Martin sighed as he pulled the horse through the massive gatehouse at High Crown. He didn't often make it to the capital but when he did he hated it. The dusty stone structures and bland cobblestone streets were such a bore. A far cry from the lush green of the trees back home. He nearly fell off the horse as the smell of the market district slammed into his nose. The cacophony of scents mingled together gave him a headache. Cooked and raw food, woodwork, smithing, all had their scents. Each of them alone may not have been terrible, but together it was nauseating.
He stopped the horse as he approached his destination. The massive stone carapace of the High Crown Grand Bank stretched along the entire right side of the market district. The high stone walls and small circular windows told a greater story. Greed. For all the good that the Ross confederation had done in this world, even it wasn't without its flaws. The Grand bank loaned to nations and individuals all around the world and exacted a high rate of interest from their dealings.
Why did father send him here? Couldn't he have made the trek himself? It seemed pointless to come all the way from Greenspire to treat with these usurers. He would rather be back home riding through the Oakenward or south to the Great plain. He sighed. There was nothing for it.
He stepped down from the horse and handed the reins to the waiting stableboy. The massive wooden doors of the bank loomed in front of him. Etched with each of the sigils of the nine provinces of Ross. He noticed his own house sigil fourth from the top. The Great oak of Orin. A symbol of pride from his homeland. It made him ill to see its likeness embossed on the filth of this establishment.
He shook his head as he pushed the doors aside and entered the bank. Revealing the massive inner sanctum. It stretched back around seventy yards and the ceilings were at least one hundred feet high. Gleaming crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, the light from which filled the room with a dim glow. Massive stone alcoves lined the edges of the room. Hiding the support beams that held the massive ceiling aloft. A single man sat at a plain looking wooden desk in the center of the room. He didn't even look up as Martin approached.
“I’m here to see the High banker.” Martin said. The man was scribbling something down on a small piece of paper, and promptly ignored Martin. Martin felt his fingers tighten into fists.“I’m Martin Orin here to see the High banker.” He said louder. The man stopped his scribbling and peered up at Martin from over half-moon spectacles. He gave Martin a once over and then smiled half-heartedly.
“Ah, yes. Young Master Orin. High Banker Roderick is expecting you in the west wing. Please follow me.” The man rose and turned towards the western side of the building and began to head towards a nearby oak door. Martin followed behind him noting the way the man walked. His footing was poor. A simple push could have sent him tumbling to the ground in an instant. He was lucky, Martin thought, to live in a nation where braver men would fight for him.
The man pushed aside the oak door and held it open for Martin who stepped inside. The room he stepped into was pure white marble, polished to a gloss. Lapis lazuli and great sapphires dotted the walls, each of which was lined with a border of pure gold. The opulence on display was so astonishing that even Martin couldn't help but be somewhat impressed.
A man in a dazzling purple robe sat at a desk made of white oak, a wood so rare that even the massive Oak forests of the Westlands held only a rare few. Martin also took note of a rather dangerous looking fellow sitting in the opposite corner of the room. A foreigner from the looks of it. Dark skin, darker than those in Arn, yet not quite as dark as those from the Black Sun Empire. He bore a long scar across his left cheek.
“Ah, Master Orin. Please sit.” The man in the purple robe said, beckoning Martin to a nearby chair. He sat, keeping a close eye on the man in the corner. “I am High Banker Roderick.” Martin had assumed as much. The way the man dressed he clearly held some high status. Roderick reached across the table offering to shake Martin’s hand. Martin took the hand and shook tightly, feeling the High banker’s fingers collapse into his grip. Soft hands. “Can I offer you some refreshment?” Roderick asked, letting go of Martin’s hand.
“I’d rather we get down to business.” Martin said, causing Roderick to scowl slightly.
