Darla stepped through the door into the breezeway. The passages on the lower levels were always packed with people hustling about, but they all gave her room to move unhindered. She ran her hands along the stiff brocade of her new gown, luxuriating in the feel of the fabric against the palms of her hands, as well as the flesh of her chest as she wiggled slightly inside it. This gown’s design had been the source of an argument between her father and herself last week when she ordered it. He was opposed to her wearing something so revealing at only twelve years of age. He insisted that she was still a child and should dress like one. The argument ended when he yelled that her gown would be fit only for a prostitute, and her mother asked him, rather pointedly, how he would know what gowns they wore. The resulting argument between her parents provided her with an easy escape, and the matter was settled by default. The result now wrapped her and set her apart from the milling masses flowing around her on every side. Her gown cost more than many here would make in a year. Ah, the benefits of wealth and power, Darla mused to herself as she handed the packages of her accessories to her thrall trailing three steps behind her.

 

Many of the lesser peons were more than a little uncomfortable around the thralls, mostly because of the ghastly odor. Pity you really couldn’t wash then. Too much water would do… unpleasant things to them. Satisfied that her skirts were set correctly, and that the bodice was adjusted just right to show off her newly acquired bosom, she set off to complete her list of errands. She needed shoes to match the gown, a new clasp for her brocade cloak, something tasteful in emeralds and silver, or possibly carnelians.  She had to look perfect for her thirteenth nameday next week.  She shrugged and giggled as the rough fabric tickled against her breasts. Happy with the days work so far, she flounced down the breezeway, satisfied at the clatter coming from her pouch.

 

Darla was knocked back and rough hands grabbed her to keep her from falling. She drew in a deep breath to berate whoever was mentally damaged enough to dare jostle her when her eyes met those of her assailant. She felt the air simply disappear from her lungs as she took in the absolutely perfect green of summer grass under a wave of long sand coloured lashes. His face was strong enough to be masculine, but soft enough to be breathtaking, with just a dusting of blonde stubble that would feel very similar to her bodice if he were to lean his face against her naked breast. She coloured as the thought flashed through her mind, and he smiled at her as if he could hear her thoughts as loudly as she could. “Mind your manners,” she yelled at him, but to her ears it was no more than a soft murmur.

“My apologies, most beautiful of ladies. I was struck insensible by a vision from heaven as you rounded the corner and was unable to stop before blundering into you like a stampeding ox. I must confess though, holding you in my arms and gazing into the perfection of your face is worth all the tongue-lashings that you would feel necessary to heap upon me.”

Darla could feel the heat rising even further to her face and neck, and was certain that even her chest was as crimson as her gown. She tried for a suitable retort, but simply made breathy noises at him as he set her to rights on her feet and placed a kiss on the palm of each of her hands. “I beg your forgiveness, beautiful lady, and bit you fare well on your day.” And he was gone, nothing more than flashing eyes and rough clothes as he slipped into the crowd of people. She could feel herself smiling, grinning like an idiot and unable to stop as she felt his lips still pressing against her palms, his kisses little torches in her flesh.

 

Still grinning foolishly, Darla continued walking down the wide corridor of the enormous stone castle around her, trying to remember what she had been doing before her soul mate had stepped into her life. Ah, yes, shoes and a glass of wine, or perhaps a skewer of spiced meat… Her thoughts cut off abruptly as she realized that her purse was no longer dangling from her belt. “A common thief!” she squealed turning back to where he had vanished into the milling crowd. “A cutpurse pressed his filthy lips to me while he stole my money! How dare he?”

 

Her outburst made all those around her turn, and she could swear that they were all smirking at her, laughing at her foolishness to be so easily befuddled by a pair of emerald eyes, a roguish smile and features that wouldn’t be out of place of a messenger for the gods… No! she chided herself. Don’t think about how beautiful he was, only that he stole our money. And now I can’t get my things! She stamped her foot and her nipples rubbed harshly against the course fabric making her wince. Hmmph. Perhaps Father was right after all and I should have gone for the linen shift as well. Raging silently to herself she stormed down the corridor to her family’s apartments.

 

Darla twisted this way and that before her polished copper mirror admiring her handiwork. Her hair was plaited tightly against her scalp and was knotted into a tight bun at the top of her neck. When she tipped her head back, her hair would press slightly into her neck, but other than that, it was nearly perfect.

 

Her heavy leather pants and vest were also nearly perfect, dyed a deep brown and set with ebony buttons over a black silk blouse. The sleeves were loose so she had wrapped strips of velvet, torn from the skirt of an old dress that she was willing to sacrifice for her cause, around her wrists. The result was what she had hoped for, a tight fit that also looked slightly dangerous. She had slipped tall black boots over her calves, tucked her leather breeches into them and used the last few strips of the velvet to secure the tops.

 

Magnificent, she gloated looking herself over one more time. Now to add the final touch. She pulled a heavy bronze dagger out from under her pillow. Three days after meeting the brigand in the market she had bought this knife from a friend of her Father. He had assured her that this knife would hold its edge, and was a stronger bronze than the others sold in town. She held the blade before her in her small fist and stared into the polished surface. It’s time to go Thief hunting.

 

She slid the blade into the top of her right boot and wrapped her long blue cloak around herself. Softly she crept to the hallway, and a moment later she was out of her family compound and into the rest of the citadel. Darla could feel her heart pounding within her breast, a wild animal bent on escaping the cage of her flesh and bones, and considered abandoning this quest as pure foolishness. She wasn’t even sure anymore why she was trying to find him.

 

It wasn’t the money. The money wasn’t important to her at all. Her Father hadn’t even noticed as he handed her another small pouch of coins. Successful merchants would make what a little girl would spend on clothes in an hour or less, and Father was successful indeed. The Duke himself bought her Father’s wares.

 

It wasn’t the purse. She had dozens of them, mostly given to her filled with coins, candies, and once even with jewelry. The locket and earrings were safely on her dressing table inside. One didn’t hunt Brigands wearing jewels.

