~ Prologue ~
The Trickster's Web
Raindrops pattered relentlessly against the deserted cobblestone road, the only sound that could be heard along the streets of the small, sleepy hamlet. Most of the villagers had long since retreated into their humble, yet cozy homes. There was little to see or do outdoors, after all, for the moon and stars were peacefully tucked away behind a thick veil of stormy dark cloud and no torch could withstand the persistent rainfall for long.
It was, in other words, a typical Valmese autumn night.
A pair of weary and unfortunate travelers plodded on through the storm, for they had little choice, having only just arrived at the hamlet's borders. "Stupid Valmese weather," one of the two – a red-haired woman in her early thirties – complained. As she spoke, she shook her head in frustration, and droplets of water flew free from her two long pigtails.
"I thought you liked the weather when we were last passing through," her companion remarked. He looked approximately the same age as the woman, and was of roughly the same stature, too. His short, straw-blond hair gave him a childish look that clashed terribly with his exotic clothing, a menacing set of robes sewn from translucent dark veils and jaggedly cut black silks. He shrank away nervously when his companion turned and glared at him.
But the red-haired woman's expression softened as she looked down and her gaze met with that of the small child her husband was carrying. "Are you alright, sweetie?" she asked softly. "I'm sorry. I know it's cold out here."
The little red-haired girl only smiled happily. She hadn't even noticed the cold, swaddled as tightly as she was.
"Fear not, dearest Severa. Even the wrath of nature cannot bend the wills of the chosen ones," the little girl's father boasted, earning himself another pointed glare from his wife.
"Oh hush, Odin," the woman hissed, lowering her voice. "And don't call me that! It's Selena, remember?"
"Still?" Odin asked, frowning. "I thought you said…"
"Does this look like home to you?" Selena interrupted. "Now come on. We need to find a tavern or inn or something and get out of this rain." She flashed her young daughter a warm, reassuring smile, then turned and continued on down the nameless hamlet's main road.
Carefully concealed in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, a small, dark-haired urchin watched the two unusual travelers wonderingly. "Selena? Odin?" the young rogue whispered, confused.
After a long moment's consideration, the little street urchin decided against confronting the oddly out-of-place pair, at least for the time being. There would be time for that later, but for now, the evening's itinerary was already on the verge of being overloaded.
With a shrug, the rogue slipped free of the shadows, following the travelers openly and approaching the small Valmese hamlet's only tavern, seemingly without a care in the world.
Selena could almost feel thirty pairs of eyes rounding upon her as she stepped into the tavern. She sighed, and did her best to ignore the curious onlookers. Her finely tailored armor of thick padded cloth and thin, gleaming metal plates was bound to draw attention in the small farming villages of the countryside. The sword resting in its scabbard at her hip did not help matters; few in these parts would even know how to wield such a weapon. It was a comforting thought, in a way, but not comforting enough for Selena to be without her equipment.
Behind her, Odin held the door open a moment longer for a dark-haired child that had been walking right behind them. "Thanks, mister," the street urchin said politely, before carefully sliding past Selena and moving to join a particular rowdy group of burly men sitting in the tavern's farthest corner.
"Selena, can you watch Ophelia? I'll go speak with the tavern keeper," Odin offered.
Selena shook her head quickly. "No way. I'd like to get some food before we all starve to death, thank you very much," she said. "Just find a table and sit down."
Odin nodded in agreement – for he knew better than to argue – then began scanning the room for an open table. The tavern was surprisingly crowded, but there was a small table free near the rowdy group in the corner. "Alas, our kind often finds ourselves without the freedom to choose," he lamented dramatically, though he was wise enough to keep his voice down so that only his daughter could hear. "What say you, my dear Ophelia? Can we endure the terrible ruckus that awaits us?"
Ophelia was too young to understand the flowery words – or any words at all, for that matter – and only giggled enthusiastically, enjoying her father's dramatic antics.
"It is as you say, daughter mine," Odin said with mock solemnity. He moved to the small table and seated himself, Ophelia still resting in his lap. Then he glanced over at the counter, but stopped when he noticed the small street urchin from before, who seemed blatantly out of place amidst the loud drunks and their card game.
"Might I play a hand or two?"
The largest and correspondingly loudest of the drunks looked up at the odd request. "Eh?" he asked stupidly, staring at the small child that stood beside the card-laden table.
"It looks like fun," the unassuming, dark-haired street urchin explained cheerily.
"Shouldn't you be home with your parents, boy?" one of the other drunks barked.
"Shut it, Dan," the largest man ordered, glancing warily at the tavern keeper, for he and his friends had learned on many occasions the price of growing too rowdy and rude. "This ain't for fun, boy," he then added, turning to the child that had dared to approach them. "There's good silver in this. You be a good lad and play with your little friends instead, alright?"
"Oh, I have money," the young rogue assured confidently.
"You can keep your dirty coppers to yourself," the large man grumbled, losing his patience.
