The Shadow's Ward

by Eric Angers

  Not a good job, not a thank you for his hard work, just ‘we can get some breakfast.’ Norgaard had had enough. “It’s over. I’m not playing your games anymore old man. You have taught me nothing I could not learn on my own. You have used me to fatten your purse so that you have no risk. You have lied to me and pretended to be some master thief taking me under his wing. I’ve never seen you do a damn thing to prove it. I spotted you every time you followed me. So thanks for nothing, you drunk, I’m leaving. I can make it on my own.”

  Vastian was simply stunned. He sat in his pile of straw looking up at the boy, and Norgaard could see on his face that he never saw it coming, the arrogant prick. His former master simply said, “you really spotted me?”

  Norgaard threw his hands up then pulled the gold figurine from his pocket. “This, this is all I have left now. I stole this tonight so that I could get by without your scraps. Goodbye.”

  “Hm. So you have learned nothing,” the master said, and he lay back down in his straw mattress, eyes closed.

  As Norgaard left he was nice enough to shut the door behind him, then went out into the city to find someone who could buy his freedom.

  Chapter VIII.

  Vastian

  Vastian scratched at his back. It had been days since he lay in a clean straw pile on a clean floor in a clean safe house while he listened to the latch on his door click shut behind his former student. Now the safe house was filled with dust once again, and likely tiny bugs crawled in his bed, which would explain the itching. He had tried to be offended, and succeeded for awhile, but Vastian began to realize that he needed the boy. Who was he kidding? Norgaard was no more a boy than Vastian himself was when the veterans of the Guild were referring to him as such. What could he do, though, the young thief wanted to try his hand on his own. He did not want Vastian’s instruction, though he needed it, but Vastian was forced to let him go.

  Going about his day, he was constantly reminded of his mistake in allowing this situation to take place. When he returned from his rounds, no one was waiting eagerly for a scrap of knowledge, and the place was filthy. He had been living like that for two weeks before he met Norgaard, wallowing in the dust with the drunks and the beggars and he was afraid that without his student, he might lose himself to it once more. It was what he came here for, after all. Slowly though, teaching was helping him, helping him forget. It was not the free labor from his apprentice that Vastian was truly missing. It was not the feeling of being needed for his teachings. It was none of that. All of that was shallow and selfish and just an excuse. It was the humanity Norgaard reminded him of. Yes, another selfish thought, but what else was there? Vastian’s self was broken, he knew it, and the only thing putting him back together was the companionship in Norgaard.

  Perhaps the boy, his apprentice, he reminded himself, was right. Maybe he had been holding back on his training, afraid for some reason. Could be Norgaard was too good, he had been able to spot him, after all. Or it could have been he was afraid to let someone else get close to him no matter how good for him it was. There was too much about himself that he could not share, too much risk involved. Admitting that to himself was the hardest part. But, his apprentice had learned a significant amount in a short time whether he realized it or not. Vastian had put a lot of thought into his training and he noticed all of Norgaard’s improvements. Subtle changes, things you might not notice in yourself, but important nonetheless. He also had to keep him from becoming too full of himself, deserving or not, an ego was not helpful.

  The only option left to him was to follow his protege, watch his progress, keep him out of serious trouble, but ensure his failure. Perhaps if he could not make it on his own, he would come back, and Vastian would have an opportunity to start over. Stalking him would be difficult, however, so he would keep his distance, maybe pay some others to help keep track of him. It was the only way to bring him back.

  On the first day after he decided to keep an eye on Norgaard, he had found him in the middle of the marketplace, cutting purses for a few coins which he then used to purchase food. Disappointed, Vastian stayed well out of sight, and kept his hood drawn about his face. It was one lesson he hoped Norgaard would learn, not to steal for need, out of desperation. When Vastian learned that very lesson, it opened up a whole new world for him. He became free, unconstrained by his mind’s imposed limitations. He needed to eat, so he stole coins enough for a meal. He needed clothing so he stole it or the money for it. He needed a roof over his head, so he would steal the rent. Too busy stealing out of need, he neglected to work on more ambitious projects, the kind that would let him live comfortably. Finally, someone from the Guild explained the rule, the gears in his head clicked together and started working as one. Rather than treat his gift as a means to an end, he began treating it like a business and later, like a hobby. Profit margins went through the roof. Norgaard had failed to grasp the concept. Rather, his teacher had failed to instill it in him.

  Vastian found himself walking through the nobles’ quarter, the area around the governor’s residence. He was pretending to stumble, carrying a bottle of liquor and draped in his finest rags. There were few people about in this section of the city during the winter months so his presence there would not be too worrisome. Drunks and beggars often wandered into the area by mistake. Hopefully no guards would turn him away. Norgaard had since given up cutting purses for the day and Vastian was content to let him wander about in search of a fence. He would not find one, of course, the best fence in Asunder would only talk to certain people besides the Guild, and Norgaard was not one of them. Idly turning the bottle over in his hands he allowed his mind to wander.

