere in these streets.”

“You’re right. Shaylyn always told me that there are three kinds of smarts in the world: street smarts, book smarts, and dumb smarts. Street smarts are what you’ve been teaching me. The smarts of life. Book smarts are what I’m teaching you. It’s the knowledge that will set you above most folks. Dumb smarts are like those people who are either book smart or street smart but still consider themselves superior. She said that some of the dumbest people she ever met were scholars that stayed in their libraries and street thugs who never made any attempt to learn about the world at large.

“You have street smarts, and you’re working on gaining book smarts. Just doing that shows that you have an intellect far greater than most of the people around here. Now, the thing that both of us need to work on is wisdom. Shaylyn said that wisdom is the application of the knowledge that you have gained, and the best way to gain it is through experience. She said that, to be truly great, one would have to have intelligence, wisdom, and strength; so, we’ll work on all three of them together.”

Shawnrik simply stared at him for a few moments. “Ya know, you’re a little under six years younger than me. I should be the big brother in this situation, sharin’ my vast knowledge, protectin’ ya from the big, bad world. Instead, I’m always lookin’ to you for support. If I ever get to be too much of a burden, you just tell me, and I’ll go.”

Victor leaned over and placed his hand on Shawnrik’s head. “My friend, I have a feeling my life is going to be hectic. Shaylyn always hinted that I was going to do great things. If that is true, I’m going to need a lot of support, which means I am going to need a strong right hand to tell me when I’m doing something foolish or stupid. If I ever ask too much of you, just tell me. You are always talking about growing up to be a knight. I will try my best to make that happen. If you will watch my back, I will watch yours. Brothers until the end.”

Victor held up his hand, and Shawnrik grabbed it. “Brothers ‘til the end!”

The door slammed open. “What’s all this yellin’ about? I’ll give you an ending if you don’t get dressed and get goin’, if you catch my meaning.” Ol’ Man Walkins stood in the doorway, waving his dirk around in the air as if he were cutting something.

Both boys looked at the blade, and then there was a swirl of motion as they raced to get dressed. They did get the old man’s meaning and wanted none of it. In minutes, they had their gear on—Shawnrik was ready first—and were out the door.

“You don’t think he’d really cut us, do ya?” Shawnrik inquired as they walked through the streets of the Civilian Sector on their way to the Noble District.

“Well, he did it to Roland, and Roland hasn’t been able to hear very well out of his left ear since. I don’t think he’d do it to us, though. We’re his two best boys. He’d have to work all the other kids double just to make what we bring in.”

“You’re probly right.”

Victor started laughing.

“What’re ya laughin’ about?” Shawnrik asked, nudging Victor with his elbow.

“You,” Victor stated.

“Me?” Shawnrik said.

“Yeah, you. Last year, I couldn’t get you to shut up, but ever since I’ve been teaching you to read, I can barely get more than a couple of sentences out of you.”

Not seeing the joke, Shawnrik got a little defensive. “Sorry, Vic. It’s not like I don’t wanna talk. I just don’t got nuthin’ to say anymore.”

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“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a bad thing. In fact, I think it shows that you’re understanding things a lot better now. You don’t feel the need to ramble on about things that don’t really matter. That, my friend, is a bit of wisdom, I believe.”

Shawnrik couldn’t help but give a chuckle of his own. “Even when you’re laughin’ at me, you always seem to make me feel better.”

“Quiet time,” Victor held up his hand as they started seeing larger homes in the distance.

Victor moved into an alley, and they held to the shadows as tightly as their cloaks clung to their bodies. Anyone able to see the two boys was probably up to the same type of business, and the best way to stay alive on the streets was to mind your own. Anyone else would pass them off as a wild dog or a trick of the light and shadows. This was their element: the element of the thief. A good thief learned to wrap shadows around himself like a warm blanket, and Victor possessed training that allowed him to manipulate the shadows to his own gain.

Halfway to the house, Victor stopped behind a large waste bin and motioned Shawnrik closer. Focusing his will, he strengthened the bonds in their cloaks, making it harder for a weapon or an arrow to penetrate. He didn’t have the willpower yet to make the fabric stay that way for longer than a few hours, but it would stay as strong as most armors until his will was overridden by the nature of the cloth. Without a word, the boys continued on.

