The two men on horseback were armed for battle. Each of the bearded warriors wore a full set of boiled leather armor decorated with a colorful sash of blue and gold tied diagonally across the chest piece. Dalthan had never seen livery worn like that before, but considering he could be anywhere in the multiverse that shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Besides, he was far more interested in the short spears held by the two fighters.

Short spears that were pointed straight at his chest.

Despite this, Dalthan calmly looked up at the two mounted guardsmen with a smile on his lips that ol’Sloefoot had referred to as ‘The Skeleton Key.’ It was a potent mixture of sunny disposition sprinkled with naive honesty. Dal’s friendly grin coupled with his handsome features had mentally disarmed a bevy of marks ranging from burly dockworkers to young mothers, to gossiping spinsters. Whether he was talking the elderly into donating to a fake charity or convincing the dicers at the dock that he wasn’t cheating them out of their money, the rogue depended on his charisma to give him an edge.

Because it worked.

The two guards leaned back in their saddles as they shared a look of mutual confusion. How many times had Dal seen that same look before? It was the bewildered look of a person struggling to reconcile the reality their eyes were seeing versus the world their brain was wired to recognize.

Needless to say, this was all part of the plan.

Like an assassin’s blade slipping between the ribs of an unsuspecting target, Dalthan’s voice slid smoothly through the air. “You see I’ve been on the hunt for a rare medicinal plant all day. The Mo’Ron is a native to this forest and the beans they produce are worth their weight in gold to an alchemist!” Dalthan’s smile never faltered as he spun his tale with a voice that fairly screamed ‘harmless simpleton.’ “I had planned to wait until I got to town to sell the three that I managed to find, but then I saw your caravan. I can offer to sell them to you instead. Cheap! It’ll save me a trip down the road.”

From beneath the brim of their half-helmets, the two guards regarded him with the same wary looks they might have used if a rabbit had suddenly asked them for the time of day. Dalthan tried to be patient with the two, but the steady approach of the wagon, and the other two guards, put things in a bit of a rush. The more people that got involved, the harder it would be to pull off the con.

The rogue was snapped out of his thoughts when one of the bearded men growled in a deep, rumbling voice like thunder. “I’ve never heard of a Mo’Ron. What does it look like?”

“To the untrained eye, they can be tough to spot.” Dalthan replied solemnly as he unhooked the bean pouch from his belt. “Why you could be surrounded by them right now and you might not even know it!” Dalthan could have sworn that he heard a choked laugh coming from the tree line. The guards seemed to notice something too, for both their eyes darted toward the edge of the forest. Fearing that he was losing his audience, Dal lifted the brown pouch with a wave of his hand. “Unfortunately, most Mo’Rons are worthless. Only a rare few will have beans that can be processed into miraculous medicine.”

“Now the missus would tan my hide if she knew I’d given away a day’s work,” Dalthan said conspiratorially once the guard’s attention was focused on him again. “But the truth is I’m a tired lad. You know how it is, working ourselves to the bone day in and day out, right?” The con artist waited just long enough for the two men to tilt their heads in a nod of acknowledgment before he continued. “So, what I’m going to ask for is just a small token. A few coins and you could make ten, maybe twelve times as much when you get to town. You get to make some money. I get to go home. Everyone wins.”

Dalthan beamed at the two like an oracle who’d just shared the secrets of the universe. Internally, he was trying not to let the steady approach of the wagon distract him. They were near enough now that he could make out the expression on the wagon driver's face and the man did not look pleased to see his guards idly shooting the breeze with some peasant.

“So what do you say?” The rogue asked with an encouraging shake of the bean pouch.

The man to his left was glancing over their shoulder and Dal didn’t miss the way his back stiffened when he saw how close the wagon had gotten to them. The man to his right, however, was looking at the pouch in the rogue’s hand like an orphan kid staring at a hot meal. Dalthan knew that look well and he knew exactly what it meant.

“Two irons,” the greedy warrior muttered as he reached down toward his belt. “If you’ll take two irons for it, I’ll be taking this Mo’Ron stuff to the apothecary in Caledorn myself.”

The guardsman was clumsily digging out his coins to seal the deal when the air was filled with the shrill whistle of an arrow in flight. Before anyone could react, a missile the size of a javelin buried itself in the sellsword’s chest with a brutal thump. Everyone, even the target, was still dumbly staring at the enormous arrow when a second one punched into his torso beside the first. The second shot was immediately followed by a third that struck the weakened man hard enough to send him tumbling from the saddle. The thud of his body striking the road was all the invitation his startled horse needed to take off down the dusty path as fast as its galloping hooves could carry it.

While the hoofbeats of the frightened stallion receded into the distance, everyone on the road stared at the guard’s corpse in mute horror. Like a cryomancer’s ice sculpture, the men seemed frozen in a tableau of shock and confusion. The moment soon thawed as the fires of rage melted through the caravan’s surprise.

The thief had just begun to nonchalantly sidle toward the edge of the road when he became the target of all their incandescent fury.

Then all hell broke loose.

The remaining guard wasted no time wheeling his mount around to advance toward the nearby rogue. “Die, asshole!” The soldier shouted as he brandished his spear menacingly in Dal’s direction.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What the fuck?!,” the rogue squawked, waving his hands frantically as if to ward off the soldier’s murderous gaze. “Nononono! Wait!”

The vicious stab of the soldier’s spear brought their negotiations to a violent end.

Fighting a mounted soldier was not a skill that Dalthan had cultivated in his previous life. In the streets of Wavecrest, especially the back alleys that he frequented, a horse would have been a liability. Fortunately, one of the lessons the rogue did invest considerable time in was how to dodge a hit. After doubling as his father’s punching bag when he was a young boy, Dalthan developed an appreciation for avoiding blows instead of taking them.

