Prologue
Although Atolcus felt the need to sigh, he didn’t dare. He was alone, as was his habit out of a great dislike for most people, and normally sighing was Atolcus’ preferred way of showing his displeasure. However, he forbad himself from making any kind of unnecessary noise while on a job.
Allessandros had really outdone himself this time. Lifting a priceless suit of armor from one of the Robes would be impossible for most. At the very least, one of the rogue mages should be here to handle it, as magic was their forte, not Atolcus’. The only magic he consigned himself to deal with lay within his trusted blade, Fleet. The two foot sword made the most of Atolcus’ lightning quick speed and augmented it, allowing two strokes to his enemies’ one. Not that he expected to have use Fleet tonight, but it was nice to know it was by his side, ready for use.
He felt ready to sigh again as he remembered that he would have to employ more magic tonight. The rogue just hoped that Jorunst wouldn’t double-cross him, or rather, didn’t dare double-cross him. Three of Jorunst’s baubles sat ready in one of Atolcus’ two pouches, along with a folding grapple and his set of lock picks.
Atolcus wore his best thieving attire, a one piece jumpsuit made of expensive Liwiric cotton. The jumpsuit was dyed black and Atolcus’ face was covered in thieves’ black. The rogue did not have the average small thief’s build. Instead, Atolcus was taller, yet still remained agile, limber, and lissome. He sported a villain’s nose, one promising regality and torture all in one snout. His hair was closely cropped, both to avoid catching on something during a jape and to avoid discarding evidence for the Robes or clerics to use against him.
It was just getting dark, still a quarter hour before the sun slipped low enough beyond the horizon for his task to truly be possible. The thief was crouched on a rooftop of some important nobleman, whose name Atolcus could hardly be bothered with learning. All that was important was that the sorcerer, Norti of the Green, keep his abode opposite the wide street in one of the upper noble quarters of Anaria. The sting of salt threatened to cause Atolcus to sneeze as it reached his nose, but his great force of will kept the sneeze suppressed. Atolcus hated bringing himself this close to the Bay; the acrid smell of saltwater cut into his nose and always forced a fever out of him shortly thereafter. But a job with a payout this large and the challenge of earning that payoff brought Atolcus to this rooftop, near a short cliff overlooking the famed Bay of the Coin.
Allessandros, Atolcus’ fence and contact to the rogue’s guild of the Menairi, had given the thief an opportunity he knew would not be passed up. The famed rogue was to find his way into Norti’s manor and acquire a suit of special armor. What the armor did was of no concern to Atolcus; the challenge of getting to it was what interested him most. Norti of the Green was rumored to have recently obtained this suit of magical armor last week, and he had reportedly already foiled an attempt by a rival guild to steal it. Atolcus could only guess at the wards that were set up around the armor; hopefully when the time came, he would be able to defeat it.
The sun’s last rays finally disappeared from the sky as night began to rule. The moon had only been waxing for a couple days, therefore it allowed Atolcus enough light to see what he was doing while it foiled the casual attempt for others to observe him. He fished one of Jorunst’s baubles out of his pouch and studied it for a moment. It was small, as it easily fit into the palm of his hand, and was shaped like a cylinder. Remembering the sorcerer’s instructions he backed up several steps and quickly threw the item at his feet. The cylinder dissolved with a silent puff of smoke. Atolcus took his cue and sprinted toward the edge of the rooftop. His final step caught the edge of the roof, and he pushed with all of his might, hopefully vaulting himself to the opposite rooftop forty feet away.
The jump only lasted seconds, but to Atolcus the time seemed to stretch out indefinitely. The rush of wind against his open face only fed his excitement. The arrival at the magus’ rooftop came a little unexpectedly, but Atolcus managed to turn his landing into a calculated tumble. Coming to a stop halfway across the roof, Atolcus took a moment to glance back in awe at the distance he just managed to travel.