  Sundsvall, he thought, as he wandered the cobblestone streets, that was where his student said he was from. A small fishing village in the north, tucked away in the shadow of the mountains in the arctic ring. It was the northernmost village that he had been to, and Vastian had been everywhere, except for Deadnight Island, the prison colony, a place he preferred to avoid. It was an uneventful trip, there was no one important enough to kill, and no one arrogant enough to steal from, nevermind there being anything worth taking. He had spent two days there in the inn, and had bedded three women, having nothing better to do. It was early in his career, and the thieves guild sent him, as a new member, to the farthest and coldest reaches. He was to investigate and report. His report contained little, the Guild already knew what he would find; the mission was nothing more than hazing the new guy. When Vastian found out it was nothing more than a joke to send him to that frozen wasteland, he had found the Guild officer who had ordered it and killed him in his sleep. No one had discovered him, no one but the Dead Men, and they had waited another year to approach him about it.

  That was part of what he feared to explain to his student. Norgaard did not seem the type with the desire for killing, though his capacity for it would be great. Even so, there was no way to tell him without violating the rules of the Dead Men, and in that case, both of their lives would be forfeit. Yet if he did not know.. No, he could not. He would not tell him.

  Certainly, Norgaard had displayed interest in learning how to fight, and Vastian remembered just how he handled it when he was denied.

  “When are you going to show me how to use knives?” the boy had asked while they sat in their shack one evening.

  Vastian responded, slurring his words to give the impression he was drunk, partially because he was. “When you’re ready, boy.”

  Norgaard had taken it in stride and a look came over him when he responded, “In the meantime, if I get caught, I suppose I should pickpocket them to death?”

  Vastian distinctly remembered the grin upon his friend’s face because it was typical of him. Through all the hardship and

  abuse he was putting him through, he would always start and end the day with a joke and a grin. Often, he would make light of his situation even as he was in it. Friend. The word came unbidden to his mind. He had not thought of him that way before. Perhaps i
n the beginning his method of training was necessary, but, he realized, it would have to be different when his friend came back to him.

  Vastian stopped and leaned up against a wall and paused for a moment before he turned the other way, wandering back to his shack. The bottle was empty before he crossed the threshold.

  Chapter IX.

  Norgaard

  This was absolutely not a way to live. He had been working all hours of the day and night picking enough pockets to keep himself fed and in a room at one of the local inns. When he did manage to steal something valuable, he could not just sell it back, and he was having a hard time finding just the type of person who did buy stolen goods. It was too damned cold to be outside as much as he was, numbness wrapped his fingers like bandages, binding him as surely as the stocks might. But there had to be a way. He was not going back to the old drunk, though, that much was certain, but he did need to find other help. He was certain he knew how to find it, or have it find him. Norgaard stopped hiding his crimes. Instead, he was being just a little more open than he would under normal circumstances. Since he did not know where the thieves guild was in Asunder, or anywhere else for that matter, it was his intention for them to find him. He did not bother to conceal his hands as he robbed from rich looking merchants and nobles, and he allowed himself to be followed as he searched out the unoccupied homes of the seasonal residents. Soon enough, he was approached by a rather neat looking fellow with a wide brimmed hat topped with a feather. He wore a brown leather cloak and wore a slender sword of some kind on his hip. Everything about the man was clean cut and his movements were practiced, his stance smooth like that of a prowling cat. He was not at all the kind of person he pictured working for the guild. But then, he thought of his previous master, he had no idea just what a real thief looked like at all.

  The man passed by him and Norgaard felt and saw a letter slip into his belt. While Norgaard did not want to believe he himself was anything special, he was certain this man was not used to anyone picking up on his actions. Seeing that he had the upper hand, Norgaard decided to follow, remaining out of sight, and see just where he had come from.

  It was not difficult for Norgaard, bouncing from person to person, staying hidden behind the much larger northern builds. It was always an oddity that Norgaard’s frame had developed so slight, but it was beneficial to him in many ways. His agility, speed, and compact build allowed him to stalk prey in crowded streets without seeming out of place and without being seen. He simply kept a passerby between himself and the mark. Then this mark slipped into an alley and was no doubt waiting for pursuers to run into his blade when they turned the corner. Whether the man knew he was being followed this time or he used this tactic every time Norgaard was not sure, but he knew the move when he saw it. After a minute he returned to the main street and continued on in the same direction. After two more streets, his mark doubled back, which would allow him to see everyone that was behind him face to face, but Norgaard was already gone. Slipping down an alley, he ran on ahead of the man in brown leather, waiting down the cobbled street. When he started back the direction he came, Norgaard took up the pursuit. Just one street back and he turned, this time Norgaard read his intention to continue in the way he shifted his body. Then the young thief quickly climbed onto a low roof and lay down, watching.