A small drawstring bag landed on the table, and a few shiny, golden coins rolled out. "My money's not dirty!" the rogue protested. "See?"
The drunken farmers exchanged surprised glances.
Then the largest man, who appear to be the ringleader of the group, smiled. "My mistake, Master…" he began in a leading tone.
"Robin," the young rogue offered brightly.
"Pull up a seat then, Master Robin," the man said, smiling and showing off his crooked, yellow teeth.
"Of course you chose a table beside the loudest patrons to this tavern," Selena said exasperatedly. She set down the two large bowls of stew she was carrying, then seated herself across from her husband and daughter.
"It was the only table left," Odin said absently, eyeing the ongoing game of cards.
"I wonder why," Selena intoned dryly. Only then did she notice her husband's fixation upon the next table's activities. "Odin? Is something wrong?" she asked, her snarky demeanor slipping away.
"That little boy said his name was Robin," Odin mused.
"So what?" Selena asked uncaringly. "It's been, what, fifteen years since the Valmese war? Dad made himself quite the hero back then. I bet there's a hundred little Robins running around Valm by now."
"I guess," Odin conceded, as he finally turned his attention to the strangely lumpy stew Selena had brought him. "Still, it worries me. Those farmers seem like a boorish lot, and that boy can't be more than ten or so."
"Let his parents worry about him," Selena said dismissively, barely glancing at the child at the next table. "We have our own problems to deal with, remember?"
"I guess," Odin said again, his tone growing gloomy as he remembered their current predicament.
"Hey! None of that," Selena scolded. "Moping about everything is my job, remember?"
Odin chuckled. "As you wish, dearest."
Selena glared at her husband suspiciously, as if trying to decide whether he was being sarcastic or not. Odin simply smiled disarmingly, and with an incoherent grumbling noise, Selena finally settled back in her seat and began devouring her rather tasteless stew. She had only taken a couple bites, however, before Ophelia started to wriggle and writhe uncomfortably.
"Oh come on, don't be that way," Odin pleaded helplessly.
Selena rolled her eyes. "This is your fault," she informed him in a miffed tone. "Our little girl's sensitive, like her mom," Rising to her feet, she stepped around the table and plucked her daughter out of her husband's lap. "Come on, sweetie. Let's go see if the bard can play us a nice song instead, alright?"
Odin hid his laughter well as he watched Selena go. He knew his wife had a soft spot, carefully hidden beneath her surly, prickly exterior, but she seemed to be made of nothing but soft spots wherever their beloved daughter was concerned.
"Damn you, Jaylen. Where do you keep finding these heaps of rat droppings you call hands?" one of the drunken farmers, the one called Dan, grumbled.
"Oh, shut your yap," the largest man and the dealer, evidently Jaylen, retorted. "You're up. Call it or fold, and quit holding up the game."
"Call it with a hand like this?" Dan said, shaking his head. "No way. I'm out." He threw his cards down to the table and leaned back in his chair.
"What about you, Master Robin? What's your play?" Jaylen said, rounding upon the newest and smallest player.
Robin fidgeted uncomfortably. The street urchin's stake hadn't diminished by much so far, given how disproportionate it was to the small piles of silver the farmers had been playing with. Still, the young rogue had yet to win a hand, and each of the farmers was at least a gold coin richer.
Finally, when he noticed Jaylen growing impatient, the young rogue pushed the remaining gold towards the center of the table. "All in," Robin declared, trying to sound confident.
Jaylen and the others blinked, startled. Even with their winnings thus far, not one of them had quite as much money on the table as the newcomer.
Then Jaylen began to laugh, and the others joined him. "Brave little man, aren't you?" he chuckled. "But you'd have to be, being named after the famous Ylissean tactician and all." He pushed the rest of his stake into the pot. "Alright, I'll let it ride," he said with a confident grin.
"Not me," the man sitting beside Jaylen said.
"Aw, come on. Don't tell me Jaylen and the runt have got you spooked," the next man chortled. He pushed his own remaining coins into the pot with confidence fueled by the knowledge that his remaining stake was smaller than anyone else's.
"You ain't about to fool me, Al," Jaylen said, his grin growing wider. "Unless you're even dumber than you look, those aren't winning cards you're holding. Not with the way you've been betting." He flipped his own cards over. "Read 'em and weep, friend."
"Or weed 'em and reap," Robin interjected with a wink.
The others stared in silence for several long seconds, trying to sort through the simple wordplay. Finally, Jaylen let out a hearty guffaw. "Clever boy," the brutish farmer congratulated. "But not clever enough. Listen, kid. If you want to bluff, you have to sound confident. Can't be quivering in your seat with your voice cracking, you know?"
"Really? But I had you fooled, didn't I?" Robin asked.
"Hah! You really think you had any of us…" Jaylen began, though he fell silent when he saw the young rogue's cards.