The obvious exception was when he got sucker punched by a fucking ogre outside a tailor’s shop. But the less said about that particular event, the better.

Like a rat ducking beneath the swipe of an alley cat, Dalthan managed to twist his shoulders just enough to avoid being skewered by the vengeful guard. The second strike might have turned him into a con man-kebab if the mounted warrior hadn’t abruptly aborted his attack to lean away from an arrow that shot through the air with a deadly shriek.

On the heels of the massive arrow, a ball that glowed with the light of an active volcano hissed its way toward the caravan, scorching the air as it passed. Dal’s emerald eyes widened in alarm while he watched the shining orb hurtle through the air toward the nearby wagon. Having seen that spell more than once, instinct sent the thief diving to the ground.

“Oh, shi-”

That was as far as Dal got before the orange orb struck the caravan’s wagon. A crack like Madame Leatherlace’s whip snapped through the air to herald the birth of an explosion that sent a shockwave roaring across the road. At its epicenter, what remained of the wagon had become a hellish conflagration of flame, smoke, and smoldering horseflesh.

Only the rider on the far side of the wagon managed to keep his saddle The other two guardsmen were unceremoniously dumped from their mounts. Terrified, the two newly liberated horses raced one another down the dusty road in their eagerness to be as far away from the flame as they could get.

Dalthan cursed as he rolled away from being trampled to death. As soon as the thundering hooves galloped past him, the thief scrambled to his feet to assess the battlefield. The wagon had been reduced to blazing kindling. Two guards lay unmoving in the dirt. One had been turned into a pin cushion by Keysha. The other lay close enough to the blazing wreckage of the wagon that Dalthan was certain the man was either unconscious or dead. That left one mounted soldier that was trying to wrestle his skittish horse back under control.

And the guard that had tried to stick Dalthan with the pointy end of his spear only moments ago.

“Can’t we talk about this?” The rogue asked, pitching his voice to be heard over the crackle and pop of the bonfire behind him. “I just wanted to scam you! Honest! I’m a good guy now. I think that means I have to limit myself to murder in self-defense.”

Half the guardsman’s face was covered in blood as he used the butt of his spear to hoist himself from the ground. Unfortunately, either the fireball had stricken the man deaf or he was unreceptive to the rogue’s attempt at diplomacy. No sooner had he gotten to his feet than the warrior launched himself toward the rogue with a bloodcurdling scream.

“Fuck!” Dalthan swore with feeling as he turned and ran toward the corpse Keysha had used as target practice. The rogue dove over the dead guardsman with the grace of a trained acrobat. His hands took hold of the guard's chestpiece as he flew by, dragging the corpse above him as he hit the ground with his shoulder. Right on time, the warrior chasing him thrust his spear, burying its tip in the corpse of his friend instead of the fleeing con artist. He would never get a chance to rectify his mistake because, at the same moment, Dalthan took hold of one of Keysha’s enormous arrows and shoved it through the corpse he was using as a shield to drive it into the other guard’s groin.

A wail of pure agony rose into the air as the guard dropped his spear and clutched at the arrow that’d been driven into his nethers.

“I told you,” Dalthan muttered as he freed a long dagger from the belt of the corpse he’d used as a shield. “I’m trying to be a good guy. Would it have been so hard to just have a civilized conversation?” The thief rose to his feet and stepped around the guard that was too busy desperately trying to get a grip on the blood-slicked arrow to even acknowledge Dalthan’s voice.

“Now I’ve gotta kill you,” the thief murmured. With practiced ease and a steady hand, Dalthan carved a red line into the wounded man’s throat using his newly acquired dagger. “Fuck. I bet it's not self-defense anymore after I stab you in the dick.”

The rogue watched impassively as the guard’s lifeblood stained the dirt beneath their boots. He’d reached down to wipe his new blade clean when he heard the unmistakable pounding of hooves galloping across the dusty road. The thief didn’t even bother to look back before he bolted toward the tree line like a rabbit running back to its warren.

“I just want to sell some fucking beans!” Dalthan screamed as the mounted guard drew closer by the second. The rogue knew the guard had to be right behind him. He could practically smell the horse’s breath.

Dalthan knew he wouldn’t make it to the trees before the horse ran him down.

He also knew that the pile of stones in front of him was no ordinary mound of rocks.

The thief gracefully vaulted over the nondescript rock formation at the edge of the road. As soon as he cleared the gray boulders, they rose majestically into the air to arrange themselves into Shale’s now familiar form.

With a single swing of its massive arm, the golem pulverized both rider and horse into a chunky red puree. This would have been cause for celebration had Dalthan not been showered by a stream of red goop. The entire scene reminded him of what it looked like when you squeezed a tomato in your fist till it popped.

For a time Dalthan simply stood there watching the wagon burn while blood and viscera dripped from his once-white clothing. Shale joined him in his quiet vigil, respecting the rogue’s desire for silence. Rocks, as it turned out, were quite the considerate lot.

Zaplixel was the first to arrive. The old wizard took one look at Dalthan and began, “I thought…”

Dalthan shushed him with a shake of his head. “Shh….”

Next came Keysha, looking at everything but the blood-drenched thief. She stood silently for several seconds, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other before she hesitantly began, “It looked like…”

Just as he had with the wizard, Dalthan shushed his teammate with a shake of his head. “Shh…”

And so, the four evildoers stood in silence while the roaring flames sent a gout of dark, oily smoke spiraling into the sky.

“Well,” Dalthan finally said after a long pause. All three of his companions immediately turned toward him, apprehension plainly written across their faces. Except for Shale’s. Because it's a rock.

“...It looks like we’re just going to have to do things the hard way.”