“Very well, straight to business it is.” Roderick opened a large bound tome sitting on the desk and sifted through the pages for a few moments before stopping on one. Estate of Joseph Orin. It read. Martin felt his heart beat increase slightly at the sight of his father’s name. “As you know, the Grand Bank has extensive dealings with your father seeing as he is the lord of a Ross province and boasts one of the larger military forces in the land.” Roderick looked at Martin for a moment expecting a response. He didn't get one. “What you don’t know is that your father has accrued quite a debt to the bank. One of the largest in our history.” Martin felt his face pale slightly. House Orin was in debt to the grand bank? Why hadn't his father spoken to him of this?
“How much?” Martin asked, dreading the answer.
“Ten million Gold marks.” Martin’s mouth fell open. One million marks could buy an army of mercenaries and feed them for decades. What could his father possibly have spent ten million on?
“So, why am I here then? I can’t settle such a debt, and I doubt my father is capable of doing so either.” Martin replied, trying to regain his composure. Roderick smiled.
“From what I hear, Master Orin, you are quite the warrior.”
“How does that solve our issue?”
“The bank has other debts that it needs resolved and objects that it needs…obtained” Roderick struggled for a moment on the last word. “A man of your skills could help us with such endeavors, and in return your father’s debt could be expunged.” It all made sense now. His father had sold him as a sword for hire to pay off his debt. Damn that man.
“And if I refuse?” Martin asked, already knowing the answer.
“Then the bank would have to seize your father’s estate. Himself, you and your family would be sold into slavery to help pay the debt. There’s no telling really where you’d end up.” Martin stood up sharply in anger nearly making Roderick fall off his chair. The man in the corner rose and drew a long curved blade from an unknown scabbard. “Easy now, easy. I understand this can be difficult. If you perform the tasks we ask of you, however, your father’s debt can be settled, and you need not fear the bank ever again.” Martin glared at Roderick, he felt his hand reaching down for his sword but thought better of it. Killing Roderick wouldn't solve his family’s issues. Only serving the bank would.
“Fine.” Roderick grinned from ear to ear.
“Very good. Your first task is simple. I need you to acquire the SandStone from the Museum at King’s Fall.” Martin raised his eyebrows.
“You want me to steal from the king’s own home city? If the king owes you something, why don’t you get it from him.” Roderick's smile faded.
“The bank and the king have had a bit of a falling out you see. King Elroy is not in debt but er, the stone is of particular interest to the bank.” Martin was beginning to understand.
“You want me to steal from the King?”
“The king is here in High Crown. King’s Fall is leagues away. You’d be stealing from Arn, not the king himself. Of course if you refuse…”
“I’ll do it. Now can I get going?” Roderick’s smile returned.
“By all means. Though there is one other thing.” Roderick said gazing over at the man in the corner. “My associate Zahir will be joining you.”
“Why? He’ll only slow me down. Besides he’s a foreigner, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“The bank needs insurance in case you decide to flee. A man from Ross may feel loyalty towards you due to your family name. Zahir feels no such loyalty.” Martin gazed at Zahir for a moment. He was sure the man wasn't even from this continent. He was insurance to keep Martin on a short lease.
“Fine. Now can I go?”
“Of course, and do be careful. If you are caught in King’s Fall the bank will of course deny any dealings with you. Good luck Master Orin.” Martin turned on his heel and marched out of the room. He could feel Zahir hot on his heels as he pushed aside the outer bank door and stepped into the market district. The sun was setting and he should be finding an Inn in the city to sleep in. He pulled the reins out of the stableboy’s hands with a snap and saddled the horse. Zahir rode up on his right side on his own steed.
“We ride south.” Martin said. Zahir waved his hand and performed a slight bow.
“As you wish, Nahrek.” he said. Martin pulled the horse towards the city gate. Then it was south towards Arn.
They hadn’t stopped for two days. The long blue line of the Azure thread had begun to appear in the distance. The massive river flowed south from the mountains in Wintermere then met hundreds of tributaries in northern Ross to form the fast flowing river. At some places the Azure Thread was almost a mile wide, especially in the south near King’s Fall.
King’s Fall he had never been to that city. The most ancient in Ross some said. Far older than the capital. An ancient fortress that had weathered millennia of war. It was said that ten kings died laying siege to it. Earning the city its name. He was woken from his day dreaming by Zahir biting into some hard biscuit.
