Chapter 1
A man ran swiftly through the streets of Corus, dodging people easily. No one paid him any attention as people were always rushing in the busy capital. The man didn't break his stride until he reached an inn. The sign that hung above the entrance read the Dancing Dove. As he went in, he was surrounded with life. It seemed as though all the men and women of the lower city were crowded into the little common room, laughing and talking and drinking the day away. Music was coming from somewhere and a beautiful young woman who was clad rather scandalously was dancing amid a circle of men who were whistling and tossing coins at her feet.
However, not even a dancing girl could derive the man of his mission as he walked past her and towards the back of the inn. Here there was less activity, as a woman and a few men sat at a table by a large fireplace. The woman was sitting on one man's lap, giggling as he whispered something to her. He was a tall and muscular, with short brown hair and rather handsome hazel eyes. As the man who had been in such a hurry to get to the Dancing Dove approached the table, he bowed and said, "Majesty, I must speak with you." The man who was so flirtatious with the busty young woman on his lap only a moment ago, became serious. He nodded and motioned for the other men to leave to he could speak to the runner in private. The young woman stood, and with a wink to the two men, turned and melted into the crowd of people.
"Take a seat, Eric," the "Majesty" said. Eric sat and an old man came and poured him a tankard full of ale. "Thanks, Solom," Eric regarded the old man who nodded and stepped back to attend others. "So," the hazel-eyed man said as he took a swig of his own ale and set his tankard on the table. "What's on your mind, my friend?"
"George, it's happened again," Eric said in an undertone. "Another robbery without notice."
"Another?" George, the King of the Court of the Rogue, asked in disbelief. "That's the third one this month!"
Eric nodded. "I know. Word is that this time someone went into my Lord Provost's home himself! Nicked a few quality weapons, some jewels, and some other expensive little trinkets and wasn't even caught."
George pondered this. He certainly wouldn't send one of the Rogue, a group of lower city thieves and pickpockets, to rob any noble's manor without at least a few extra men, and definitely not the Lord Provost's manor. He didn't even think anyone in the Rogue was that good, except for him and a few of his friends. He'd heard that security around the lawman's home was impeccable. "Do you think it was anyone sealed to the Rogue?" Eric asked him.
George shook his head. "I don' think it could've been. No one with sense in his head would try to rob my Lord Provost alone, 'specially one sealed to the Rogue. And I certainly didn' approve anythin' like that, so unless someone's going behind my back. And they know the penalty for that," he said pointedly.
Eric shuddered and his hand automatically moved toward his ears. The "king" was famous for three things: his way of dealing with troublemakers of the Rogue, his sharp daggers and his ear collection. George sighed. "All right, well thanks Eric. I'll see if I can find out anythin' else."
"Same here," Eric told him. The young runner stood and walked off to see some of his friends, leaving George with a lot more to think about.
That night as George got ready for bed, he was thinking about the robberies. Obviously, not all of the thieves of Corus were sealed to the Rogue; there were a few of them out there who went their own ways. However, in the past month, things had been stolen from all over Corus, and in places only an idiot would go. The sliver mines on the outskirts of the city, the counting house, he ticked them off one by one. All of those places had double guard shifts. A very skilled idiot, George thought to himself. He'd have to be not to get caught. But stealing from the Lord Provost's manor was just plain insanity.
Another question that weighed on his mind was whether or not the person came from the Rogue. All the work they did had to be approved by George, unless it was something small like pick pocketing, but even the young ones could do that. If they did come from the Rogue, he could have a very large problem on his hands. After all, what would his subjects say if he couldn't control the way the Rogue went? He could have a major uprising and he wasn't about to let that happen.
Sighing, he climbed into bed with one final thought in his head. Whoever this person was, he needed to find him and quick. Not only should he be warned about the dangers of the Lord Provost, but who knew? He might even be a new addition to the Rogue.
* * *
There were many streets and roads in Corus, all leading to different places, from homes, to businesses, to markets, to the Palace. Some were wide and bustled with people and carts; others were small and dark. Not many people traveled down these roads for it was said that there were some that would rob you blind if you went down them.
