CHAPTER I: STEALING
FROM A GODDESS
1
The temple
was silent as a crypt as the thief passed over the threshold. The monks had
gone to their rest at sunset, perhaps an hour or so before, and hadn't bothered
to post guards; the building was open for worship anytime, after all. Orion crept
down the aisle, passing the pews like a solitary groom at a wedding. The Goddess
gazed down on her wayward son with a look of anguish on her face, as if his
choice of profession pained her more than any torture imaginable. His eyes
jumped up to the massive ivory sculpture, painted in vivid color in the daytime,
it was merely grey amidst black at this time of night. In truth, he was
grateful that he couldn't see Alyssia's eyes staring down at him in judgment,
because, although he wasn't exactly the most devout churchgoer, the eyes of the
goddess of life still held the power to make him feel uneasy.
He was
dressed in black from head to foot and swaddled in a thick, black cloak.
Underneath the cloak was his satchel, a leather bag laced closed with rawhide
and cinched tight to his back by a baldric slung over his shoulder. Along the
baldric were several rows of throwing knives that glittered in the low light.
On his sleeve, easily accessible, was a half diamond lock pick in a leather
sheath as well as another knife. This one, however, had been modified using a
hammer and anvil- he'd blunted the edges, turning the knife into a torsion
wrench. On his hip was a short sword with a sweat-darkened leather grip; its
sculpted pommel peeked out from beneath his cloak every now and then, throwing
off flickers of moonlight.
As he
strode past the altar a glint of gold caught his eye, coming from the shadows
of a partially open cabinet. He knelt beside the altar, looking as if he were about
to pray and slid his satchel down the baldric until it rested against
his hip. With one yank, the laces opened,
revealing the black maw of the vacant bag. He always emptied it before going on
a job: it left more room for loot. The marble was hard on his knees, but he'd
endured worse pain before. Pulling the cabinet open revealed the candle sticks
that usually burned on the altar, flanking a bejeweled chalice. With a small
smile, Orion loaded the sacred items into his satchel before standing and
turning once again to his main goal.
2
The client
had found him at The Drunken Unicorn, a tavern down the road from Orion's shop.
He'd been sitting in the corner, drinking deeply from a mug of ale and
staring dreamily at the tavern's owner, Rose, when a man dressed in white robes
pulled out the chair across from him and seated himself. Perturbed at having
his lecherous train of thought interrupted, Orion glared at the monk as he
lowered the tankard.
"Pardon
my interruption," the man said in a soft voice, "but I am in dire
need of your services, master thief."
"Let's
assume you're right about who I am. What does a white brother need with a
thief?" His voice held a deadly edge and he discreetly loosened his sword
in its sheath. His eyes flicked to the bar where Rose was looking over at him,
concerned. A short shake of his head told her to stay put for now.
"We
have a common friend, sir. Brandon Blackwald recommended you when I mentioned
that I needed a certain book acquired...quietly. Call me Dirk."
Orion swore
under his breath. Bran, one of the frequent customers at his shop, liked to
send unsolicited jobs to him and Orion always hated that. It wasn't that he was
averse to work, but he preferred to scout locations himself rather than having someone,
whose only knowledge of the business was how to buy the spoils, try to spoon
feed him. "Not your real name, I assume...But Bran's a loyal customer,
Dirk; tell me what you need."
"There
is an illuminated copy of Alyssia's Trials in Elyria's temple to the goddess, bound in leather covered in
gold leaf. I would most dearly love to gaze upon it for myself; the bishops
only quote from the book, brothers are never allowed to lay eyes upon it."
The thief traced
a finger over the pitted and scarred surface of the table before taking another
pull from his flagon. "You want me to steal a book? That's all?"
The monk
looked around, alarmed, as if Orion had shouted at the top of his voice rather
than murmuring. "It's the single most important book in our religion,"
he hissed at the thief. "If I can get my hands on it, I could discover for
myself if what they preach is truth."
"Yeah, I suppose. Or you might destroy it..."
"W-why
would I do that?"
"You
have that hood pulled down, but I can still see kohl around your eyes. Your
face has obviously been powdered heavily. Monks of Alyssia don't do that. You're
one of Nyx's followers in a white robe. So, now that I know what you are, why
don't you tell me why you really want this book?"
With a
growl, the monk pulled his hood back, revealing the skull-like visage that had
been drawn on his face in makeup. "How did you know?"
