"Leyan hadn't been a good man for a long, long time. I only know a portion of his story, but it's a sad one in every sense." Shutterkeep dragged one of the stools closer and hunched over the gathered loot before continuing. "He was one of the original members of my guild, and once upon a time, Leyan held nothing but noble aspirations in his heart. He helped me forge a tiny empire in northern Ardea, and we thrived in the underground."

The guildmaster sighed and rested his head in his hands. Grinding at his temples with both palms, he took his time composing himself. "I'm afraid the last war broke him. He lost, well, everything imaginable. Love, relations, purpose, and eventually his conscience. In time, I learned to avoid his company. We parted ways officially, and in the last five years, Leyan and I became discreet enemies. He broke our code, and that is something I simply cannot forgive in any man, no matter how deep my affections may run."

Mags nudged a dagger on the floor with the toe of her boot. "Your code?"

"It's simple as can be. Never," he said sharply, “and I mean never, steal from those less fortunate than yourself. It defied the purpose of our guild. Anyhow, that's the long and short of it. Leyan was once a brother. Then he was broken. And over time, I learned to fear him."

Mr. Shutterkeep then raised his head. Unshed tears shone in his eyes, and a terrible resolve lurked in the man's gaze. "Marek, is it? How in the Coherent Realms did you manage to kill such a man? He fought like a Rift-wraith, and his men were strong as well."

Marek drew in breath to steel himself. Twice in less than a full day he was being asked about the source of his power. "I ambushed them and killed Leyan first. That was more or less luck and good timing. The other two weren't easy to kill, and I nearly failed. I managed it, though. That's all I'm willing to share."

"Fair," Shutterkeep said. "Thank you for laying my dear Leyan to rest. I resolved to kill him years ago, but the task wasn't easily done. I owe you a great deal... What are your plans, then? You've come to Middlebrook to cash in this bounty? Are you headed to Swiftwall with Una? Or will you travel to the capital in the far south?"

"We are headed into Shirgrim," Marek replied. "And again, that's all I'll share. I know the dangers: the warring tribes, kobolds and monsters, snowstorms and bandits. We are resolved."

The man wiped his eyes and smiled wearily. "The courage of youth never ceases to amaze me. I'll give you only a single piece of advice. Do not travel alone if you can avoid it. Wait for a caravan to cross the mountains and join them. No matter how strong you are, young man, or how lucky, the mountains will not abide such a small party crossing unhindered. They're old and hungry and bitter cold."

Mags nudged Marek and asked, "Have you heard of the golemite named Gorb and the caravan it travels with?"

Shutterkeep nodded, his shoulders softening. "Good folk, from what I've heard. Weird as riftlings, but honest. They make runs between Swiftwall and Domhan Morga, the holy place of the golemite peoples and the true seat of power in Shirgrim. Its capital is technically Faerest, but that city is both smaller and less secure. If Gorb would have you, take the offer. I could think of few parties more capable of surviving the passes."

All of this was valuable information, and Marek was glad he'd both trusted Una and listened to his gut in trusting Shutterkeep. He still held reservations about the concept of a noble thief, but he and Mags needed allies more than strict morals or more enemies. "Thank you. We'll heed your advice if possible. About this loot, though. Obviously, it would help Mags and I a great deal… but if these were heirlooms stolen from commoners, I don't think I could stomach it. Is there any way..."

Shutterkeep stood and clapped his hands. "Good hearts and steady wits! Little wonder why Una took a liking to you! Yes, yes, I can identify much of this, I'm sure. Give me a moment."

He pulled out what Marek took to be a pocket watch, attached to his belt by a long brass chain. Shutterkeep twisted the circular device, and it popped open. Not a pocket watch at all, but a monocle with a thick lens and thin frames to hold it in place, the item was astounding in its intricacy. "Gorgeous piece, is she not? One of my finest creations. I was given help by a prominent member of my guild, I must add. Even my Skills are limited."

The man they'd run into that morning was unique to say the least. His hygiene and mannerisms were precise and flawless. His clothes were rumpled, though, almost like he'd fallen asleep in them the night before. And now, faced with a task he obviously found interesting, his carefully assembled composure fell away completely. Mr. Shutterkeep knelt on the ground, face going slack as he adjusted the lens on his face. So absorbed and eager was the man that he reminded Marek of a child staring at a new toy. The first thing he touched was a necklace of gold and pearls, a large tiger's eye gemstone embedded as a centerpiece.

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Shutterkeep held it for a moment before throwing back his head. "Serves you right, Baron Wimpledown! Who sends their wife and daughters along the Quartz Road dressed in finery? Practically gave this one away.”

He set the necklace aside before examining another. "Hmmm, I wonder." Turning the bracelet over, Shutterkeep giggled. "Yes, yes. Of course he should pay a visit to Shirbrook Manor. I'll bet half of this was nabbed from the old crone."

