Chapter One

“Thief, thief!”

The cry rang into the predawn mist in the squat forest village of Gyrehaven. People thronged out from all the sturdy pine panel houses in their sleeping garments. A older woman, with big eyes and a thin lipped mouth was standing at the head of the street, her champagne silk shawl just covering her shoulders as it wound carelessly around her. She shifted her bare feet on the field stones that made up the road bed as she cried in alarm. A guard from the south guardhouse of the Alderman’s grounds came rushing around the corner, his blade poised for attack. He tumbled into an old man who was part of the crowd watching the hysterics. The man teetered but remained upright, and after a moment the soldier mumbled an apology and entered the home of the Lady Gardener.

Not long after, the guard came out of the building and went to speak with the covey of guards forming a human barricade in front of the door. The crowd milled about, anxiously awaiting news of the robbery. Rumors spread quickly in these conditions.

When the Alderman finally arrived, elbowing his way past the bloated crowd, the captain of the guard had calmed the aged Lady Gardener down and was asking for details about the stolen item. The Alderman, still trying to tuck his bedclothes into his britches, started in on the woman with questions of his own. Facts were sparse , and the excitement rapidly cooled. Nothing more could be done tonight. They ultimately decided to set a watch at Lady Gardeners door, and she quickly agreed.

#

As the crowds dispersed one little old man crept slowly, openly toward the gardens. He let his night robe of simple cotton sag loosely about him as if the cold wasn’t cavorting with the humidity and verging on frigid. He took easy steps and hobbled a bit with a mock pain that he didn’t feel-- at least not yet.

Walking into the gardens he took the upper path, the one that wound around near the Alderman’s home and on by the stream, following it up stream to the White River that fed all of Gyrehaven. These gardens were legendary in west Elcher. The settlers here had found a wealth of flowering plants that had thrived on the rich sediments that time had built along the shore, and when the town was built this land had been reserved as a place of sanctity and beauty. The trip was slow and pleasant-- few biting bugs were here because of the gardens distance from the shipping ports. He felt none of the hurry that he should have felt,the mask he wore saw to that.

He waited until he was halfway into the gardens, at a great bend in the path where it nudged up against the stream and was caressed by a weeping willow and paused there. Leaning on his cane for a moment he stared into the trees overhead, listening to them rustle and sway as they whispered to him. When he had stood a while and was certain he was alone he walked to the streams edge. He took the bracelet out of his pocket and admired it’s silvery sheen in the moonlight , then he let his thin fingers slip one final time over the bracelets gilded edge, dropping the stolen item into the rivers murmur.

He could remember how the night air smelled so sweet, seasoned with gardenias as he had crept into the Lady’s room. He remembered the way the old woman rested, lying on her back, her hair flamed out on the pillow, her old but slim neat fingers resting against her turned head and the way her lip curled when she breathed in. He had felt a compassion for her as he slipped across the floor slowly. At the jewelry chest, he opened and found an assortment of fancy items there. He considered taking a pendant of gold with a crescent moon hugging a ruby star, but judged by it’s wear that it was an heirloom. There was no sense doing any more damage than necessary. He spotted a package in jute cloth that had been tossed on the chest. Inside was a bracelet, newly purchased. Satisfied that the elderly woman had little real emotional attachments to it, he quietly turned toward the balcony, pausing in the door way to admire the woman again. Few people can sleep so gracefully he thought as he shimmied down from the landing.

After a moment more he was on his way again, meandering up the padded path of blue-green juniper and seeking a place to rest bones that were not yet tired.

#

Abnik hitched up the ruddy leather leg of his trousers and flicked a tick out of his leg with the tip of his knife. This garden was crawling with insects,the green vegetation pulled up to hide them like a banshees cape hid it’s fangs. The days were growing shorter, but the summers heat still radiated when the sun was out. The mosquitos would be awake soon and looking for some breakfast. The loose frills of his suit hung down and tickled his leg, making it itch, so he adjusted the legging back into place.