"Hmm… I doubt this'll all fit in my little pouch," Robin commented cheerily, inspecting the rather sizable pot. With that, the devious young rogue pulled forth a second and much larger bag, already partially filled with gold, to collect the coins lying upon the table.
"Hey, you there," Selena said, accosting a gruff old man with a flute. "Play us a song, alright? A happy one, mind you." As she spoke, she flipped a silver coin into a small, empty tray lying beside the man.
The old bard gave Selena and Ophelia a strange look, then shrugged indifferently, for he had few enough customers as it was. "As you ladies wish," he agreed. "What kind of song did you have in mind? A classic shanty about the pirates of the Abyssal Sea, perhaps?"
"No pirates," Selena interrupted immediately, for though Ophelia was far too young to understand what a pirate was, the little girl had burst into tears the last time they had listened to a bard sing of pirates.
"Very well. Something a bit more local, then? The Conqueror, the Exalt, and the Tactician, perhaps?" the old bard offered.
Selena cringed. "Umm… not that one, either," she said. "How about something a bit more lighthearted? A fairy tale or something like that?"
"As you wish," the old bard agreed, and he promptly began to sing. Only a verse into his song, Ophelia began nodding along with the tune, and Selena finally relaxed. Her gaze wandered as the bard continued his song, then settled upon the rowdy farmers and their card game.
Selena's eyes narrowed when she saw the farmers' dumbfounded looks, and the street urchin sweeping a large pile of coins into an even larger bag. The victorious child left immediately after, whistling cheerfully and seeming oblivious to the drunkards' greedy stares.
Sensing trouble, Selena turned back to the bard. "Excuse us for a moment, please," Selena interrupted sweetly, tossing another coin into the bard's tray.
"Owain," Selena hissed quietly, stooping down by her husband's side.
Odin, or rather, Owain, frowned. Recently, whenever his wife chose to use his real name, it meant trouble. Severa's expression made it clear that this time was no exception. "What is it, Severa?" he asked, keeping his own voice low. He winced, for at the sound of his own real name, he had used his wife's true name again, too. This time, Severa didn't comment on it.
"That little kid you saw earlier just cleaned out those farmers at their own game," Severa whispered hastily. "But that's not all. He's carrying a lot of money on him, and the farmers know that now, too."
"So what?" Owain asked, uncomprehending.
The sound of four burly large farmers rising from their chairs answered his question in no uncertain terms.
Severa peeked over her shoulder nervously at the belligerent farmers. "Can you watch Ophelia? Take her back to that bard over there so he can finish his song for her, alright? That little kid might be an idiot, but he doesn't deserve whatever those farmers are about to do to him," she said.
Owain shook his head quickly. "You stay with Ophelia," he said, retrieving a tome from his satchel. "No harm shall befall that child while Odin Dark is at hand."
Severa hesitated for a moment. Then she nodded. "Alright, but stay safe," she pleaded.
"Of course," Owain promised, before setting off in the pursuit of the four farmers, ignoring the many curious looks leveled his way.
Once outside in the rain once more, Robin began moving down the street at a carefully measured pace. The tavern door opened again, and the urchin knew without looking back that it was the four brutish farmers. "Predictable," the young rogue muttered.
Robin came upon the quiet alleyway, and turned into it, unbothered by the apparent dead end. The young rogue moved about halfway down the alley, then turned to lean against one of the cobblestone walls, waiting patiently.
A few seconds later, footsteps echoed loudly down the alley as Jaylen and his friends rounded the corner. "You there," Jaylen growled.
"About time," Robin remarked lightly.
Jaylen and his friends faltered momentarily, taken aback by the child's seemingly unshakeable confidence. They rallied quickly, however, spurred on by their drunken fantasies of treasure and luxury. "You're thinking yourself clever, aren't you?" Jaylen sneered.
"Compared to you lot, surely, but that's not much of an achievement," Robin retorted.
Jaylen's face went red, though it was nearly impossible to tell with how fierce the storm had grown. "Why, you little…" he growled, hefting a heavy, disused table leg. He charged, swinging wildly.
The agile young rogue stepped away so quickly that to Jaylen, it looked as if his quarry had suddenly disappeared. The drunken farmer crashed into the wall with a loud groan. He felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, then slumped to the ground, unconscious.
"Are we finished?" Robin teased, casually twirling a small sap before letting it fall to the ground.
The remaining three farmers had been hesitant before, but no longer. With a shared, outraged cry, they barreled ahead, bearing down upon the insolent child with a variety of improvised weapons.
"Behold the splendor of Odin Dark, and free yourself from the clutches of avarice and pride!" Owain roared, bursting into the alley and praying that he wasn't too late.
Instead of a pitched battle, he found the point of a gleaming silver blade mere inches from his face.
"Oh. It's you," Robin said, lowering the fine sword. The young rogue seemed to lose interest in Owain then, and resumed rummaging through the pockets of the fallen farmers.
"W-what do you think you're doing?" Owain gasped.