 

It wasn’t pique over the loss of her shoes. She had acquired the shoes, broach and a belt the next day with no further difficulties, although she had scanned the crowd constantly while shopping, looking for emerald eyes.

 

Darla shrugged, touched the hilt of the dagger in her boot for courage, and stepped into the crowd.

 

Hours later, a footsore and discouraged young woman slumped against a wall. She was hungry, thirsty and tired from prowling the lower levels of the citadel all day. She left her money behind, and had assumed… What was I thinking? That I would come down here to the central market and find him lurking between the stalls? Sitting in the shadows simply waiting for me to come and find him? I AM a fool. Cursing herself she turned and stormed away from the marketplace, heading towards her Father’s lower offices. At least there she would be able to have a bit to eat. The dock manager always kept some candy on hand in case she visited him, which she tried to do whenever she could slip away from her stuffy tutors and handmaidens.

 

Darla drew near the office. The passageways here always made her shudder. Even though they were twice as wide as on the upper levels, they were lit poorly and were cold and damp most days. Not a lot of foot traffic came down here, mostly wagons and labourers hauling cargo to and from warehouses and ships. Gone were the blown glass lanterns of the prosperous merchants quarters with their sweet beeswax candles. Behind her were the copper mirrored sconces with their oil lamps of the market. Here there were only torches made of twigs and pine resin, spitting and dripping every twenty paces. A rat skittered across her path and she sucked in her breath Filth! She raged at the rodent. Why doesn’t the Duke deal with them? A pack of Raveners turned loose down here would clear them out quickly enough. Darla stopped and shuddered, picturing red eyes peering from the shadows and the scrape of ragged claws against the stones. “Perhaps rats aren’t that bad after all,” she muttered under her breath.

 

“I’ve never had any difficulties with them,” a man’s voice said in her ear. Darla whirled around with a squeal that sent the rats bounding through the dimness of the tunnel, her cloak spinning from her shoulders and gathering behind her feet. A man dressed in filthy woolen trousers stood not a hand’s span from her, his fishy breath hot on her face as he laughed quietly. Heavy hands were hooked through a knotted length of leather strapping worn as a belt over a torn and mud smeared rough tunic. “Have they ever bothered either of you?” His question was tossed casually over his left shoulder, his eyes never leaving Darla’s.

 

“Not me Brett,” sneered a pole thin youth in muck stained rough clothes. “What about you Tyne?”

 

Tyne was grinning foolishly, his eyes hungrily scanning Darla’s slim form. He was wearing a tunic made from a burlap sack that reached his knees and a pair of sandals tied haphazardly to his feet with bits of twine and string. “Not if you don’t sleep in the sewers,” he replied. “Can I keep her pants when we’re done with her Willy? You got to keep the clothes from the last one.”

 

Darla drew her bronze dagger from her boot, brandishing it at the three men before her. “If you come any closer I’ll cut you.” She meant to intimidate the men with a menacing tone, but her voice wavered and was little more than a hoarse whisper from a mouth gone very dry. “I mean it.”

 

“Nice knife,” Brett said stepping closer. “Too big for a little girl like you to be waving around like that. Why don’t I take that from you before you hurt yourself.”

 

He reached for her, his eyes locked on hers. She swiped the knife towards his hand and snake quick he struck her wrist sending the blade clattering to the cobblestone road. Tyne brayed foolishly and Willy giggled shrilly as Brett lunged for her, his hands reaching for her waist.

Darla skittered backwards away from the foul smelling trio, panic lending speed to her movements that she normally didn’t have. Brett’s feet tangled in the cast off cloak and he wend down hard, smashing his face into the cobbles at her feet. Darla reacted instantly and bolted down the passageway away from them.

 

“Grab her you idiots!” Brett bellowed through blood stained teeth. “Grab her! She’s getting away!”

 

Willy and Tyne scrambled after her as she fled blindly down the passageway. She could hear Willy’s boot heels striking the cobbles solidly, and Tyne’s sandals slapping the stones and his feet as they raced behind her. Darla was sobbing freely now, running flat out for all she was worth desperately trying to put some distance between herself and them.

 

Where do I go? Where is the office? What passageway have I gone down? Is this the way to the wall or to the docks? Where are the stairs to the upper levels? Haven’t I been here already?  Darla shrieked and leapt from a shape that loomed out of the shadows, terrifying the derelict who had the misfortune of stumbling from a lesser passageway into her path. He gave a hoarse cry and collapsed unnoticed behind the wild flight of the wailing girl.

 

Darla cast a glance over her shoulder as she ran, but the flickering torchlight concealed as much as it showed, and she didn’t see the heavy oaken door open before her. She didn’t even see it as the side of her head struck its solid surface and she was plunged into darkness.

 

Darla opened her eyes and whimpered softly. Her head pounded with every heartbeat, her legs screamed every time she moved them and her breath wheezed through a raw throat. Memory returned then, and she thrashed her limbs, trying to scramble to her feet. A strong hand clamped over her mouth and a heavy arm pressed across her chest from shoulder to shoulder and a man’s voice murmured something in her ear. Darla doubled her efforts. They’ll kill me! They’re going to rape me and kill me and leave me naked for the rats to eat! I don’t want to die!

 

“Easy missy,” a man’s voice sounded softly. “You’re safe enough for now. No one here is going to hurt you.” Darla continued to struggle, thrashing feebly under the pressure of the man’s arm.

 

“Let her up Ethan,” a softer voice said from nearby. “She’s terrified and you’re not helping her.”

 

Darla stopped struggling when the second voice reached her. She knew that voice. Emerald eyes and lips hotter than candle wax belonged to that voice. Ethan gently released his hold on her shoulders and eased away from her. Darla looked cautiously around her at the dimly lit room. Barrels and crates filled the area, as did coils of rope and burlap sacks.

 

“Where am I,” Darla squeaked out at last, her eyes searching out the dimly lit form of the youth she had been searching for all day.

 

He stepped closer to her, the feeble light from four small tin lanterns illuminating those captivating eyes. “Are you going to hinder us or can we trust you?”

 

Darla nodded shakily. “You can trust me.”

