Just A Thief

*

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. A miniature triumph, but it was my trophy. What was it?

The small silver key, the one that would unlock the shackles on my wrists, was tightly clenched in my hand. I had taken it from the belt of a guard that had run into me when I stopped in front of them. I couldn’t maneuver my hands to unlock the cuffs that were digging into my flesh, but if I could get away maybe I could find someone else to free me. Perhaps I could even make my way back down to the dungeons and get someone to free me through the bars of their cell. I would then be able to find a way to let them out, too.

That prospect, however tantalizing, seemed nigh impossible, I thought wryly as I eyed the angry guards that approached me. They were all much larger than I was, so I hardly stood a fighting chance of getting away from them. I knew that simple fact before I had even taken the key, but it still didn’t stop me from trying and succeeding in the endeavor of snatching the small metal item unobtrusively from the soldier’s belt.

So many insults screamed through my head, mostly directed at myself and including various ways to tell me I was stupid, that I had to make a conscious effort to bring my thoughts back to the present in order to warily keep an eye on the four men that bore down on me. A shudder threatened to travel up my spine, but I forced myself to calm down. Deep breaths. Confidence. I wanted it all to turn out okay, obviously, but at this point in time that did not seem to be even the remotest of remote possibilities.

“You little wench!” the man that had called me a thrice-blasted witch just moments earlier said darkly, spittle flinging from his lips as he let his anger speak for him. “We should just teach her a lesson right here!”

“She can’t be important,” the other guard who had been brake checked growled. “She’s just a troublemaker! I’ll bet she just came to steal something from the King!”

“You didn’t see her drop out of nowhere,” one of the other two, not the leader but the other one who had been in the initial group to herd her to the dungeons, said in a low tone. “There’s no doubt that she’s a troublemaker, but she could have been raised differently in one of the other worlds. She could still be one of the noble wenches who’s missing. Maybe even the sister of the Duke of Lynn.”

The men let out raucous, disbelieving barks of laughter at the statement.

“What, this wench? The missing fiancée of the missing prince? Yeah, and I’m the prince himself!”

They laughed some more at this, still advancing on me all the while. I couldn’t get to my feet with my shoulder still sending out waves of pain. I couldn’t get up without at least a little push, and the smarting wouldn’t allow me to do that. So I could do nothing but glare defiantly at the leader as he raised a gauntleted fist and swung, aiming for my sore, swollen chin. I kept my head raised proudly, but closed my eyes as the impending impact, the inevitable pain, drew nearer.

“Hey, now!” a light, cheery, and teasing voice broke in. “Don’t you know better than to hit a girl like that, guys? Jeez, and you call yourselves men…or knights, even! What a joke you are.”

I had still been waiting for the hit that never came. When the pain I had completely and utterly expected to come didn’t register, didn’t hurt, my eyes snapped open. In front of me, his back to me and the lead guard’s fist caught in his own firm grip, stood who I suspected was the owner of the voice. He wore a simple, light leather vest, boots, and belt. From where I sat I could see a nice array of daggers on his person. Under his leather vest was a forest green shirt, which tucked into what I decided were leather bracers upon his forearm. Simple, coarse brown breeches were tucked into his boots, and he stood with a casual yet tense stance, prepared for any sudden movement the guards might make. The man’s black hair fell around the nape of his neck, slightly longer than most men but not unattractively so. Not that I could really see whether he was attractive or not, behind him as I was, but his stance was proud and firm and that was enough for the possibility of attractiveness to be present.

There I was, being saved by a guy who I didn’t even know, whose face I couldn’t even see completely, and I was thinking about whether he was attractive or not. What was wrong with me?

It just proves that I, who had thought I was mature for an American teenager of seventeen, was just as girly and just as susceptible to random bouts of hormones as the fifteen year olds. Even when it was a very inopportune moment to let the hormones kick in.

“Zane!” the lead guard roared in anger and surprise, trying to twist his hand free from my protector’s grasp. For several very long and very painful to watch seconds he twisted and pulled furiously. His attempt was not met with success and he burst out in frustration, “You dirty, rotten, no-good thief! What have you taken from the King this time?!”

“Hm…” the man in front of me, Zane, moved his other arm up, and from his tone it sounded to me as though he was tapping his chin in faux thought. I decided, without even a hesitation in the thought, that he was a trickster. A trickster who at least had some sort of sense of humor and who was, perhaps, a mite chivalrous. I shook my head, hiding a slight grin even as he continued his earlier thought, “I haven’t taken anything yet. I just got here, to tell you the truth, gents.”

“What are you planning to steal, then?!” another guard asked, hand falling quickly to his sword. I was surprised that they hadn’t all drawn their swords and come at us swinging them wildly, but that thought was easily forgotten at the guard’s last question. I couldn’t help but snort, and the attention of the guards was drawn to me for the first time since the arrival of Zane, who I assumed was their number one rival.

“If he’s planning to steal something, why in the world do you think he’d tell you what it was?” I asked derisively, before lapsing into light laughter at their expense. The most corpulent of the guards got blotchy purple spots all over his chubby cheeks when I insulted his friend. The others, which included the insulted, all showed signs of anger, but I couldn’t stop chuckling. After all, it had been a stupid question to voice in the first place.

“Shut up, wench!” one of the guards tried to come at me, but the thief, the one they called Zane, casually and quickly kicked him in the gut. He coughed and spluttered, stumbling back with a dark glare at Zane.

“She’s got a point, you know? But I guess I’ll tell you just this once what I’m planning on taking,” he released the leaders hand and then used the other hand to punch him, also in the stomach. The guard sprawled back against his companions and they all stumbled back and fell over each other haphazardly. The scene was mildly humorous and I grinned to myself yet again even as Zane cried cheerily, “I’m relieving you of your prisoner! Lucky you!”

And with that, the dark haired thief turned to me, and in his quick movement the chain around his neck flashed in the torchlight of the inner corridors. A large ring with a crest I couldn’t quite make out from the distance of three or so feet, was dangling from the chain. I don’t know why I noticed it, but it was then that his words registered in my brain. He had a smirk on his features, and I caught a glimpse of his startlingly blue eyes, which were twinkling mischievously, before he stepped to me and hefted me over his shoulder before I could even let out my startled, “Hey!“

Once I had been deposited like a sack of potatoes atop his right shoulder, he started to pick up speed and we sprinted off down the corridor.

*