Shadow and Shade

The night swept in and wrapped the vagabond in a cool cloak of darkness as he silently wove his way through the city streets. His hood obscured his vision, but his knowledge of the roads and rooftops coupled with his enviable hearing and sense perception guided him expertly as the clatter of the city watch started up. Four whole minutes, that was a new record for them. He was almost proud of the fools, normally they didn't know he had been there until the following morning. The steady weight of the pouch on his hip brought a smile to his lips. He was going to be so rich after this.

The thief wound his way left and right, taking backstreets and scaling walls to get onto the rooftops. He was no safer up here than he had been on the street, in fact he was probably in more danger. Up here he couldn't hide, he couldn't blend in. But he could move faster, and there was still enough distance between him and The Watch that the risk was worth it. With the silence of a spectre, he glided along under the pale moon.

The moon gloated and glared at him, aiding The Watch in their fool's errand. He always preferred to work on a moonless night, preferably in a storm. It was always darker, louder, made his life easier. He didn't have to try as hard and could take larger risks. This time, though, this time he just couldn't wait. When it had entered the city, he knew he wanted it, he knew he had to have it. After all, there were many people who would pay very dearly for the Eye of Vermithrax itself. A jewel of such beguiling beauty, flickering gold and orange flames seemed to dance within its very core. Many said it held mighty magical properties, but the thief didn't really care about that. What mattered was, this was the Eye of Vermithrax, and that was enough for him.

An arrow clattered along the roof tiles, causing the vagabond to jump. The archers had caught up with him far too quickly. There was no way that they should have managed to find out what route he had taken, get up on the roof and be within range already. For the first time in a very long time, the vagabond felt a bead of sweat break from his skin. The City Watch had always been comically bad at following him. They weren't incompetent, the number of corpses dangling from the city walls was enough to prove that, but he'd always been better than them. He'd been one step ahead of the game, two moves away from the cage. How had they caught him so quickly? The only real explanation he could think of was that they had been ready for him. They must have known that word would get out about the Eye of Vermithrax, and that he would invariably try to steal it. He'd managed to get in and out without too much difficulty, but The Watch had managed to catch on far more quickly than usual. The thief cursed himself for not seeing it before. No wonder this job had gone so well.

The thief leapt down from his roof and into the streets, riding the open awning of a merchants stall to land neatly on his feet, never breaking pace. He had to get out of the city, and he had to do it soon. He had a bit of a lead on The Watch, but not enough for it to remain safe for long. There were far more of them than there were of him. A wall of metal rounded the corner ahead of him, forcing him to dive into a narrow side street. He knew their tactic immediately. In fact, he was all but counting on it. They were trying to force him against the inner wall of the city, reduce the number of possible routes he could take. He ducked behind a number of buildings, making sure to keep the clatter of armour out of sight. Against a typical thief, this might have been the end for them. The City Watch would encircle him, pin him down and arrest him, ready to be executed. However, Domingo was no ordinary thief. And what looked like a solid wall was often anything but.

He found the stone, differentiated from its neighbours only by a slight difference in hue. The average eye would miss it, but once again, Domingo had no ordinary eyes. He pulled the stone out, quietly as he could and slipped into the new opening in the wall. With haste, he reinserted the stone and pulled it all the way in. He waited for a moment before he heard the steady metallic clink of the City Watch marching past his hidden passage. They hadn't even stopped. Domingo scrambled backwards through the tunnel, emerging on the other side virtually unharmed. He turned, checked his prize was still hanging from his belt and ran into the forest. He refused to stop until he was safely among the trees. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he laughed. At last, the greatest robbery in history had been accomplished. The Eye of Vermithrax, sacred enchanted stone, former treasure of a mighty dragon, was now his. And it was going to make one potential buyer very happy indeed.

It wouldn't be long before The Watch worked out where he had gone. Sooner or later they would figure it out, that he had managed to escape from the city and had probably gone for the forest. It was the only adequate cover for miles around. Domingo needed to find somewhere to lay low, to get deep enough into the forest that the City Watch would just give up on him. No one spent long in these trees anyway. Far too many stories, too many tales of people wandering in and never wandering out again, old magic and fearsome monsters abound in the leaves.

