A Thief's Honor

City of Andaria
1346 A.C.

The rain falling in torrents from the night sky above drummed heavily against the roof of the manor house, concealing the thief's footsteps as he crept along an upstairs hall. The house was opulent to say the least. Hidden within a bulging satchel were many small items of priceless value. However, the thief hungered for more. He had not yet befallen a secret cache of coin, which was what he truly desired. Trinkets and jewels could be pawned off for a pretty price, but hard coin was easier and less suspicious. The thief could easily hide a bag full of gold coins, but carrying around gold necklaces and ruby rings was much more conspicuous.

The thief paused and turned to press his callused fingers to the solid wood of a bedroom door. The oak was cool to the touch as the thief pressed his ear against the portal. From deep within the bedchamber came a deep, rumbling snore. The thief's lips turned upward in a devious smile. Finally he'd located the lord's chambers. Praying to the gods of mischief that the door would not creak, the thief entered the bedroom. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges and the sound it made was no more than a whisper.

Wealthy men have a tendency to keep their money close to them. The thief knew that better than anyone. There was bound to be a little niche in the bedroom with which to safely keep a small fortune of the lord's coin. Most likely the cache would be an insurance of sorts, something with which the lord knew he could always fall back upon, should hard times fall. The thief did not feel sorry one bit about the lord as he snooped quietly about the room, perusing odds and ends and eventually feeling along the floorboards and the walls. Finally the thief found what he was searching for.

The trick was a common one. Nevertheless it was executed rather well compared to most others the thief had chanced across. The loose floorboard was not at all noticeable unless one was looking for just such a thing. The burglar eased the board up until he had sufficient room to stick one thieving hand into the dark void underneath the floor. He'd just managed to stick his hand inside the hole when a piercing scream rent the room. The thief jerked as if electrocuted. His eyes whirled to the doorway. A little girl stood silhouetted in the frame with the backdrop of the flickering light from the hallway making it impossible to discern her features. That didn't matter though. What mattered was that she was wailing to wake the dead.

The lord of the manor gave a renting snore, and then promptly fell out of bed. His immense girth shook the floor; the thief could clearly feel the reverberations in his hand, which was still in the hole. The thief decided it was prudent to leave very quickly, though not without one final search. His hand felt around in the darkness of the hole and fell upon a purse. The thief immediately tried to yank his hand up out of the crevice, but soon realized he was stuck. Cursing in frustration, he used his other hand to rip apart the rest of the floorboard. Then he leapt to his feet triumphantly with the secret purse in his hands.

"You! Thief!" cried a sudden male voice. It was the lord who was now trying desperately to get to his feet. The task was a momentous one considering his massive weight.

"Daddy! Daddy! Get him, Daddy!" cried the little girl, bobbing up and down on her feet in apparent excitement.

The thief pushed past the struggling lord, promptly sending him toppling back over to the floor, his bloated arms waving wildly. As the thief reached the doorway, the little girl planted herself firmly in his way, looking up at him with determined features. She could be no more than five years old, the thief thought ruefully as he pondered quickly what to do.

"You're a bad man!" cried the little girl. "Daddy is going to have you arrested and you'll be thrown in the dungeons!"

"Not today, little one," disagreed the thief, picking the girl up and placing her out of his way. She struggled and kicked at him all the while, finally landing a good one right in his shin. The thief growled and limped away down the hall and away from the lord's bedchambers.

The thief had just made it to the stairway when from behind him came the unmistakable yell of the wealthy nobleman. "Help! Guards! A thief! A thief!"

Without pausing to catch his breath, the thief sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He came to the front doors of the manor and pushed them open forcefully, spilling himself out into the grounds. He raced along the path until he finally came to the gates, which led back out into the city of Andaria. As before, the gates were still locked securely. Almost spitting with frustration now, the thief clambered up the gates laboriously. At the top he lost his grip and fell over the gates, toppling onto the dirty cobblestones of a city street. His breath was expelled from his lungs with a whoosh. For a moment he lay stunned upon the street.