His whole body was itching now. At least it felt that way -- the mind played tricks on you with things like that. He decided to ignore it, lifted his gray-black hair away from his face and settled his heavy frame back down on one of the benches that lined the trail. A bird called in the upper boughs to greet the coming morning. Golden Warbler he thought instantly. His years in the outdoors had made him fluent. The erratic whistles made him think of the shack in the Mesh. He missed it. The forest marshland had a collection of marsh and treetop birds that feasted on the insects in the summer. He rested his head against the large Woodman’s pride that threatened to bump the path into the stream. He sighed as he shoved a piece of rough pemmican in his mouth. He sucked on it savoring the familiar flavor and listening to the morning breeze until he heard something snap down the trail.

He paused his chewing and listened intently toward the source of the noise. He realized after several rustling that it was just a villager enjoying the trail and relaxed. Humans were literally and figuratively the noisiest creatures in nature. He waited until the villager was farther down the trail before pretending to notice him.

It was an old man, with thin arms and legs that were stuck out to accommodate balance. He was bent over a stick that resembled it’s owner’s knobbiness. The man hobbled towards the bench and Abnik slid over so he could sit down.

With a great huff, the man plopped down and tried to catch his breath. He smelled a little like old sweat and gardenia. Abnik shifted the pemmican and blew air towards his nose, replacing the smells disturbing with smells familiar. The two sat in the morning silence, listening to the birds, the wind and the sound of breathing. The stream hurried by in a rush that would lead it back to the river. The rocks seemed to be on the rivers side and tried to thwart the streams escape.

When the man finally spoke a good deal later, he smacked his lips together and spoke slowly. “Now, “ he said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. The stains suggested that it wasn’t a first. “what might you be all dressed up like a savage?”.

Abnik was amazed at the strangers tenacity, but he admired the way he spoke deliberately. He decided to play along. It would give him something to do until an official bounty was up for this thief. It was the third hit, so he knew the time was near. “Maybe I’m a savage.” Abnik replied.

“Oh, I think not, you have a bit of pemmican--that shows some planning. Not a savagely trait.” he waited a moment more, smacking about like his lips were dry and then continued, “And besides, your pack has a pan or two to clap about.”.

“Maybe I took them from a traveler.”

The man laughed, his smile pushing the meat of his cheek up and causing a glow in his eyes. “And what does a savage do with a pot?”

It wasn’t meant to be a question. Abnik chuckled and let himself relax fully. Besides, it had been awhile since he last talked with an intelligent stranger and the change would be a welcome one.

He decided on a direct approach. “I’m a hunter of sorts.” he began.

“A hunter of man, or of beast?” the old man asked, not looking away from the clear waters.

“Hmmm, It’s difficult to explain...”

“You’re no savage, I’m certain you can manage it.” The man had

awkwardly propped a foot on his knee and began to rub it, pressing calloused fingers into the wrinkles between the toes. Abnik cleared his throat and watched the stream to collect his thoughts, then continued.

“If you see a farmer in a barn and he finds a weasel or a rat or some other destructive creature, he runs it out. But you never see him run out an owl. That’s because the owl’s main occupation is to get rid of the troublesome animals --the pests-- so that the farmer can go about what he was intended to do--to farm.” Abnik leaned over and patted the axe that lay beside him. “That’s what I do. I’m an owl.”

The old man sat for a minute as if in deep thought, he had paused rubbing his feet. He looked a little afraid, but most people would be in the presence of a bounty hunter. Just as Abnik was about to ask after the man, he replied. “I’ve heard of a great hunter matching your description, the best of the predators. They call him Abnik. They say he only hunts for one kind of pest.”

Abnik’s muscles tightened. “I hunt anything that needs removal, but the worst kind of pests are my speciality.” After ten years of hunting down the low life scum he still wasn’t appeased. “Thieves.” It would take more than a life time, it would take each and every last one of them dead. The very word brought the smell of smoke back to his nostrils. He could hear her choking and feel the sting of the fire in his eyes. And the hate in his heart.

Abnik’s hand washed white, he was squeezing so hard. He spoke slowly.

”Thieves are good for three things; timber, anchors, and target practice.”

The old man let his leg down and touched the head of his cane. “I was out walking during the robbery I think. The nights not kind to old bones. I might have seen something tonight -- might have. I can’t sort it out yet. Do you have a way I can find you if I think of anything?”

Abnik lifted his axe onto his lap, the blade head away from the old man. On the smooth hilt was a branding of a stylized owl swooping down for a kill, beak open and wings out, it’s giant talons itching to snag it’s prey.