One girl however, was not in the least bit afraid of going down these dark back alleys. In fact, she went down them everyday and she could tell people that not everything they had said about those alleys was true. They definitely were dark and damp, with garbage that littered the soiled cobblestone road. Rats crawled among the trash, looking for their next meal. However, there weren't too many that would rob you blind if given the chance. From the very first day she had take these roads, these dark and gloomy pathways, she had seen that the only ones that lived here, were those too poor to live anywhere else and too prideful to take advantage of the homeless shelters that King Roald had set up. The blind men would sit in the doorways, the lame and the scroungers all would get together to build a fire and cook whatever they could find that day.
This particular day, the girl walked down the little alley just like she had always done, leading her chestnut mare, which was wearing only an old leather bridle and reins, behind her. She smiled and waved to an old lady dressed in rags, standing around a tiny fire with a few others. "Hello, Grandmother," she called. Though the woman wasn't really her grandmother that was all the girl ever called her.
"Well looka here!" the elderly woman smiled, revealing a mouth that had only a few teeth in it. "Nyah child, what you been up to lately, younglin'?"
"Nothin' much," Nyah replied. "How've you been?"
The old woman grinned grimly. "The same, child, the same."
Nyah grinned and reached into her pack. When she took out a loaf of bread, and held it out to the woman, she nearly gave a childish squeal of delight. "Oh my! Oh my goodness, Nyah! Oh! Oh! Thank ye, thank ye! How on earth can I ever repay ye, angel child?"
"Just eat it Grandmother," Nyah said, blushing at the praise, specifically being called "angel child".
"Oh Mirthos and Goddess bless you child, Mirthos and Goddess bless!" She took the bread and ran back to the rest of the people at the fire and carefully began tearing it up into equal pieces and passing them out.
Nyah smiled and continued on her way. She walked to the end of the alley until she came to a tall fence with a locked old gate with rusty hinges that would creak loudly if anyone tried to open it. This part of the alley was abandoned; no one wanted to come this far back. Checking to make sure no one was watching, the girl mumbled something under her breath and emerald fire spouted from her finger tips, making the old gate slide open without a sound. She quietly led her horse Thunder through the gate. When she passed through, she was in an old storage lot. There was junk all around, rusted old metal pieces and mottled boards of wood, all grown over in weeds and grass that no one had bothered to trim. In the middle of the lot, was a shack, big enough for storage- or for Nyah to live. Outside the door was a fire pit, lined with stones. To the right of the shack was a cleared patch of grass. She took the bridle off Thunder and rubbed her down with an old cloth. That done, Nyah pulled a rabbit out of her pack, along with another tightly wrapped loaf of bread. With a flick of her hand, she sent emerald flames into the pit and soon she had a blazing fire going, with a skinned and cleaned rabbit roasting over it. She ate quickly and alone, cutting off the heels of the small loaf to give to Thunder, her only companion. After she was done, she let the fire dye down, and lay on her back watching the stars, thinking about what she used to be and what she had become.
People would think it was strange to see such young girl, no more than fifteen, all on her own, but all they had to do was ask her if she could shoot the longbow that she carried with her at all times to know that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. After all, anyone that could sight game and bring it down a hundred yards away wasn't the type of person you wanted to mess with. The most anyone could do, (and did), was look at the pitiful teenager with her chin-length blond hair and deep green eyes, the same green as her magic, was laugh or stare and mummer that such looks were wasted on a poor little nobody.
But, she thought time and time again, after all it wasn't her fault she was a nobody. And it wasn't her fault that the Crooked God had blessed her with her Gift, was it? After all, the gods were known to become angry, when you didn't use what talents and Gifts they had given you. And she used it to the best of her knowledge, having never been taught anything before. After all, her mother-
She stopped her train of thought there, and shook her head. No, she told herself firmly, you swore that you wouldn't do that anymore. Just remember, you're not a nobody, you're not a nobody.