"Teaching these thugs a lesson," the dark-haired child replied calmly without looking up. "They've lorded over the rest of the village long enough, simply by being bigger and nastier than everyone else."
"Teaching?" Owain echoed, stunned. "You lured these men out here on purpose?"
Robin pulled a handful of silver coins from one of the thug's pockets, then frowned. "Righteousness doesn't pay very well, does it?" the young rogue remarked. "You shouldn't be here, Owain. Tonight's festivities are only just beginning."
"What festivities?" Owain asked, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Then Robin's words sank in. "Wait, did you just call me… how did you… my name…?" the blond-haired mage sputtered.
"It's written right on your sleeve, isn't it?" Robin pointed out. The young rogue giggled impishly as a shocked Owain hurried to examine his own undecorated sleeve.
When the urchin's trick became apparent, Owain scowled, unamused.
"Oh, lighten up," Robin said flippantly. A shadow flickered across the young rogue's expression. "And uh… you may want to look behind you."
"Have you never been taught to fear the dark? Trifle not with the mind that imprisons the world's deepest shadows," Owain scolded.
Robin burst out laughing. "Oh, Owain. That was amazing! I had almost forgotten how great an actor you are! But no, really, you should look behind you."
"You really should listen to the lad," a gruff voice drawled from somewhere behind Owain.
With an audible swallow, Owain turned to find a mountain of a man standing at the entrance of the alley. The brute was nearly the size of all four of the drunken farmers combined, and was nearly wide enough to block the alley's opening with his bulk.
"Uh… hello there," Owain stammered nervously. He leaned to the side to peer past the giant man, and spotted two more thugs waiting just a few steps further.
"Well met," the man greeted, speaking in a cultured accent, though any friendliness in his tone seemed to pale beside his intimidating appearance. "And well parted, if you please. The boy and I have some business to discuss."
"Captain Barkley?" Robin guessed.
"That's my name," the large man confirmed with a grin. "The roads were quite clear, I daresay, and it seems my friends and I have arrived a couple hours ahead of schedule. I hope that does not come as an inconvenience to you." His wicked grin belied his apparent politeness, making it perfectly clear that he was hoping to be as much of an inconvenience as possible.
Robin remained undaunted, and beamed happily at the menacing man. "Oh, not at all. I was counting on you showing up early, if you must know," the young rogue explained. "Why don't you head on back to the tavern, Owain? I'll catch up to you later."
"But…" Owain began to protest.
"Move along," Barkley insisted, dropping any pretense of friendliness. Then, as if to reinforce the message, he reached for the many-notched axe hanging from his strained belt.
In truth, neither the worn weapon nor the overbearing thug could scare Owain. He was a veteran of many wars and countless battles, trained with sword and spell alike, and he knew he could defeat a dozen such ruffians without breaking a sweat. No, what Owain found most unnerving was the child standing behind him, the inscrutable young rogue that he simply could not get a read on.
"Alright, I'm leaving," Owain relented, squeezing past Barkley and out of the alley while keeping an eye out for any sudden movements. Once past the massive man, Owain saw that there were not two, but six more of Barkley's men waiting in the street. More worried than ever, he smiled politely to hide his unease and began racing back towards the tavern.
As soon as the meddling blond was out of earshot, one of the thugs signaled to Barkley, who promptly rounded upon Robin. "Where is it?" he demanded, with no trace of his earlier pleasantness.
"I could ask you the same thing," Robin replied nonchalantly.
"Did you really think I'd bring such a prized trophy just to humor you?" Barkley sneered.
"I wasn't sure before, but I am now," Robin said. "Your most trusted men are with you, are they not? You would never have entrusted such a treasure to anyone else. It's in the sack slung across your back, isn't it? The one you're doing your best to hide."
Barkley's eyes widened, but he recovered his composure quickly. "Smart kid, eh?" he chuckled grimly. "So, tell me. How did you plan on walking away from this one?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Robin frowned, feigning ignorance. "You show me the sword, I'll give you the axe, and we can each go our separate ways. That was the deal, wasn't it?"
Barkley laughed ominously. Then he reached for the sack Robin had pointed out, revealing an elegant golden sword. Three polished tines were evenly spaced on each side of the blade, stretching from the center to the base, and the sword's guard was wrapped in worn, yet carefully treated, leather. "Here's the sword, then. Now, where's my axe?" Barkley demanded again.
Robin smiled agreeably and took a step back, nudging a hollowed cinderblock aside at the same time. Behind the cinderblock rested a long battle axe. The weapon's vibrant crimson sheen and coal-black edge stood out even in the darkened night. "It's all yours," the young rogue offered slyly, retreating several more steps.
At first, Barkley approached the legendary weapon cautiously, but when he spotted the axe's unmistakable design, he threw all caution to the winds, scrambling for it as if he could not wait to hold the axe of Valm's infamous Conqueror in his hands.