Such stories were often started by thieves and assassins in the first place. Anywhere that could provide a reasonable amount of cover for an escaping rogue would often have the very rogues hoping to hide there spreading stories in the local taverns about whatever ghouls and goblins wherein there dwelled. Domingo thanked the vagabonds of ages past for having the good grace to curse this forest and leave it free for him to travel. Naturally, the stories wouldn't keep everyone out, especially not squads of men in armour. But in the dead of night, when a cloud drifts over the moon and shrouds the entire place in shadow, even the most stalwart heart can grow frail. Panting slightly, he wove his way through the trees away from the city, both blessing and cursing the moon as it lit the path for him to tread.

The sounds of the city faded into the post midnight darkness. Domingo took a moment or two to rest on a particularly large branch, catching his breath. He was hungry, tired and a bit sore from all the jumping and running. He knew that he needed to find somewhere soon, somewhere to rest. He was far enough away from the city, the Watch shouldn't come out this far, not at night anyway. All he needed was some kind of shelter to rest his weary bones. Heaving a sigh, he raised his eyes heavenward and gazed at the treacherous moon. The thief's life was not an easy one. It was never an easy one. Very few people choose to live it, and many don't make it to old age. However, there was one magnificent payoff to the thief's life. The chance to make it big, to get that one big score, make enough money to establish yourself and live out the rest of your life in peace.

Everyone wants to get out of the life of a rogue as soon as possible. Some choose to go for the life of an organised crime boss, controlling significant portions of the criminal underworld. Others want to make a legitimate business. Domingo hadn't decided who he'd be yet, but there was time enough for that later. What he needed now was to rest, then find a fence to get a buyer for his ill gotten gain.

As he stared into the sky, he noticed something strange. The thief cocked his head and noticed a thin whisp of grey smoke rising, obscuring some of the stars slightly. There was a house nearby, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Who would build a house out here, in a forest that everyone thinks is haunted or cursed? The only possible explanation was that some old hermit had settled here, away from the eyes of people. He chose this place for the same reason Domingo had, no one else would ever come here. Still, the home of an old decrepit hermit would be a fine place to rest for the night. The old man might have a pot of soup or stew on the fire as well, so it could be an absolute godsend. As for the hermit, he wouldn't be much of a problem. One puff of Ghostroot powder should take care of him for the night. Decided, the thief began to make his way toward the house.

It was a simple affair, just a standard one person cottage, well thatched roof and a well maintained and ornamented wooden door. There were two windows, one either side of the door, set with slightly faded glass. A small garden grew outside, and Domingo could make out wild garlic flowers, broom shoots and assorted herbs and vegetables growing. Whoever lived here took very good care of the place. One of the windows was slightly open and the smell of cooking meat spilled out into the night. Domingo started salivating, sniffing the sumptuous odour again and again. He could almost feel himself being pulled in, almost falling off the branch he was perched on. Domingo shook his head and resettled himself. If the old man was cooking meat, he'd be over by the fire, away from the door. He could easily just walk in, drug the hermit and be perfectly fine for the night. With a deep breath, Domingo jumped down from the branch.

Soundless as a shadow, Domingo slid right up to the door. He flicked the latch swiftly, lifting it only just enough to grant him entry, but not enough to give him away. He reached into a pouch on his hip, drawing out a fistful of his knock-out powder. Silent as the grave, he slipped through the door, closing it silently behind him. He took a second to get used to his surroundings before turning his attention to the figure by the fire. One movement and he'd have the place entirely to himself for the night.

Looking at the person tending the meat on the fire, Domingo hesitated. He had expected the twisted and broken body of an old man, long having been forsaken by society at large, forced to live alone, in a forgotten corner of the world. What he was seeing, however, did not in any way match that description. The first thing he noticed was the dress, simple yet elegant over the slender form of the woman within it. Her tied apron seemed to him a petticoat, delicate and beautiful, as opposed to her otherwise typical peasant appearance. Then came the hair, soft and wavy, a dark nutty brown colour, to contrast his own mousy blonde look. It tumbled down gently past her shoulders to the middle of her back, shimmering like a field of dark corn with the gentle summer breeze blowing through. Her feet were bare on the mud floor, dainty and small. Slender little sheets of pearly flesh that seemed as if they might start to dance at any moment.