His demeanor once again turning professional, Atolcus scanned the dark rooftop again, as he had many times from across the street. He quickly scampered over to one of the five rooftop windows that adorned the mighty manor. Reaching into his pouch again, he brought forth his treasured set of lock picks. Atolcus smiled as he prepared himself to begin picking the lock on the window, something he was much more familiar with. Yet, frown forced its way upon his lips as he carefully brought the picks away from the lock.
Back in his pouch again, his right hand brought forth another one of Jorunst’s magic stones. This one had no unique shape to it, just a simple blue stone. He simply threw it straight up and stared as the stone stopped in midair, a mere foot from where it had left his hand. He then turned his attention again to the lock and was amazed to see that it was glowing blue. Switching strategies, he took the glass cutters from his lock pick set. Securing a rubber cup to one of the panes of glass with one hand, he used the other to cut an oval into the glass with his cutters. A quick tap and a tug and the glass was removed, to be placed aside the rogue as he put their tools back in their proper resting places.
Atolcus next brought out his grappling hook and swiftly tied to it one end of his black silk rope. Fashioning the grapple neatly a corner of the roof, Atolcus squirmed his way through the opening in the window and dropped silently to the floor, the magic stone following him all the way.
Though the hallway was filled with plush tapestries, sitting desks, and display tables holding all sorts of untold valuables, the thief took it all in with barely a notice. Making his comfortable yet dangerous living in Anaria, City of the Nobles, he was accustomed to seeing the riches that used to adorn nobles’ homes on a daily basis. That night, he had larger quarry in mind.
After he estimated his location in the manor, based on a crude map he was privy to glance at, he turned to his right, following the large hallway past four doors before stopping at a fifth, again to his right. The door itself was no more spectacular than the rest of the doors along the hallway, made out of simple cherry, gilded with platinum at the edges. Behind this door, however, was Atolcus’ goal.
The stone hovering at his shoulder warned him to stop by showing him the blue lines that horizontally lanced across the door entryway, and completely covering the knob. As the assumed magic lines were perhaps each a foot and a half apart, Atolcus dared a peek in between two of them, so that he might better examine how they were made. The rogue found he was in luck as the lines did not touch the door, in fact they were a few inches in front of it, starting just beyond the door knob.
Disbelieving the simple luck he was finding, he studied the door for a few more minutes before reaching between and behind the lines to turn the knob and give the door a bit of a push. Atolcus was immediately rewarded with a bombardment of more blue lines emanating from within the room. In the center of the room was a stand supporting a suit of mail while blue lines darted from every corner of the room to meet it. There were about twenty of the now detested blue lines converging on the mail, each of them meeting in the center torso of the suit.
Atolcus all but smiled. The door stopped perpendicular from the entryway, as Atolcus had planned. He backed up several steps and ran for the entryway, jumping a body length before he reached it. His body straightened from years of toning and practice as he gracefully leapt through the doorway and between the blue lines, which did not even come close to touching him.
Carefully, Atolcus found a spot where he could stand safe from the magical blue lines. As he got up to his feet, his right hand found the third trinket from his pouch. It was a ball the size of his fist, made of a rough volcanic stone. Finally having a chance to study his target, Atolcus carefully peered at the suit of mail. At the doorway, he first thought it constructed of plates, but now he realized that it was a very fine chain. There were arcane markings all over it, painted in a rusty red. The markings seemed to shift iridescently as his eyes grazed passed. If it would not hinder his chosen trade, he would consider wearing this fine suit of armor.
Recalling Jorunst’s instructions yet again, he took the sphere into both hands and placed it at eye level between himself and the mail. He applied pressure equally with his hands and ball began to shrink. He peered past the ball in amazement as the armor shrank as well. Atolcus pushed on the ball until his palms touched each other, the magic then expired. The thief reached down and grabbed the suit of armor, now half the size of his hand. He sneered as he placed the miniature suit into his second pouch, the one that had laid empty on his left side just for this purpose.