 

“Good.” His voice was soft in the darkness. “Can you walk?” He held out his hand to her. Darla grasped it and felt the heat of his skin against hers. Effortlessly he hauled her to her feet. She stumbled slightly and he steadied her against his chest. “Easy now, you’ve been through a lot.”

 

“Who are you,” Darla whispered as the youth stepped back from her.

 

“I’m Conner. I’ll give you full introductions later. Come on.” Conner led her out from behind the stack of crates and away from her makeshift bed of piled sacks. Ethan and a woman dressed in stiff leather clothing watched as Darla was led past a heavy wooden door. Darla felt a twinge in her battered head as she took in the familiar pattern of grain in the coarse wood. They were in a warehouse, which meant that they were near the outer wall on the lowest level. People lounged here and there. Beggars and merchants stood shoulder to shoulder with sailors and travelers. Most of the people glared suspiciously at Darla and Conner as they passed, but a few looked Darla over and smiled at Conner. A few even winked.

 

“These are my friends, and they’re closer than my family ever was,” Conner explained as he led her by the hand through the large room. “Welcome to the Thieves’ Den.”

 

 

Darla stalked her quarry. She slipped behind the tall man, using his own cloak to conceal her movements like Lysette had instructed her. The folds of his hood were enough to hide her subtle movements as she crept slowly towards him. Her soft-soled boot slid noiselessly across the stone floor as she jockeyed herself into the perfect position for a sudden knife thrust into his broad back. Now though, the cloak was working against her, concealing his spine and shoulder blades from her. There was nothing for it but to trust that the set of his shoulders would show where to land the blade. She sprang forward and drove the knife into his back, hoping that the blade would slide between his ribs and pierce his heart killing him instantly.

 

“Not bad,” Lysette said sarcastically from behind her, “If you know that your target isn’t going to move anytime soon.” Grabbing a handful of the cloak, the small dark haired instructor righted the cloaked dressmaker’s form. She lifted the cloak and pointed at the dent Darla’s wooden blade tip in the fabric form. “This isn’t a fatal wound. It would hurt like hell and might, I repeat might, incapacitate him if you’re lucky. When you’re knifing someone in the back though, never count on your luck.” She moved her finger a few hairs higher. “This is where you wanted to land the strike. This would have punctured his heart and killed him. Yours would have enabled him to yell for help twice, maybe even three times before the next strike would have killed him, unless your hands are faster than they were yesterday.”

 

Darla looked at her feet, not daring to meet her teacher’s eyes. Lysette had an intense dislike for people born to wealth, and took it out on Darla every day. “I practiced like you told me to do.” Those two hours that she spent every night stabbing imaginary people were actually starting to pay off. She was getting faster, and her movements were getting more fluid.

 

Lysette continued her lecture to the rest of the class, telling them how to determine the best place to stab when sneaking up on someone. Of course her personal favorite was clapping a hand over their mouths, pulling their head back and slitting their throat from ear to ear, slashing through their larynx to prevent them from speaking of calling for help. The best someone could do in that situation would be to gurgle loudly as they began to drown on their own blood.

 

Darla watched Conner as he helped unload a cart. He’d taken off his linen shirt to keep it from becoming soiled and his torso gleamed with sweat in the torchlight as he lifted the heavy sacks and stacked them neatly beside a crate. He caught her eye and smiled and Darla felt her face redden and heat move down her chest.

 

A stinging blow on the back of her head brought her back to the present. Lysette was staring at her. “Well Darla? Care to answer the question?”

 

“Uh… I… I didn’t hear it, I’m sorry. Can you repeat it please?”

 

This time, the blow landed on her cheek as the slim woman backhand slapped her, snapping her head backwards and sending her crashing to the floor. “If you want to stare calf-eyed at boys, you can do that on your own time anywhere but here. If you want to be a Thief, then you had better start paying attention. The next time your mind wanders over to where the men are, my dagger will find your eyes.”

 

Darla scrambled to her feet and stood trembling before the angry woman. “Yes Mistress Lysette, I understand.”

 

Eyes harder and colder than the granite of the keep bored into the frightened girls, and Darla could feel their ice slip down her spine while she trembled under the scrutiny. Lysette nodded once and turned back to the rest of the teens. The lesson continued.

 

 

Later, after dinner with her family and back in her own room, Darla flipped her bronze knife end over end and deftly caught it. Conner had helped her buy this one and its mate not long after he had taken her into the Guildhall. ‘There’s no sense owning a sword unless you’re a Soldier,’ he had commented while hefting the broad bladed dagger she had kept in her boot. ‘This is a man’s dagger, not a lady’s knife.’ And with that he had selected a pair of slim bladed knives that she handled every night before she slipped into bed. The first week among the Guild, she had been struck time and time again by just how… ordinary they all looked. No one wore black cloaks and wore black masks over their faces to conceal their identities.

 

Conner had laughed when she asked about that. ‘We try our best to NOT draw attention to ourselves. The whole point of what we do is to steal things and NOT get caught. If we dressed that way, the guards would be able to pick us up before we’d ever be able to take a single penny, wouldn’t they?’

 

Darla smiled as the gleaming golden blade twisted in the air as she tossed it from hand to hand. One full rotation end over end, left hand to right, and back to the left, over and over again. Feeling confident in her skill, she flipped a little harder, getting two full revolutions and started the trip back and forth again. This had been very hard for her the first week, but now it was easier than tying her shoes. Three revolutions and the flickering reflections of the candlelight danced along her walls, gold that shot faster than dreams arcing across her walls. Instead of throwing four revolutions as she would normally do, she slid the second knife free from her boot and tossed it low to her right hand as she flipped the other knife high and to her left. It was clumsy, but she still had all of her fingers attached where they were supposed to be, so she was going to call this a success. Darla had juggled knives for the first time!

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Conner stared wide eyed in amazement as Darla flicked the knives into the air, tossing them back and forth easily before his startled face. “How long have you been able to do that?” he asked breathlessly.