The sound of nearing horses drew him out of his daze. No doubt it was the guard, having heard the nobleman's shrieks. The thief forced himself to his feet, and then for one agonizing moment stood indecisive. Finally, he chose to dash to the right instead of the left and he took off at a full out run until he was sure he was blocks away from the lord's manor house. His earlier decision to go right had taken him into a seedier part of the city. The houses and buildings were decidedly quite shabby now, and the streets were dirty. Filth and litter skittered across his path, hurried on their way by the whining wind. The rain had lessened somewhat, but still the thief was soaked to the bones.

Still, he had his loot. Finding himself exhausted the thief chose one of the many shady little inns and entered. The common room was neither full nor empty. A few stragglers still sat hunched in corner tables or wavered at the bar, nursing their tankards. As soon as he entered, a weary looking barmaid ambled over to him. Her hair was tangled and matted with grime. The thief thought she probably would have been attractive if given a nice bath and a good dose of happiness.

"What will it be?" she demanded, looking up at him with indifferent eyes.

"A room, actually."

"Oh," said the barmaid. Then she turned and screeched in the direction of the kitchens. A large man came wobbling out. The thief took him to be the innkeeper.

"One night, then?" asked the fat innkeeper, examining the thief with watery eyes.

The thief nodded and handed over the amount of money the innkeeper specified. Though the price was robbery, the thief had no energy to argue with the fat man. He simply followed the dirty barmaid up some rickety stairs and down a dingy hallway to a small, cramped closet of a room. Without a word, the barmaid left him alone. That was fine with the thief. The overpowering stench of beer and sweat emanating from her body had left him feeling sick. He wobbled wearily over to this bed and collapsed.

He awoke to bright sunlight stabbing him in the eyes from the room's only window. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Then he checked his possessions. Call it thief's paranoia, but first thing he did after waking every morning was to check his latest stolen goods. The satchel of trinkets and the purse full of coins were still where he had tucked them underneath his pillow. As he hadn't had a chance the previous evening, the thief opened the purse and let the coins spill out on the stained blankets of the bed. His eyes widened with shock and then his mouth curved into a grin.

The purse had been filled almost entirely with gold crowns. A few silvers peeked out from among the gold as well. Overall, the snatch had been a tidy one. The thief silently congratulated himself.

Silently the thief rose and tucked the satchel and purse away inside his coat. He ignored the cracked mirror on his way out of the room. He crossed the short hallway and had just put his foot on the first riser of the stairway when the sound of voices met his ears and made him halt. It was a man and a woman speaking. They were whispering. In all the thief's experiences, people whispered for two reasons: they were among the dead or they did not want someone to hear what they were saying. The thief guessed it was the latter.

"I'm telling you I just saw it! Go on out there and look for yourself if you don't believe me," whispered the woman heatedly. The thief recognized the voice as belonging to the dirty barmaid. The man was probably the innkeeper.

"I do believe you, Rissa. It's just I cannot believe how lucky I--I mean we, are. If we catch him, we'll be rich!"

"If we catch him," Rissa whispered back. "He looks like a mean one, Les."

There was an audible pause as the innkeeper thought about this. "Chances are he may still be asleep, Rissa. I say you go check on him, and report back to me if he's still off in dreamland. If he is, we can take him easily."

"If he isn't?" Wryly, the thief noted that Rissa seemed an eternal realist, or possibly an eternal pessimist. The thief wasn't quite sure, though he knew he did like the outspoken barmaid, dirty as she was.

"We'll get to that if and when it happens," replied the innkeeper, sounding a trifle ruffled.

A silence followed. Then came the sound of footsteps and they were headed right for the stairway. The thief leapt backward, utilizing his natural skill at silence and stealth and snuck back to his room. He threw himself onto the bed and pulled the covers over himself hastily. It was only seconds later that Rissa opened the door again to inspect him. The thief slowed his breathing as if in deep sleep. The urge to peek and see what the barmaid was doing became almost overwhelming. Finally, he felt her presence draw near.

The sound of her breathing met his ears. Unfortunately, so did her scent. The thief fought back a sudden need to gag at the distasteful aroma. After what seemed like hours, the barmaid finally left. The thief peeked out from under the blankets only after hearing the sound of the door closing again. Opening his eyes he discovered he was alone again. Now he had a decision to make. The barmaid would be back within minutes, if not shorter, and with the overweight innkeeper in tow.

