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Chapter One:
Enter! The Noble Thief!




His breath was stilled, his stature unmoving. The mark stood only a few yards below him, unaware. He hefted the small knife he carried with him. He crept along the rafters of the inn, silent, unnoticed. He found a spot on the floor, where it connected with the wall. He dropped below, unseen by the crowd. The inn’s tavern was busier than usual, which suited him perfectly. He walked forward, not running, not slinking. He knew that the best way to blend in with a crowd was to move with it, to act just as everyone else did. He was soon only a few feet from the mark, a wealthy noble of some ill repute.

Baron Longley of Fallow Hill was known throughout the realm as a man of temper. He often beat the slaves he owned, or had them beaten, for not working as quickly as he wanted. He expected them to work in harsh weathers for little food and lodging. He had a penchant for riding out once a week, indulging his desires for drink (often running up an enormous tab at taverns and inns), gambling (losing more than would be believed at cards and dice), and ready women, despite having a lovely wife at home. The poor lady was in the dark about her husband’s infidelity. His greasy hair was combed over his head, trying and failing to cover a receding hairline. His stockings and tunic were of fine make, and his hands and neck glowed with gold.

The pompous fool was practically begging to be robbed.

The figure in the shadows was more than willing to oblige.

A loud voice hailed the barkeep.

“Hoy, Barkeeper! We’re thirsty men here! Bring us a bit o’ drink, eh?”

The baron looked toward the source of the voice, curling his lip and lifting his nose in the air with disdain. Such common rabble was hardly fit company for one such as he. In the instant the baron turned, the figure made his move. He quickly cut the string of the baron’s purse with his knife, grabbed the purse, and swapped it with one filled with stones, tucking the mouth underneath the baron’s belt. The fool would never tell the difference until he checked the pouch. The move was made in less time it takes to draw breath. The figure slipped away quietly, tipping the barkeep a knowing wink. The barkeep, a round man with fair hair and laugh lines, smiled to himself, as the retreating figure was known to him.

Selfsame figure wove his way through the crowded inn, already planning on how to relieve the baron of his jewelry. From all reports, his indulgences had rendered his fingers larger than normal, so he could not remove the rings, and the pendant he wore never left his sight. It would take the work of a moment to rob him, if not the work of a genius. Fortunately, for the Thieves’ Guild, the figure known to all as the “Gray Shadow” was such a genius. As he made his way to the door, he heard the barkeep engage the baron in conversation. As it started, the figure hung around, not wanting to miss the spectacle.

“Excuse me, Baron,” the barkeep started.

“Yes?” demanded the fool, his tone haughty, as though the barkeep should thank his patron god for the baron deigning to speak to such a lowly commoner.

“Pardon my insolence, sir, but have you heard tell of a boy thief around this town?”

“A boy thief? Of course I have, fool. The “Gray Shadow” as I believe he is called. What an arrogant youth, claiming to be as a shadow.”

The “arrogant youth” in question struggled to contain his mirth, clutching his sides in helpless, contained laughter. Meanwhile, the barkeep was talking to the baron again.

“Aye, milord, that’s the one. They say he was born to the shadows themselves, and can steal the very breath of his mark.”

“Silly superstition. The young fool will end himself at the gallows one day, mark my words.”

“Mayhap you have the truth of it, good baron, but how do you think he gets around? To hear tell of his adventures, he can be in two places at once.”

“Bah! He hired a body double, plain and simple.”

“A body double, sir?”

“Aye. It’s a trick used by royals at times to fool idiotic enemies that give chase to them. A man will dress as the King, say, looking almost exactly like him, and while the enemy chases the body double, the King can make his escape.”

“Ah, I see. That would explain the legends.”

“And legends are all they are, not a grain of fact to them, I’ll wager.”

“They say that the Shadow targets those wealthy nobles who debunk his power. I would check my purse carefully, sir. That’ll be three copper for the wine, milord.”