And even if she was a nobody, she was a talented one, she thought with a grin. After all, who else could break into the Lord Provost's manor and take what she'd like? She grew up in the country, and when she came to the city, she had heard that no one could get past him. To her it sounded like a challenge, and that was one thing she could never turn down. The Crooked God hadn't given her a large gift; she couldn't heal and she could control weather and the like. The most she could do was start fires. With a little extra on the side, she thought with another grin. In addition to the fires, her magic was able to pick any lock and silence her movements and what she moved, so it seemed as though she was a ghost, or just another part of the night.
She smiled to herself as she thought about her last big haul. My Lord Provost has some really nice things, she thought. Although I think his taste in art is a bit too classical. You don't get a very good price for it in Smithton. That was how she worked, taking a bit of art here, some jewels there and a little weaponry to top it all off. Nyah would take it and go to a far off town that the owners wouldn't even think of looking; sometimes she'd travel as far as Galla or Tusaine. What she didn't sell she'd barter until everything, except for a few choice items, were gone and she was left with some gold coins and some things like material for new tunics and breeches. She always found that these and her sturdy leather boots were much more practical not to mention comfortable than those fancy dresses and surcoats that the noble ladies and commoners wore.
The gold coins that she had left over, she used to buy things like some steel arrowheads that she would tie onto her arrows, instead of the usual sharpened sticks. The steel was razor sharp and would pierce armor if need be, although Nyah hoped it wouldn't come to that. The rest of the money she kept, saving for things she might need. My boots are starting to pinch my toes, she thought. And Thunder needs a new bridle; the other one's fraying. And a new coil of rope wouldn't be half bad either considering I lost the other one the last time I went down to Goldenlake.
The call of a nighttime bird shook her from her thoughts. Yawning, she realized that the fire had died down to glowing green embers. She was tired after her two daylong ride back from Smithton. Getting up, she took her long bow and her quiver full of arrows inside the shack with her, and lit a candle. After a moment, she undressed and blew it out and, with a final yawn and a quick prayer to the Mother and the Crooked God, she fell asleep.
A man ran swiftly through the streets of Corus, dodging people easily. No one paid him any attention as people were always rushing in the busy capital. The man didn't break his stride until he reached an inn. The sign that hung above the entrance read the Dancing Dove. As he went in, he was surrounded with life. It seemed as though all the men and women of the lower city were crowded into the little common room, laughing and talking and drinking the day away. Music was coming from somewhere and a beautiful young woman who was clad rather scandalously was dancing amid a circle of men who were whistling and tossing coins at her feet.
However, not even a dancing girl could derive the man of his mission as he walked past her and towards the back of the inn. Here there was less activity, as a woman and a few men sat at a table by a large fireplace. The woman was sitting on one man's lap, giggling as he whispered something to her. He was a tall and muscular, with short brown hair and rather handsome hazel eyes. As the man who had been in such a hurry to get to the Dancing Dove approached the table, he bowed and said, "Majesty, I must speak with you." The man who was so flirtatious with the busty young woman on his lap only a moment ago, became serious. He nodded and motioned for the other men to leave to he could speak to the runner in private. The young woman stood, and with a wink to the two men, turned and melted into the crowd of people.
"Take a seat, Eric," the "Majesty" said. Eric sat and an old man came and poured him a tankard full of ale. "Thanks, Solom," Eric regarded the old man who nodded and stepped back to attend others. "So," the hazel-eyed man said as he took a swig of his own ale and set his tankard on the table. "What's on your mind, my friend?"
"George, it's happened again," Eric said in an undertone. "Another robbery without notice."
"Another?" George, the King of the Court of the Rogue, asked in disbelief. "That's the third one this month!"
Eric nodded. "I know. Word is that this time someone went into my Lord Provost's home himself! Nicked a few quality weapons, some jewels, and some other expensive little trinkets and wasn't even caught."
George pondered this. He certainly wouldn't send one of the Rogue, a group of lower city thieves and pickpockets, to rob any noble's manor without at least a few extra men, and definitely not the Lord Provost's manor. He didn't even think anyone in the Rogue was that good, except for him and a few of his friends. He'd heard that security around the lawman's home was impeccable. "Do you think it was anyone sealed to the Rogue?" Eric asked him.