Atolcus turned around and jumped through the entryway again. Only upon reaching the hallway did he realize that he couldn’t safely shut the door from where he stood. Atolcus shrugged slightly as he turned and scurried his way back to where his rope waited for him. He climbed the rope and squeezed his body through the narrow window opening.
Grabbing his grapple from its securing location, he moved to one of the other sides of the rooftop and placed it on this side of the roof. He threw his rope down the side of the manor and scaled down as quietly as he could manage. Once Atolcus reached the ground safely, he tugged three times on his rope and activated the release on the grapple. The teeth reversed themselves and the grapple fell harmlessly to the ground.
After Atolcus set himself to coiling the rope and replacing the grapple into his pouch he took to the off into the street. He adopted a casual demeanor, walking at a normal pace, even nodding to a couple passing by on his way downhill toward the common area of the town. Anaria was strictly segmented off, and only with proper paperwork could one hope to venture into one of the noble quarters. Even though Atolcus possessed a doctored form of these papers, they were not necessary to leave the area of the manors.
Atolcus expected to be stopped at the gate to be asked a few simple questions. So he had prepared a brief account meant to mislead the guards into believing he served as a release of sorts for a particular noblewoman. The guard dropped a knowing look and a sneer and the thief shared with him that sneer, only for different reasons.
After the guardhouse was cleared, Atolcus slightly quickened his pace, for now surely Norti would notice the missing armor and cast divination spells to discern its location. He must part with the suit as soon as possible. Allessandros had set up a meeting immediately following the heist at The Nobles’ Due, a public tavern set up in the Lower Quarter. The rogue cut through a few alleys to shorten the path, and to control anyone who happened to follow him from the guardhouse, perhaps thinking his pouch was little heavier for the trip.
Confident that no one was following him, Atolcus finally found his way to the Nobles’ Due, pushing open the door to allow him entry. The Due was mostly empty that night, not terribly uncommon for the establishment. In a city renowned for its nobles, unfortunately that meant a large portion of the common folk were servants who couldn’t afford to spend their hard-earned wages on watered-down ale. Travelers seemed to be thinning up as well, and Atolcus was glad he wasn’t in the tavern business.
There were a few patrons however, and a pair of men were making enough noise to have convinced the rogue that the place was filled to capacity. There were perhaps half a dozen men in the room, enough so that the single barmaid, an old dwarven wench with no beard, but whiskers enough to rival a rat, could take care of the entire place. The dwarf eyed Atolcus as he stepped in, seeming to take all of the man in and processing what she saw in less than an eye blink.
Atolcus instinctively started toward the back corner table, but changed direction as he saw something he didn’t agree with. A figure sat at the table Allessandros was supposed to meet him at, but it was most definitely not the fence. This figure seemed cloaked in shadow; in fact seemed entirely comprised of it, as if it had a cloak made of darkness that stretched all around it. Atolcus thought he saw two eyes of darkness peer at him. He didn’t like being looked at like that.
The thief casually spun on his heel and put a hand to the exit to make his way out.
Come back and sit.
Atolcus tried not to outwardly display that he had just heard a voice in his head. The voice sounded like his own, as if he was trying to bluff himself out of a tough situation. Atolcus was inclined to listen to his own voice.
The rogue attempted to make his second turn again look casual and swiftly took a seat at a table near the door, positioning himself so that he could look at the shadowy figure without making it appear as if he was trying to look. He stopped the barmaid at her next pass and ordered ale. As she walked away to presumably fill his order he heard the voice again.
No. Sit over here.
The voice meant sit in the corner. Atolcus knew it meant that.
Atolcus stood up, depositing the chair back in its place. He rested his left hand deliberately on his sword pommel as he walked toward the table. He didn’t dare take his eye off the shadow figure.