And in his haste, Barkley stepped straight into a pool of some slippery substance, losing his footing and falling flat on his face. With an angry roar, he looked up to see the devious urchin already fleeing, scaling the brick wall of the building at the end of the alley. More alarmingly, there came a soft, fluttering noise, and a dark blur descended upon the center of the crimson axe's shaft. Then, the weapon inexplicably lifted into the air, as if under its own power, and began drifting away.
"Get back here, you little trickster!" Barkley spat as he clambered to his feet. He approached the wall, stepping carefully to avoid the grease, only to find that his quarry was already out of reach. "Get him, you idiots!" the angry man shouted, turning to his men. "Gut that little rat, and anyone else who gets in your way!"
The thugs began storming through the village blindly with their weapons raised high. Their cagey adversary had long since disappeared into the night, but the brutes knew better than to complain to their ruthless leader. Besides, each and every one of them knew well the life of banditry; together, they had preyed upon small and hapless villages for years before their recent stint as mercenaries. Rampaging through the village's streets was an easy enough task.
Three of the six broke off from the others soon after, heading towards the town's market. The open marketplace would certainly be deserted by now, but some of the adjacent storefronts would still have goods in easy reach, the raiders knew. But they hadn't gone far before one of the men spotted a flickering shadow ahead of them near one of the small side streets.
"Here now, maybe we didn't lose the little prankster after all," one of the three rasped.
"Careful. Watch for more of that slippery stuff the boss tripped on," another warned, as his two companions turned the corner.
"Hah. Like that trick would work twice," the third man chortled. He hefted and lit an oil lantern as he went, illuminating the cobblestone road and the coat of shining liquid glistening atop it. "That brat really thinks us stupid, doesn't he?" he grumbled, shaking his head.
"Hang on a second, that's the axe we're looking for, ain't it?" the first man interrupted, as he spotted something drifting further down the street, about three feet up off the ground. "What's it doing there?"
"How's it flying?" the second man asked suspiciously. His companions had no answer for him, and the three only exchanged puzzled looks before stepping carefully across the slick ground. Sure enough, they found the same crimson axe they had seen earlier, hovering in the air as if it were waiting for them.
But when they were a mere five feet away, the axe suddenly surged towards the man carrying the lantern. The thug yelped in surprise and tried to take a step back, only to slip and fall to the ground. His lantern shattered, and the flickering flames leapt hungrily to the thin layer of lamp oil coating the road.
The three thugs shouted out in surprise, but before long, their panicked screams turned to cries of agony.
Not far away, the remaining three thugs heard their companions' screams and spotted the glow of the flames rising up over the stout and drab homes. They exchanged nervous looks.
"They found the boy," one of the three offered hesitantly.
"Did they, now?"
The three men shivered as they turned towards the source of the amused remark, spoken in such a soft and childish voice. Sure enough, the little dark-haired urchin was perched lightly atop a nearby straw rooftop, holding a small bottle that was burning ominously.
"Catch," Robin offered, grinning playfully.
The flaming bottle soared through the air, slamming into the nearest of the three men and setting him ablaze. The remaining two cried out in terror. Then, abandoning their companion, they turned and fled, wanting nothing more to do with their cunning adversary.
Robin paid the fleeing thugs little attention, and instead began scanning the adjacent streets. It didn't take long for the young rogue to spot Barkley's distinguished silhouette making a painfully obtuse attempt to approach unnoticed. "Does he really think he's being stealthy?" the young rogue whispered derisively.
The urchin considered ending the laughable excuse of a pursuit then and there, but almost immediately decided against it. It would have been easy enough, but where would the fun of that be? With a shrug, Robin turned and stepped lightly across the roof, then slid down to the quiet cobblestone road below.
"Hah!" Barkley roared triumphantly, coming around the corner at exactly the right moment. "Insolent rat! You've got nowhere left to run!"
Robin feigned a startled look, then backed away in mock terror, stumbling and falling to the ground. "Okay, I surrender!" the young rogue pleaded.
"Where's my axe!?" Barkley demanded, hefting his own unimpressive weapon. "And no more of your tricks!"
"I don't know," Robin babbled frantically. "My partner took it, but I'll get it for you. Just let me…"
"You don't know?" Barkley sneered, raising his weapon higher.
"No, wait! Please don't hurt me!" Robin pleaded. "Look, I can give you something else. Something even more valuable!"
"Really, now?" Barkley growled, sounding unimpressed.
"Really," Robin insisted. Then, careful not to make any sudden moves, the young rogue produced an old book bound in red cloth. "See this book? This used to belong to a famous Ylissean tactician, the same one who helped defeat Walhart the Conqueror," Robin explained, before opening the book and offering it to the large man.
Still suspicious, Barkley made no move to accept the offering, and only peered at it skeptically. The book's pages were covered in neatly scribed, yet inscrutable runes. "You're daft, boy. What use would I have for an old book?" he grumbled.
"It's plenty useful," Robin assured. "Didn't you see the bottle of fire I tossed to your friends?"
