Chapter 1

Irnoc

            The wood floor of the second story room creaked slightly as I eased my weight down. The light snoring of the inn room’s resident continued, and my breathing eased. I had just finished climbing up the outer wall to this inn and slipped through the open window. He must have been hoping to tempt a light breeze, well after tonight he will know better than to leave a window open in the warrens. This was obviously a traveler; the clothes he left rumpled on the floor were too heavy of a weave for the hot dry climate. He must have been broiling when he crossed the desert, unless he took ship.

            I eased myself down, keeping on my toes and hands as I crept toward his pile of belongings. He left a fairly large pack by the foot of his bed and his belt pouches on his bedside table. I gently eased open the pack and quietly searched through the contents, only finding some extra clothes some dried rations, I slipped those into my shirt and continued to the table and slowly rose up, pausing when the soft snore turned to a grunt as the man turned over in his sleep. When he settled down into deep sleep once again I carefully lifted the belt and pouches, wrapped them in the mans discarded shirt and put them in my shirt as well before moving back to the window and climbed back down to the alleyway.

            As I reached the alleyway I looked around, hidden by shadows as I waited to see if anyone was around. It was a few candle marks past midnight. Most of the warren was asleep at this time of night, but the occasional guardsmen made patrols throughout the night. Once I made sure all was quiet I slipped deeper into the alley and made my way to one of my little sanctuaries, places I can spend some time safely where no one can find me. My favorite and most secure sanctuary was closest this night.

            On my way to my sanctuary I observed many people, sleeping in what rags they could gather, tucked away in corners of the alleys among the thrash and waste of the city. Seeing this manifestation of poverty all around me, I thought about how lucky I am; life is so hard for the residents of the warrens. It’s the poorest section of Hasna’Farid, people scraping by to just survive one more day. I’m lucky compared to these poor wretches, begging for scraps, hoping no one will beat them or kill them for the rags on their backs or what few coins or food a passerby might give them. I easily could have been one of them if the thief lord didn’t take me in when I was orphaned.

            My father was a scribe; I can barely remember his face anymore, but I remember him making me laugh, he taught me to read and write. I wanted to be just like him. We weren’t rich, but we made enough to live on the rise, the hilly area that lay between the low area by the bay known as the warrens and the cliff area held by the nobility and the clergy.

            One night, much like every night we sat down for dinner, it was meager fare but we had enough and were happy. As we started eating, my father suddenly shot to his feet, terror writ across his face “Sylvi get Irnoc down stairs, now” he shouted as he turned to the front door. My mother pushed me to the stairs that led to the cellar. “Run Irnoc” she said “hide where it’s safe” I was terrified; tears ran down my cheeks as I looked at her stricken face. She pushed me forward once more and I ran to the stairs. As I reached them the front door burst off its hinges, splinters of wood pelted the room. Four robed men stood in the door way, one in brown and the other three in red. Scared, I bolted down stairs and huddled in a corner, curled up in a ball and cried quietly as I heard shouting, crashing furniture, then a loud explosion rocked the house, boards snapped, mortar crumbled and bricks fell all around me, then there was silence and all went dark.

            When I came to, I was covered in dust. A few bars of light slanted through the wreckage that was my home. I was surrounded by rubble, but somehow none came closer than a few feet from me.  Somehow, I don’t remember how I managed to crawl out of the wreckage and made it to the street. I was 6 years old and all alone.

            Hearing a footfall off to my right I snapped out of my reminiscing and cursed myself for a fool, letting my mind drift like that. I slowed my pace and peered into the deeper shadows of the next alley way, pulling my short knife out of my sash. I crept by, letting my blade be seen as I crossed in front of the alley. Whoever was there apparently didn’t want to tangle with anybody prepared to draw blood and I continued on my way, keeping my mind focused on my surroundings this time.

            When I reached my hidden nook, a small triangle of space between 3 buildings, the entrance was not easily noticed, even from a few feet away, and for greater measure I placed some old posts in an apparently haphazard fashion over the entrance. There was just enough room to lie down and keep a few emergency supplies, like a water gourd, a few strips of dried meat, some loot the thief lord doesn’t know about and my real treasures. Tucked away in a broken wooden crate, lay a few charred and torn books. The once fine grained leather covers were blackened, the carefully bound pages torn loose from their binding. Damaged as they were, they are the few remains of my past life, the last time I was safe and comforted by my parents.

            I sat down and pulled out my take for the night, I pulled out the dried rations and ate a bit, to assuage the gnawing pit that was my stomach. I set the shirt wrapped belt and pouches on the ground in front of me and unwrapped it. There were 3 leather pouches strung on the belt through the loops on their back. The leather was in fairly good condition, might get a couple silver pennies for all three. Inside one pouch was a set of eating utensils, a wooden spoon, small eating knife and a three tined fork, in another was a map of Heirum and a few other pieces of paper with what looked like notes written in a rather bad handwriting. The last pouch was the jack pot, it had several coins in it; a handful of coppers, a five silver pennies’ and, wow a silver mark. I put two of the silver pennies and a few coppers behind a loose brick in one of the walls and gathered the rest up to take to the thief lord. He should be pleased; this haul should cover my membership fees for the next week at least.