Before Domingo had a chance to act, the woman was turning around. Her hands folded delicately over her stomach, belying her obvious refinement. Her eyes shimmered with a beautiful green, the colour of fresh leaves in spring. As Domingo stared, he could swear he saw flecks of pink dancing across them, subtle and beautiful in the flickering firelight. She had rich, full lips, and a soft, innocent face. She could have passed for a girl, if not for the generous bulge protruding from her chest. She showed all the class of a gentle lady, yet retained the voluptuous figure of a country girl.

"Well," spoke the woman. "This is unexpected. It's not often I'd receive visitors, far less so that they should come at night. You should be wary sir and knock before you enter a woman's home. It may be thought that your intentions were somewhat less than sincere, particularly if you are so clumsily clutching a portion of Ghostroot."

The thief just stood there, uncertain of how to respond. The girl before him certainly didn't appear to have many years behind her, yet she held herself with confidence that can only come from a lifetime of trial and success. Her manner was that of a woman far more advanced in years that the sweet flower she portrayed herself as. Were he to hazard a guess, Domingo would possibly have stated that her age was probably seventeen or eighteen, but certainly no more than twenty-one.

"Speak, sir, and perhaps tonight won't end as badly for you as it appears to be right now."

Domingo stopped for a moment. Beguiling and confident as this woman was, she was unarmed, and he had a dagger strapped to his back. Even if the Ghostroot wouldn't work, he could still probably take her hostage. He wouldn't actually hurt her, no, even he had that small semblance of honour left. But he could definitely tie her up, keep her quiet, that would probably work. He began reaching behind his back for his knife.

"Are you looking for this?" The woman held up the knife that should have been hanging on Domingo's back. He slapped the empty sheath, wondering how on earth she had managed to get behind him and take it? When had she had the time for that? "You're really not good at this are you? I mean, you do know the stories right? You must know that there's an enchantress in this forest."

The vagabond stammered. Had the stories of this place actually been true? It was common knowledge among the darker portions of society that these tales were merely an extra layer of cover for the criminals. There were, of course, exceptions to this rule where magic and mayhem did in fact take root in the world and cause problems for any unfortunate mortals who happened to get caught in the crossfire. Perhaps this woman was in fact an enchantress, and Domingo had made a huge mistake in coming here. He couldn't believe that when faced with a fabled enchantress, his first response had been to drug her, his second had been to threaten her with a knife. He cursed his mother for ever having brought him into the world just to suffer death so pathetically. He dropped to his knees begging for forgiveness.

"Well, this wasn't particularly expected." The enchantress frowned at the grovelling thief. "Oh come on, this is just embarrassing. I'm not going to do anything to you, I promise." Domingo looked up into the now extremely confused face of the enchantress. She didn't seem angry or vengeful, and she certainly wasn't ugly as many witches are often reported to be. In fact, she seemed genuinely concerned about him. Had he not been so scared, he might have been touched. The enchantress stretched out her hand and helped the vagabond to his feet. She led him to a small table and sat him down.

"Ok, perhaps we just got off on the wrong foot. It's obvious you're not here to rob me, you're possibly just some common garden thug who thought he'd hit pay dirt for a place to stay. And I'm not in the mood to turn you into anything particularly nasty just yet, so why don't we just sit down, have a pleasant meal and try to get to know each other a little better, huh?"

Domingo just sat there, not really sure of what to do. The witch fixed up two bowls of the beef stew she'd been preparing, poured two glasses of wine and sat down opposite him. She looked at him awkwardly for few moments as he sheepishly poked at the steaming bowl of food in front of him. She sighed deeply, rolled her eyes, took a gulp of wine and began to speak again.

"Let's try this another way. Hi, I'm Helga. I'm the enchantress of this wood, I'm older than I look, but if you guess anything over twenty-five I'm going to turn you into an albino badger. Who are you?"

