Thief in the Myst (The Master Thief Book 2)

by Ben Hale

  “I WANT HIM DEAD!”

  Soldiers rushed about, charging the main gates as the rock trolls sprinted outside. In seconds the hall had emptied and soldiers filled the grounds. Shouts and orders punctuated the night but Jack was not to be found.

  As the minutes turned into hours it became clear the thief had escaped. The king stomped about roaring for his guards to search the city. With all their attention outside, no one noticed the figure slip back through the broken glass and descend to the floor.

  As they searched the city and grounds Jack removed the false jaw and other items from his face and dropped them down a privy. Leaving the persona and the guard’s clothes behind, Jack donned a servant’s garb and entered the servants’ quarters. Slipping into an empty bunk, he attached a false nose and then pulled a blanket over his shoulders. While the guards frantically searched for him he slept soundly with the other weary servants.

  The next night the city guard found the shopkeeper he’d used to build his persona. Even as they arrested the perplexed man Jack ambled out of the castle. He trudged toward the exit as if he’d just completed a long day toiling on the castle floors. Troll and human guards paid him no mind, and several minutes later he was in the streets of Terros.

  Jack passed irritable guards that had been out all night, and managed to keep the smile from his face. Once he was out of sight he removed the false nose and tossed it in the gutter. Then he withdrew the book he’d taken and examined the cover.

  “Let’s find someone that can read you, shall we?”

  Chapter 3: Answers

  Word spread quickly of the theft and the king’s mood. The monarch’s foul disposition contrasted sharply with the men in Jack’s caravan headed north. He joined the group in a mercenary persona, and listened to the other guards share wild theories about the thief that had taken from the king’s own castle. Few liked the king, and much laughter was had at the man’s expense. Jack didn’t hesitate to contribute his own thoughts, and smiled at the rumors they would start.

  After a week’s journey he slipped away and took the eastern road to the Library of Worchestan. He rode hard through a forest of elder and cedar trees. Two days later he crested a rise in the road and a village came into view.

  Built around a pair of staggering towers, the settlement catered to the travelers who had journeyed a great distance in order to study at the library. Rumored to contain an archive that dated back to the Age of Oracles, the towers had been built by a fabled monarch known for his pursuit of knowledge. The man had commissioned the library to be constructed of the strongest materials and paid a handsome sum to a group of dwarven engineers to build it. To their credit, it had withstood wars and the elements for nearly twenty thousand years.

  Each of the two towers loomed over the trees. They rose to hundreds of feet high, with each level housing books, memory orbs, and other records. Although the elves claimed to have the greatest collection of written history, their archives paled in comparison to the Library of Worchestan.

  Jack entered the town and found a stables that would hold his steed. Then he advanced through the twilight to the southern tower. He found the door unlocked and strode past the drowsy guard.

  A great spiral staircase wound its way up the core of the tower, leading to a labyrinth of alcoves, chambers, and study rooms. The rooms were filled to the brim with ancient tomes from bygone eras.

  A handful of men and women toiled at ink stained desks, painstakingly copying from nearly illegible books. The scent of paper, leather, and dust filled the air, causing him to rub his nose in irritation. Then one of the men spotted him and approached.

  “What do you seek, traveler?” he asked.

  “I wish to learn of the ancients,” Jack replied.

  “Ah,” he said, his eyes lighting with curiosity. “Such a topic is rarely requested. Is there something specific you wish to know . . .?”

  The man waited expectantly but Jack merely smiled and waited in turn. When it became clear he had no intention of sharing any more, the man’s expression tightened.

  “You will need to speak with Attendant Loth,” he said. “I will summon him.”

  His curt comment heralded his departure, and Jack turned his gaze on the library. Several minutes later the scribe returned with another man before departing without a word. Jack’s eyes settled on Loth, unsurprised by his appearance.

  The weathered old man resembled an aged apple. His smile creased the wrinkles, reshaping them until his features almost disappeared. His snowy hair reached past his shoulders and was tied at the back of his head, yet the strength to his gaze belied his age.

  “You are not the first to seek the ancients,” he said, and a shrewd smile appeared on his face. “But I suspect you may be one of the few to understand them.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Those who come here always seek answers,” he replied. “But I can always tell the ones that know a little truth . . . and want more.”

  Jack grinned and gestured to himself. “I’m Jack Myst.”

  “Loth,” the man said, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come with me.”

  Turning about, he led Jack to the steps and worked his way down. After three levels Jack began to wonder how the old man managed to use them without his body giving out. As if reading his thoughts, the old man chuckled.

  “We are not as frail as we look, traveler.”

  “That is well,” Jack replied easily, “because you look like a stiff breeze might topple you to the ground.”

  Loth laughed and agreed. “Moisture destroys the archives, but the dryness destroys our flesh. You can see which we favor.”

  He chuckled to himself and continued to descend to the very bowels of the library. The steps grew dark and the air stale, indicating the level was rarely used. Loth pressed on to the base of the stairs. Then he stepped to a bracketed light orb and reached out to it. His touch caused it and several others to brighten, illuminating a circular room with eight corridors. Choosing one, he advanced away from the stairs.