George shook his head. "I don' think it could've been. No one with sense in his head would try to rob my Lord Provost alone, 'specially one sealed to the Rogue. And I certainly didn' approve anythin' like that, so unless someone's going behind my back. And they know the penalty for that," he said pointedly.
Eric shuddered and his hand automatically moved toward his ears. The "king" was famous for three things: his way of dealing with troublemakers of the Rogue, his sharp daggers and his ear collection. George sighed. "All right, well thanks Eric. I'll see if I can find out anythin' else."
"Same here," Eric told him. The young runner stood and walked off to see some of his friends, leaving George with a lot more to think about.
That night as George got ready for bed, he was thinking about the robberies. Obviously, not all of the thieves of Corus were sealed to the Rogue; there were a few of them out there who went their own ways. However, in the past month, things had been stolen from all over Corus, and in places only an idiot would go. The sliver mines on the outskirts of the city, the counting house, he ticked them off one by one. All of those places had double guard shifts. A very skilled idiot, George thought to himself. He'd have to be not to get caught. But stealing from the Lord Provost's manor was just plain insanity.
Another question that weighed on his mind was whether or not the person came from the Rogue. All the work they did had to be approved by George, unless it was something small like pick pocketing, but even the young ones could do that. If they did come from the Rogue, he could have a very large problem on his hands. After all, what would his subjects say if he couldn't control the way the Rogue went? He could have a major uprising and he wasn't about to let that happen.
Sighing, he climbed into bed with one final thought in his head. Whoever this person was, he needed to find him and quick. Not only should he be warned about the dangers of the Lord Provost, but who knew? He might even be a new addition to the Rogue.
* * *
There were many streets and roads in Corus, all leading to different places, from homes, to businesses, to markets, to the Palace. Some were wide and bustled with people and carts; others were small and dark. Not many people traveled down these roads for it was said that there were some that would rob you blind if you went down them.
One girl however, was not in the least bit afraid of going down these dark back alleys. In fact, she went down them everyday and she could tell people that not everything they had said about those alleys was true. They definitely were dark and damp, with garbage that littered the soiled cobblestone road. Rats crawled among the trash, looking for their next meal. However, there weren't too many that would rob you blind if given the chance. From the very first day she had take these roads, these dark and gloomy pathways, she had seen that the only ones that lived here, were those too poor to live anywhere else and too prideful to take advantage of the homeless shelters that King Roald had set up. The blind men would sit in the doorways, the lame and the scroungers all would get together to build a fire and cook whatever they could find that day.
This particular day, the girl walked down the little alley just like she had always done, leading her chestnut mare, which was wearing only an old leather bridle and reins, behind her. She smiled and waved to an old lady dressed in rags, standing around a tiny fire with a few others. "Hello, Grandmother," she called. Though the woman wasn't really her grandmother that was all the girl ever called her.
"Well looka here!" the elderly woman smiled, revealing a mouth that had only a few teeth in it. "Nyah child, what you been up to lately, younglin'?"
"Nothin' much," Nyah replied. "How've you been?"
The old woman grinned grimly. "The same, child, the same."
Nyah grinned and reached into her pack. When she took out a loaf of bread, and held it out to the woman, she nearly gave a childish squeal of delight. "Oh my! Oh my goodness, Nyah! Oh! Oh! Thank ye, thank ye! How on earth can I ever repay ye, angel child?"
"Just eat it Grandmother," Nyah said, blushing at the praise, specifically being called "angel child".
"Oh Mirthos and Goddess bless you child, Mirthos and Goddess bless!" She took the bread and ran back to the rest of the people at the fire and carefully began tearing it up into equal pieces and passing them out.
