Chapter 3 - Caravan Heist

The woodland was disturbed by a cacophony of human noise. A low chattering of sullen voices was undercut by the snapping sounds of debris as champing footsteps trampled it underfoot, soon followed by the graceless squeaking of ungreased wheels. Birds made for the sky, bolting off the dense trees which flanked the route that led to the City of Bridges.

Pack animals pulled carts laden with the belongings of a small noble family, and the caravan tent itself, which was shuttered with silk curtains. Groups of servants lead by guards in chainmail tunics. The servants were meagrely clothed and docile in nature, never daring to look anywhere but down. The guards were wary but visibly tired from the day’s exertions.

“I guess,” said Omir, peering at the slow-moving convoy from the woods, “that’s what the prospectors at the Alanach Quarry mean when they said that they’ve ‘hit the mother lode.’”

“What?” asked Zahra.

“It’s simple, my apprentice. A noble caravan such as this is like a great honeycomb, its sweet honey ripe for the taking. Provided, of course, that you know your way around the bees.”

“But how..?”

“Just wait. They’re still far from their destination. When they’ve set up camp, I’ll explain.”

The pair followed the caravan from a safe distance as it trudged through the heart of the forest.

As night fell, the caravan stopped by a clearing adjacent to the road. The servants began to unpack a myriad of bedrolls, tents and cooking supplies while the guards constructed a rudimentary palisade. By the time the twin moons began to shine, the camp was finished, illuminated by torches and braziers.

“Now, little Zahra, remember this. The night is our friend, as she gently shrouds Sarkoth in her mantle of darkness.” Omir said, so quietly that she had to strain to hear.

“The night is our friend...” repeated the girl.

“Follow me.”

Omir and Zahra began a slow crawl under the shadows cast by the torches, avoiding servants and guards, until they found themselves behind a wagon filled with crates.

“What are we doing?” Zahra whispered to the dark shape that crouched next to her.

Silently, Omir opened a crate, and chuckled quietly as he lifted a plain, grey tunic, identical to the servants clothing.

“Try this on for size.” he said, throwing a tunic, jacket, and skirt at her. “The avero pride themselves on their armies of servants, so many that it’s very difficult to keep track of all of them.”

The sleeveless tunic came down to her knees, but she shuffled into it anyway. The skirt hid most of her tattered boots and fitted her well, while the rough cotton jacket gave her some warmth. They stored their own clothes in the crate—worn things, claggerd with dirt. They wouldn’t be coming back for them. She only kept her belt with its loops for pouches and her dagger-sheathe, hidden under the jacket. Omir stuffed the now empty backpack under his shirt, which merely made him look overweight.

"It's a shame, but I'll have to leave this here," said Omir as he dumped his miniature crossbow between the crates. "It's just a little too conspicuous. Though, if everything goes to plan, I shouldn't need it."

In no time at all, the man and the girl were lost amongst the crowd.

“Keep looking down,” Omir instructed her. He directed Zahra to where the servants were clustered as they gathered for the night meal. Overseers—grim-looking men armed with clubs—distributed tough hunks of bread, sour goat cheese and something which they called “beer” that was nothing but water with just the amount of alcohol needed to keep it from curdling. Compared to what the two of them had been eating, it was a pretty decent meal.

“You satisfied?” Omir asked her.

Zahra nodded.

“Great. Let’s get to work. We didn’t come here just to grab a meal.”

“How are we going to do it?” she whispered. “There’s guards everywhere,” she said, gesturing her head to the surly men who were now gathered around a brazier, their eyes scanning the camp in quiet awareness.

“The caravan keeps its valuables in the central tents, where the actual nobles are,” Omir pointed at a group of tents which were themselves more luxurious than many of the houses she had known in Vesper. Several men were standing to attention by the entrances.

“But we’ll never get inside..." Zahra lamented. "There’s too many watching.”

“What an astute observation, my girl. That is where you come in,” Omir grinned.

***

Lying back on his great divan, surrounded by the finest silks and art from all around Sarkoth, Janus Tyndall sighed softly. The heavy scent of incense filled the tent, soothing his aching throat. He hated these trips around the region. He was the son of the wealthy, although not very influential Baron Lars Tyndall and felt that it was an insult to his blue blood to travel along with mere servants and indentured thralls. How he missed his great statue garden back at Themis, completely isolated from the rest of the world by high walls which no man or beast could possibly hope to overcome... Not to mention the beautiful handmaidens that waited on his every command.