Again and again, the guildmaster examined items and moved them aside. Marek had attempted to do the same with Empath's Gaze, but since none of the items were properly enchanted, no information was given. That monocle of his must be priceless, especially to one of his vocation. Wonder what information it's giving him?

Unsurprisingly, Mags was the first to lose patience. "What are you doing? Can't you explain it while you work?"

Shutterkeep moaned, the sound trite and annoyed. "A minute longer. Patience, child."

So they waited, and sure enough, it didn't take the man long to finish. Most of the jewelry had been placed in a pile to his left, joined by much of the gold and the silver bars. A smaller pile of mixed coinage and less-valuable rings and pendants sat in the middle, while on his right, he’d organized the weapons and armor.

"These here," he said, hand hovering above the finest of the jewelry, “are easy to identify. Leyan lost his compass overall, but he still prioritized robbing the rich, even at the end. The payoff is simply too rewarding not to. Anyhow, my suggestion is to keep every single one of these, or else trade them to me. Most were taken from Shirbrook Manor, a rich estate on the outskirts of Swiftwall. The rest were stolen from carriages, the items lifted from noble ladies and gentlemen while they traipsed to a rival's estate for tea or some such."

Shutterkeep winked at Marek, his smile warm and genuine. "If you knew those they'd been taken from, you'd be as happy as I am. Your choice of what to do, however, I won't presume. All of this in the middle here," he said, returning his attention to the coins and smaller items of jewelry, "I get a bad feeling about. None show up in my monocle. They're not all worthless, but they're crudely made and the gemstones are less valuable. Unfortunately, I believe every bit of this was stolen from commoners like yourselves."

"And the rest? The weapons and the chainmail coat—those belonged to Leyan and his men?"

Their host nodded at Marek's question. "More or less. That sword you have on your hip is a mystery I can’t explain. Leyan showed up one day nearly ten years ago wearing like it was his by right. I've done some digging myself but haven't learned who this dreaded Vorgaine was. Not sure I want to know, truly. Scorch Steel is rare in any part of the world, let alone so far from the Rift. The ore is mined only in the Unbound Realms, which of course hasn’t been accessible in quite some time thanks to the Rift.”

"What?" Mags and Marek spat out simultaneously.

"What, indeed," Shutterkeep said. "Anyhow, I can help you disguise the blade better than you have already. Not doing so invites trouble you're likely unprepared to deal with. The other weapons may or may not have been stolen but there's no way to tell. The chainmail certainly was taken. Leyan won it in a sanctioned duel from Prince Raithon himself, the fifth child of the late king. That's a story for another time. For now, would you hear my suggestions?"

Marek nodded, and the guildmaster found his seat again and removed the monocle. "Take the finery, the weapons, and the chainmail if it suits you. You killed a fiend, young Marek. For that alone, you should be handsomely rewarded. All that was taken from commoners, however, I would encourage you to return." He held up a hand to brook any interruptions. "It won't be possible to track down every farmhand and traveling merchant Leyan held up, but that's where I can be of service. Give it all to me, and I'll send it with Una. She's one of my liaisons responsible for relaying messages and distributing wealth among my thieves’ network."

Mags' frown could have wilted a rose. "And why should we support a network of bandits?"

"Thieves!” Shutterkeep corrected, matching her ire with equal intensity. "We're Classed, bound by a code of conduct, and commit no inhumane crimes. Why, you ask? Because our efforts support no less than three orphanages, five feeding houses, and the largest public mage school in northern Ardea, Swiftwall's very own Medica Magica. If you haven't heard of it, the school educates any willing to learn the healing arts and provides free healing to those in need."

Marek's eyes practically rolled at the mention of his school. "Medica Magica? Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

Mags blew out a long breath. "Sorry," she said, nodding solemnly, “this is a bit much to swallow, but you've been open and honest with us about a great many things. Still not sure I want to trust you with my boots and belt knife. Una and everyone with her saved my ass, though, and if she's with you, I'll shut up and calm down."

Shutterkeep chuckled warmly. "Please don't. Banter keeps the wits sharp, and you're gifted in that department. So, what will it be?"

"We'll take your suggestions under one condition. I'd like some of our share given to Una directly for the sole purpose of bolstering her caravan. They're good people, and like Mags said, we owe them."

The guildmaster nodded. "Done. Pleased we finished the boring part. More exciting is the bit where I either hand you a glittering pile of gold or..." He trailed off, eyes almost squinting shut in a devilish grin.

Mags took the bait. "Or?"

"Or you can choose a few choice items from my vault. I doubt you'd refuse upgrades to your equipment… or did I assume incorrectly?"

Marek let his eyes wander for the first time, spotting swords, spears, bows, and an assortment of armor alongside more commonplace items. He scratched his chin and felt a giddy delight rise in his belly. I might be slipping closer to madness every day, but I'll be damned if I won't enjoy the process. "Tell me, Mr. Shutterkeep—you wouldn't happen to have enchanted boots, armor, or anything else that might help in the mountains?"