"Any idiot knows that drink burns," Barkley scoffed.
"Sure, but did you see a torch or lantern up on that roof? Or anything else I might have used to light that bottle?" Robin asked leadingly.
Barkley stared stupidly at the rogue. He knew that no torch could have held up to that night's storm for long, and saw clearly that the young urchin carried no lantern, but could not quite see the relevance in it.
Then the book began to glow with power, and Barkley understood his mistake.
Once beyond the village's gates, the two bandits who had escaped the carnage paused to catch their breath. They looked back at the village uneasily, wondering what to do next.
"You think the boss is okay?" one of the two wondered aloud.
"How should I know?" the other grumbled, for with the adrenaline wearing off, he was beginning to understand that their entire band had been outsmarted by a mere child. "Let's go."
"Go?" the first man echoed in surprise. "We can't go back to the camp without the boss!" His words had their desired effect, for his surlier companion paused and seemed to reconsider.
"Forget the boss," the second man finally snarled. "I ain't sticking around to see the villagers wake up angry. Not after being chased off by some stupid little boy."
A loud, leathery flapping noise interrupted their conversation. Both of the thugs cried out in surprise as something large landed only a few feet away from them, and a jet of hot air, accompanied by an awful stench, blew past.
"Two fine gentlemen such as yourselves being chased around by a child? That must be quite the tale," a cheerful feminine voice remarked.
Neither of the thugs paid the mysterious speaker any attention, for they were fixated instead upon her mount. "DRAGON!" the two finally screamed in unison. They promptly turned and bolted, no longer afraid of angry villagers or devious street urchins. Unfortunately, neither managed to take more than a few steps before their pursuer swept them off their feet.
"She's a wyvern, actually," the wyvern's red-haired rider corrected patiently, though neither of her two victims were listening. "And she'd rather be addressed by her name… right, Minerva dear?"
The wyvern screeched her approval, and at that, both of the captured thugs passed out cold. The wyvern's second rider, a slender, dark-haired Chon'sin man, made no move for his weapons, knowing that his help wouldn't be needed.
Certain that the bandits would no longer pose a threat, the wyvern's beautiful rider turned her attention to the sleepy hamlet instead.
"This does not bode well, Cherche," the dark-haired, soft-spoken man remarked.
"No, it doesn't," the red-haired wyvern rider agreed. "The duke may have been right in thinking this a trap." As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder and past her companion, her sharp eyes easily spotting Duke Virion and his entourage, who were still following close behind.
When Robin finally arrived at the village square, panting for breath and dragging Barkley's beaten, burned, and unconscious form, an angry and familiar voice rang out.
"That's him! That's the little runt who robbed us!" Jaylen slurred.
Robin grimaced. Despite the late hour and the horrid weather, the village square was quite crowded. Many were patrons of the tavern, but there were several others who had been roused by the commotion, or perhaps the fire.
The tavern keeper, an old man named Dawson who had owned and operated that same tavern for nearly three decades, peered down at the child doubtfully. Then he realized what the street urchin was dragging across the road. "Who is that?" he gasped.
"Who? Him?" Robin said, making a big show of looking down at Barkley's prone form. "This is Captain Barkley of the Barkley Mercenaries. He and his band sacked a couple of villages just like yours last year, I heard."
Dawson flinched, recognizing the name. "This is Captain Barkley? Truly?" he asked doubtfully. The child spoke truthfully, if incompletely; the Barkley Mercenaries had made quite a name for themselves after a rampage through countless smaller villages, culminating in an ill-advised raid upon Roseanne itself. After their defeat there, the so-called mercenaries had learned some humility, trying to make themselves less noticeable in their ruthless criminal pursuits.
Just then, a young farmer arrived at the village square. "Mister Dawson!" he cried, recognizing the elder and the informal town leader immediately. "We have visitors! Duke Virion himself is with them!"
"Of course he is," Robin interrupted cheerfully. "He's here to pick up the sword that Barkley stole, even if he doesn't know it, yet." The young rogue knelt down and claimed the elegant golden sword that Barkley had displayed earlier.
Dawson's mind spun as he tried to process the street urchin's words, but before he could make head or tail of them, one of his own neighbors reminded him of a more pressing matter. "Forget the sword! Give us back our coin, you little thief!" Jaylen roared, spittle flying with every word.
"Thief?" Robin asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence. "I thought I won your coin from you, fair and square."
"You beat us and robbed us!" one of Jaylen's friends argued.
But the other villagers had not been blind to the earlier commotion. "Say, isn't that the little boy who was playing with you fellows earlier?" one woman remarked.
"What, did you trip on your way home and decide to beg for your silver back that way?" another villager scoffed. "Just how much did you oafs have to drink, anyways?"
"Probably more than they could afford to pay for after losing all their money," another jeered.
"But… but that's… that wasn't…" Jaylen stammered helplessly.