At least he could still make this night enjoyable, he thought. He held up his hand and snapped his fingers, a servant coming into view and bowing deeply. “My lord?”

“Ah, mereseo. Bring me the fairest you have amongst the servants. I wish to have my pick of them.”

“At once,” he bowed again, the silk curtains of the tent swaying as he left.

Soon, his quarters were full of people. His eyes ran lazily across the room, inspecting the two dozen or so servants which stood in line, most of them with resigned expressions, but, to his disappointment, he didn’t spy any particular beauty. There was just something in the rough skin of the peasants that completely-

But what was that? At the very end of the line stood a girl, little more than a child. She exhibited none of the traces of the women who worked the fields. Such sweet, soft skin, he thought, she mustn’t have been introduced to manual labour yet. She seemed a bit young for his tastes, but he knew that she was the best choice for that evening.

“That one,” he pointed, and the others promptly left the tent, followed by his personal servant. Janus waited until the two of them were alone.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Samantha,” she said, looking at the floor.

“Samantha?” he muttered, disappointed. Janus had already forgotten how many Samanthas his life had seen come and gone. Such a trivial name.

“Very well, Samantha. Come over here.”

One step at a time, she walked towards the divan. Janus sat back, and rubbed his fingertips on her cheek.

“You know why you’ve been called here, don’t you?” he asked. "I hope you know that it is an honour for a mere usef to be invited into a lord's tent."

She nodded slowly.

“Good girl. Now, y-“

Janus fell forward and hit the ground head-first, the sound muffled by the soft, carpeted floor. Zahra watched as a great shadow lifted itself up from behind the divan. Omir turned and gave her a smile, firmly holding a sap in one hand.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes,” she sighed, relieved.

“You performed perfectly. Now, let’s take our time. I suspect this tent won’t be bothered for quite a while…”

Omir’s eyes shone at the sight of the valuable fabrics, statues and other trinkets. He pulled forth a couple of ragged brown sacks from underneath his tunic. They looked completely inconspicuous. They started packing in everything they could.

“Are we doing the right thing?" Zahra asked, as she placed a golden cup gently into the sack. "Stealing all this, I mean?"

Omir stopped. His usual smile disappeared.

“Have a seat,” he told her.

“What? Now..?”

“Have a seat.”

Zahra sat on the edge of the divan.

Omir knelt before her, scrunching his fist on a patch of bare floor between the ornate carpeting. He held up a bunch of dirt, and in his other hand, a golden necklace.

“Tell me what these are,” he asked.

“Earth… and… a locket?”

“Right. Who owns the locket? To whom does it belong?”

“Uhm, I don’t know… The nobleman?”

“Can you say that? Wouldn’t you say that the locket belongs to the jeweller who smelted a gold bar and hammered it in rings until the necklace took shape? Wouldn’t you say it belonged to the blacksmith who smelted the gold ore into a bar? Or would you say it belonged to the miner who tore great wounds in Sarkoth’s womb to acquire the ore?”

“I... don’t know.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“What about this handful of earth? To whom does it belong?”

“I…”

“The men who first came and claimed it as their own by lack of anyone else to do so? The ones who slaughtered the first claimers in order to take it for themselves? The gods, who made the earth and then left all life in their indifference and arrogance?”

“I…”

“This is the truth of the world, my protégé. The concepts of ownership and wealth are travesties, absurd notions that are hammered into our heads in order to control us, to keep us from claiming for ourselves that which others with no right to possess claim to have. If this is the truth of the world, this is the truth of life - survival. Amongst all sins, vices and instincts, the true power that governs our lives and pushes our lives forward is greed. Greed fills us with emptiness, so that we cannot ever be glad with what we currently have, and that gives us the will to steal, to kill, to rape, to claim all which we truly desire.”

“That’s terrible!” said Zahra.

“It is." said Omir, dropping the earth onto the carpet. "But the sooner you accept this, the better you will be prepared for the challenges you’ll met ahead in life. Although laws and sanctions try to govern you, giving you distinctions between right and wrong, good and evil, noble and savage, if you truly want to survive, and even more, thrive, you must accept that these notions are false. There is no right, there is no wrong, there is no good, there is no evil. There is only humanity, and the world.

I could tell you that stealing from those nobles is the right thing to do, because they exploit their servants in every way possible, as you’ve seen yourself. But it isn’t. It isn’t wrong, either. It’s just that the nobles have their way with life, they know how to muscle and manipulate their way forward. What we’re doing is the same. We are pushing ourselves forward in the best way we can. Do you understand?”