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            I repacked up what I was taking to the Den, and slipped back out to the alley. The den wasn’t much more than a mile away; I looked up at the night sky, the stars were beginning to fade, the black velvet night sky started to, almost imperceptibly, lighten. It was time to get back, dawn wasn’t far away.

            Half a candle mark later I arrived at the den. On the street it looked like nothing more than a rundown pawn broker. The grime coated stone walls showed cracks, and pieces were missing. The awning in front of the shop was little more than tattered strips of cloth clinging to a wooden frame. I moved around to the back of the shop, there was a basement entrance at the base of the wall. I knocked lightly in the prescribed pattern, letting them know I belonged, and the door swung up on deceptively well-oiled hinges, not letting out even a squeak. “Getting in late again Roach?” a little boy with light mousey brown hair and squeaky little voice, apply named mouse, asked me as I stepped onto the staircase.

            “Got a decent haul tonight, the Lord should be happy with his cut.” Mouse nodded as I descended the stairs.

            A few oil lamps lit the way to the basement that housed our gang, the Scorpions. There wasn’t much to look at; the walls were bare, with the exception of a few oil lamp brackets and candle sconces. Despite the rundown and filthy exterior, the basement levels are well maintained, the stone and brick walls showed no cracks or missing bricks, the wooden floors are solid and didn’t creak when trod upon. The stairway led to the entrance hall, the shop above was closed at this time of night, or morning depending on how you looked at it, so the Thief Lord should be in his throne room, as he liked to call it.

            At the bottom of the stairs I opened the door to the entrance hall and had to pause for a moment, the light from the many oil lamps hanging on the walls dazzled my eyes. Once my eyes adjusted I could see the rich looking decorations, tapestries decorated the walls, statuettes stood on a few pedestals, and an ornately carved and cushioned chair stood on an elevated platform, raising the chair about a foot above the level of the floor. On that ornate chair sat the Thief Lord, he sat there resplendent in fine looking robes of a light linen dyed in a rich gold color slashed with silver, encircled by a few polished bronze mirrors set on stands

            “Roach, what do you bring before me today” he asked in what he considered a regal manner, I thought it was pompous and overdone, when he saw me standing in the doorway.

            As I approached the throne, I caught my own reflection in one of the bronze mirrors. I didn’t often look at my own reflection, after all I wasn’t some fancy silk wearing nobleman, but I noted that my shaggy yellow hair needed to be cut again, dust and dirt darkened my pale and sunburnt skin. The bronze metal added a golden hue to my normally bright green eyes.

            I let my eyes pass over my thin and ragged reflection and placed the pouches and coins on the platform before kneeling before him with my head bowed. “Milord I bring before you this humble offering, I bring you three belt pouches of fine soft leather, twelve copper pennies, three silver pennies and a silver mark.”

            “A fine haul my son” he replied as he selected the silver mark and the silver pennies. “You may take your share and retire below.”

            I stood and took the coppers, bowed low and retreated to another door that led to the next floor down, where my mates and I lived.

            Moving from the brightly lit throne room, entering the stairwell felt like stepping into gloom, only a little light showed at the base of the stairs, casting just enough light to watch my footing as I descended. I entered into the common room and saw a few of the older boys playing cards, fingers looked to be winning again, his pile of coppers being noticeably larger than the other two. Two of the younger boys were practicing with the dummy; a dress maker’s wire frame shaped like a person dressed in common clothes, trying to lift purses, handkerchiefs and other small objects without chiming any of the bells attached to the dummies clothes.

            As I entered the room, fingers looked up and asked “hey Roach, want to sit in?” he gestured to a fourth seat that was unoccupied.

            I shook my head, covered a yawn with my hand and answered “Not tonight, I’m beat. I think I’m just going to turn in. Cat still out?”

            “Come and gone, your girlfriend said she thinks she is on to a good score, said she was gona case the mark some before dawn”.

            “She is not my girlfriend” I snapped back, I could feel the heat rising up my neck and my ears tingled.

            “Suit yourself” Fingers replied with a sneer, “If I want a woman, I’ll just go to Hani’s Parlor” showing a lecherous grin, “her ladies are very… accommodating. No need to deal with all that dung involved in actually courting someone”

            “Go waste your coin if you like, I’m going to sleep,” and with that I went into the bunk room, crawled into my cubby hole built into the wall and closed the curtain. I put my coins into a pouch with the few other coins I kept in the den, stripped down to my loin cloth and fell asleep.