Victor stopped in front of one of the wealthier estates in the Noble District. This district, as the name implied, was home to mostly nobles. However, there were also a few extremely wealthy merchants living here. More than likely, he would be robbing a lord. But, for all Victor knew, it could be worse; he could be about to burgle from a member of the royal family. He didn’t like that line of thought, but he had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

Shawnrik waited across the street in an alley that faced the window Victor planned on using. Victor liked the Noble District with its beautiful statues and wide, cobbled streets. The only time he could come here without being yelled at by a guard was when he came in the guise of a gnome mage. He really liked pretending to be a gnome. They were just as short as he was, and they got to be rude to people without making them angry. Much.

The first barrier he came across was an easy one to surmount: the large fence surrounding the perimeter of the house. Climbing it would have been simple, but since he fit through the gaps in the bars, he didn’t need to.

He wished that he could come down here during the day without making himself look like someone else, but the residents didn’t like “dirty little urchins” fouling the beauty of their district. That part had always made him mad. These people could live in their idealized neighborhoods, but as soon as they saw someone who reminded them of the real world, they would get angry for all the wrong reasons.

Victor realized that he was letting his mind wander and scolded himself for his stupidity. I bet an experienced thief never lets his mind wander when he’s doing something dangerous. He tiptoed through the landscaped gardens—which had to have been recently visited by a mage or a priest, because the plants were in full bloom with several months left of winter—past towering statues that he assumed had once been heroes or lords in their own right. He felt like they were looking down on him in disgust for what he was doing, but Victor just let those emotions slide off the mental barrier he had erected. Whether those thoughts came from himself or were the house’s first line of defense did not matter. They would not stop him.

Victor moved against the manor’s wall, the rustle of grass the only indication anyone would have that he was there. Quickly looking around, he made sure that he hadn’t been seen by any of the guards and that none were heading his way on patrol before he put his mind towards climbing the obstacle. Probing it with his mind, he found that it had no assistance from a Shaper in its construction. He would have to be careful here, for the bricks were only held together by the will of the mold used to make them and the fire used to strengthen them. Rocks were much like water in that they would assume whatever shape was needed at the time. Stones like granite or diamonds were harder to manipulate, but even they would take to a new shape as if it were natural, once changed.

Many believed that the strength of a wall came only from the materials used to create it, and it was true that the materials were largely to credit for its durability. However, the real bond that held a wall together was the will of its builder. If the builder cared for his work and wanted the wall to be a barrier, it would be much stronger than if the builder was just working for money and daydreaming about what he would be doing later that day. In this way, everyone had a little power as a Shaper, but what separated a true Shaper from a builder was the ability to read and understand those bonds.

The bricks themselves were well made, but they lacked passion or pride. The mortar, while nothing impressive, was made by a man who loved his job, so even though it was not the best mixture, it still held strong. The men who put the wall together daydreamed about doing other things, however, so the whole was not as strong as its parts. If he wanted to break down the wall, this would be a good thing, but he just needed to climb it.

If he used his will to make handholds, it would more than likely retain that shape, and it would be obvious that there had been an intruder. They would be able to tell how he had gotten in, potentially how big he was, and—should a Shaper examine it—how strong of a will he had and what he’d been feeling at the time. Once Victor was experienced enough, he would be able to mask some of the information that could be gained from such an examination, but he was many years away from that kind of mastery. Instead, he would have to exert as little of his will on the wall as possible. It would require a lot more of his attention but would also leave little trace. To do so, he would have to climb the wall as well as he could naturally, while providing as little adhesion to the wall with his hands and boots as was necessary.

This had been one of his favorite things Shaylyn had taught him, and also one of the hardest. It was difficult because he had to exert just enough control over the molecules to allow them to bond for a short period and then release with as little change as possible. Small bits of brick dust fell from his hands and feet, telling him his skill was not as good as it could be. It only took about fifteen seconds from the moment he reached the wall for him to reach the second-floor window, but those fifteen seconds might as well have been an hour for the effort he expended. Ever so slowly, he lifted his head over the base of the window, looking for any movement within.

There had been a time when he didn’t look inside before opening a window. That had all changed one night when he had crept into the bedroom of a rich merchant. Victor still wasn’t sure if he had made a noise or if it was just the draft that had awoken the man. Either way, the man’s first instinct was to look directly towards the window Victor had been climbing through. He had barely made it off of the merchant’s property intact that night.