  The man in brown entered a shop with purple and pink dyed curtains, a perfume shop by the sign. On the outside, it was, Norgaard guessed, but the building seemed too large for just that purpose. Two stories and who knew how large a basement, the wooden building had to be nearly as large as a tavern. He leapt down onto the snow covered side street and entered the shop.

  “Greetings sir,” an attractive young girl said as he entered. “What can I do for you today?”

  Placing the letter down on the counter, he said, “I want to talk to the man who gave me this. And after, maybe you can show me some of these fine perfumes,” a dimpled smile formed on his lips by the end.

  “Oh of course, young master, it seems you are in need of them,” she said, condescendingly, then she stomped a booted foot on the floor.

  A boy no older than eight scrambled up some stairs and appeared from the back. He told Norgaard to follow and he obeyed, down the stairs into a dimly lit basement. They passed a guard who slouched in a chair lazily. The boy pointed to a wooden stool and motioned for Norgaard to sit and he did. He could hear the muffled argument of two men in a neighboring room.

  “There’s no way I was followed!” one was saying.

  “That is simply not true, Torsten, the truth of it sits out there waiting for me to talk to him,” the other replied.

  “I tell you, I watched the boy work, he is not good enough to have evaded my notice!”

  No more voices could be heard after that last though booted footsteps on the dusty wooden floor announced the approach of two men. A door creaked open and the man in brown entered, followed by a white haired old man with a chiseled jawline and a strong heavy build. A true northman.

  “So, you followed one of our best..” the older man began only to be interrupted by Torsten, the man in brown.

  “How?” he demanded, taking steps toward Norgaard.

  Norgaard stood and held his hands up in front of him. “Hang on, I mean no offense. In fact, I think I made a mistake, I didn’t even need any perfume,” a toothy grin forming.

  “Torsten, sit down. You, boy, sit down as well.” the old man said, and waited for compliance, which he received from both of them. “My name is Magnar, and this is the Guild which I am certain you have been looking for. Now, just how is it you managed to follow Torsten here? Reports seemed to indicate some rather ‘sloppy’ work.”

  “Forgive me when I say this, but your reports are somewhat inaccurate. I’ve been being obvious, so you would take notice. Nothing else seemed to be working. Following your man here was not easy, I just got lucky I guess.” Norgaard explained, doing his best to be truthful and modest at the same time.

  “Alright, I’ll buy that for now. We approached you, after all. We do not require you to be the best to join us, but we do need to evaluate your skills, to see if you need training or if you’re ready to face the trials. Torsten will be your contact from now on. I will see you when you are ready.” With that, the leader of the Asunder chapter of the thieves guild stepped out of the room and back into what Norgaard assumed was his office.

  Already knowing what likely lay ahead, Norgaard tried to mitigate the other thief’s embarrassment. “Look, Tor. Can I call you Tor? Alright, Torsten. I don’t even know how I kept up with you, let alone how you missed me, I really did just get lucky.”

  “Don’t patronize me, worm. You insult me. You mean to say that I did not notice a bumbling, unskilled, idiot just getting lucky as he accidentally wandered down the same street as me. You have some talent, I cannot deny you that, but you need proper instruction on its use. Now, before you come back here, you had better complete the task that is on the letter I gave you.” Torsten said before turning and leaving the large common room.

  The letter read like a scavenger hunt, a much more dangerous, illegal scavenger hunt, but it was nothing he could not handle.

  The list was an insult, really. Pickpocket this woman, take a specific item from a shop, get the jailor’s keys. Classic tests of any sneak, but nothing they had not already seen him do in the past few days. No more holding back, however. The marks on this list would likely be guild members or paid to be on the lookout. To read the letter, it seemed they expected the thief to take a few days to accomplish it, so Norgaard would finish it today.

  The woman, he knew, could be found just off of the main market district. She ran a brothel and was surely under the protection of the Guild. Often he saw her standing in front of her establishment calling out to men in the streets offering them relaxation for a price. She would be there today and he quickly devised a plan. There were children all around the market district, always looking for handouts, scraps of food, or clothin
g. He went to each of them and promised that Mistress Leiya had candy for any that asked. Their eyes grew large like dinner plates and rushed to swarm her. Eleven children surrounded the brothel owner and she was overwhelmed, fending them off, promising to get them their candy if they would just leave her alone. Norgaard simply passed by and whisked away with her coin purse.

  The real test of skill on the list was the final prize: the jailor’s keys at the Asunder thingstead. Phelandir’s influence had been felt in the north for ages now and new stone construction stood atop the old longhouse. A single magistrate replaced the thing themselves, a group of free men selected at random, and the lawspeakers were replaced by written law, the laws of Adahar. There was resentment still that the North was no longer independent even though no one lived that could remember the day, and many of the old names would not be replaced. The thingstead was a simple keep, four walls, two floors, and a battlement with a solitary showpiece guard. There was one way in and one way out, and inside there would be an iron gate with stairs down to the dungeon. At the bottom of the stairs would be another iron gate and a guard on the other side. His were the keys requested.