“I won fair as Laether! Now pay me my silver!” The sudden yell from one of the boisterous men only proceeded the inevitable punching that ensued. Atolcus couldn’t help but turn and glance at the fracas that was beginning to get underway between the two men. One, apparently the man who felt he was cheated out of his silver in some anonymous dice game, grabbed the second man by his collar and punched him across the face. The second man fell to the floor quickly in what Atolcus recognized as a feint. As the first man knelt down to pick him up, the second picked up a fallen mug of ale and thrust its contents into the others face, temporarily blinding him. He took the opportunity to shuffle his way out the door. Predictably, the cheated man took pursuit.
Atolcus had almost forgotten why he was here, and turned his head to remedy the situation. He was shocked to find that the shadowy figure had been replaced by a standard commoner in servant’s livery. He was plain and haggard looking, though Atolcus could discern that this man worked for no one. This man in no way resembled the mysterious figure who had sat there only moments before.
“Please, have a seat.” The voice was the same as the voice in Atolcus’ head: his voice. One similarity.
Atolcus did as he was asked and took a seat across from the stranger.
“Do you have the armor?” The man was blunt with the question, with no edge of uncertainty underlying his voice. The man knew he had the armor already, of that, Atolcus was sure.
“I’m not wearing my armor right now, I’m off guard duty.” Atolcus felt it was always best to lie first, those in his trade could understand. “Who are you, citizen?”
“I am nothing, if not a friend. A lifetime companion, if you please, Atolcus.” The way the man spoke with such confidence unnerved the rogue. He was used to having men lie and cheat through conversations with him, but this man’s unwavering surety in what he was saying did nothing to put Atolcus at ease.
“How did you know my name? Did Allessandros tell you?” Atolcus couldn’t believe he lapsed like that. Dropping his fence’s name could get him killed.
“I know all about you, Atolcus.” The man rolled his eyes. He seemed to be bored as his eyes then wandered the room, focusing on nothing. “Would you like me to tell you about yourself? Let’s see then. You were born Atolcus Nomanus. Your mother, Lilyo, died of complications during childbirth, while your father, Urtalli, was killed when you were twelve by a pack of muggers. Taking to the streets of the Lower Quarter, you eventually became a low-ranked member of the Menairi thieves’ guild. As your natural talents surfaced and your skills improved, you left full-time membership to assume a private thieving trade. You kept contact with your fence Allessandros, as he gives you some of the most difficult jobs the guild is made aware of. You tend not to keep the money you steal and earn, and spend it quickly on whores and bribes, giving the rest away to the guild or the church of Seldaht.” At the last part he turned his head and spat to the ground. His eyes regained focus and settled on the thief, a little smirk on his face belying the bored act.
Atolcus could barely believe what he was hearing. Nobody knew this much about him, as he kept his identity secret even from those he trusted. “What do you want from me?”
“Well didn’t you figure it out yet? I am the benefactor who hired you to steal that armor.” The man seemed entirely too smug about this fact.
Atolcus didn’t allow himself a sigh in relief. He had to exude confidence. “The price is still a thousand.”
“Oh, I won’t be paying for the armor. Simply because I am not going to be the one who keeps it. You are.”
“No, I don’t steal for myself, I steal for the money.” Atolcus was struggling to keep his composure. “I don’t want the armor.” His words betrayed his true feeling about the beautiful suit and the reason for him taking the job.
The man seemed up to the challenge. “You want the armor. You want it without even knowing what it can do for you. I can see it in your eyes. It won’t hamper your skills; it won’t hurt them at all. You will be able to change your appearance as well, alter your clothing to appear however you see fit. I want you to keep the armor.”
Atolcus seemed thunderstruck, and then he caught on. His eyes narrowed. “What do you want in return for all of this?”
The man simply replied, “Vanskelighet.”
Atolcus was feeling incredulous, “What?”
“Have you ever thought about the gods outside of the gods?” The man paused momentarily to view the lack of movement in Atolcus’ lips before continuing. “There are gods beyond the gods of this world.” He paused again to turn and spit. “The other gods are looking for a way into this world, but they need your help. You, my friend, are going to be the first priest of the new order. The order of Loki.”
“But . . .”
“But first we need to get you a proper horse.”