The baron grumbled about urban myths as he reached into his pouch for the coins. His face went pale as he pulled out three small, flat stones. He screeched, a sound most unbecoming to a man of his stature. In a fury, he drew his small rapier from the tube sheath at his ample hip. His face was turning a beet red, and his breathing labored.

“Which one of you mother’s sons stole my gold?” he screamed.

He swung his sword at the crowd before any could answer, mindless of the people he could hit. He kept at this for several swings, and as he swung again, he suddenly found his blade stopped. He looked to the cause. Before him stood a young man, dressed in dark gray slacks and tunic, with a black undershirt and a dark scarf wrapped around his neck. The ends of the scarf trailed behind him, with the middle in front of his neck. It wildly crossed the baron’s mind that the scarf could also, when tied like that, be worn as a mask or, better yet, a hanging rope. The boy’s black boots stood firm, his arms, covered to mid-forearm with black gloves, the fingers cut off at the second knuckle, were holding a slim, shiny knife. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet enough to haunt a man’s thoughts, but strong enough to make one pay attention.

“I think you have made enough of a spectacle. Please sheath your blade and I’ll not have to disarm you myself,” he said.

“You maggot, you whelp!” screamed the outraged baron. “I’ll have you clapped in irons; I’ll have you beaten to within an inch of your commoner’s life! Do you know who I am?”

The boy’s eyes, a piercing blue, were almost hidden by his unkempt hair, which was an odd, premature gray. The black headband he wore emphasized the brightness of his eyes.

“I know you, Baron Longley,” he said. His voice had dropped into an even deadlier quiet. The entire inn was still and quiet, aside from the baron’s labored breaths. “I know you are a man of no honor, no scruples. You ride to town weekly to whore yourself to any woman who pities you enough to have you. Your dear wife will be hurt to hear it. You are a man who beats his slaves for not working as you would have them.”

The baron shuddered, his insides growing cold. The boy’s gaze was penetrating, holding him in place. Suddenly, his anger returned to the forefront. He pulled back his rapier to strike the youth, when he noticed that the boy was no longer in front of him. A clattering near him caught his attention. He saw his sword lying on the inn floor. He stared in mute astonishment, and then looked to his sword arm. The same boy had his wrist in a vice-like grip, causing it to go numb. No trace of a smile was on the boy’s face. His eyes had turned cold, cold as the glacial ice.

"I’ll ask you once to leave, Baron Longley. You will no longer be welcome in this, or any other establishment. I swear by my name and my reputation that I will see to this.”

Thoroughly and visibly cowed, the Baron bent to pick up his sword. The boy kicked it away.

“Your weapon will remain here. It can be melted down for its materials, and its gems can be sold.”

The baron was about to make a reply when he saw the boy’s icy eyes again. He swallowed his retort and left. As he stepped onto the road leading toward home, he suddenly remembered that the boy had been wearing nothing but gray and black. A shudder ran down his spine as he suddenly came to the realization that the Gray Shadow had struck again, and he had been none the wiser. Instead of going home, he nearly ran to the City Guard’s barracks.

He described what had taken place at the inn, and told the captain in charge that he knew how to capture the Gray Shadow.

“Well, milord, if what you say is true…”

“Of course it’s true, fool! I was robbed and threatened by the Gray Shadow!”

“If that’s the case, sir, describe the boy you saw, the one you say is the Shadow. Based on your description, we can apprehend him, and maybe get your gold and sword back.”

“Fine! The boy was…he was…he…” With a start, the baron realized that he had forgotten any details of the boy’s appearance. The captain noticed the baron’s hesitation and put a hand on the stunned lord’s shoulder. He steered the noble to the door.

“There, there, milord. I’m sure you’re just in shock from having been robbed. Just go home, get some sleep or wine, and you’ll be back to normal in no time. My word on it.”

The baron thanked the captain and left, clearly befuddled.
Back at the inn, known to all as the Hammered Forge, the boy was sitting on the bar, a crowd gathered ‘round him, raising tankards and cups of beer in his honor, to much rowdy cheer. He tossed the baron’s purse on the bar top, and gave the barkeep a nod.

