Thief



  HALFLORD

  -

  THIEF

  by

  Kris Kramer

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  www.the4threalm.com

  Halflord

  Thief

  Copyright © 2013 by Kris Kramer

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  Chapter 1

  I heard them coming up the stairs. Three of them. Trying to walk softly, hoping I wouldn't notice a group of armed thugs sneaking up on me in the middle of the night. Fortunately, I was already awake and waiting for them. Plenty of other patrons had wandered up and down the rickety wooden stairs of the inn this night, but I knew these three were coming for me because of the slow and careful cadence of their footsteps. The only time people sneak up a stairway is when they're trying to be sneaky. And soft walkers are never up to anything good. But I let them creep towards me, and I waited patiently in my room for them to stumble in, expecting me to be asleep and easy prey. They would be fatally surprised.

  I leaned on the window sill of my darkened room at the Cataran Inn, already dressed, my pack lying on the bed, under the covers. I let my hand rest casually on the hilt of my sword, still in its scabbard. Moonlight streaked through the window, providing the only light in the room, but even that was obscured by clouds and by curtains. It would be dark when they came in, almost too dark to see. But that wasn’t a problem for me. Having an elven mother meant I had certain advantages over these halfwits. I’d bundled up my pack, my cloak and a pillow under the sheets, to make it look as if I was still sleeping. It would be a silly ruse to most people, especially with any amount of decent light, and time to examine the scene, but my hope was that the men coming for me would have neither.

  The creaking stopped, replaced by harsh whispers just outside the door. I eased the sword from my scabbard, making no sound, and held it out in front of me. I admired the moonlight gleaming off the perfectly polished blade and I sighed - quietly - because it would be covered in blood soon. Taking another man's life was a trivial concern for me. I was no murderer, but I would gladly slaughter an army of men if I thought they meant me harm, or if they were even considering it, and I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep about it. So it wasn’t killing that troubled me. What did trouble me, was the mess that came afterward.

  Cleaning the sword was the easy part. I would wipe all the blood and pieces of flesh from the blade, then polish it until it shined again. Then I’d sharpen it to get rid of all the nicks and scratches accumulated through parrying or clanging the damn thing off armor or shields. The real mess came later, when friends or relatives would come calling. They would want revenge, or money, or justice, or even just a hint that killing the man, or sometimes the woman, meant something to me. But it rarely did. To me, it was a means to an end. Just like tonight would be.

  And that's why I sighed. Not for the blood, but for the mess.

  The door cracked open, creaking, then stopped as the intruders waited to see if they’d woken me. Upon hearing no sound from inside the room, they probably assumed I was still asleep, and after some more animated whispering, they probably also decided that there was little value in sneaking in if the door was going to creak as loudly as it had. So they worked around that problem by barging into the room and literally leaping onto my bed to hold me down. A commendable plan, if I’d still been in bed.

  I lunged forward, my blade slicing into the gut of the third attacker, the last one through the door. He'd hesitated while the first two found avenues to the bed, making him the most likely to see me standing in the darkness. There’s a place in body below the ribcage, where if you strike just right, your victim loses the ability to draw a deep breath or to exhale heavily. They can still breathe, but it’s shallow. More importantly, though, it's hard for them to scream. My aim was perfect, and I pulled my blade from his torso and kicked him back through the door. His cry was weak, hoarse, but the other two were so busy grappling with the bed that they didn't even bother to look back. A pity for them.

  Killing blows would take time. If I lunged into the back of one of these men, the other would have time to turn on me before I wrenched the sword out. So I decided to play it safe and give them an extra few moments of life. Two quick jabs sliced through the back of their sword arms, rendering them useless. They cried out, and turned on me, but neither had the foresight in that pivotal moment to switch their weapons to their good arms. Once they were facing me, two more quick cuts opened their throats. One of them fell onto the bed, silently. The other actually tried to charge at me, flailing with his good arm, trying to grab my neck and squeeze the life out of me. I didn't want his blood on my clothes, though, so I jabbed my sword into his rib cage, and used the blade to keep him just out of arm's reach. It didn't take long for him to bleed out, collapse to the ground and die.

  The third assassin had by now stumbled back into the hallway, and I found him on his knees, leaning against the wall, apparently caught in the throes of indecision. I imagine he was trying to decide whether he should still come after me or if he should escape with what little life he had left. When he saw me, however, he made his decision quickly, and tried to run down the hall, dropping his weapon on the ground behind him. He only made it a few steps, however, before I lunged forward and cut the back of his leg, sending him crashing to the floor just short of the stairs leading down to the common room. He turned onto his back, desperately grabbing his side and his leg, his face twisted in pain. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight back. He tried to scream, but thanks to my earlier precision, he couldn't even do that. I stood over him, and he saw his death in my eyes.