 

“Oh, a while now,” she lied smoothly. “I taught myself you know.” At least that was the truth. The four blades twisted as they scribed arcs through the air, flicking from the young girl’s hands. “It looks cool, but I don’t know what I’ll be able to do with it as a skill.”

 

“Absolutely nothing,” came the harsh reply as Lysette stepped around a large crate where she had been watching the two young thieves. “This is what a Bard learns. Is that what you want to be? A fool for the Duke’s amusements? We can arrange that and get you out of here where the rest of us are trying to learn serious skills for serious work.”

 

Darla’s concentration broke and the knives clattered to the ground, ringing against the stone flags at their feet. Tears sprang to her eyes, but Darla refused to cry.

 

“Don’t be too hard on her Lysette,” Conner began as he came to Darla’s defence. “It’s just quickness training of a different kind. Even you have to admit that her hands are much faster now than they were when she first came here.” He smiled down at Darla’s damp face. “Soon you’ll be able to master the BellBoy.”

 

Lysette snorted and turned her back on the two. “Make certain that you’re at class on time,” she called over her shoulder as she stalked away.

 

Darla stooped to collect her knives, but Conner had already gathered them for her. She smiled and slid the blades into their leather sheathes, one in each thigh high boot and one up each loose linen sleeve. “One day I’ll learn how to use a sword, and then you and I can spar.”

 

“I get to be shirts then,” Conner said with a laugh and slipped away to work.

 

Shocked at first, Darla laughed as she went to class. Well, at least it’s never boring in these classes.

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

After almost a year learning the tricks of the trade, being drilled on all manner of stealth movements, learning the subtle art of setting, finding and springing traps, Lysette finally presented Darla with her Guild Crest. The little ring was worn on the smallest finger of her right hand, and looked almost identical to her Father’s Merchant Guild ring. The only difference was her Father’s had a picture of a fist clutching a coin purse and hers had a fist clutching a cut coin purse with three coins sliding free.

 

The little silver ring glittered on her finger and she vibrated slightly in her shoes as the ceremony progressed. The Guildmaster himself was going to meet them and formally accept them as full members into the Thieves’ Guild. Darla stood among her fellow graduates as the concealed door behind the Guildmaster’s Throne slide open and he and his retinue slipped in. Master Thieves from all over the Dutchy solemnly lined the walls and Lysette took her place among them. They stood along either side of the Audience Room, dressed in black velvet cloaks and deeply cowled, each cloak held closed by the Master’s right fist so his or her ring showed plainly in the low light. When all the Master Thieves were in place, the Guildmaster himself stepped from behind his tapestry and took his seat in the ornate throne. The warm beeswax candle light played along the polished wood and gleamed from the golden and Mother-of-Pearl inlays.

 

The Guildmaster was a relatively nondescript man of middle height and middle weight. He was neither muscular nor bulky, lean nor flabby. He wore a black leather vest over a crimson shirt of silk, black silk pants tucked into his polished black leather boots. Each finger was adorned with a golden ring, most set with stones and his ebon belt had a jeweled golden buckle. A black leather hood was over his head concealing his identity from the new Journeyman Rogues.

 

“Welcome to the Guild, you newest members of our family,” he began in a rich voice that carried easily to the furthest reaches of the room. “From now on I am your Mother and Father. I am your leader and your confidant. I will share your joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, and your wealth of course.” The surrounding Master Thieves laughed at this briefly then they grew silent once more.

 

“Each of you has struggled to prove your worth, to show that you belong here with the Masters rather than with the beggars, the thugs and the common rabble that scrabbles for pennies in the sewers. You have had to learn innumerable skills of our trade, things that you had probably never even heard of before coming here. Trust me you will,” his voice cut off suddenly as his eyes came to rest on Darla’s face. He cleared his throat twice, feigning a cough. “You will need every skill you have acquired. Now, come and tell me who you are from this day forth.”

 

The Journeyman on the farthest left of the row came forward first, kneeled at the Guildmasters feet and they had a very brief conversation. “Arise Leoman, and be as one with your Brethren.” Leoman rose and The Masters applauded from the sides of the room. Smiling they shook his hand as he progressed around the perimeter of the room until he had reached the door where he was conducted out into the Guildhall where he joined the rest of the Journeyman Thieves.

 

Several more of the newly promoted Rogues were individually accepted and they too made the circuit of the room until it was Darla’s turn. Nervously she approached the glittering throne and eyes downcast she kneeled on the soft pile before it. The Guildmaster cupped her chin with his ringed hand and raised her head until her eyes met his. “And you child, You who come before me before the bloom of womanhood is fully upon her. What would make a little Minx like you wish to join our band of cutthroats and brigands?”

 

“I…” she couldn’t speak as she realized why the voice sounded so familiar to her. She couldn’t know for certain, but the way his eyes bore into hers, the sound of his voice, even the scent that clung to his expensive clothes all reminded her of Eamon, her Father’s Dock Manager. “I just…”

 

“Come now little one, do I frighten you so badly that you cannot even speak?”

 

Darla swallowed hard and shook her head. She took a deep breath and smiled. Well, I’ve been dealing with Eamon for a couple of years now. I’ve got nothing to fear from him at all. “I’ve decided to join you because this is where I belong.”

 

“Is it now? Well then Little Vixen, tell me your name so that I may welcome you properly.”

 

Little Vixen. “My name is Vyx Vlyn.”

 

Wall o' text.

it's a story.  besides, it's not a wall o' text, there are paragraph breaks and proper punctuation.

You forgot to censor it!

Well, I dunno if you did or not, I didn't read it, too long.

 

no, this one doesn't need any censoring.

Vyx Vlyn. She rolled the name across her tongue like a fine wine, savouring it.  The sound in her ears, the way it fell from her lips.  Yes, Vyx Vlyn was a suitable name.  A new name for a new life.

 

Conner smiled at her as his sweat damp hair tickled her face.  He enjoyed staring into her eyes immediately after making love.  He seemed to be looking for something there, but never seems sure if he had found it or not. She ran her hands along his slick back as she arched herself up off the simple straw pallet that served as their bower, forcing her erect nipples to press into his hot chest.  She could feel him still inside her, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, sending small doses of his seed into her womb.  Fortunately she had been shown a bitter wine that would prevent anything of coming from these late night interludes.