He could either fight his way past the innkeeper and the barmaid or he could choose to do his favorite activity: sneak. The thief went for the latter. He rose from the bed and slipped out into the hallway. Whirling his head from side to side, he noticed another stairway at the opposite end of the hallway. He ran to the stairs and made his way quietly down. A door was open at the foot, and the thief could hear the sounds of people moving about and smell the fresh scents of cooking food.

Without thinking, the thief burst out into the kitchen. At once he was met with startled screams from the cooking staff. However, there was one sturdy lady who gathered her composure quickly. She trundled over to him with a glare on her face and a rolling pin in her hand. The thief ducked as the woman made a heavy overhand blow with the impromptu weapon. Then he threw open the back door and scrambled out into the dooryard between the inn building and the stables.

Without pause, the thief took off at a canter. He left the inn behind and soon found himself in a tight alleyway between the inn and the building next door. As he was running along he heard a shout from above. He looked up in time to dodge a pot thrown at him by the barmaid Rissa from a second-floor window. She was obviously aiming to knock him unconscious, the better to hand him over to the authorities.

Wondering just how and why his luck had turned so badly, the thief escaped the alleyway and made his way out into a broad city street crowded with milling people, carts, carriages and horses. The din of the city was deafening, but the thief ignored it and pressed on. He was about five blocks away from the dingy inn when he located the source of all his trouble.

His face was being plastered all over the city.

The thief approached the sign, his lips tightening. The likeness of his portrait upon the wanted poster was incredible. Whoever the artist was, he was undoubtedly very talented. So was the memory of the wealthy lord from the night before. He obviously wanted his trinkets back very badly, or at the very least the head of the one who had taken them. The thief studied the portrait carefully, still amazed at how aptly it portrayed his ebony hair, light green eyes and even the scar across his temple he'd received in a fight with a long ago friend turned enemy. The poster also revealed the hefty bounty placed on his head for the return of his living body to the Guardsmen. One thousand crowns was more than enough to stroke his ego a bit. Apparently the rich nobleman wanted his trinkets returned very badly.

It was a curious thing though. What did the thief have in his satchel that was so important to the nobleman that he'd give such a generous reward for his capture? The thief didn't know and decided he didn't really care either. As long as he continued to elude everyone out to get him, he would be fine. The only problem was that thanks to the lovely posters, he'd have to elude the entire city. He'd have to leave and soon.

The thief ripped the poster off the lamppost and ripped it to shreds in frustration. He'd come to like Andaria. It was a nice town with plenty of well off, indulgent and not to mention lazy noblemen and merchants. In short, it was a city ripe for the picking. Angered, the thief walked on, making his way toward the West Gate, with which he hoped to make good his escape. The only trouble was going to be the Guardsmen at the gateway. As long as he kept his hood up in the city, he would most likely be fine, but at the gate it was required for all persons to lower their hoods and mantles.

As he expected the thief had no trouble progressing through the city with the hood of his cloak lowered over his face. An hour of walking finally brought him to the gates, which were, of course, guarded heavily. A queue of people had formed at the gate itself and each person was summarily waved on by a Guardsman if he found that they were not a thief, a murderer, a rapist, or any other sort of nasty fellow. However, the thief noticed that the guard on duty was doing a particularly lax job. He gave each person or a group a cursory glance before sending them on their way. Just perhaps the thief had a chance. Perhaps.

After a few moments it was the thief's turn to be inspected.

"Lower your hood, friend," drawled the guard lazily. He stood idly picking at his chain mail and apparently more interested in the sky than at the people passing through.

Apprehensively, the thief did as he was told. He could only hope now that the guard had given as cursory a glance to the wanted posters as he was doing to the crowds flowing out of the city. The guard glanced at his face once and promptly lifted his hand to wave him through. With a surge of excitement, the thief wasted no time on idling around by the gates. He sprinted off a ways until he was quite a many yards away from the towering city walls. He was in the forest now and on the West Road that would lead him far away from Andaria and deep into the places of the world.

The thief stepped forward into freedom once again.