"If
you're going to impersonate a white brother, have the sense to wash your face-
there's makeup smudged on your sleeves and hood. Also, Bran's a follower of
Nyx; draft horses couldn't drag him into the temple of Alyssia. Now answer my
question before my lady-friend throws you out on your bony ass." The thief
cocked his head at Rose, who had taken up a position at his elbow during their
conversation. Orion swept the tavern with his eyes briefly and saw that the
place had cleared out.
"What's
she going to do to me?" The monk asked, half laughing.
Smiling,
Rose traced a sign in the air. It glowed slightly and her eyes flashed as the
candle flames dimmed. Dirk's eyes widened as the candles snuffed out completely
and electricity crackled around the woman's head. She pointed at him with a
shapely finger and a spark arced from her fingertip to his forehead. He jerked
in his seat, feeling the shock rush through his body. He blinked and the
candles were lit again. "That is but a taste, my friend," Rose said
quietly. She placed her hand on Orion's shoulder, and he leaned toward the
other man.
"A
freak!" Dirk hissed. "You keep poor company, thief."
In a flash,
Orion's sword was in his hand and the tip was pointed at Dirk's throat. "You
want to watch your tongue, friend, before you lose your head. If you want to do
business with me, then go ahead, but if you insult my friend again, you'll be
wearing your tongue around your neck. Understand?"
The monk
nodded, eyes not leaving Orion's sword.
"Very
good," Orion said. "Now, how about you tell me why you really want
this book?"
"The..."
Dirk cleared his throat shakily. "Alyssia's Trials is sacred to Nyx
as well; Alyssia is Nyx's sister, after all. No matter which god I worship, we
both revere the same book. My goals are simply as I said."
"Rosie,
your father was as devout a follower of the two gods as any man I've ever met...Is
he telling the truth?"
"Yes, Alyssia's Trials concludes
with Nyx's Abyss, the black monks' holy book," she told him, still
glaring at the monk. "As to whether he's truthful about his intentions, I
can't say."
Orion
nodded and turned back to Dirk. "What's in it for me?"
"I'll
pay you six hundred gold arrows. You should also be able to acquire perhaps
another four hundred in various goods from the temple."
"You say
that I'll get four hundred more in loot, but you don't seem to know for sure. I
think you should be paying a thousand, rather than expecting me to find half of
it. It is the most important book in the country, after all. For one thousand
arrows, you'll have it."
3
The monk had
managed to pull together the money Orion asked for, but would only give six
hundred up front. The rest would be his upon delivery of the book, a condition to
which the thief agreed. Now, here he was, lying flat on the floor and peering
under the door that opened on the rectory, hoping the black monk would be true
to his word. He had no worries about running into monks of the light, Alyssia's
followers; their goddess was of the daytime, and they were also. Devotion to
her meant being abed as long as the sky was dark, and Orion knew dawn wasn't
for awhile.
The rectory
door was locked, of course, but that posed no problem to him. With a speed that
was more practice than inborn skill, the thief plucked his home-made torsion
wrench from its sheath and tested the lock. It was a pin and tumbler lock; that
was good. He'd worried the monastery was so old that everything would be
protected by ward locks and he would have to strong arm his way in. Holding the
wrench with his left hand, he pulled his half diamond pick out of its place on
his sleeve and slid it gently into the lock above the wrench. It was a four pin
tumbler and with a series of taps from the pick, Orion had it unlocked and was
entering the rectory.
This
section of the temple was larger than a few of the noble houses he had robbed.
Room after room opened off the main hallway, all of them beckoning him, calling
him to explore them for treasure. He stood in the corridor for several minutes,
listening to the normal building noises that formed a steady current of clicks
and rustlings beneath the snores of the monks. That cacophonous symphony was
coming from somewhere up above him, suggesting one of the myriad chambers
before him contained a staircase. He found it hard to believe that the portly monks
climbed a ladder every morning and night. Moving slowly to deaden the sounds of
his footfalls, Orion began to open doors.
Room after
room disappointed him. One was nothing but row upon row of the white monk
robes, freshly cleaned judging by the smell. In another, he came upon the same
sight, but the robes in it were used: dirty, reeking, and worn through and
ripped in several places. The stench made his stomach roll and he closed the
door as quickly as he'd opened it. Other rooms contained food, each seemingly
devoted to one particular item: salted meat, smoked fish, turnips, carrots...He'd
found enough food in this chapel to feed the destitute of Elyria for weeks.