 

Vyx pouted as he softened and rolled out of her embrace. The cool night air of the lower rooms rushed against her skin, giving her gooseflesh on her arms and belly, and making her nipples go tight and rigid.  She shivered and clutched the warm bedclothes to herself as he slipped into his trousers.

 

They had been making love, wild passionate animal love, for over a month now, and she knew that soon Conner and she would get married, and then they would be together like this for all time, tangled in sweat soaked bedding and exhausted in each other’s arms.

 

The only problem was: how to get her father to agree?  He wanted to marry her to someone who had money, or connections, or influence with the Duke, not to the man that she loved.  She had been mulling this exact issue over and over in her mind for a week solid.  Well, almost a week.  More like four days actually, but the fact remained that something needed to be done to allow them to be together forever.

 

“Get dressed Love.  You’ll catch a chill if you sit there like that much longer,” Conner said while holding her linen blouse to her.  It was just out of her reach and she was forced to leave the concealing sheets to reach it.  His face lit up as the cloth slid from her naked flash exposing her breasts to him.  With a laugh he flung her shirt over her head, making her lunge up to grab it and expose herself totally.  He grasped her breasts in his hands, and bore her back onto the pallet, licking and nibbling her nipples while she squirmed and squealed. How he loved to tickle her with his tongue!

 

His hot tongue traced down her belly towards her crotch, and a wave of tingles flowed outwards and she felt herself getting wet once again in anticipation of more lovemaking.  With a nip to the skin of her navel, Conner pushed himself up away from her as she writhed under his touch.  “Up, my little Vixen. I’ll sate your heat later. We have work to do.”

 

With a sigh, Vyx climbed into her clothes, made all the more difficult by Conner’s hands darting to and fro, tweaking, touching and caressing her as she struggled to cover herself.  “You’re not helping, you know.”

 

“I know,” he replied, grinning from ear to ear.  With one last kiss to her now clothed breasts he turned his attention to their gear. Slim wires and wooden probes in a leather belt that would help them gain entrance through locked doors; a rope with a grapnel made of bronze for scaling the inner courtyard wall; two small copper lamps to light the near total darkness of the interior of the suite, and a rough map of the building’s floor plan.  At least to the best of the chambermaid’s knowledge.

 

Vyx ran her hands over the heavy leather of her pants, missing her silk dress already.  Sadly, climbing walls was made all the more difficult by long skirts and silk didn’t offer a lot of protection from rough stones of sharp copper window spikes.  She shrugged her shoulders a couple of times to settle the dark blue leather jacket and fastened it shut. The heavy leather was stiffened in places by layers of leather boiled in oil and formed to her body. 

 

The armourer had been all business as he smoothed the scalding hot leather to her chest, ensuring that there wasn’t so much as w finger’s width between the rapidly stiffening leather and her bosom, barely sparing her a glance while he worked.  Once he was done though, his smile had told her that he had thoroughly enjoyed the fitting, and she suspected that no nearly so much smoothing had been necessary.

 

The pair of bronze bladed daggers that she wore over her kidneys was stiff as she cinched her armour tight.  Still, the diagonal pressure was reassuring.  They weren’t likely to encounter any guards, but it was always a possibility.

 

Conner inspected her one last time, satisfied that all was ready, and he led her out of his little niche under a loading dock and into the wide lower street of the city. The hour was late, well past the time that an honest citizen was sound asleep, so they were able to pass unnoticed to the more affluent area of the castle.  A single guard was their only encounter, and they were warned well in advance of his coming by the bell-like jingle of his bronze scale armour. The slid into the shadows of a recessed doorway and pressed themselves against the wood until he had slowly ambled past.

 

A few minutes later, they stood at the exterior gate that led into the courtyard of their target’s home.  Vyx watched intently for more guards or strolling passersby while Conner expert fingers manipulated the lock.  Vyx knew just how dexterous those fingers could be when he concentrated, and the lock opened with as little difficulty as her legs had when they had spent their first night kissing and exploring each other’s bodies.  They slipped into the courtyard and Vyx’s musings were whipped away by the sight of what lay before them.  She had heard tales of families who had so much wealth that they had not just a suite of rooms, as her own family did, but an actual greenspace exposed to the night sky overhead.  They were only a few levels from the rooftops, and pale light from the moon shone down on the garden carpeted by soft moss. 

 

Trees, taller than a man, stood in pots as large as a cauldron flanking each doorway and window, their leaves fluttering in the gentle air that sighed across her face and stirred her hair.  It looked so easy now, three doors made of small panes of glass in wooden frames stood all along the wall, but these led into the lower levels of the home compound.  Nothing of any value that was portable would be found there. The notes on the map said that this was the level where servants and guests would be found.  Silver cutlery and glazed plates could fetch a high price if sold to the right people, but that’s not what they were looking for tonight.

 

Conner unlimbered the rope and grapnel, unspooled the line and ensured that there were no tangles or twists, and that it was nowhere near any feet. They would get only one chance at this. If the grapnel didn’t catch, the sound of it clattering to the ground would alert the entire household and bring guards running.  He swung the bronze hook a couple of times, judging the weight and swing, then quickly spun it twice and released.

 

The hook sailed through the still air and landed on the roof with a clatter that made Vyx nearly jump out of her armour, but Conner hardly reacted at all. He slowly pulled the rope and the bronze grapnel sank into the tiles of the rooftop above.  A swift tug and the hook set.

 

Conner smiled at Vyx in the silver light, and he began to climb up into the night, his feet hardly touching the wall.  Vix waited until he was level with the top of the first window before following him.  They drew even with the central window of the third level, the one that had only a simple lock according to the parchment and charcoal map, and Conner swung himself upside down, twining his legs with the rope to leave his hands free.  Once more the belt case was opened and two thin wires were extracted. 