“Do you have to do that now?” Snapped Martin. He hadn’t known many foreigners but he knew he didn’t trust them. He had only to look at the history books to tell him how dangerous they were.
“We have not had a full meal in two days. I do not know if you Nahrek need to eat but where I am from, a meal is a sacred thing.” His accent irritated Martin even more but he had to admit even he was feeling hungry.
“The river port is just up ahead. Once we get on a ship and are headed south we can stop for a meal.” Zahir shook his head.
“You Nahrek and your ships.” He reached down and gave his horse a gentle pat. “Just give me a good horse and the road.” Martin raised an eyebrow.
“You realize that taking the road would double our travel time? The river is the fastest way to King’s Fall. Don’t your employers want their trinket at the earliest convenience?” Zahir stared at Martin for a moment but then turned away and said nothing. Only began whistling an unfamiliar tune.
As they approached the river port a nearby guard waved them over. An older looking man with a leather cuirass. The piece of armor bore the sigil of House Horn, the sea serpent.
“What can I do for you gentleman?” He asked Martin then looked at Zahir with a curious expression.
“We need passage to King’s Fall.” Martin said, throwing a golden mark to the man who caught it in his gnarled hands. The man eyed the coin greedily before turning back to Martin.
“Of course, young Master! Our fastest ship is set to leave in one hour's time. I’ll book you passage immediately.” Martin reached down into his coin purse and produced a second gold mark.
“The ship leaves now.” He said throwing the man the second coin. The man looked like he may faint for a moment then regained his composure.
“Of course, I’ll rouse the captain!” He said scurrying off towards the river’s edge. Martin could hear Zahir clicking his tongue behind him and turned to give him a scowl.
“The way you Orin men throw money around, it is no wonder your father is in so much debt, eh?” Zahir laughed.
“Don’t ever speak ill of my father in front of me. Do you understand?” Martin felt his cheeks begin to burn. He had no love for his father, but he wouldn’t allow disrespect towards him from some outsider. Zahir raised both hands in surrender and then headed after the guard. Martin sat for a moment watching the man ride off. It was hard to believe that three months ago he was back in Greenspire wasting the days away with his friends. Now he was headed south to rob the king. Fortunes, it seemed, changed quickly in this life.
He pulled the horse towards the river’s edge and saw the small vessel that would bear them on their journey. It was a small galley with a single sail. It could hold maybe five passengers along with a small crew. It wasn’t pretty. The deck planks had been weathered by many years of service. Bits of wood splintered from some of them, while others looked as if they could turn to dust at any moment. The main sail had a long line of stitching where it had been repaired. Martin wondered what could have caused that sort of damage. As mighty as the Azure Thread was, it was still only a river. Incapable of the mighty storms that a proper ocean could produce.
The guard from before came quickly out of the ship’s cabin followed by a rather sleepy looking man dressed in a sailors uniform. The man rubbed his eyes as he approached Martin and Zahir.
“I’m Captain Thomas.” He said, stifling a yawn. “And you are?”
“Martin Orin, son of Lord Joseph Orin.” The man seemed to suddenly become more awake.
“I see, the ship will be ready to sail in a few moments, young Master.” The captain began to turn away but then turned back to look at Zahir wryly for a moment. Then shook his head and headed back to the ship. Martin peered over at Zahir who simply continued to whistle his tune.
Martin woke with a wide yawn and sat up in bed. The room was still dark and the soft sway of the ship on the current of the river made him want to lay back down. He stood up and stretched, feeling the ache of days of riding in his muscles before walking over to the cabin door and pushing it slowly aside. The moon was still high, and he could see the vast expanse of the Valenford grassland on either side of the great river cast dimly in the moonlight. He headed to the bow of the ship and peered over into the river below. The dark current pulled ever southward, stretching over a thousand miles before it reached its delta in MireFen. Then emptied into the southern ocean.
“You are awake, Nahrek.” came the voice of Zahir from behind. Martin turned to see the man walking up to him. Dark eyes nearly black in the dim moonlight.
“Why do you call me Nahrek?”