“For your troubles, Jamis. And another round for all, a gift of Baron Longley,” he said. The crowd burst into laughter, giving the inn a jolly, warm atmosphere. A cup of water made its way to the boy’s side, which he raised.

“May this inn’s business never run dry, and may its beer always flow!” he toasted. The crowd gave a loud “AYE!” in response. The boy drained his cup in one gulp, while the gathered men buried their faces in their tankards. The barkeep, Jamis, walked to the boy.

“You’ve done my business some good here, Shad. If word gets out that the Gray Shadow, prodigy of the Thief’s Guild, drinks here, my clientele will increase.”

The boy, Shad, chuckled. “Aye, and that means more coins flowing, eh? You don’t need to worry, Jamis. I’ll ask the Thief Lord about placing this inn under his personal protection. We need another inn or two, and this one’s as reputable as they come, with a steady stream of customers.”

“The Lord himself, eh? I would very much appreciate the business, my boy. You’ve a good heart and business sense, Shad. I’m honored to count you as a friend and business partner.”

“Ha! A thief like me, your friend? Still, you’ve done good business with the Guild up till now. I’m just making sure that relationship stays profitable for both parties. A liaison between you and the Guild will make money for both, and you benefit from other thieves having to ply their trade elsewhere.”

“A keen eye for enterprise, that’s a good trait. And you’re right, even the most dishonorable thief won’t cross the Guild by stealing from one of its establishments. Such a choice will make the thief’s life either miserable or short.”

“Exactly. In any case, I’d best be on my way. My Lord will want a report.”

“Alright. My door’s always open for you, Shad, should you ever need it,” Jamis said.

Shad nodded his thanks and left. As his feet touched the dirt road, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a smile on his face. He turned to his right, and began walking. He wove his way through the maze of alleys and side streets. Soon enough, he came into the Commoner’s Quarter. The air was rife with the scent of human life, just as the streets were rife with all manner of cobbled dwellings. Hope, anger, resentment, love, and all colors of emotion hung in the air. Shad came to a stop in front of a small hovel with a weather-beaten door. He knocked twice, paused, then knocked thrice again in rapid order.

A small peephole opened in the door. Through it, Shad could see a pair of eyes, bright and alert. The eyes focused on Shad.

“Password,” a voice inside demanded.

“The thief strikes in blackest moment, when the mark thinks he is safe,” Shad responded promptly.

“Incorrect, try your begging elsewhere, peasant.”

“Jackis, unless the password changed in the last five minutes, it’s the same as it has always been. Now let me in, I have a report for His Lordship.”

“Bah, you come and go too often, Shad,” replied Jackis. The door opened, revealing a gaunt, scowling man in his early forties. His dark hair was long, but clean and combed. His tunic was spotless, having been washed just that morning. A slight smell of lye soap clung to the man’s frame. His leggings and boots were of common make.

“Perhaps, but I have the authority of the Thief Lord himself at my back, so I think my coming and going would be the lesser evil of many other possibilities.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, Shad.”

“Come now, Jackis, is that any way to speak to the man about to propose a partnership with your favorite inn?”

“The Forge?!” Jackis asked incredulously.

“The same.”

“Old Jamis is willing to negotiate with His Lordship?”

“Aye, if his demeanor was anything to go by.”

“How the blazes did you talk him into it, Shad?”

“My usual charm and charisma?”

“Bah! At least now I don’t have to pay three copper for a cup of
the good stuff now.”

“Think again, Jackis.”

“Ah, a man can hope. Get inside, boy, and give your report. I’ll stay here, as always.”