  Openings were placed on either side, and Jack saw more bookshelves and memory orbs placed on them, all covered in dust. Loth passed them by until he reached the final opening. Upon entering, he reached up and touched the light orb. It did not brighten immediately but slowly glowed to life as if reluctant to wake.

  “Everything we have about the ancient race is stored in this room.”

  Jack looked among the shelves, but only four lonely books and a single memory orb sat in view.

  “A wealth of knowledge,” Jack said dryly.

  Loth smiled, wrinkling his face once again. “Their civil war took place over forty thousand years ago. Precious little lasts that long.”

  “And yet I have encountered dozens of ancient artifacts in less than a year,” Jack said.

  Loth’s eyebrows shot up. “It appears you have a tale to tell.”

  “Telling it would only put you in danger,” Jack said.

  “Then what do you wish of me?”

  Jack gestured to the books. “Have you read them?”

  Loth nodded, creasing his wrinkled jowls. “Most are a retelling of the Ballad of Ero and Skorn.”

  Jack grunted in irritation. His mother had made him memorize the lengthy ballad as a child, and aside from keeping him from a noose at the elven city of Azertorn, it had done little for him.

  “Fairy tales will not help me,” he said. “But a man that can read their language can.”

  Loth strode to one of the books and picked it up. Opening it, he thumbed through the pages until he found what he sought and then offered it to him. Jack examined the text and nodded when he recognized it.

  “Can you read it?” Jack asked.

  “Some,” Loth admitted. “But it has not been spoken in eons, so the pronunciation is unknown.”

  “I don’t need to hear it,” Jack said, and withdrew the book he’d taken from the king’s castle. “I just need to understand it.”

  L
oth’s eyes widened when he saw the book, and then turned shrewd. “The king would not give that up for any sum—unless it was taken without his knowledge.”

  “Perhaps it was.”

  Loth’s eyes glowed with amusement. “If I should discover the thief, I will be certain to turn him in.”

  Jack grinned. “So you know of this book?”

  “Many years ago the king summoned one of my colleagues to attempt to decipher it, but he would not let it be taken from his strongroom. We refused to bring our records south in order to translate it. The impasse means it has never been read.”

  Jack handed it to him and Loth reverently accepted it. A soft smile creased his wrinkled features and he slid his thumb across the binding. Then he began to speak, murmuring his thoughts aloud.

  “The binding and cover have not been dimmed by age and are made of a peculiar material that endures better than anything we possess. Inscribed are the words, ‘to mankind, may it bring you peace’.”

  He eased the cover open and, as before, light poured from within, flowing into a page above the book. Loth carefully placed the open tome on a pedestal situated near the front of the room and reached up to turn the ethereal page.

  “What does it say?”

  “Control your impatience,” the old man chided. “It is difficult enough to read without you hovering over my shoulder.”

  With difficulty Jack held his irritation in check while the old man muttered to himself. Occasionally he shifted to the books and memory orb in the room in search of a particularly difficult translation. Every time Jack queried him Loth said the same thing.

  “Patience, my son.”

  As the hours passed, Jack’s stomach began to grumble, and he asked Loth where the kitchens were located. Deep in the thrall of his translation, the old man muttered incoherently and vaguely pointed upward. Blowing out his breath, Jack exited the room and went in search of food. An hour later he returned in a better disposition and took a seat on one of the benches in the archive hall. While he waited he examined the other ancient books and struggled to make out the tiny scrawl of long dead attendants.

  The ancients had been small in number, some saying their entire race never surpassed a few hundred souls. Jack found several theories as to their origin, but the one he found most intriguing said they did not hail from Lumineia at all, but came from another realm. Perhaps they had only intended on staying for a short time, but a civil war had decimated their ranks.

  The book finished by retelling the Ballad of Ero and Skorn. Most tellings of the ballad described Ero and Skorn as god and devil, both wrestling for dominion over Lumineia. With the power of his staff, Ero ultimately triumphed, casting Skorn into a pit of eternal torment.

  In the version Jack had learned as a child there had been no mention of the ancients, but here the telling alluded to men and women that did not age, that had power beyond any of the races. It also contained additional verses that described Ero and Skorn. Both had spawned religions based on their faith, but little was said as to what caused the original rift.

  Abruptly weary, Jack closed the book and rubbed his eyes. Then he rose and entered the room to find Loth still poring over the ancient book.

  “What did you—.”

  “It’s stunning,” Loth said, turning excited eyes upon him. “It’s a detailed account of the ballad, yet it’s written in an entirely different form.”

  Jack folded his arms, his annoyance sparking. “I didn’t go through all the trouble to borrow it just to read the ballad again.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “This is written like it’s an actual record of the events, meaning the ballad we have is an interpretation of this book.” His eyes glowed. “This is the original.”

  Jack was intrigued. “What does it say that the ballad doesn’t?”

  “As many historians have suspected, the god Ero and the devil Skorn battled for rule over Lumineia. The ancients were caught up in this conflict, ultimately perishing in the fight. What is clear from here is that Ero and Skorn didn’t rule ancients, they were ancients, and . . .”