The room he now looked into was not anyone’s bedroom, thankfully, but a display room—the kind where a collector might keep something like a special pair of manacles. Even better, the room was currently empty. Victor checked the window, which was, of course, locked. Luckily, it wasn’t a complex lock, just a latch, and he felt nothing odd about the window, so he didn’t believe it to have been manipulated by a mage. He didn’t think he had enough experience to hold himself up and manipulate the latch with his will at the same time, so he would do it the old-fashioned way. Concentrating on the connection between his boots and the wall, he grabbed hold of the windowsill with his left hand, leaving his right hand free to do its work. Fumbling around in the pack at his waist, he pulled out several thin pieces of metal. Carefully, he began to manipulate the latch, trying to do it quickly but without any noise.

It took almost as long to open the window as it had for him to climb the wall, and for each of those thirty seconds, he had been vulnerable to being found out. He promised himself he would do better in the future. Unfortunately, getting in would prove to be the easy part.

∞∞∞

Shawnrik watched as Victor scaled the manor wall. It didn’t matter how many times he had seen him do it or had done it himself with Victor’s aid; it still looked like magic. Victor had tried to tell him that it wasn’t, but Shawnrik, like so many others, couldn’t seem to get his mind around the concept. To his limited understanding, it was magic, and Shawnrik had always wished he had that kind of power.

It’s amazing, the things you can do, Victor. It’s so hard to keep up with ya. You’re quicker than me, smarter than me, and you can do things I don’t understand. That don’t mean I’m gonna give up, though. You said ya would need someone by your side. That Shaylyn lady you’re always talkin’ about was right, Vic. You’re bound for great things. Even a city rat like me can see it. I plan on bein’ there to make sure you’re alive to do ‘em. Wrapped in his own thoughts, he almost didn’t see his friend slip into the now open window.

Realizing that his job was done unless an alarm was raised, Shawnrik leaned back into the shadows of the alley he occupied and let his thoughts consume him. Great, this is where it gets boring. “Are you always gonna leave me outside, Victor?” he whispered to himself. “What’ll it take for me to be your equal?” He wondered if Victor had really meant it when he’d told him he was smart or if he had just said it to make him happy. Sure, he’d taught Victor how to move through the shadows so he’d blend in and what people make good marks and how to gauge how much is in a purse by just looking at it. He’d taught the younger boy all about how to survive out here, but it would never compare to all the things Victor had taught him.

Learnin’ how to read. I wish my ma could see that. She’d be so proud of me. Sure, most of the people in the Protectorate were literate, but not down on the streets that he usually frequented, and especially not the sons of barbarians. That one thing would open so many more doors for him when he was older. Of course, unless he missed his guess, just being around Victor would probably show him more of the world than he could ever imagine. Shawnrik attempted to find a more comfortable position in which to wait. Once that was achieved, he began to survey the area, looking for guards or any other people who might cause trouble for them.

He noticed something moving through the yard of the estate and soon recognized the shape of a guard dog. “‘Ello doggy. Out for an evenin’ stroll? Do ya smell a human? Well, half a human, anyway.” He chuckled at his own joke. He sometimes wondered if it was the elven half of Victor that made him so special. But no, that couldn’t be it; he’d met a few half-elves whom he wouldn’t lend a hand to if they were drowning.

Remembering that he was sitting alone in a dark alley, Shawnrik decided that he should probably keep his jokes to himself. What’s so important about these manacles, anyway? He wondered why a rich noble would steal them—or have them stolen, at least. Ol’ Man Walkins wouldn’t tell him anything about them. Shawnrik figured they must be magical, or the real owner would have just made a new pair. Since they were magical manacles, he’d bet they were for holding slaves. “Special slaves,” he muttered.

He had seen the man who had hired Walkins to do the job, and he knew the man was Syndicate. If the Syndicate wanted the manacles, it meant they were dangerous to someone. Who would the Syndicate try to hold prisoner, though? Whoever or whatever it was, they would be powerful—like a Protectorate mage or an ogre mage. That line of thinking made him cringe. He didn’t like anyone who would need to hold a Protectorate mage prisoner, and he really didn’t like anyone brave enough to try to hold an ogre mage.

Maybe they’re just for orcs, just to make ‘em weaker and more manageable. If they’re for orcs or ogres, they’ll probly be pretty big and heavy. I hope Vic can get ‘em by him—

“Uh, cough.”