  Once all three were dead, I went back into my room, ignoring the concerned stare of the young man sticking his head out of the door across the hall. I considered using one of the halfwits’ sleeves or pants leg to clean my blade, but I decided to wait. I wanted someone to see it first, blood and all. Because tonight was about more than survival. It was about sending a message. And that message was, if you come after me, you'd better bring an army.

  I pulled back the sheets, stuffed the cloak into my pack, and slung it over my shoulder, making sure not to step in any blood. I didn’t mind it on my sword, but having it on my clothes reeked of amateur. I glanced out the window, which overlooked the stables on the east side of the inn and I watched for any sign of movement. It took a moment but I finally saw an arm wave in the darkness at the far end, just past the last stall. I grabbed a sword from one of the dead men and jabbed it down into the windowsill, making sure it was visible from the ground. The sign was set. Now, it was time to walk out of this trap and remind these men who they were dealing with.

  I marched slowly and deliberately down the stairs, letting each step thump heavily against the wood. I wanted them to hear me coming, and wonder at the fa
te of their brothers. It was all about the uncertainty, the fear of the unknown, and letting a man fill his own mind with the worst possible fate he can imagine. Not all of them would be afraid when they saw me, but some might, and that would be the edge I needed, because I would be outnumbered.

  At the bottom of the stairs was the inn’s common area, a large tavern-style room filled with tables, benches, some chairs, and a bar that lined the wall to my right. Two lanterns sat on the bar, at either end, casting long, flickering shadows across the room, where seven men waited for me, six of them with swords drawn. The one in the middle, by the door, was Arnum, the bounty hunter who’d brought these men to this small town of Harfort just to find me. He was a stout man, barrel-chested, with thick, hairy arms and squat legs. He wasn’t tall, but his size gave that impression. He had dark brown hair that he kept short, and a thin beard that usually had bits of food in it. His eyes were bulbous, as if they wanted to pop out of his head, and they were fixed on me.

  The innkeeper stood behind the bar, a short old man with wispy silver hair and a pot belly. He wore a long white undershirt, some wool breeches and nothing else. He looked nervous, and I imagine if we weren't all armed, he'd have told us to take it outside. Instead, he waited behind his bar, where he probably considered himself safe, and fidgeted with his hands.

  I fixed my gaze on Arnum and took a few steps into the room, keeping myself out of easy reach of his men but close enough that he could easily see both me and what I carried. Sure enough, his eyes went to my sword, or more specifically, the blood that streaked across the blade. I smiled, knowing my message had been sent.

  “Basileus Ondraedon,” he said, with nary a hint of mirth. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to see me with my sword drawn, either.

  “Arnum,” I replied. “I see you were smart enough to figure out where I was staying.”

  “T'was the only Inn in town.”

  “Exactly.”

  Arnum sneered. He wasn’t bright, but he at least knew when he was being made fun of.

  “You think you’re out of the fire, halfman? Just cause you got the jump on those fools upstairs? You may have killed 'em, but them’s the last bodies that’ll ever be on your conscience. Only one more person is dying tonight, and I’ll be making damn sure it’s you.”

  “I thought the bounty was triple if I was alive?” I asked playfully.

  “Maybe I don’t want triple.”

  “Well, then I guess it's only fair you brought a few extra men with you,” I said. “Since you’ve had so much trouble killing me. I'd be scared of me, too.”

  Arnum tried to keep a straight face, but a twitch of his lips belied a smile. He would have his fun with me, at least that's what he thought. “Everyone back off,” he said. “He's mine.”

  “No, I'm not.” I opened my pack and pulled out a small metal chest. It was plain iron, about as long and wide as my outstretched hand, and roughly the size of a jewelry box, only not as adorned as most, with a thick lock on the front. I deliberately set it down on the table nearest me, and I saw his eyes dart to it. “That's what you want, right? This?” I tapped it with my fingernail. Arnum’s desperation was evident on his face, so I held my sword up to keep him in his place. “Let’s be honest. The real treasure is in that chest. That’s what everyone wants. Me, I’m just a consolation prize. A difficult one to grab, at that."

  "See, you might think so, halfman," he said, cutting me off before I could get to the best parts of my speech, "but it's that chest that's the consolation prize to me. I'm here for you," he pointed with his blade. "I'm here to see you dead."

  That was unexpected. I'd planned on using everyone's zeal for getting their hands on the real prize, the gem I carried, as a distraction. But Arnum, in his own blunt-headed, brute force kind of way, wanted revenge more than he wanted the gem. This bounty was simply a convenient excuse for him to murder me. Not a problem. I'd just have to make my escape a little sooner than I'd planned.

  "Your employers might want to question me."

  Arnum shrugged.

  "They'll have to be happy with just having their jewels returned to 'em, along with your head on a pike."