Abnik tilted the handle down so the man could see it clearly. “That’s my symbol. I show it to others so they remember me. You mention it to shopkeepers or officials if you think of something. They know where to find me, and I’ll find you.”

“Thank you. I’ll think on it.” The man said with a smile. He moved to get up and paused, rocked back and rocked forward again. When he teetered halfway to standing Abnik helped him to his feet. He watched the man hobble slowly off, stopping to glance at the stream and then wave absentmindedly back.

He got up and stretched, the leather suit creaking in the humid morning air. The sun was coming in through the trees, which acted like a filter and muted the light. He started for the exit gate, wanting to check with the Lady Gardner and the guards for details. Maybe he could even convince the Alderman that his service was in order. He was hoping he could catch a thief today.

#

Tyza quailed, sat back, and took a deep breath-- her eyes wide and the enchanted mask regressing on her fingertips. Her face felt like it was on fire, the tender areas around her earlobes and nostrils glistening with sweat. She could hear her heart, could feel it’s pulse at the top of her throat. It felt so close like she could open her mouth and it would be resting on her tongue, ruby red with vigor as it sent it’s ache pumping into her brain. The room about her came slowly into focus, spinning beneath her and in a few moments the bright spots had cleared from her vision. She sat on the edge of a simple cot with undyed sheets. She still felt a slight ache that had begun in her lower back while the mask was slowly changing her insides to match her outer disguise. The thing was more of a threat to her than it was to her enemies. She kept still until she had regained her balance and felt strong enough to move again.

With some unsteadiness, she turned and tossed the mask on the nearby stool with disgust. It glared back with soulless eyes and a blank expression.

She ignored it, turning to strip down to her bedclothes. The whole transformation would have left her drained anyway, but transforming into a body that mimicked the aged -- that was grounds for torching the mask charm. She lay back on the cot , light faintly shining through the heavy burlap she’d improvised as a curtain. The ceiling allowed a little light in as well, and rain when the weather permitted. A few stray pegs on the wall were the only other features in the room. But she’d chosen this inn for the location and discretion, not the hospitality.

She had few hours to rest before rising to prepare for tonight’s episode and drifted off by thinking about the Thieves paw-- the item that was the culmination of several nights work.

#

The Alderman of Gyrehaven twitched uncomfortably in his chair as he faced the big window that overlooked the east lawn. He felt the stuffed arms of it absently as he tried to make a decision that would be good for the town. Outside the dark study, a magpie flew back toward the garden sanctuary that bordered his property. This town, though thriving from it’s unique trade position on the White River was a simple one. It’s people were a simple folk that enjoyed their life in the woods. They deserved peace of mind, and it was his job to give it.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and a small shouldered guard with a thin moustache approached the desk.

“We have completed inventory of the Lady Gardeners belongings and can only find one item missing. It seems a small bangle was sitting by the chest of jewelry in her master suite that she bought only 3 days ago when the river vendors where in town.” he reported.

The Alderman looked up at the man standing straight at attention. “What was the worth of this bangle?”

“Two credits sir. She said she bought it for her three year old niece.”

The Alderman turned away from him, studying a small winged insect that landed on the sill outside. One bracelet worth only two credits. And the jewelry chest remained untouched. This was the third such robbery in a week, and people were starting to talk. The first had been a stable raid, with none of the horses taken, but instead a halter. The second was a missing bag of yeast from the bakery shop, and now this. It didn’t make any sense, but still the robberies continued. People were getting their own ideas about what was going on. He sighed.

“Are you sure there was nothing else taken?”

“Nothing, sir” the guard answered without hesitation.

Something had to be done for the people of Gyrehaven to feel safe in the town once again. He turned back toward the window and watched as a robin landed on the sill. In one decisive movement it had plucked the insect up in it’s beak and launched into the air again. Now was the time for action.

“Post a bounty of a thousand credits for the thief...and contact Abnik as soon as it’s done.” Justice would be served.

#

Tyza slipped into the woods on the side of Gyrehaven away from the river under the cloak of nightfall. The woods seemed alive at this hour, strange beasts bayed and birds called, and there was a chilling breeze that permeated the deep woods.

