Back to work

After several moments passed, Ademar Nightwalker crawled slowly forward and gingerly knelt next to the hound who had attempted to kill him just minutes earlier. Over the driving rain outside he could barely make out the slight sound of the hounds breath. Gods, it’s still alive! He thought to himself. What to do now? Should he leave the dog alive or end its life before it regained consciousness? Although Ademar disliked leaving a potential enemy at his back, he was equally opposed to leaving a blood trail. Reaching out with a feather touch, Ademar searched for the dogs head. No blood, but the skin was very warm to the touch; there would definitely be a lump there soon. Ademar began to reach for his dagger resting at the small of his back.

Another flash of lightning lit up the forge room giving Ademar a vivid image of the helpless hound, the side of its face already growing puffy and swollen. His hand stopped before reaching the hilt of his dagger. He had not the heart to finish off the dog. His conscience and the elven affinity to nature stayed his hand and so he was forced to work quickly.

Without further hesitation Ademar rose from the floor and moved toward the door leading into the smiths’ building. From what he had seen during the lightning strikes as he entered the forge, there was nothing out here but raw materials and unfinished or utilitarian goods. He was looking for something a little more deadly than a shovel. He had to navigate by his memory to avoid the many obstacles in the blackness.

After several minutes, which felt like years to the young elf, he reached the door which connected the outer forge to the main building. The door itself was atypical of a small country hamlet, much like the rest of the building. As his hands played across the surface of the door Ademar could feel the precision with which the thick wood planks were fitted. The wood was not the rough hewn timber used in the previous farm house. It had a smooth finish which was polished, feeling almost like glass. The lashings and hinges were not made of the typical sturdy iron either; instead they held a smooth, polished finish which rivaled that of the wood. When he finally found the handle another luxury was revealed, a lock.

The presence of a locked door in the middle of the country frightened Ademar and intrigued him at the same time. Only those with wealth and power could afford locks for their doors. For a moment he almost turned away from the door to pick his way back out of the building. That moment was a fleeting one, as the lure of what might lie beyond compelled him to reach into the small pouch at his waist. In moments he had removed a slender pick and a suitable tension rod. As he inserted the tools into the keyhole Ademar whispered a quick prayer to Sanastarus then, with his eyes closed tight in concentration he began to slowly feel out the intricate tumblers of the lock. Working purely on his sense of touch it took several minutes and two failed attempts before the lock submitted to his will. Pulse racing in anticipation, he put his picks away and smoothly, silently opened the door and slid inside closing the portal behind him.

The door opened into a small showroom crammed with half a dozen racks holding wares in an organized fashion. Immediately the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and a chill ran down his spine. The room was lit with candle light which spilled in from an archway directly across from the door he had entered! No movement yet, no shouts of alarm… Gathering up all the nerve he could muster, Ademar crouched slowly and began to quietly slink from rack to rack making his way to the archway. Once he reached the opening he took one steadying breath, and then dared peek around the corner.

What he glimpsed then was a bit of a surprise. The room was lit not only from the many candles simmering in candelabras on various tables, but also from the fire that burned low in the fireplace. Near the hearth and facing the archway was a woman laying across the arms of an overstuffed chair. She was dressed in expensive clothing which accentuated her feminine curves yet revealed hardened and chorded muscles. A large tome rested face up and open on her lap and a heavy leather apron lay discarded on the floor. Her eyes were half open and seemed to be staring straight at him but her light, snoring respirations, barely audible above the storm, confirmed that she was indeed asleep.

Not wanting to press his luck any further, Ademar turned back to the storeroom surveying it quickly. Six racks stood in the room laden with everything from small farm implements and horseshoes to axes, picks, and… swords! A small desk resided in one corner, probably full of papers and other business essentials. Smoothly and quietly, he made his way over to a rack which held a few swords. Without any delay he selected a suitable long sword and pulled it slowly from its scabbard. The craftsmanship was very good. As the tip of the blade cleared its sheath he could feel that it was properly balanced and of solid construction. Perfect, he decided sliding the sword back into the scabbard and belting it on before moving on. A pair of daggers found their way into the cuffs of his boots shortly after. Still not everything he was looking for. After a second careful inspection of the room his eyes were drawn back to the archway. Even with a lock on the door an individual would keep their truly valuable items close to their person.

Resisting the temptation to hurry, Ademar crept back to the archway and peered around the corner once more. She still slept, her breast rhythmically rising and falling. Like a snake, he slid around the corner and into the next room finding two doors on the wall to his right. Hesitating not one moment he made his way to the first door and eased it open to spy the kitchen, tidy and well stocked for sure but otherwise uninteresting. Not bothering to close the door he moved on to the next, similarly opening it with a practiced hand keeping pressure on the hinges to quell any squeaks.

As the candle light seeped in past the door, he could make out the maids’ bedchamber. It was dominated by a large bed neatly covered in fine linens, and also held an equally large wardrobe and a chair off in one corner. After a quick glance over his shoulder he ducked into the bedchamber and made straight for the wardrobe. Quietly he slid the doors open revealing many fine garments right alongside an equal number of sturdy work clothes. What an unusual woman this was! He thought to himself as he brushed the attire to the sides to search the back of the wardrobe. In the bottom he found a box, three hand widths wide and half as tall next to many pair of shoes. He lifted the box and gently placed it on the floor next to him, its weight alone confirmed that it held many coins. Taking care not to make too much noise, he pushed the garments back into place and closed up the wardrobe. Scooping up the box in both hands he began making his way back out.

Halfway back to the storeroom a booming clap of thunder shook the floor beneath his feet. The woman shifted in her chair at the noise, letting the heavy book in her lap fall noisily to the floor as Ademar watched helplessly from across the room. Standing as still as a statue he looked on anxiously as the maidens eyes fluttered open for a moment then, slid closed again. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and instantly he knew that to be a mistake. Icy blue eyes shot wide open and the woman sat bolt upright in the chair. Ademar wasted no effort trying to hide. Tucking the box beneath his arm he sprinted for the storeroom. As he raced through the archway a candlestick bounced bruisingly off his shoulder before crashing heavily into the room beyond. Overbalanced, he stumbled into the showroom.

“Stop thief!” The surprisingly authoritative woman yelled at his back. “I command you stop at once!”

Ademar could hear her bare feet pounding the floor as she pursued him. Weaving between the racks of the storeroom, he ran on to the door throwing it open and running hard for his life.

“Baden attack him!” He heard the woman scream not too far behind punctuated by a blade singing free of its scabbard. “Damn you Baden, atta-“ the words were choked off in a sob of anguish as the woman realized the hound was not waking up.

He continued to run on into the storm, charging north with all haste, the continued shouts of “Thief!! Thief!!” rolling off his back. Ademar would get no rest this night.

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