 

Vyx could feel her arms begin to shake from the strain and she forced herself to slowly, very slowly, relax and let her feet take her weight on the window lintel of the second level.  Her chest was tight and her breath was ragged as she tried unsuccessfully to slow her hammering heart.  We’re too exposed.  We’re too visible.  The noise we made had already attracted guards who were even now rushing to the gate.  They’ll shoot us with their crossbows or pin us to the wall with their spears.  He’s taking too long.  Too long!

 

With a slight click, the window swung open.  Conner stored his picks back in his belt and swung through the open window.  Nearly sobbing with relief, Vyx followed.  They were in a hallway, nearly as wide as her bedroom, covered by a thick rug.  Their footfalls were totally noiseless as they moved, two shadows slipping through the dappled light  from the nearly full moon overhead. The light was so bright that they didn’t even need to use the little lanterns. They reached the end of the hall, now it was the tricky part.  Conner took the door on the left and Vyx went right.

 

The room was utterly dark, a deeper dark than anything Vyx had encountered before.  Slowly, not daring to breathe, she slid the tiny lantern from her belt.  She bent her head over the little metal cylinder and hoped that her aim was accurate.  A single drop of her spit landed true and the water mixed with the salt and sand and a feeble light began to shine out.  They called it “mage-light” and it was caused by alchemy.  She had used it many times, but had no clue how it worked. 

 

The feeble light was enough to show details of the room:  A large bed with curtains hanging from the four large posts.  Two forms were sleeping under a thick duvet, not touching in the massive bed. The man snorted and began to snore again.  The woman muttered something unintelligible and Vyx slowly began to breathe again. This was the Lord and Lady’s bedchamber, and was the most likely place to find valuables. 

 

Vyx ghosted across the floor to the large wooden vanity.  A specter emerged from the darkness before her, pale face green as rotten flesh and lit from within.  Vyx stifled a squeak and tried not to jump, then relaxed as she recognized herself in a copper mirror lit by the dim glow of her lantern.  Then she saw them:  The Lady’s jewels. Necklaces, ear rings, rings, bracelets, bangles and broaches.  Pins, combs, hair bands and silken ties with gems on their ends.  Crystal bottles of perfume and exotic ointments from all over the known world.  Even one that looked like it came from the Empire!  This was a feast for a hungry thief like Vyx.  If they sold everything here, then they wouldn’t need her father’s permission.  They could leave the city and go away.  They could be together and live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

 

Vyx gingerly began to gather the vast wealth off of the dressing table, slipping them into a soft velvet bag that she had brought along for just this reason. It only took her a few minutes to take everything that was loose and slip it away for safe keeping, then she turned her attention to the jewelry coffer. Slowly and gently she lifted the lid, and even in the dim light of her chemical lantern she could see the glitter of gold and the sheen of silver.  Greedily Vyx dipped her hand into the coffer again and again, filling the bag entirely.  She deftly tucked it away inside her bodice, wincing as the armour refused to yield.  She twisted her jerkin to settle her load of jewels and turned her attention back to the coffer. She slipped rings and necklaces into her jacket neck until she thought her armour would burst. Sadly, Vyx realized that she couldn’t take it all and reluctantly she turned her back on the hoard of glittering wealth.

 

Silent as death, she glided back across the floor to the door, placed the little copper cap on the lantern snuffing out the feeble light and slid the door open.  She froze as she heard a soft noise.  Ears straining she slipped into the shadows near a narrow table and crouched in the darkness.  A soft scuff from within the room told her that Conner was the cause.  She relaxed and slowly rose, still keeping to the deepest shadows of the hall.

 

The door opened and Conner slipped into the hallway, swiftly tying a belt pouch into place around his waist. Vyx stepped into the light and nearly laughed aloud as Conner shied away from her sudden appearance.  “Let’s go,” he mouthed to her and swiftly scuttled down the hallway to the open window.  The reached the opening and Conner stopped her with a gesture. He scanned the courtyard, then the barely visible street beyond the wall.  Satisfied that no one was around, he grasped the rope and began to climb into the darkness.

 

Puzzled, Vyx watched him for a moment wondering if he was trying to let her go down first, but he continued to climb higher and higher making for the rooftops.  She shrugged and followed.  The jewelry bit her chest, the sharp stones and hard metal pinching with every exertion.  Vyx was nearly weeping from the discomfort by the time she reached the rooftop. She had never been up here before.  Indeed, she had only ever once looked outside the castle walls to the world beyond.  What greeted her eyes this night stunned her.  Forgotten was the pain of the climb.  Forgotten was the thrill of the theft itself.  Forgotten was the hot rush of lust that being so near Conner normally brought.

 

The moon shone on dark waters, creating a silver filigree on the black of the ocean.  Tall trees sighed in the wind, as they slowly danced, swaying to and fro.  A furtive flicker of movement on the ground caught her eye, and horror flooded Vyx’s every nerve.  No Thrall, the shambling serving undead, moved like that. No Zombie gardener or animated corpse crept.  They shuffled, shambled, staggered even.  This stalked.  More flitted through the darkness and Vyx knew exactly what they were: Raveners. These were once people, like the Thralls that every wealthy family had, but instead of dying a natural death and being brought back to a semblance of life through the clean power of the Necromancers, these were horrors.  They were men and women who had been locked outside the castle at night and caught, eaten alive by these things.  It wasn’t just a horrible way to die, it was a curse to go on living as a twisted parody of yourself in undeath.  A few days after they were partially devoured, they would rise and begin to hunger, becoming one of the Devourers themselves and ensuring that they would continue to spread.

 

Conner shook Vyx violently.  “I said come on!” he hissed in her ear  “We can’t stand out here on the rooftops all night!” The rope and grapnel were already looped around his torso and he set off. Vyx stumbled along behind him. We’re safe, she said to herself. They can’t get through the walls or gates.  That’s why we have them.

 

They crossed several roofs until Conner reached one that seemed to satisfy him. He lifted on a tile and a small section rose, revealing a trap door.  Conner grinned widely at Vyx and dropped into the lit attic beyond.  A second later Vyx landed lightly in the short room. Conner was already descending a ladder.