“I think I do…”

“You lie,” he smiled. “but you’ll understand, eventually.”’

Zahra returned the smile.

“Now, let’s finish up here." said Omir. "I have to…”

“You are not going anywhere,” said a shaking voice from across the room.

Zahra and Omir looked up.

Janus, having recovered from the blow, had crept up slowly to the tent entrance, completely unnoticed by the two of them, convinced that now was the perfect moment to debate the morals of thievery. He pulled a thin sabre from the sheathe at his belt, a type of sword popular among nobles for its purpose in duelling. It shone, forged of the finest steel, its edge sharp as a razor.

“My, my... sneaky as a viper,” muttered Omir.

“GUARDS! INTRUDERS!" Janus Tyndall bellowed, "PROTECT YOUR LOR-“

The third son of Lars Tyndall fell to his knees and collapsed to the ground, a slender blade lodged in his throat.

“We must go. NOW.” said Omir.

***

No sooner had Janus' body hit the ground, mortally struck by Omir's flying dagger, the outside became alive with the rumble of approaching soldiers.

Omir and Zahra fled through the back of the tent, running as fast as they could while carrying the sacks filled with all the valuables the recently deceased noble had had in his possession. All around them, screams of horror and anger spread through the entire caravan as the news of Janus' demise spread, drawing the attention of every man and woman who wielded a weapon to protect the lives of their masters. Under normal circumstances, Zahra knew that she could outrun any armoured guard, especially under the cover of night and in the woods which she knew all too well. Now, she was encumbered with a bulging sack of treasure which not only slowed her down, but also made so much noise that it shouted her position far and wide.

"Seize them!"

"Thieves!" shouted one of the cooking servants. "Murderers!" Zahra and Omir ducked as a soup-filled ladle sailed towards them and over their heads.

"There they are!" the soldiers had finally gathered themselves into order, braying hounds freed from their cages.

Zahra pressed on, doing her best to ignore the sharp spikes of pain that came with each stone stepped on.

"Drop it. Now!" said Omir, from somewhere nearby. She couldn’t see him.

"What?"

"Drop it or you won't be able to catch up!"

"But..."

"DO IT!"

Letting go of the sack, Zahra was thrown off-balance by the sudden reduction of weight and fell forward, scratching her skin against the twigs and rocks, but it had been worth it. The great amount of treasure crashed into the ground in a deafening noise and slowed down her pursuers as they trudged their way out of the mess. Cups, saucers and candelabras flew in every direction as a blade struck down upon the pile of loot.

Zahra ran and ran until she could hear nothing short of her own footsteps and her own laboured breathing. She was standing at a clearing. Her otherwise flawless sense of direction was useless. She couldn't think straight, and her heart was beating so hard that she thought it was going to burst from her chest. She couldn't see anything in the darkness. She couldn't hear anything in the silence. She-

A hand grabbed her arm from above, and pulled her up. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, Omir's hand fell over her lips, and his other hand made a gesture for her to stay silent. He was hiding amongst the thick leaves of a tree, pressing the sack of loot with his back against the rough bark.

Calming down, Zahra could first hear the heavy footsteps of their pursuers, and she could see the light of their torches.

"Where are they?”

"They couldn't have gone far."

"These woods go on for the gods know how many miles!"

"Perhaps they went to the shrine of Sacrifice."

"Good thinking. Let us-"

Splat. A single droplet of blood which had dripped from one of the scratches in Zahra’s arm splashed onto the guard’s nose below them. The armoured man looked up, and their eyes met. An eternity seemed to stretch from that moment.

A dagger whistled in the air as it was thrown from Omir's nimble fingers and into the guard's faceplate.

The man screamed in agony, falling backwards. Seconds later, a heavy sack crashed into the ground, spilling even more treasure which further hindered their pursuers' advance as they swithered between protecting their lord's belongings and capturing the murderous thieves.

"Run. Now." said Omir, his whisper harsh.

Zahra jumped down from the tree, swift as an acrobat, and followed her mentor as they sprinted away. They ran until Omir finally ordered her to stop.

"That's enough," he said, taking a deep breath. "We're far enough away, now. They won't pursue us past here without risking getting lost in the wilds.”

Zahra didn't say a word, too busy catching her breath to do anything else.