“All of those that dwell beyond the sea are Nahrek.” Zahir said with a shrug.
“So you're not from Thalara then? I assumed as much.” Martin said, turning back towards the river. He had yet to see the entire continent of Thalara, even though he had lived here for his full 20 years, yet he could spot someone from the other lands easily enough.
“You are very distrustful, young master. In my land we welcome outsiders with open hearths.” Zahir said, wandering over and standing beside Martin.
“And what land would that be?” Martin asked, halfheartedly.
“The great land of Akhmetra of course.” Martin turned towards Zahir with a scowl.
“So you’re part of the Black Sun Empire then? And you wonder why I don't trust you.”
“Akhmetra is from what you call the southern continent, yes. But we are the part that is not controlled by the Black Sun. The only part.” Zahir said, a smile beginning to form on his face. Martin stared at him for a moment and then turned back to the river. He had always thought that the entire southern continent was controlled by the Black Sun Empire. Perhaps he was wrong, it didn't make him trust Zahir any more.
Martin thought he heard a dull thud, followed by another, but he ignored it, ships often make strange sounds at night. He wondered if Zahir was really capable of beating him in a fight, and if he was, why did the bank need Martin when they had someone so skilled? There was something else, some angle that the bank had that he couldn't see yet. He would find out what it was. He always did.
Something snapped by his ear and embedded itself into the bowsprit. An arrow. Martin spun and drew his sword in an instant, noticing Zahir had already done the same. Four men in black robes stood on the opposite side of the deck, facing them with weapons drawn. Their faces were covered with cloth masks and the one in the rear loosed another arrow that sailed towards Zahir. He deftly stepped aside and spun into the nearest man with his curved sword. Unleashing a flurry of precise strikes unlike anything Martin had ever seen. He barely had time to watch as two men charged him. The first brought his sword down from high guard, the weapon sailed true headed for Martin's skull. He parried the blade and stepped aside, letting the strike from the second man sail passed his chest. Then thrust out, catching the first man in the heart with his sword. He cried out and fell to the deck of the ship, a dark pool forming all around him.
The second attacker swung again. Martin ducked underneath the slash and spun, catching the man’s knees with the edge of the blade. The man screamed as his legs gave out falling hard to the wooden deck. Martin raised his blade and delivered the killing thrust straight through the man’s chest and into the decking below. He turned to the last attacker, the man aimed the bow directly at him, preparing to fire. A curved knife soared through the air and struck him in the skull. He wavered for a moment and then collapsed. Martin looked to Zahir who only smiled, standing over the corpse of the final attacker. Then walked over to the nearest fallen man and knelt down beside him searching for any clue about their identity. They wore plain black robes, not even any armor. Their blades were of decent quality however. Not as well made as his own but no poorly equipped town smith made them. No, these were at least city crafted. That meant whoever sent them had money.
“Any idea who they are, Nahrek?” Zahir said, sheathing his own sword, and kneeling down beside Martin. Martin pulled back the man’s robes and searched his pockets. Nothing, not even a copper mark inside. Then he noticed something, a small string necklace barely visible under the neckline. He pulled the string out and froze. The icon was clear as day, a black circle with a boss in the center.
“The order of the Dark Shield.” He said, dropping the icon back to the man’s body. Zahir raised an eyebrow.
“I do not know them, are they dangerous?” Martin turned towards him and sighed before standing up.
“They’re an order of mercenary knights. Their services are for hire to the highest bidder. Which means whoever sent them is powerful and wealthy.”
“I am sorry, but I thought that your knights were unparalleled fighters? These men were hardly dangerous.” Martin shook his head.
“These aren't knights. They are most likely squires or men at arms. If we had fought four knights at once we wouldn't be standing here unscathed, if we were standing at all.” The cabin door burst open and the captain rushed out with a broom handle in his hand, followed by two other crewmen.
“What? What happened?” he demanded, lowering the broom.
“Just some uninvited guests.” Martin said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“How did they get on board?” the captain asked. It was a good question. Unless they had somehow stowed away, Martin was certain they were not on the ship when they boarded. He walked to the edge of the deck and looked over. A small boat bobbed quietly at the edge of the ship, attached to the hull by a metal hook.