"That's enough out of you and your friends, Jaylen," Dawson said decisively. "Get yourselves home and sleep it off, you hear? If the Duke really is here at this ungodly hour, the last thing he needs to see is you lot in this sorry state." He turned to face Robin once more. "As for you…"
He was interrupted then by a wyvern abruptly landing beside him. "Pardon the intrusion, good sir, but I believe I may be of some assistance in this matter," the wyvern's red-haired rider offered. "I am Cherche, humble servant to Duke Virion. You and your neighbors may return to your homes now and escape this abhorrent rain, if you wish. I assure you, the duke will attend to this matter personally, and will speak with your village's mayor in the morning before departing."
"Haven't got a mayor," Dawson grunted. He recognized the name of the duke's most well-known vassal, though, and the armored wyvern made the woman's identity clear enough. "But thank you nonetheless, Lady Cherche." With that, he gestured for the other villagers to clear the way. Before long, the street was almost deserted once more.
Cherche stared at Robin calculatingly for several long seconds before speaking. The street urchin met her stare evenly, smiling amicably and saying nothing.
"Is your name really Robin, dear child?" Cherche finally asked.
"Does it matter?" Robin said, answering the question with another.
"We knew it couldn't really be our Ylissean friend who sent us that letter, but we hardly expected it to have come from someone such as yourself," Cherche admitted. "And carrying the sword stolen from Chon'sin too, nonetheless. I wonder, what part does that grievously beaten body lying beside you play in all this?"
"Oh, that's easy. This is Captain Barkley, the leader of the men who broke into the palace of Chon'sin last month," Robin explained.
"Captain Barkley?" Cherche said, surprised. Then her expression grew thoughtful. "I see. And what of Emperor Walhart's axe? The letter you sent to the duke said that you could tell us more about those who broke into the treasury of Castle Roseanne."
"Ellie!" Robin called, looking up to the sky and whistling, as if summoning a pet dog, or perhaps a horse.
Without warning, the heavy crimson axe that had once belonged to Valm's infamous Conqueror seemed to fall slowly from the sky, landing lightly in front of Cherche, her riding companion, and her wyvern. Something roughly the size of a small bird detached itself from the center of the axe's shaft and flew over to perch itself on the street urchin's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I needed something to lure Barkley out," the young rogue explained apologetically.
"You are the one who broke into Castle Roseanne?" Cherche's riding companion exclaimed in shock.
Just then, the sound of hoof beats against the cobblestone road announced the duke's arrival. A tall, middle-aged man with long blue hair and posh clothing rode into the square, accompanied by nearly a dozen mounted knights. The duke's elegant dress had been rendered far less impressive by the rain, but there was no mistaking the air of nobility about the man. "You believe this child to be our missing thief? You jest, my dear Lon'qu," Virion said.
"No, it's true," Robin admitted freely. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way. It was for a good cause, though, and you can have your axe back now."
Virion, Cherche, and Lon'qu exchanged questioning looks, before Cherche finally spoke once more.
"Where are your parents, dear child?" Cherche asked kindly.
"They're… not with me anymore," Robin said, shifting uncomfortably, and Cherche's expression became tinged with sympathy. "But here," the rogue went on brightly. "You can send this sword back to Queen Say'ri. This was her brother's sword, right? Tell her to take better care of it next time."
Surprised as she was, Cherche nearly missed catching the sword as it soared towards her.
"That's all you summoned us here for?" Lon'qu asked suspiciously. "To give us this sword and return what you stole?"
"And to hand this oaf over," Robin reminded cheerfully, lightly nudging Barkley, who groaned.
Cherche shot Virion a plaintive look, but she needn't have bothered; her duke fully shared her sentiments. "You are most gracious," Virion began gratefully. "Is there any way Roseanne might repay your service to us? Perhaps we could find you a comfortable home where you might be properly cared for."
"No thanks. I can take care of myself," Robin declined quickly. "But if you really mean to repay me… well, Queen Say'ri was offering twenty thousand gold for the return of her brother's sword, not to mention the sizable bounty you yourself placed upon Captain Barkley here six months ago. That seems to be a bit excessive, though; a mere five thousand will suffice."
Virion's expression hardened as the urchin's intent became clear. The modest sum hardly concerned him, but something about the child bothered him still. "I see. I've been wondering when the gold you asked us to bring would come up," he said thoughtfully. "You're a clever one, young Robin, or whatever your name might be."
"Why, thank you," the street urchin replied, dipping into a gracious bow.
"But this is no life for a child," Virion continued. He nodded towards the captured bandit. "Dealing with the likes of this man is quite dangerous."
"Hardly," Robin scoffed.
"As is breaking into castle treasuries watched over by armed guards," Virion said, pressing on smoothly. "I implore you, please return to Castle Roseanne with me. I am sure we can find a kinder and safer life for you there."
"Sounds boring," the young rogue commented lightly. "Sorry, but I think I'll pass."