Nyah smiled and continued on her way. She walked to the end of the alley until she came to a tall fence with a locked old gate with rusty hinges that would creak loudly if anyone tried to open it. This part of the alley was abandoned; no one wanted to come this far back. Checking to make sure no one was watching, the girl mumbled something under her breath and emerald fire spouted from her finger tips, making the old gate slide open without a sound. She quietly led her horse Thunder through the gate. When she passed through, she was in an old storage lot. There was junk all around, rusted old metal pieces and mottled boards of wood, all grown over in weeds and grass that no one had bothered to trim. In the middle of the lot, was a shack, big enough for storage- or for Nyah to live. Outside the door was a fire pit, lined with stones. To the right of the shack was a cleared patch of grass. She took the bridle off Thunder and rubbed her down with an old cloth. That done, Nyah pulled a rabbit out of her pack, along with another tightly wrapped loaf of bread. With a flick of her hand, she sent emerald flames into the pit and soon she had a blazing fire going, with a skinned and cleaned rabbit roasting over it. She ate quickly and alone, cutting off the heels of the small loaf to give to Thunder, her only companion. After she was done, she let the fire dye down, and lay on her back watching the stars, thinking about what she used to be and what she had become.
People would think it was strange to see such young girl, no more than fifteen, all on her own, but all they had to do was ask her if she could shoot the longbow that she carried with her at all times to know that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. After all, anyone that could sight game and bring it down a hundred yards away wasn't the type of person you wanted to mess with. The most anyone could do, (and did), was look at the pitiful teenager with her chin-length blond hair and deep green eyes, the same green as her magic, was laugh or stare and mummer that such looks were wasted on a poor little nobody.
But, she thought time and time again, after all it wasn't her fault she was a nobody. And it wasn't her fault that the Crooked God had blessed her with her Gift, was it? After all, the gods were known to become angry, when you didn't use what talents and Gifts they had given you. And she used it to the best of her knowledge, having never been taught anything before. After all, her mother-
She stopped her train of thought there, and shook her head. No, she told herself firmly, you swore that you wouldn't do that anymore. Just remember, you're not a nobody, you're not a nobody.
And even if she was a nobody, she was a talented one, she thought with a grin. After all, who else could break into the Lord Provost's manor and take what she'd like? She grew up in the country, and when she came to the city, she had heard that no one could get past him. To her it sounded like a challenge, and that was one thing she could never turn down. The Crooked God hadn't given her a large gift; she couldn't heal and she could control weather and the like. The most she could do was start fires. With a little extra on the side, she thought with another grin. In addition to the fires, her magic was able to pick any lock and silence her movements and what she moved, so it seemed as though she was a ghost, or just another part of the night.
She smiled to herself as she thought about her last big haul. My Lord Provost has some really nice things, she thought. Although I think his taste in art is a bit too classical. You don't get a very good price for it in Smithton. That was how she worked, taking a bit of art here, some jewels there and a little weaponry to top it all off. Nyah would take it and go to a far off town that the owners wouldn't even think of looking; sometimes she'd travel as far as Galla or Tusaine. What she didn't sell she'd barter until everything, except for a few choice items, were gone and she was left with some gold coins and some things like material for new tunics and breeches. She always found that these and her sturdy leather boots were much more practical not to mention comfortable than those fancy dresses and surcoats that the noble ladies and commoners wore.
The gold coins that she had left over, she used to buy things like some steel arrowheads that she would tie onto her arrows, instead of the usual sharpened sticks. The steel was razor sharp and would pierce armor if need be, although Nyah hoped it wouldn't come to that. The rest of the money she kept, saving for things she might need. My boots are starting to pinch my toes, she thought. And Thunder needs a new bridle; the other one's fraying. And a new coil of rope wouldn't be half bad either considering I lost the other one the last time I went down to Goldenlake.
The call of a nighttime bird shook her from her thoughts. Yawning, she realized that the fire had died down to glowing green embers. She was tired after her two daylong ride back from Smithton. Getting up, she took her long bow and her quiver full of arrows inside the shack with her, and lit a candle. After a moment, she undressed and blew it out and, with a final yawn and a quick prayer to the Mother and the Crooked God, she fell asleep.