“That looks like it would do it.” Martin said motioning to the boat. The captain wandered over and peered off the edge with wide eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind I'd like to return to bed.” Martin waved off the captain and headed back to his cabin, but his mind raced. Things had just become more interesting, and he didn't expect this to be their last run in with the Dark Shields.
King’s Fall was just as magnificent as he had heard. The towering outer wall flanked by two massive castles loomed before him as he stepped off the ship for the final time. He hadn't felt solid ground in three weeks and was relieved that he felt no sway beneath his feet.
The first thing he had felt upon entering Arn was the heat. It was overwhelming, and became more and more intense as they had traveled south. He supposed it was to be expected, as most of the province was covered in desert, but he hated this weather. The Westlands had a far milder climate. Not cold, per se, but certainly not this. Zahir on the other hand seemed perfectly at home in the heat. In fact he hadn't seen the man frown once since they had arrived in Arn.
“Now that is a proper wall.” Zahir said, as they continued to approach the massive fortification. “No wonder King Zaresh could not take the city.” Martin had to admit that the city's defenses were quite a sight to behold. Back home, the Westlanders used the natural cover of their forests and superior mobility to defend themselves. In Arn, an army that ventured too far from a city or the river could be defeated by the desert before it ever reached the battlefield. A strong defense was a necessary part of desert life.
As they stepped through the massive gates of the city, Martin was struck by the contrast in architecture. In High Crown, the stone buildings were bland and square. Here, however, they took on more of a circular shape with many holding great domes upon their roofs. Surprisingly, many of them were in perfect condition, despite being so old. It was said there were houses in King’s Fall that were older than the capital itself, older than the Ross confederation. From a time when many of the provinces were still independent kingdoms. The massive King’s Fall palace stood ominously in the distance. A final deadly barrier to any potential invaders. Somewhere, inside its walls was the museum. The Sandstone.
“I do not suppose they will just let us walk in and take it.” Zahir quipped from his right. Martin didn't laugh.
“No, I don't suppose they will.”
“What is so special about a sandstone anyway? There is much sandstone back in Akhmetra. I could have taken one to the bank for free.”
“It’s not a sandstone. It’s the Sandstone. A massive sapphire the size of a boar's head. It’s a priceless relic of Arn.” Martin said, feeling a twinge of irritation at Zahir’s ignorance.
“Ah, well that..changes things.” Martin stopped and turned towards Zahir, tired of his nonchalance.
“Yes. Zahir. It changes things. If we were caught trying to steal the Sandstone or at any point on the way back to High Crown we’ll be hung in the market square. Not to mention King Rolph will most likely declare open war on my own province for my involvement. So, yes, it changes a lot. Quite a lot in fact.” Martin turned away leaving Zahir slightly stunned, but the man continued to follow him in silence for now. Martin continued towards the palace, mind racing with every possible outcome. He had never stolen anything in his life, not even a loaf of bread, and now he was expected to steal possibly the most valuable object in the nation. He didn't even know where to begin. He was determined to scout the museum at least for today. Then try to develop some sort of plan in an inn later tonight.
As they approached the palace walls he noticed that the gates lay open. Two guards stood silent watch on the cobblestone road in front of the gate. Each wore a set of black steel armor, inlaid with gold. Their chest plates were embossed with the sigil of house Elroy. A fallen crown with a sword through the center.
“They look dangerous.” Zahir whispered from behind him.
“You see that armor? They’re King’s Fall palace guards. Some of the best fighters in the country.”
“Knights?”
“Yes, Zahir, Knights. Perhaps you’ll get a chance to test your mettle against a knight after all.” Martin tried to keep calm as he approached the guards. They allowed Arn natives to pass by without question, but he knew it would not be the same for them. Neither of them looked anything like an Arnian.
“Hold.” One of the guards said, holding a hand out at Martin. “What’s your business here?” The guard gave Zahir a once over and then turned back to Martin.