 

They stopped in a well lit kitchen where three men were drinking tea.  Conner paid them each a golden coin and they smiled broadly. “Come back again, any time. We’ll be waiting.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Conner retorted. “Hands out and palms up!”

 

They all laughed and thumped Conner on the back as he slipped out the kitchen door and into the night.  A few minutes later and they were safely back at the guild house.  Now, Vyx thought to herself, Now begins the really hard part:  Getting a fair deal from Gavin. He was a miser, which was why he was such a successful fence, but damn was he mean with his purchases.  Still, they had enough hereto made a descent profit even with Gavin cutting into it.

 

Vyx dumped out her piles of treasure onto the mahogany table Gavin used as a desk.  Several appreciative whistles came from a few of the passing rogues, and a “Nice haul!” from somewhere in the group.

 

Gavin licked his lips and rubbed his hands in glee. “What a pile of pretty things!” he crooned setting his lantern near the glittering heap. “Let’s have a closer look, shall we?”

He took the first piece, a large ring set with a bright glittering stone that looked almost like a cut piece of fire.  He grunted and looked sharply at Vyx.  He set the ring aside and picked up a golden necklace, frowning as he weighed it in his scales. This one was set alongside the ring.  “Is this a joke?”

 

Vix stared at him open  mouthed.  “What are you talking about?”

 

“This,” Gavin gestured to the pile. “This heap of… junk.  Are you trying to pull a fast one on me?  Or is this you young punks idea of a funny?  Make Gavin waste his time appraising costume jewelry. I’ll not have it!”

 

Conner and Vyx looked first at each other, then back at the fuming man.  “Costume jewelry?” Conner asked.  “What do you mean by that?”

 

“Just what I said. This is all fancy stones set in silver and bronze. No gold, no gems.  This is the kind of stuff you’d expect to find in a child’s chest, or a pauper’s.  Who did you rob? An Orphanage?”  The assembled rogues began to laugh, some even asking if they had stolen the dollies and gruel.

 

Humiliated, Vyx grabbed the jewelry and fled.  So much for being a success, Vyx railed silently to herself.  How can they possibly take me seriously if all I’ve ever stolen is garbage!  She gasped as sat up, her teared eyes wide. No jewelry means no wedding. She still needed to find some way to get enough money to get out from under her father’s thumb.  She slumped down between two barrels and dejectedly sorted through the pile of trash.  Garbage jewelry or not, a few of the pieces were pretty. She absently slipped rings on her fingers and twisted them, not really looking at them.

 

Conner gently took the jewelry she clutched to her breast from her and began to slowly put it back into the velvet bag.  “Hey.  Don’t cry.  So our information was bad.  The old phony probably can’t afford real jewelry for his old lady, so he’s been giving her this crap.  But crap or not, we can still sell if for a little bit.”  Vyx collapsed into his arms and wept against his chest. “Hey now.  Don’t worry.  At the least, we’ll be able to eat at a nice inn.  I stole his actual cash, remember?”  Vyx sniffled and nodded.  “That’s right. The skin flint will pay for us to eat out at least. Come on, you’re just tired. Tuck this away and go to sleep.  Come back when you’ve rested and we’ll go get some food”

 

 

Vyx climbed to her feet, slipped the stolen rings from her fingers on after another. Some of the stones seemed awfully pretty for costume jewelry. And crystal didn’t sparkle like this. Maybe a few of them were worth something after all.  “Yeah, see if Gavin or someone will take them off our hands and I’ll be back in a little while.”  Sleep sounded very good right now.  The intense sex, followed by the rush of the theft and the crash of the payoff was overwhelming her, and she wanted nothing more than to slip naked between the soft linen sheets of her feather bed. 

 

Vyx had almost reached her home when she realized that she was still wearing one of the rings. It was an intricate knot-work of silver and bright bronze with a cluster of brilliant green stones, but her parents would be likely to ask awkward questions.  And rule 37 is “Never keep swag on you when it can be found.”

 

She hurried to Conner’s little place under the old loading dock near her father’s warehouse.  She slowed to a lazy walk as she drew close, waiting for the labourers to pass.  Her tight leather pants and jerkin were showing off her figure and several of the men were appreciating just how close it was fitting.  A few wolf whistles and they were gone. 

 

She looked around, making sure that no one was watching, slipped open the concealed door and slipped inside.  Immediately she heard sounds: a woman grunting and moaning rhythmically and a man’s heavy breathing.  She slipped closer, peering around the barrel to discover who could have violated the sanctity of Conner’s Holt.

 

A young athletic man was furiously fucking a lithe flaxen haired beauty with large breasts the colour of new milk and bright pink nipples.  Her slim legs were wrapped around the youth’s waist and she was bucking and twisting in ecstasy.  A horror began to fill Vyx as she watched the young man, knowing the shape of those shoulders; that tousled sweat damp hair.  Conner arched his back as he came, forcing his seed deep into her body.

 

“Conner,” She said in a quavering voice.  “How you do that to me every time astounds me.  Where do you get the energy? I know for a fact that you were dallying with the little rich girl earlier.”

 

“Her?  She’s just how I get my exercise when I can’t be with you my love,” He said softly into the glory of her golden mane.  “Did I tell you that I often let the dockworkers pay me to watch us fuck? They pay a silver coin for the privilege of seeing her nude and servicing me.  They have even offered me a gold piece for a go at her.”

 

“You should let them,” the woman said stretching languidly.  “She’s a simpering harlot and that’s easy money.  Tell me, would they pay five if they could rape her?”  Their laughter followed Vyx out as she fled.

 

She wandered the bazaar aimlessly, her world shattered and her heart torn from her chest and destroyed. It can’t be true, she whispered in the depths of her mind, hoping that it wasn’t. He loves me. We love each other. We’re to be married once we have enough money.