  "Uh-huh," I said, glancing around the room to make sure my escape routes were all still viable. The window to my left was my best bet. It was shuttered and barred, but before I’d gone to my room for the night, I’d shifted the wood around in the iron bars, to make sure it came loose easily. It did, so I could pull it out fast without worrying about it sticking. I only needed enough time to open the shutters and climb out without half a dozen men hacking at my feet. Which meant I needed to adjust my diversion plans.

  I readied my sword. "Okay. Let's settle this like men. Although,” I paused for effect, then picked up the chest, "your men may not be as eager as you are to take less money. The gem in here is worth a fortune to the right people. That much is obvious by the fact that you're here with a small army. And you're not the only one after me, you're just the first to find me. So here's your chance to become rich." I held the chest out, and watched as Arnum's men – a motley collection of simple-minded thugs with no real hope of making a fortune on their own – nearly salivated over it. I looked at each of them in turn. "All you have to do is take it and ride back to Pontas."

  "Don't listen to him," Arnum protested. "He trades in lies and deception. He’s fairy-spawned. He'll twist your thoughts like a siren, right before he steals your soul."

  "Interesting," I said. Arnum was proving to be a lot more capable than I gave him credit for. "You must have a lot of faith in your men, then. Here I am, offering them a chance to make enough money to live like a king... well, maybe the king’s exiled distant cousin, and you're telling them not to do it? All because I might magically steal their soul? Just how stupid do you think your men are, Arnum? If I could steal souls, why do I carry a sword?"

  Arnum's men began shifting noticeably, their eyes darting back and forth to Arnum, myself, the chest, and to each other. Someone would break, soon. I could feel the greed and desperation in the air. But I didn't have time to wait, so I bumped up the schedule.

  "Here, I'll make it easy for you. Fetch!" I tossed the chest across the room, toward the bar, and luckily my aim was true. It bounced off the top of the bar, then landed behind with several loud thunks. Sure enough, all of Arnum's men raced toward it, while the innkeeper dove out of the way as if a herd of wild horses was about to run him over. That left only Arnum standing across the room from me, his face red with rage.

  "Stay where you are!" he shouted. “Don't fall for his tricks!” But it was no use. His men were scrambling for that chest like rabid dogs.

  "Arnum," I said, sheathing my sword, "I promise you this, the next time we meet, will be the last time we meet." I didn't even wait to see how angry I'd made him. I darted over to the window, pulled up the latch and threw my shoulder into the shutters, popping them open with the clang of wood on brick. With my pack in hand, I hopped up on a nearby chair and leapt through, crashing to the rocky ground outside and kicking up a cloud of dust.

  "He's escaping!" Arnum yelled from inside. "Get him! Get that fairy-spawned bastard!"

  The window overlooked a wide walkway that ran between the tavern and the stable next to it. The near end of the walkway butted up against the back of a tanner's shop built behind the inn, but the other end led out into the street. I hurried to my feet and sprinted to the stables, and smiled knowingly as two horses approached me. One was riderless, its reigns held by the man on the other horse.

  My oldest friend, Saras. Actually, my only friend.

  "It's about time," he said.

  "I had to change things up. Arnum's not as stupid as everyone thinks he is."

  "Where's the chest?"

  "Gone," I said, climbing aboard the second horse. "And they've probably figured out by now that it's empty. So let's ride!"

  We galloped out into the street just in time to see Arnum burst out the front door of the inn. I made sure to wait unti
l he saw us, then I handed my pack to Saras, pretending to be discreet, and we each rode away in a different direction to split his men.

  "He's getting away!" Arnum yelled, his voice shrill and desperate. "Get to the horses, you idiots! Go get yer horses!"

  By the time they reached the stables and mounted up, I'd be far enough ahead to be out of sight. My path out of town took me north a few hundred paces and then east into the Anahal Forest, which stretched at least a hundred miles, right up to the protective borders of Raven's Crest. It was the only path out of town I could take by heading north, so there would be no question where I was going. But I had a head start, and the forest would give me all the cover I needed to get home, which would be sometime tomorrow afternoon if I could stay ahead of my pursuers.

  As the path narrowed and the trees began to surround me, their branches and limbs stretching out like the arms of a protective mother, I reveled in tonight's success. I'd escaped Arnum's clutches. I would reach Raven's Crest unscathed and victorious. I'd get rid of the damn gem. And I would move on to some other adventures, free of the burdens and responsibilities I'd been saddled with for far too long. I'd succeeded. I was better than everyone I went up against, and I'd proved it yet again.

  Unfortunately, lost in my exuberant self-glory was the realization that a thin rope was strung across the path between two trees ahead of me, about chest high. I slammed into the rope, which carried me off my horse and sent me flying backwards onto the ground with a heavy, breath-seizing thump.

  The gods of fate, it seems, had decided that my victory was not quite complete.