She passed by a Lady in Waiting, it’s long fluffy branches imitating a fur coat, and reflexively reached her fingertips out to brush the soft branches. The cool lushness felt good on her skin. The night seemed to have it’s own fluffiness-- a certain haze that softened the rough edges of the world. It was such a welcome change from the cold hard invasiveness of the mask. She was glad she didn’t have to wear it. Not yet anyway.

She had kneaded for three hours on the front of it to try and craft a face that was neither too old nor too young. The last thing she wanted was for someone to think they noticed her. It normally took an hour for the molding under intense concentration, and another hour and a half of incantation and testing to perfect it. By the time she was through she was itching to go out and be done with this town. She worried about anything that took too much time, she knew her time here was very limited.

After about a miles journey into the eastern woods she found the little grove of pines she’d scouted a few days before. In the center was a tiny brook that trickled southwest until it joined up with the White River below town. She stepped into the water, admiring the way the moon dazzled against the currents, and headed upstream. She began to round her way north for a couple of miles and then headed back towards the town again. If Abnik was following her trail she wanted him to have a poor lead. Though she doubted even her own proficiency at slipping in and out undetected would slow him down much. Her boots squeaked as they drained of water and her feet were icy, but they would warm and dry as she traveled back into town. There wouldn’t be a trace of the water later on tonight.

Her heart ached as she traveled. She’d only been away from Kuruk nine days and already she missed him. He’d been so strong before the spell had cursed him. She remembered him begging her to teach him how to move like she moved. She’d taught him the same way she’d been taught when she’d been imprisoned, but she taught him to use it for defense and strength. Not for thievery like she’d learned to do. She’d found she despised the one thing she was good at doing. So she’d retired and sought an honest life as a weapons dealer. The Spell Heart had brought her back to thievery when it had cursed her son. He was ill now, and there was nothing she wouldn’t beg, borrow or steal to make him better again.

After a few minutes, she began to make out the wall that surrounded the town and slipped behind a tree. It was odd for a town without a castle to have a wall, but stories of wild animals stealing babies from their cribs had probably laid as many stones on that wall as the men who had built it. She shivered from the cool breeze that blew through town off the river. Her hair was tied up in a short ponytail behind her and her fingers were laced with thin strips of leather. The leather would provide a protective cushion from the climber claws she used. She inhaled the smell of the forest, laden with the scents of sap and of dirt and of newly lit torches. She could hear nothing from the town except a few whispers of water from the drain ways and river. In a small back-slung pack she had her few tools, and she quietly slipped the claws from it.

The vulgar-looking metal talons looked different on her hands-- her silhouette would look like an overgrown mole. She adjusted the knee spikes until they were taut. After checking to make sure her short sword, neatly bundled on her back, was clear of it’s scabbard she closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing. It always helped to meditate to focus the senses and quiet the mind.

She hoped to have a clean heist-- she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. But she couldn’t afford a failure. If someone stood between her and her son she would show no compassion. She focused on the object of her meditation as she began. The thieves paw was a legendary ring that had been charmed to allow the wearer temporary matter phasing. Dreogan needed it to break through the first level of the complicated curse to extract the Spell Heart so that he could dispel it. She breathed in cool night air, imagining it was a relaxing breeze that blew through her entire being and filling her soul. It reminded her of an old proverb she’d heard-- Stress is who you strive to be, relaxation is who you are. She held the breath, feeling her muscles relax and the tension ease and the she began to slowly exhale. She envisioned all the negative thoughts and clumsiness and doubt leaving with the air, mixing with the night and being carried away by the calming wind. She would like to repeat the process for several minutes before she began, but time was of the essence.

When Tyza started for the wall she was a singular fluid entity despite her extra gear. She felt like a bubble in a swift stream, and the current carried her in a fast run to the base of the stones. She scaled the wall without any effort-- hand over hand as if she were swimming to the top-- the metal clicking softly on the river stones as it caught tiny ledges. In moments she broke over the top of the wall and peered down.

Her blood ran cold and her gut wrenched. Her concentration disintegrated and she clung to the wall like a snail clings to a mill house.

In the great courtyard below that housed the thieves paw lay the blood stained bodies of three young guards--their swords still in the sheathes and terror frozen on their faces. The towns greatest treasure, perhaps the greatest treasure of the western Elcher, stolen.

And with it, her only hope of rescuing her son.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two