Shad gave Jackis a wave and ducked inside the door frame. At first, the hall was as one would expect it to look. It was shabby, as though it had simply been left for so long. As Shad came to the wall, he pulled at the lone candlestick on the wall. The wall opened into a corridor. Shad walked along it, as he had a thousand times. The corridor ended into a city.
Thief’s Paradise had existed for as long as thievery itself had been in existence. Rumors said that a clan of dwarves had carved every rock into a comfortable den. The illumination inside the caves came from special-made lamps, which gave off heatless light. Shad made his way down the avenues he’d known since childhood. Several of the Guild members waved a greeting, and children at play squealed with delight when they saw him.

Crime was never a problem within the Paradise, as all who resided there adhered to the strict Code of the Thief that the first Thief Lord himself had long ago laid down. All who resided here were either thieves themselves or had simply been driven from their homes from the hefty taxes imposed by the local nobility and wound up on the streets. The current Thief Lord had instated a policy of helping these poor souls find a new home and a new life.

Shad himself was a young man who had benefited from this policy, having been orphaned when his parents had died on some nameless street corner. They had been mugged, and the young Shad had been the only survivor. At least, that’s what his adoptive family had told him, and he had no reason to believe otherwise. As he walked down the lit path to the Thief Lord’s dwelling, he thought about his latest misadventure, the Forge. He had been well on his way to exiting the inn when Longley had thrown his tantrum. He hadn’t expected that reaction, but, in hindsight, probably should have. Jamis was a good friend of the Guild, so Shad wasn’t about to let the man’s business suffer.
Soon enough, Shad saw the old, iron-bound door that led to his master’s study. He clapped the door twice.

“Enter, Shad,” came the expected summons. Shad entered.

The study itself was neatly kept, a large wall dedicated to the master’s financial records adorning the left wall. The right wall was home to mementos and keepsakes kept by the Thief Lord. The Lord himself sat at his desk. He was a man that looked as though he had no idea of how to carry himself. He looked more like an apologetic clerk than the leader of the thieves.

Obviously, this was a projected illusion. There was none more deadly within the Guild than the current Master of the Guild, James Bard. He was better known by his alias, the Bandit Bard.
His graying hair was kept slicked back, displaying a widow’s point. He kept his beard at a passable length, and he kept himself in wonderful shape, despite his advancing age. He had singlehandedly brought the Thief Guild back from the brink of ruin, courtesy of his predecessor. His keen mind for business and enterprise had kept himself and those under him in eating money and then some for a number of years. The Guild’s income easily rivaled, if not surpassed, that of the local barony.

Recently, however, the Guild had an even larger income, due almost entirely to the efforts and shrewd business sense of the Gray Shadow. The rumor was that the boy was next in line to succeed to current Thief Lord when the time came. The residents of Paradise called them “the Grandfather and the Grandson” in deepest affection. They were a legendary duo, having pulled a number of impossible heists together over the years, for James kept his hand in, and retained his nigh godly skill.

Shad had been trained since he could walk by this same man, learning the arts of stealth and thievery. He could cut a man’s pocket while bidding him good day, rob a lady of her necklace while bowing to her beauty, and could even steal the gold of a man standing behind him. Although, as a self-proclaimed gentleman, he never tried to steal from ladies, the very young, the elderly, and the infirm. Fully half of his mannerisms were affectionately derived from James’, and he never failed to treat the older man with the respect he deserved.

“So, my boy, what do you have to report? A new business for us to cooperate with?” asked Bard.

“Yes, my lord. The inn known as the Hammered Forge has requested a liaison with our Guild. It boasts a steady clientele, and its beer and ale are rumored to be among the best in town. I’ve looked over the books myself, and it makes a steady income of about twelve gold weekly. In addition, the innkeeper, Jamis, has done me a favor a time or three. He is trustworthy,” Shad responded.

“Hmmm. The Forge, you say? I’ve heard it praised highly by some of ours. You also have a good point on its clientele, since most of ours would have to have been there to praise it. Very well. The Hammered Forge is now under contract with the Thieves’ Guild. I’ll draw up the documents and have you bring them to this Jamis tomorrow morning.”

“Very well, sir. And thank you.”

“Was there anything else you needed to discuss with me, Shad?”

“No, sir. I only came to report about the inn.”