Domingo slurped down a spoonful of stew. "My name is Domingo Caveza, known as the Shade of Zula. I'm a thief by trade, but I swear to you, I did not come here to rob you, Lady."

"Well that's obvious." The witch retorted. "Who'd rob a cottage in the middle of the woods when there's a perfectly good city full of people with more money and looser morals less than a half days walk that way?" She delicately slurped another spoonful of the stew down and sighed contentedly. "So, were you going to or coming from?"

"I'm sorry?" The vagabond asked.

"Were you coming from some grand caper, or were you on your way to one. I may not have walked within the walls of mortal cities in a long time, but I still know what a thief looks like when they're all geared up and ready to go. You're wearing a rope, dark grey clothes, soft soled shoes so you can move quietly, to be honest, you're almost a caricature of what I'd expect a thief to look like. You're just missing the scarf over your mouth and the black mask surrounding your eyes. Everything else about you just screams 'Thief Thief!'"

He frowned at her and Helga let out a laugh. It was like music, tinkling and gentle, like a summer breeze whistling through glass wind chimes. Domingo couldn't stop himself from smiling at the sound of her laughter, even if it was entirely directed at him. Helga stopped after a while, breathing a deep sigh. She wiped a small tear from her eye and noticed her guest staring at her smiling. She enquired as to why he should gaze at her in such a gormless fashion, and suggested that perhaps he ought to start volunteering information, since so far she had done most of the talking, and this was her home, and he had been an intruder, and she was getting ever closer to just turning him into a three eyed weasel and being done with him.

"Apologies, my Lady." She insisted that he stop with the 'lady' nonsense. She was a sorceress, a witch, not a lady, he was to call her Helga. "Helga. Sorry. In answer to your question earlier, I happen to be coming from a particularly impressive robbery, if I do say so myself."

Helga seemed genuinely interested. She leaned in, pressing her chest against the table, accentuating the magnificent globes on her chest, pushing them slightly out of the top of her dress. Domingo stared for what was perhaps a second too long, but it didn't seem that the witch much cared. Her eyes were fixed on him, the little magical pink flecks dancing across them intently. There was a subtle smile on her face as Domingo recounted the tale of how he had managed to sneak in past the guards, scaled the wall on the opposite side of the treasury, used his cunning and skill to navigate his way up onto the windowsill of the treasury, slip in and out again in less than ten seconds and make it all the way back down past the guards and three full streets away from the castle before the City Watch were even aware he'd been there. Helga regarded him with somewhat girlish glee as he finished his story.

"So, what was it?" She asked, with breathless eagerness.

"What was what?"

"The treasure. What did you steal that was so impressive?"

Domingo's breath caught in his throat. He made a point of never telling anyone his prizes unless he was ready to sell to them, and even then, the deal must be already on the table, hands about to be shook. Helga had treated him very kindly, especially when she'd had no particular reason to. She had listened to his story and been genuinely impressed by the Shade of Zula, perhaps he did owe her a favour for her kindness. Then again, Helga was a witch, which was something that he should never ever forget. His prize, the Eye of Vermithrax was a renowned magical artefact, he didn't want to think what could happen if she decided that she wanted it. Consequently, there wasn't a whole lot he could really do about it if she decided that the Eye was now hers. If he tried to do anything, she would simply cast some dreadful curse on him, leaving him dead or worse. Domingo thought for a moment, trying to find the best solution to his conundrum.

"Well, it's a very old and rare artefact, a jewel of matchless beauty and lustre. But, my dear Helga, I have a code, as many in my profession do. You can understand that I couldn't just go around blurting out what my achievements were? There is no honour among thieves, anyone could be listening, anyone could choose to take my fairly stolen goods for their own foul purposes."

The witch pouted at him. "Do you think me a thief, oh mighty Shade of Zula? Do you have so low an opinion of me, that I would desire another man's hard earned reward? My Domingo, you wound me sir." She smiled at him, winking slightly. "I suppose I could just hex you and force you to tell me, but there's no fun in that."