“To see the museum.” Martin answered. The guard stared at Martin for a moment, then his eyes widened.
“I know who you are.” Martin felt his heart sink. “You’re Lord Orin’s boy, aren't you?” Martin nodded. “Why didn't you say so? The Orin’s are always welcome here in King’s Fall. But er, I'm sure that Lord Elroy will want to see you. You should come with me.” The guard beckoned Martin and Zahir forward and he turned towards the inner courtyard. Martin was not keen on meeting with Lord Elroy, the king’s son. Despite his young age he was said to be quite discerning, but he had no choice now.
“You know we have fought once before, master Orin.” The guard said, still heading towards the palace’s inner gate.
“Oh?”
“At the High Crown tourney two years ago, it was your first year competing. You and I fought in the finals.” Martin remembered the fight. He had made it easily to the finals in his first year only to be beaten soundly by this very Knight. Sir Harold, he was second in command to the palace guard here in King’s Fall. If Martin had to fight him here, he wasn't sure he could win, even with two more years of training. Then again, magic wasn't allowed in that tournament, his wind reaving might just have given him the edge.
“Of course, I remember, Sir Harold.” Martin replied.
“And who’s your friend? Sir Harold asked, turning towards Zahir.
“Zahir, at your service.” Zahir said with a slight bow.
“An Akhmetran? Don’t see many of you around these parts. Welcome to Arn.” Sir Harold treated Zahir with almost as much respect as he treated Martin. How? He was an outsider, and outsiders had caused Arn more trouble than they had caused any other province. He was foolish to put any trust in him.
Sir Harold pushed aside the inner palace doors and revealed the throne room. A large open sanctum with high ceilings held aloft by seven massive stone pillars on each side of the room. The blue banner of Arn hung between each one. Young Lord Elroy sat on the stone throne at the center dictating to his advisors. Sir Harold stopped a few feet away and waited for him to stop speaking before he cleared his throat.
“Lord Elroy, may I present Martin Orin, son of Lord Joseph Orin.” Lord Elroy looked at Martin and smiled. The boy was young, just fifteen he thought and already in charge of an entire province while his father ruled as king in High Crown. Martin didn't envy that task.
“What an unexpected pleasure, Sir Martin!” Martin felt his cheeks flush slightly.
“Master Martin My Lord, I'm not a knight yet.” He could feel the stare Zahir was giving him from behind.
“Oh, my apologies, and please call me Peter. What brings you to King’s Fall, master Martin?” Martin was not prepared for the question, he was not prepared for this meeting. His mind scrambled for an answer.
“Er..”
“Master Martin told me he came to see our museum. Wondrous sight as it is.” Sir Harold said, beaming from ear to ear.
“Well, don’t let me hold you up, master Martin. The museum awaits you just through those doors.” Lord Elroy pointed towards a set of sturdy looking oak doors on the right side of the room. “But when you’re finished please join us for dinner in the dining hall. Do you have accommodations in the city?”
“We were planning to stay at the Inn tonight.”
“Nonsense, a guest of your stature will stay in the palace. My father would have me whipped if I let you sleep anywhere else. Now please enjoy the museum.” Martin managed a slight bow and then headed towards the doors that led to the museum. Zahir followed behind him looking as pleased as ever, but Martin’s mind was racing even faster than before.
“Seems like a nice boy.” Zahir said as they stepped through the doors into the museum.
“Yes, very nice.” Martin mumbled.
“I sense some sarcasm, young master. Did Lord Elroy not just offer us free food and lodging?”
“Yes, and now we have to plan how to rob him while living right under his nose.” Martin kept heading down the main corridor of the museum. Passing paintings and ancient artifacts. He didn’t care about any of it. His mind consumed by the role he was forced to play in this. Why couldn’t Lord Elroy have been a prat? He would have felt better about stealing from him then.
He felt Zahir’s hand grab his shoulder and spun around to swat him away when he saw it. Martin had seen paintings of the Sandstone before. None of them had done it justice. The sapphire was enormous, far larger than he had imagined, its blue depths catching the light from every direction. Jewelers had never touched it. The stone remained half encased in the rough rock in which it had been found, as though Arn’s rulers had decided that cutting away its imperfections would somehow diminish it.
