Thieves

The Oryr Road began at the point the Anykon Road met the Oryr River, and not long after that the forest opened into fields and grassland and the river dropped between the cliffs. It was the only road into the Minasmer Mountains and heavily watched, not only by troops and Light Bringers, but by bandits and thieves.

As a thief, Charyic had a small advantage. She looked for the signs. With night beginning to fall in the forest she hunted through the Light Bringer’s pockets and saddle bags, looking for something to use to make light. Without light, the signs would be impossible to see. She grinned as she pulled a short sword from the scabbard on the saddle, it lit the way like a torch.

When she walked her hard-ridden horse into the small encampment well after dark, she wanted to laugh and wake them with sarcastic praise for their ability to set a good watch. Instead, she pulled back her hood and started to see to the horse, putting it with the one nervous nag the thieves had tied behind the tents. After she finished, even dipping into their feed for the tired horse, she turned back to the tents to see four armed thieves standing silent, staring intently.

Charyic grinned and made a chittering sound through her teeth as she spread her arms and opened her fingers wide. The weapons went down. She was peppered with questions as the men began to paw through the saddle bags in the light of the stirred up fire. She tried to answer as best she could in Iskesh. Unlike bandits, thieves had an unspoken language all their own, gestures and sounds hissed and chirped through the teeth. It didn’t take long for them to ask why she wasn’t speaking aloud.

She sighed and opened her mouth to answer, song spilling out. A ballad of lovers parted and steel bells that brought sadness each time they were rung. They looked at her as if she were mad. She gestured angrily, making the sign of priest as she sucked air over her lip and between her teeth, mark. Charyic then made a single chopping motion between her eyes. They broke into laughter.

The older of the group shook his head and turned to the youngest, “That, boy, is why you don’t rob priests.” He looked back at the woman in armor, “And you still had the balls to steal from a Light Bringer?”

Charyic shrugged delicately, her expression conveying clearly, why not. She grinned as the men doubled over laughing.

The younger of the men had clothes that nearly fit her, a bit too long in the arms and legs but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with an hour and some thread. She could pass for a boy in a pinch, pulling her hair back and wearing a peasant’s hood. She split the spoils from the Light Bringer with them and took the armor in case she needed the disguise again. They kept the horse, but in exchange, they would show her the upriver ford. Instead of going along the road, she could follow the river on the other side. It would be hard going, but safer as far as pursuit went.

Before she left in the cool of morning she followed the signs to the tiny shrine, nearly invisible, in the woods. A carved stone statuette of a dancing jester, tucked into a hollowed tree. Small offerings half buried in leaves and dirt surrounded it. Charyic knelt and used the small knife she’d been given to pry out one of the silver stars from the side of the armor where it might not be noticed at first glance. She left it at the feet of the god of thieves and fools.