"It's a shame... We had it all in our hands, if only for an instant..." Omir mused, a disappointed look on his face. "We lost this one, little Zahra."

"Not quite," she said, having finally caught her breath. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a small object that glowed brightly in the pale moonlight. It was a jewel, roughly the size of a walnut. It was completely colourless, but it shone fiercely in a way that only a masterfully cut diamond could, fire smouldering beneath its surface.

"I thought I could keep it for myself," she said. "I... sorry." Zahra apologised with an uneasy smile.

Omir smiled. "You're learning faster than I th-"

Omir's cheek was cut by a glancing projectile which would have perforated his skull if he hadn't flinched back at the last possible moment.

"GET DOWN!" Omir shouted.

Another arrow-like bolt whistled past them, narrowly missing Omir's throat. He dropped to the floor, and the shooting stopped. There was a mechanical clicking sound, and then a man stepped out of the darkness.

He wore armour made of rugged, thick leather, dyed a shade which made him meld into the forest’s shadows. Zahra couldn't see his face, but she saw the crossbow, firmly held in rough hands the size of dinner plates. The weapon was pointed straight at Omir’s chest, who held a thin blade between his fingers, ready to throw, but neither men moved.

"One movement and this bolt will go through your heart," the man said, sounding calm and indifferent.

Omir's face was tense.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Surely you didn't think that House Tyndall is stupid enough to let a group of second-rate tin-men take care of their security while filthy thieves prowl in and out from the dark corners?"

"I sure do." Omir said, grinning broadly, tensed to strike.

The man cloaked in shadows laughed.

"You're right. I must say I was lucky to accept the Tyndall’s offer as an extra blade. Even more so when their fears came true and I received my first assignment in quite some time."

"A bounty hunter." Omir said.

The man nodded.

"You can come along peacefully, be beaten up, tried and hanged like the scum you are, or you can bet on what is faster; your muscles or my bolts." the bounty-hunter said.

"Interesting choice. I think I'll pick the latter." Zahra's mentor replied.

"I knew you would. You have guts, and even some skill."

"You're not a bad tracker, either," Omir said, not relaxing his grip on his dagger.

The wind blew ever so softly, but neither thief nor bounty-hunter made their move.

A rustling sound from the bushes nearby, probably a wild animal, distracted them both for a split-second. They set their eyes on each other again, and took their shot. A bolt was let loose, a knife was thrown—neither met their mark. Omir ducked and then sprinted for the bounty-hunter with great agility, faster than Zahra had ever seen him move, grabbing his crossbow with one hand and pulling it upwards, away from himself.

His free hand reached into his waist for another dagger, but as soon as his fingers curled around the hilt, another, larger blade was already at his neck, close enough to shave his beard.

The bounty hunter, not bothering with the crossbow, had predicted his move and now had the upper hand.

"I... lost." Omir said, almost confused, his expression somewhere between surprise and fear.

"You sure did," said the bounty hunter, keeping his knife at Omir's throat, ready to cut it wide open should the necessity arise. "Give up. My payment is higher if I bring you back alive." They were so close that Omir could smell his enemy's breath.

Omir's nose wrinkled, but then his eyes went hard. "Give up? Oh... no. I don't think so."

The pressure of the blade on his neck increased, and the bounty hunter grinned. "No? Consider this, thief. You don't want me to bleed you dry, not when your little girl is watching."

The thief was trapped. He wouldn't make a move for the sake of his little girl...

His little girl...

Where was that little g-

A crossbow bolt was thrust into the side of the bounty hunter's throat. His eyes bulged in surprise as Zahra pushed it deeper into his neck, both of her hands becoming drenched in dark liquid. He tried to speak, but his words were drowned in choking gasps. The bounty hunter fell backwards to the ground, his legs spasming against the dirt.

Omir dropped to his knees, utterly surprised, still holding his dagger high in the air. He lowered it, looking towards the crying girl, and then back towards his defeated enemy.

"It isn't easy to kill a man." Omir said, picking up one of his knives from the ground and closing Zahra's fingers around it. "But it gets easier with practice, as do all things. Put him out of his misery."

"I don't want to." said Zahra, unable to cope with herself.

"You must. If you are to survive, you must learn to kill."

"That's not what my brother..."

"You only know one thing about what your brother wanted for you, Zahra. He wanted you to survive."

She looked into Omir's eyes. He was calm, almost making her feel embarrassed for crying.

"Prove to the world that you are going to survive."

And so she did.