Several museum goers stood nearby ogling the stone and Martin couldn’t help but join them. By the looks of it, it weighed well over a hundred pounds. It wouldn’t be easy to carry it out of the city. Especially if they were being pursued.
A young boy beside him yelled as he dropped a leather waterskin onto the museum floor. He watched the liquid stagnate in the middle of the room. With nowhere to go it formed a small puddle, causing other patrons to walk around it.
“So what is the plan?” Asked Zahir, his voice low.
“I’m working on it.”
The meal had been exquisite. Martin and Zahir had been treated to perhaps the finest dinner Martin had ever eaten. The waiters had carried the food in on large wooden dining trays. They were so long that it took two people to hold them up when they were laden with plates and cups. The chefs had even gone to great lengths to prepare some authentic Akhmetran cuisine for Zahir. Zahir said it was almost as good as home, Martin thought it dreadful. He didn’t even know where they had procured the foreign spices on such short notice as Martin doubted they just had them laying around. Nonetheless, he felt content. Though the quality of the meal and the company made him want to steal from them even less.
They were each given a separate room in the palace guest quarters to sleep in. The rooms were small with a feather mattress and a single square window that overlooked the water gardens, a rather beautiful set of fountains set inside a small greenery. The wall adjacent to the fountains was the inner wall of the museum, and a few exhibits could be seen through the windows placed there.The sun had set, and Martin watched Zahir sharpening his curved sword in the corner of his room.
“Can’t you do that in your own room?” Martin asked, rolling his eyes.
“What is the point of my room when we will perform the task tonight?” Zahir replied, not even looking up from his work.
“We will not perform the task tonight.” Zahir stopped sharpening and looked over at him.
“We will not? We are inside the palace. We are honored guests. We could walk to the museum at this very moment and rouse no suspicion.” Martin leaned forward in his chair and stared at Zahir.
“Don’t you think it would be suspicious that both the Sandstone and ourselves vanished on the very night we arrived?”
“I think the high banker would not be pleased with the delay.”
“He won’t be pleased if we’re caught either. They’ll double the security the moment any attempt to steal the stone is made. Making any future attempts impossible.” Zahir stared Martin down for a few moments and then returned to his work. Martin relaxed back into his chair.
“Why are you sharpening your sword? Do you expect to do battle tonight? Perhaps, Sir Harold would oblige you.”
“Perhaps. It would be a great honor to fight an actual knight.” The emphasis on the word actual told Martin it was meant to be an insult. He wanted to make a retort, but thought better of it.
“Do you want to hear the plan? Or are you content to sharpen that blade until it’s dust?” Zahir stopped working and looked up with a smile.
“So you do have a plan, Nahrek?” Zahir leaned in closer.
“Yes, Zahir,” Martin said, rising from the chair and beckoning Zahir towards the window. Zahir strode over, looking slightly confused, but peered out the window at Martin’s direction. Martin pointed to the three fountains in the water gardens. “That is my plan.”
The next day Martin waited impatiently inside the museum. He made sure to not stand too close to the Sandstone exhibit, but kept a close eye on it from a distance. There were no guards around the exhibit. In fact there were no guards in the museum at all, at least during the day. Lord Elroy, it seemed, didn’t want to sour the guest’s experience with the presence of armed men. There were many patrons however, and not only could they alert the guards to the theft but they could identify Martin as the culprit. A circumstance that he hoped to avoid. His plan would assure that didn’t happen. If Zahir did his part.
He noticed his foot tapping on the stone tile as he waited for the scheme to begin. What was taking so long? If Zahir had been caught, they were both dead. He watched the floor in front of the exhibit with bated breath. His hands felt damp, he tried to wipe them on his tunic but the sensation returned only moments later.
Time continued to tick away and he still saw nothing.Then slowly, the first spots of water began to trickle down from the pipes hanging all around the museum ceiling. They crept down the stone walls and began forming small puddles all along the floor.