  Loth continued to speak but Jack didn’t hear his words. The truth that had hovered in front of him suddenly clicked into place. His mother had left an orb revealing the truth, that Orn was a living ancient. The man he’d battled for control of the Thieves Guild was not just any ancient. He was the ancient, the very devil that ballads told tales of, the name that inspired fear among every race in Lumineia.

  “Skorn wasn’t a god,” Loth said, drawing his attention.

  Jack’s features tightened. “He was an ancient.”

  Chapter 4: The Ancient Keys

  “I have to tell the others of this discovery,” Loth said, and started for the hallway.

  The man’s words yanked Jack from his thoughts and he stepped in front of him. “That would be unwise.”

  “But a truth of this magnitude—”

  “Will get you killed,” Jack said with such force that Loth stopped and met his gaze.

  “Truth cannot harm us.”

  “It can if Skorn has returned.”

  Loth snorted in disbelief. “You cannot mean that an ancient remains alive.”

  “Until recently he was the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild. I did not know who he was but I thought I’d killed him. Now I wonder if I was successful.”

  Loth regarded him with a mixture of doubt and curiosity. “There are too many questions to ask, so I’ll ask the one most obvious. If a former god now walks the earth, why did he need to take possession of the Thieves Guild?”

  “Me,” Jack said. “He wanted a thief capable of stealing an ancient map of Lumineia.”

  “Did you see the map?”

  “I did,” Jack said. “And then I destroyed it.”

  Loth’s expression turned to ash and he passed a hand over his face. “Why would you destroy something of such value?”

  “Because he wanted it,” Jack replied. “And if he can, he would harm everyone and everything.”

  “And you care about the people?”

  Jack laughed. “I care about stopping him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t think I can.”

  “Is that all it takes?”

  “For me it is,” Jack said, and reached for the book.

  Loth stepped to it first. “Please,” he said. “I implore you not to destroy it.”

  “If Skorn knows I have this book, he will kill anyone who has touched it.”

  “I swear I will put it where it cannot be found.”

  “You’d risk your life on that?”

  “I gave my life for knowledge long ago,” he said with sudden force. “I would do so again without hesitation.”

  Jack stared at his blazing eyes and then shrugged. “As you will. But speak of it to no one, or your life will not be the only one forfeit. He would burn this library to the ground to keep his secret.”

  Loth nodded and closed the book. Then he turned back to Jack with a strange expression. “You speak as if he has something to fear.”

  “He doesn’t,” Jack said, and then paused. “Or perhaps he does. One so zealous to protect their identity must do so for a reason. The question is, what haunts his dreams?”

  “Or who,” Loth mused. “If one ancient is alive, perhaps there is another.”

  “Like Ero?” He laughed, but Loth did not.

  “Let us hope not,” he said, his tone becoming grim. “For history has a way of twisting with time. He may have fought Skorn, but that does not mean he is our ally.”

  “If he lives,” Jack countered. “No one has heard of an ancient for thousands of years. I doubt there are more hiding about.”

  “Perhaps,” Loth said. “But you would do well to be cautious.”

  Jack turned away and strode for the stairs. “Caution has its place, my friend. Now I must go and ensure Skorn died.”

  “And if he didn’t?”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Then I steal h
is life for good.”

  Loth shuddered, and then nodded. “Will you share what you learn with me?”

  The earnestness in the plea caused Jack to sigh. “If I am traveling this way again, I will visit and share the tale.”

  “I’ll have a mug of ale ready for you,” Loth promised.

  Jack grinned. “Farewell, old man, and do not forget my warning.”

  Loth tapped the book and then slid it into his white robes. “I have seen no such book, my Lord.”

  Jack laughed at the indignation in his voice and then departed. Exiting the way he had come in, he retrieved his horse and mounted. For the next several days he worked his way west until he reached Galignon, a small fishing village north of Terros. From there he took a boat south. Landing in the kingdom of Talinor, he disembarked and crossed the breadth of the kingdom to reach the great Evermist swamp, home of the Thieves Guild.

  It was the first time he’d returned since defeating the Guildmaster, and the clinging mist elicited a smile. He’d spent several months in the guild before battling Skorn. At the time, Jack had thought he was simply a man named Orn, one who had gone to great lengths to hide his identity. It wasn’t until after the battle that Jack had returned to his childhood home and found the memory orb left by his mother. There he’d learned the truth. Curiosity had driven him to find more, and that path had eventually taken him to the king’s castle in Terros.

  But had he killed Skorn?

  The question had nagged him since he’d learned the Guildmaster was an ancient—even more now that he knew his true identity. The last he’d seen of Skorn, he’d been wounded and stumbling into the Evermist while two massive rayth cats stalked him. The cats would not have given up the pursuit, meaning Skorn would have had to kill or evade them, both of which were unlikely. Jack’s thoughts turned to the ancient map Skorn had sent him to steal. One did not look for a map simply to possess it, so what location did he seek?