Shawnrik’s head whipped around towards the depths of the alley. He didn’t have to look very hard to see who had spoken. There was a man farther down the alley, propped up against the opposite wall in much the same manner as Shawnrik himself had been leaning only moments before. He said the first thing that came to mind. “Didya just say ‘cough’?”

The man behind him let out a quiet yet warm sounding chuckle. “I like that. Most people would say something like, ‘How did you get there?’ or ‘Who are you?’” He smiled before continuing in a hushed tone that reminded Shawnrik where they were as he moved across the alley. “But yes, I did say cough. I have a sore throat, and I didn’t feel like clearing it to get your attention, so I said cough.”

Shawnrik immediately got the feeling that, if not for the fact that the man had snuck up on him in an alley, he would have probably liked the guy. “Okay, then. Who are you, and how did ya get there?”

“Ah, now we are getting to the heart of the matter. Well, when I’m on guard duty, I try not to let my thoughts wander too much. It allows room for mistakes. It makes it easy for people to wander up on you without you hearing them. Also, when I think too much, it makes my head hurt, and it’s not good to have a headache when you’re on watch either.”

Shawnrik stared up at the man, not quite sure what to make of him. He was of an average height, if not a little shorter, for a man of the city. He could see the man’s arms and figured that the rest of him was made up of the same corded muscle. His hair was dark, either brown or black, and his eyes looked to match the hair. Shawnrik had a hunch that he wasn’t from the Docks District. His clothes were of a fine quality, but the tailoring was such that he could be easily lost in a crowd. His whole demeanor yelled guard or soldier.

“Nothing to say, eh? You’re a bit young to be on watch. What are you, twelve?” The man grinned.

“I’m almost fourteen, thank you,” Shawnrik said without thinking, cringing inwardly when he realized he had taken the man’s bait.

“Oh, you’re almost fourteen, eh? That makes you almost a man, I suppose. Well, young man, what’s your name?”

“I asked you first.” Shawnrik was used to getting hit for being mouthy, but, instead of getting angry, the stranger let out another quiet, deep chuckle.

“I suppose you did at that. Most people call me Ashur.” He held out his hand in a friendly manner, clearly expecting to shake hands.

Shawnrik considered how strange this all was, but the man’s laid-back attitude and apparently friendly demeanor were putting him at ease. He grasped Ashur’s hand and replied, “Name’s Shawnrik, but my friends call me Shawn.”

“Well, Shawn… now that we know each other, may I ask what exactly you and your friend in the manor over there are doing here?”

This made Shawnrik tense up again, and he almost bolted into the street, but Ashur’s grip held him firmly in place. He pulled the boy deeper into the alley. “That’s how ya get caught, kid. You don’t just run out into a lit street. Damn, you are a rookie.” Ashur let go of Shawnrik’s hand and held a finger up to his mouth before pointing towards the head of the alley.

Shawnrik was thinking about yelling at the man for manhandling him when he heard the clank, clank, clank, of metal boots. Two men became visible in the nearby street. They were wearing the purple, black, and gold of the City Watch and seemed to be absorbed in their own conversation, neither of them looking anywhere but at the street ahead, marching down it in blissful ignorance. Some watch they are. Shawnrik thought, nearly chuckling at the irony. After watching the street for a few more moments to make sure they were still heading in the other direction, he turned back to Ashur just as the man spoke.

“You should have seen the look on your face, kid. I’m guessing you want to get found here by the watch about as much as Nim and I do.”

“Who’s Nim?”

“That’s a good question, and if you ever figure it out, why don’t you tell me?” Ashur’s manner told him this was a long running joke, but the way his eyes went slightly out of focus for a second after he said it told the boy he wasn’t entirely kidding. “Just a joke, kid. He’s my associate—or I’m his associate, I guess. He’s kind of like that little gnome you’re working for.” He paused to see Shawnrik’s reaction.

Shawnrik tensed and tried not to let anything show on his face, but he knew he had probably given too much away already. “What gnome?”

Ashur’s smirk returned. “The one I saw scale the manor wall a little while back.” He pointed at the exact window that Victor had gone through a few minutes earlier.

Good. They think Victor is a gnome. Wait, they… “Where’s this Nim guy?”

“He’s around,” Ashur said, leaning back against the wall before adding, “So… wanna compare notes on employers?”