“Very good. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, Shad turned and left Bard’s study. He wound his way through Paradise’s streets once more, aiming to make it back to his abode. A few minutes later, he arrived at his own plain sandalwood door. As he went inside, he was greeted by the aroma of bread.

“Mother, I’m home!” he called.

A plump matron of a woman came through the entryway to the den, where the oven resided. She was mid-sized, her auburn hair only just starting to go gray. It was bound in a loose bun. Her blouse was covered in flour, a testament to her profession in baking. When she moved, she bustled with the energy and purpose of a life-experienced lady. Marianna Rowan was still an active, productive member of Paradise’s society.

“Shad, dear, welcome home. I’ve got some sweet bread baking for dinner, and I’ll bring out the ham if you’re hungry,” she said. She saw to it that Shad was never underfed. It seemed to be her mission in life to make her adoptive son as happy and content as she could manage. It was also a wonder Shad managed to stay so thin.

“Thanks, Mother. I suppose I could manage some,” the young thief replied warmly. Adopted he may have been, but he cared for his adoptive family as though they were his own. “Where’s Father? Is he out haggling in the market again?”

“Yes, he is. He managed to get his hands on a decent amount of fabric from Aval, and it would fetch a pretty coin if he sells it to the right noble or merchant.”

“Ah, I see. Do you need any help around the house, Mother?” Shad asked as he removed his scarf and headband and hung them on the hook next to the door.

“Yes, if you could sweep the floor, I’d appreciate it.”

“Alright, consider it done.”

Shad set about his chore with enthusiasm. He always helped around the house, and was considered a model son by many. His younger sister, Eliza, came running up and cannoned herself into her brother’s midriff. Surprisingly, Shad managed to stay standing.

“Oof! Careful, Liza, your brother needs his ribs!” Shad exclaimed.
Eliza giggled. She was only five years old, but she had already become a familiar face to many in Paradise. She often wandered around the town, talking to anybody she met. Her red hair was often what gave away her hiding spot in games. She was a sweet, blameless angel when not causing mischief.

“Shad, Shad! What’d ya steal today?” Eliza asked her brother.

“I managed to snatch the coins off old Baron Longley. You should have seen his face.”

“Ooooh. Was it funny?”

“His face was redder than your hair, he was so mad.”

“Wow! He musta been steamed!”

“Yes, he was. Now, go outside and cause trouble to someone else, eh? Just be back in time for supper.”

“Okay!” she ran out the door onto the streets.

A few minutes later, Shad finished sweeping. About an hour later, Abram Rowan, Shad’s foster father, returned home. Abram was a tall, spare man in his mid-thirties. His face was worn, but had the creases that bespoke of constant laughter. He was a kind, gentle man, known as a loving father, devoted husband, and a ruthless man in a sale. The joke in Paradise was that Abram could convince a bishop to part with his stole for just a few silver pieces.

“Father, welcome home,” Shad greeted Abram.

“Ah, Shad. Did you find any deals for the Master today?” Abram asked. He was proud of his foster son’s accomplishments.

“Yes, I did. One of your favorite inns is now under contract with us.”

“Oh? Was it the Fiery Stallion?”

“No, it was the Forge.”

“Ah, even better! Jamis has always been good to us, and he’s a good, fair man. It’s pleasing to know he’s under the Guild’s protection. I’d be sorely displeased to hear something had happened to him.”

“Well, now that’s one less worry for you, Father.”

“It is, indeed. Has your mother finished dinner yet?”

“Almost, you great glutton of a man,” responded Marianna, just taking the bread from the oven. Abram chuckled. Soon, all four were at the table. Shad regaled his family with his theft of Baron Longley. They laughed at the baron’s reaction, gasped at his use of his sword, and applauded Shad’s bravery. Later, Shad turned in for the night. Before getting into bed, he stood at his window and prayed to Falthern, patron god of thieves and daredevils, for another profitable day tomorrow. He climbed into bed and fell fast asleep, already planning his next job.