Finally, he
came to the room he was looking for: the bishop's chambers. Orion knew the man
didn't sleep here; his spies had told him that the bishop wished to appear
humble and so slept with the other brothers in the barracks above, but the previous
bishops hadn't been so pious. Another lock barred the thief's way, this one more
complex, but also more worn; he barely had to prod the pins before they fell in
line. In less than a minute, the picks were tucked back in place on his sleeve
and he'd slipped inside the magnificent room.
It made him
more than a little sick to know that the work his mother had done gathering tithes
had gone to pay for all the extravagance before him. Gold and silver trinkets
were present everywhere: candlesticks, urns, ink pots, even plates...far more
than the thief could ever carry. Setting his mouth in a grim line, Orion began
walking about the room, determined to bring out as much as he could. His first
stop was the previous bishop's bed. It was richly hung in velvet and dusty from
disuse, but he wasn't concerned about that. Stripping the silk covers off the
goose down pillows gave him a few extra bags to carry treasure in.
In a matter
of minutes, two silk pillow covers were filled to bulging and tied off with
strips Orion cut from the curtains. The only piece of furniture in the room he
hadn't tossed for valuables was the writing desk that held pride of place in
front of the large window that looked out on the apple orchard the brothers
tended. Seating himself in the plush chair, the thief scanned the top of the
desk. The piece he'd been sent here to steal was open in front of him, and he
immediately understood why the black monks were willing to pay a thousand
arrows for the book. It appeared to be bound in gold and the script was written
in golden-hued ink. Using gold ink was absurd, but it did bump up the price of
the piece, and the utter beauty of the book would make it hard to doubt the
divinity of the author.
Gingerly, he
closed and slid the precious tome into an empty pillow cover and walked it over
to the bed, then returned to the desk. Sitting back in the bishop's chair as if
he belonged there, the thief began opening drawers and pulling out potential
valuables and piling them where the book had been. When the desk was tossed, he
stood up and surveyed the take. The black monk who'd hired him had said he may
find perhaps four hundred arrows in treasure in the church. Looking at the
pile, the thief surmised that he'd found four hundred's worth in the desk
alone. Quickly, he started tucking the treasures into the final pillow cover,
when something else caught his eye.
A storage cupboard
stood near at hand, the door slightly ajar revealing a scrap of cloth that
stuck out of the crack. After stuffing the last of his loot into the sack and
tying it closed, Orion stalked over to the door and pulled it open. Three
rolled tapestries stood against the closet's back panel. They were obviously
very old, but at the same time exquisitely preserved. Carefully, he picked one
up and unrolled it on the top of the bishop's desk. Enough light from the moon
drifted through the window for him to see what was woven into the large bolt of
cloth.
It was a
battle; men in armor, some on foot, some mounted, stood lined up across a field
from another group of men and women, this group half naked. It seemed to be a
battle he recognized from history lessons, but he couldn't quite place it.
Rolling the tapestry back up, he decided to take all three with him and inspect
them further. Carefully, he walked them over to the bed and placed them next to
his four impromptu sacks. Nodding in satisfaction, he gazed down at the bed, seeing
perhaps three months worth of not working laid out in front of him. Perhaps
enough that he could research the tapestries, which intrigued him.
Altogether,
he'd taken far more than he could ever hope to carry out in one trip, but he'd
come prepared. Just outside the temple district his horse waited patiently, hitched
to a small wagon. It took him nearly an hour to load all of it into the wagon,
making seven trips to the cart and back, one for each of the clanking, jingling
sacks from the bishop's office, and another for each of the tapestries. Each
time he returned to the cart, his horse, Ebony, snorted at him and pawed the
ground with a hoof, as if anxious to leave. In truth, he was as nervous as she
seemed to be: already the eastern sky was lightening and the monks would be
awake soon.
His
suspicions proved true on his last trip: he could hear the thud and scuff of
feet swinging out of bed above him. With his heart in his throat, Orion
scrambled, throwing the last sack, containing the book he'd come for, over his
shoulder and running for the door. It may not have been necessary, but he felt
that the only thing worse than killing someone on the job was being seen. As he
left the tree shaded grounds of the temples behind and approached Ebony for the
last time, the mare whickered and swished her tail. He dropped the last sack in
the cart and patted the nervous animal's neck as he trotted around the cart to
the driver's seat. Taking up the reins, Orion snapped them and urged Ebony
forward. Casting a look over his shoulder at the temple of Alyssia, he saw that
the sun was just peeking over the horizon and turning the white marble a
delicate pink. He smiled at the beauty of both the dawn and his timing as he
steered the cart and mare toward his shop.
