Khyrag, Lord of the Last Walk or the Gravetender, was the old Vadian god of passage to the afterlife. Not a true death god but rather one who helped facilitate a soul's journey from the living realm to whatever came after. Appropriately enough, his temple stood silently on a low hillock surrounded by the city graveyard. Khyrag wasn't believed to be a particularly nasty god. Still, one avoided visiting his temple unless an old (and wealthy) relative stubbornly refused to pass away. It was unclear if a prayer or two would help remove such inconvenient obstacles. Still, most citizens of the noble town of Eskard believed that it couldn't hurt either.

The priests preferred more meaningful contributions to their coffers but knew that folks looking forward to inheriting at the expense of their relatives were unlikely to fork out too much. Not surprisingly, the poverty-struck priests had brainstormed for a while and had hit upon an innovative idea. First, they'd torn down their temples in the pleasure district (or wherever) and rebuilt them near graveyards. They then added another portfolio to their master's activities by naming him Gravetender and charged a small fee for all burials and a larger one from the wealthy for the eternal preservation of their loved one's graves.

The priests had done well for themselves, and their temple had a look of gloomy prosperity about it. Security was non-existent as it was unlikely that anyone was dumb enough to steal from a dark god's temple. Scratch that. In my so far short but eventful life, I had proved that foolish things came easy to me. I preferred doing stupid things with a modicum of planning in the belief that I, like other sentient beings, had a quota of foolish things to do. Once that quota was filled, I would be safe till the next month's quota had to be met. Damn fool notion now that I thought about it, but self-justification was necessary.

I sat on a tombstone a hundred yards away from the temple, breathing in a rather cloying scent of incense, damp soil, and graveyard and waiting till midnight. Not that midnight had any particular significance to me. Still, around that time, the fat head priest would shuffle in from the Tavern of Lost Souls at the foot of the hillock. I had a slightly longer wait than expected and was just starting to fidget when I heard the priest stumbling along the path to the temple. He stopped just twenty yards from me, but I'd already taken cover behind the headstone. A sliver of yellowish moon was visible through thin, fast-moving clouds. There was more than enough light for me to see clearly but surely not enough for him. I was needlessly worried as he just lifted his cassock and noisily urinated in the general direction of the nearest graves. He finished, then started lustily singing drinking songs as he stumbled up to the temple. Talk about the silence of the grave. If I was interred here, I'd get up and walk away, perhaps even ask for a refund.

Having had a proper education in my craft, I had done my homework well. I'd prayed at the temple by day and skulked outside by night. Apart from the priest, the temple was home to two acolytes, a cook, and a servant for cleaning and washing. The hard work of digging graves and keeping the graveyard relatively clean was done by hired labor. The temple would close its business at sundown, and the cook would have dinner ready within the hour. Having eaten, the priest would set off for the tavern while the others would talk for a while before closing the ornate front door and heading for bed. The priest had his own key, so no one had to wait up for him. He usually locked the door behind him immediately when he returned at night. Still, he sometimes would tinker around for a bit before closing the door.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

My plan was simple, if he didn't immediately lock the door, I'd slip in behind him and hide in the shadows till he closed the door and went off to bed. I'd then take what I wanted and slip out through the front door. It would be morning before anyone noticed anything amiss. I've seen that simple plans worked better than more complicated ones. The more pieces to a jigsaw puzzle, the greater the likelihood that one would get lost. Theoretically, the chances of screw-ups were less when only one person was on the job. That's the reason that I worked alone.

I followed the priest soundlessly and was just a few feet behind him as he fumbled with the key. He'd locked the front door the last few nights, so I was due a break. He entered the temple but didn't immediately shut the door. Bingo. I slipped in silently and saw that the passageway was clear. A lamp hung by the door created flickering shadows. The priest had entered the nearby antechamber, and I could hear him cursing as he struggled to remove his boots.

By the time he finished, I'd already slipped into the main temple chamber and was hidden behind a pillar broader than me. The priest finally locked the door, took the lamp hung by the door, and climbed up the stairway behind the main altar to the level above.

I waited till I could no longer hear the priest upstairs and strained my ears to hear if anyone else had awoken. It was unlikely, but a little caution in my line of business could go a long way. I looked around the main chamber, the little moonlight entering through the frosted glass windows providing sufficient light for me. The room had few furnishings except for a couple of wooden benches before the altar. Large congregations were obviously not a problem here. A collection box on the central altar platform looked the only obvious attraction apart from a couple of candle stands. They could do with some cleaning but had the solid feel of silver. The collection box had an old heavy lock of a foreign make. I took out a battered monocle from my belt pouch and looked through it as I glanced again at the collection box and its lock.

Neither radiated the blue glow of magic. No magic meant the absence of magical traps. The ability to detect magic was invaluable in my trade. The wealthy could easily afford to pay for magical traps for their prized possessions. The monocle was enchanted to see magic. I'd acquired it by chance when I'd broken into a traveler's chest at an inn. My monocle wasn't particularly effective as it couldn't distinguish between schools of magic or determine the intensity of enchantments. I also had the feeling that it wasn't good enough to detect cloaked spells and enchantments. Anyway, it served my purposes, and I tended to avoid high-value targets which were more likely to have adequate protection. I carefully put the monocle away and took out my picks.

The lock wasn't easy to pick, and for some strange reason, my hand felt a strange chill. A vague foreboding crept over me, and I started breathing faster. Suddenly I heard the faint click of the tumblers within the lock, and everything else was forgotten. I remembered to lightly oil the hinges of the box before I cautiously opened it. For such a large box, the pickings were slim indeed. Only a few coins were silver; the rest were copper. The temple wasn't as well off as I supposed, or else the priest was drinking all the silvers away. I slipped the coins into a pouch and thought of going upstairs to search the bed chambers when the chill came upon me again.

This time I knew that something was wrong as I wasn't the type to panic unnecessarily (necessary panic being something I specialized in). So far, the job had gone well, but something in the temple had changed. The air grew thicker and oppressive, and I could hear faint voices, many, many voices, in different tongues. I looked around, but there was no one there. The sounds seemed to be coming from all directions and none. As I tried to hear what was said, the voices faded away, and there was silence once again. I knew I had to get out of the temple, and I staggered to the main door. The priest had conveniently hung the key on a hook beside the door. I hastily opened the door and slipped out into the night.

The thumping of my heart slowed, and I could finally breathe, but I couldn't understand what had just happened. Had I been the victim of a curse or something. Or was it just overactive nerves in a slightly eerie environment? But the voices, how could I explain that. I walked through the graveyard, avoiding the path as the tavern at the foot of the hillock was still open for business. The cemetery felt different, not evil or scary but oddly full of possibilities. I jumped over the low stone wall on the southern end of the graveyard and into the city's safety.