 

She slumped against the wall near one of her favorite shops.  It seemed a lifetime ago that she was here.  A lifetime since she was happy. She had been crying for days, wandering unseeing and unknowing, desolate as she slowly felt herself dying.  Inside the shop a woman was screeching at someone about an order that needed to be filled instantly.  Shut up! Vyx yelled silently as she slid down the wall.  Just shut up and let me die in peace!  Can’t you go elsewhere and be unpleasant? She pressed her face into her knees and wrapped her hands over her ears.  The woman’s voice was a high-pitched drone, and the man’s voice was a low counterpoint.  Vyx suddenly remembered her daggers.  She could take one and plunge it into her heart.  That would make the hurt stop, she reasoned. He’ll see what I did and it’ll destroy him. He’ll be haunted for the rest of his life by my ghost and beg me every night for forgiveness, but I won’t.  Never!

 

She was rocking slightly as she was weeping, grinding her eyes into her knees as she squatted against the cold granite of the wall.  Suddenly a hand grabbed her wrist. Conner had come for her! She hadn’t shown for breakfast and he had come looking for her!

 

She looked up, but the smile on her tear streaked face died when she looked at a furious fat woman towering above her.  “Where did you get that ring you whore?”

 

“I’m not a whore!” Vyx yelled leaping to her feet. “Stop calling me a whore you fat bitch! I’m not!”

 

A guardsman whipped out a large bronze knife with a leaf shaped blade.  “Answer the question girl, or suffer the consequences.”

 

Vyx swallowed hard, her mind whirling. ”What ring? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“The ring on your finger!” The fat Lady bellowed. “That’s my ring!  The ring you and your little whore friends stole last night from my room!” The woman forced Vyx’s hand right into her face, grinding the ring against her cheek.

 

Rule 37 is ‘Never keep swag on you when it can be found.’  I’m dead. Suddenly, Conner’s infidelity seemed minor, even trivial. The guard was going to stab her in the belly and leave her to die like a gutted swine at the fat lady’s feet.  The fat lady was yelling, flailing her arms while spittle spattered into Vyx’s face. The Jeweler was nodding at something that the woman was saying and the Guard was staring at Vyx, steel eyed, the point of his gleaming bronze dagger never leaving the hollow of her throat.  The woman wrenched the ring from her hand, nearly tearing her finger off in the process. TheGuard firmly turned her face into the stone wall and placed a set of manacles on her wrists, secured to each other with a short length of chain.

 

What seemed only a few minutes later, Vyx was led in chains to a magistrate.  The man sat at a high desk in a dimly lit room. He was dressed in a black robe and a black hood covered his head.  The only light in the room came from a small window high over the Magistrate’s head and shone directly down on Vyx. She was almost totally blind by the light of the sun, and the Magistrate seemed to only be a thick shadow before her.  “Speak, and let the Truth be known,” the shadow intoned. A brief flash of golden light filled the room, seeming to come from the stones at her feet.  “Who are you?”

My name is Vyx Vlyn. “My name is Darla” Vyx’s mouth dropped open. What?  I didn’t say that. I said Vyx!  I’m Vyx!

 

“Where do you live?”

 

I live alone. I sleep where I feel and do as I please!  “I live with my family in the merchant quarter.”

 

“How did you come to possess the ring in question?”  The Magistrate leaned forward as he asked this.

 

Vyx began to tremble.  Why can’t I talk right?  Why can’t I say what I want to?

 

“Speak child.  Speak now. How did you come to possess the ring?”

 

“I,”Vyx began very carefully “I came across It in the dark. At the time I didn’t really know what it was since I couldn’t see it.”  Vyx almost wept with the effort of twisting the truth.  Keep it simple.  Don’t try to elaborate. The more you talk, the more likely your mouth is to betray you. She opened her mouth to continue.  “I felt it and just stuck it in my shirt with the others.”  Vyx slumped as the last spilled from her lips.  And now I get sentenced to death.

 

“Others?  What others?”

 

“The ones that were just laying there.”  Vyx swallowed.  Her mouth was dry as week old bread and she couldn’t stop shaking.

 

“Laying where?”

 

“On the dressing table in the bedroom.”  That’s it.  It’s all over.  I forgive you Conner.  Why couldn’t you have just loved me?

 

“I see.  Did you steal the ring from it’s rightful owner Darla?”

 

“Yes.” She didn’t even try to fight it, knowing that it was all over. At least I won’t be in anymore pain.  She wept quietly as she hung her head and waited for judgment to be passed on her.

 

“I see. By the power of the Duke as his duly appointed Magistrate, I hereby sentence you to exile.  We don’t like thieves living in our midst.”  Vyx’s head shot up.  I’m going to live?  Really?  I thought that everyone who was caught by the Magistrates was executed?  Maybe he sees that I’ve been hurt and that I was used.  Yes, he knows that Conner is responsible.  “Now girl, where is the rest?”

 

“Conner has it, or he sold it to Gavin the Fence.”

 

“I see. And where is Conner now?”

 

“Having sex with someone else in his home under the eastern docks.”

 

Several guards laughed from the shadows.  “Silence,” The Magistrate bellowed.  He turned his cowl to one of the bailiffs.  “Do you know this dock?”

 

“Yes sir,” the Bailiff said stepping into the light and saluting smartly.  “Young rogues frequently take up residence there not wondering why such a prime location is unused. We know it well.”

 

“Am I to be banished with Conner, you worship?” Vyx asked.

 

“No,” he said. “You’re clearly an unskilled ruffian doing this for the thrills.  He is a career criminal and will be put to death as soon as we apprehend him.  Bailiff, carry out your duty.”

 

“No!” Vyx wailed.  “You can’t! Please, let him live and kill me instead!”

 

“Yes Sir! Men, with me.”  The guards filed out of the room while

 

Vyx screamed and hurled herself the length of her chain. Wailing, she sank bonelessly to her knees, sobbing.

 

Someone tugged her to her feet and walked her down a sloping hallway.  It was very damp and a chill breeze tickled her face.  A door opened before her and a blast of bright light dazzled her eyes. A hand shoved her forcibly forward and she tumbled to the ground.  She smelled odd smells.  Mud and moss and grass and pine resin.  She scrambled to her feet and whirled around in time to see a massive wooden door shut.

 

Vyx Vlyn was outside.  She was outside and night was coming.

 

Somewhere in the deep dark of the forest, something moved.