Before long two inches of water pooled around the museum floor, and it was growing. Patrons started to wail and rush out of the building. Pushing each other aside as they trudged through the flooded halls. Martin waited, patiently, as the last few souls left the room. Until It was just him and the SandStone.
He donned a facemask and pushed through the water towards the exhibit. He only had moments before the guards came through to try and figure out what was happening. It was all he needed.
He pulled back the glass window and took the Sandstone in his hands. The weight was immense as he heaved it off the platform and placed it on the wooden tray he had taken from the kitchen’s. Then placed the tray onto the water’s surface. To his delight the tray remained afloat even with the weight of the stone bearing down on it. He smiled and pushed the stone easily down the hallway atop the rising water. He pushed the Flow into his chest and then out through his mouth, blowing hard, the magic responded. A gust of wind emitted from his lungs pushing the stone and tray even further along the corridor.
The water was approaching his knees now as he pushed the tray around the corner and down towards the other side of the museum where Zahir was meant to meet him. He hoped the man would be ready when he arrived. He could hear the guards trudging through the water behind him as he turned the corner and headed towards the solid wooden doors that lead to salvation.
A loud yell echoed through the museum as the guards noticed the missing Sandstone. They had moments, maybe less to escape the palace before it was completely locked down. He turned the latch and the doors snapped open, pushed aside by the weight of the water. It rushed out, taking the stone and Martin and landing them each promptly at Zahir’s feet.
Martin looked up at Zahir who held out a hand and promptly pulled Martin up to his feet. Together they lifted the Sandstone and placed it inside Zahir’s rucksack, before turning and heading for the still open gate. Hundreds of wet patrons were headed for the gate, cursing about their damaged clothes and possessions, half ruined by the water. Zahir and Martin slipped into the crowd and barely stepped outside the palace compound as the guards from inside screamed for the gates to be closed.
“What now?” Zahir asked, under his breath. Martin looked back towards the palace wall. It was chaos, but no one followed them.
“Now we have to carry this thing all the way back to High Crown. Let’s get back to the river docks.”
As they approached the docks the sun was still high. Martin couldn’t wait to get on the ship and head back north. He had had enough of this damned heat. Martin now carried the Sandstone, still in Zahir’s rucksack. Its weight had significantly increased the time it took to reach the docks, and the two of them had been taking turns carrying it every half mile or so. Even so his entire body ached.
As they approached the river docks they were eerily quiet. Normally they were bustling with captains and crews getting ready to make way. Martin saw none of them. He turned towards Zahir who gave him a knowing look. Then placed the Sandstone down on the desert floor, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. If the Dark Shields had followed them here, there would be trouble.
A gentle clapping sound came from out behind a nearby storehouse, as High Banker Roderick and several guards stepped into view. Martin released his grip on the sword as one of the guards walked over and took the rucksack holding the Sandstone and brought it to Roderick. Who peered inside with a smile, then looked back at Martin.
“It seems I was wise to trust in you after all, master Martin.” Roderick said, handing the stone to one of the guards, who took it away towards the docks.
“Why are you here? I would have brought the stone to you.”
“Of course, of course. However, your next mission is oh so far away from High Crown. With the trips there and back we would be wasting so much precious time. I thought it better to travel here and give you the details.” Martin cringed slightly, he had hoped for a slight reprieve from these missions. It seemed he wouldn’t be getting that lucky.
“Fine, what is this mission then? Let’s get on with it.” Roderick’s grin grew ever wider.
“Travel to MireFen. One of the members of the Silence has recently perished and their mask is being prepared for the new bearer. Acquire said mask for me, Master Martin.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not at all, bring me that mask, master Martin, and do so in a timely manner. You know the consequences should you fail.” Roderick spun on his heels and headed towards the nearest ship. Martin felt how tightly his jaw was clenched and loosened it slowly, as Zahir stepped up on his right side. He half expected him to make some annoying quip about the new mission, but he remained quiet.
“I expect you want to know what we’re up against? Who the Silence are?” Martin asked him. Zahir continued staring off into the distance, for the first time looking worried.
“No, them I know