Virion winced. The street urchin's indifference was unsurprising, to say the least. The Valmese War and the ensuing unrest had left behind thousands of such orphans, though this particular child seemed younger than most. Such children naturally had little faith left in their would-be rulers. Some would find their way, no doubt, but many others would one day become kindred spirits to the half-dead bandit lying at the young rogue's feet. "I'm afraid that was not merely an offer. You will return to Roseanne with us, where we can discuss this matter further," the duke declared firmly. "Lon'qu, please, collect our guest so that we might be out of this infernal rain."
The dark-haired swordsman obediently slipped down from the wyvern's back, but he had only managed two steps before Robin brandished a weapon his way, a polished silver longsword with a large emerald adorning its hilt.
"You do not want to do that," Lon'qu warned, looking past the weapon and taking note of the street urchin's uneven stance.
But someone else, a red-haired woman who had been watching curiously from the sidelines, recognized the child's weapon. "No, stop!" Severa cried, making her presence known.
Virion, Cherche, and the other knights turned to her in surprise. Lon'qu began to turn, too, but a flicker out of the corner of his eye drew his attention straight back. In one fluid motion, Lon'qu drew his own curved sword to meet his young challenger's charge.
Robin's glimmering weapon swept across horizontally with surprising speed and power as the young rogue suddenly adopted a far more comfortable fighting stance. Surprised by the sudden shift, Lon'qu nearly lost his grip on his sword after parrying the first strike. Then something blunt slammed into his ankles, and he found the ground fast approaching him. His sword clattered to the ground as he only narrowly caught himself.
"Lon'qu!" Cherche cried, drawing her axe.
But her opponent proved faster. The young rogue slashed the silver sword in her direction, and a wave of raw energy ripped by her, missing by only a few inches. The child's confident grin made it abundantly clear that the near miss was no accident. "Really, all this over five thousand gold? I thought I was being quite reasonable, too. Maybe I should have delivered the sword to Queen Say'ri myself instead," Robin remarked.
"That's enough!" Severa cried, drawing her own sword and rushing to stand between Robin and Lon'qu, the latter who was just beginning to rise with a murderous look in his eyes.
Virion regarded her curiously. He didn't recognize her, but could tell she was no local and found her appearance hauntingly familiar. "Very well," he agreed, signaling to Cherche, Lon'qu, and the other knights to stand down. "I must apologize. I feel like we've met before, my dear lady, but I cannot quite place your name."
"It's Selena," Severa said tersely, knowing that the duke would not recognize that name.
Virion frowned. "Perhaps I was mistaken, then. Lady Selena, do you know this child?"
"Nope," Robin spoke up quickly, before Severa could answer. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really should be on my way. Unless… I don't suppose there's any chance of you returning the sword so that I may deliver it to Queen Say'ri myself, is there?" the rogue asked hopefully. "I really could use the gold."
"That won't be necessary," Virion said with a heavy sigh. He retrieved a large pouch of gold from his saddlebags, and held it out to the child. "Five thousand. That is all that you asked me to bring, and thus all that I have with me, excluding a few coins to cover our travels. If you want more, I will gladly pay you the rest of the twenty thousand Queen Say'ri offered. All that I ask is that you return to Roseanne with me and hear me out. I will not keep you from leaving then, if you still wish to be on your own."
"That's generous of you, but this is all I need for now," Robin said, collecting the bag cheerfully. As the young rogue approached, the others caught a better glimpse of the strange creature riding on Robin's shoulder: a curiously metallic creature that resembled a silvery butterfly studded with small gemstones.
"Very well, but if you change your mind…" Virion began helplessly, but Robin was already walking away.
The duke and his retainers and knights watched silently as the young rogue marched away without looking back. The red-haired woman had started off immediately, following the child, and a blond-haired man, also oddly dressed and carrying a baby, stepped out of the tavern a moment later to chase after the two.
Virion then looked to Wolfberg, formerly the axe of Emperor Walhart the Conqueror, and Amatsu, formerly the sword of Prince Yen'fay of Chon'sin. Given the rumors, he should have been glad to learn that the stolen weapons had been retrieved, but at that moment, he could only wonder about the curious young rogue who had appeared and disappeared so suddenly.
"Sev – I mean, Selena, what's going on?" Owain whispered, as he and Severa followed the young rogue all the way to the village gates.
"I'm not sure, but I'm about to find out," Severa said grimly. Fed up with being ignored, she hastened her step to move past and stand in front of Robin. "That's far enough. What's going on here?" she demanded.
"Whatever do you mean?" Robin asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence.
Severa scowled, clearly unamused. "Why are you traveling under a false name? What's with the disguise? And what are you doing all the way out here in Valm?" she clarified impatiently.
"Those are some rather ironic questions," Robin commented slyly.
"Severa, do you know him?" Owain interrupted, astonished.
"Her," the young rogue corrected with a smile. She turned back to face Severa. "Long time no see, Sis."