The Thief

The morning air was crisp, a light mist hung low over Outer Skáld, the sun barely peeking over the clay tiled rooftops. 

Aelwyn perched herself on the top of the village's popular tavern, aptly known as The Rockbottom, which overlooked the quiet street market. While not as grand as a market in Inner Skáld, it still garnered a lot of attention from all who lived there. 

Vendors selling sweet breads, rabbit and venison stews, bundles of furs and raw wool, livestock and butchered meats; swords and knives, and brass pins lined the streets. 

There was even a vendor selling prophecies, readings and herbs to ward off evil, from a covered wagon!
But Aelwyn's gaze was fixed on the bakers' stall, where he was placing trays of sugar breads and pastries out to cool in the moring air. 

Every thief in Outer Skáld knew that Boydroy was a simpleton who could barely count to ten on his fingers. Which made it easy to steal from him. But he was as quick as a snake and as strong as an ox and if one wasn't careful, they were likely to lose a hand... or at least a few fingers. 

Aelwyn crouched lower on the tiled roof when she saw the door to the barkey spring open and Boydroy stepped out; a fresh tray of basil and mint bread, steaming in his hands. 

Her mouth watered when the scent wafted up into the air. Basil and mint were a luxury very few could afford and ususally the baker reserved them when the market was open and wealthy travelers came for the winter festival and to give thanks to Sunum, the All-Mother. 

Doing a quick check of her surroundings, Aelwyn slipped from her hiding place. Dropping lightly behind a bale of moldy hay that was tucked near the back of the tavern. She crept towards the front; using both the tavern and bakery walls as cover. Coming to the bakery window, Aelwyn very carefully peeked inside. 

The bakery was in complete disarray. Dirty pots and wooden bowls were piled in the washing tub, loaves of burnt bread Boydroy deemed unsellable were left to rot on the muddy floor. Racks and stalls filled was bread spanned the entire left side of the room. Tending over the clay oven, Boydroy's back was to her, stocking the coals back to life.

Aelwyn crept into the bread stall. She was shielded from watching eyes by rows of bread ad spices that the baker had set up earlier. With deft fingers, she slipped her rucksack from her shoulder and begand filling it was breads, pastries, and spices, being careful not to take too many from one tray so as to not arouse suspicion. 

Behind her, the latch to the bakery jingled, she took that as her cue to leave the area. 

Pulling the the drawstings of her bag tight and slidding it back onto her shoulder, she pivoted on her toes and moved swiftly from the tent. 

She had just ducted behind the moldy mound of hay when Boydroy pushed himself out of the bakery, fresh tray of bread in hand. 

Aelwyn dug her fingers into the grooves of the stone bulding and hauled herself upwards until she reached the roof. She paused for a brief moment to watch the baker set the tray down, look at his inventory and attempt to count the remaining loaves before giving up and arranging the fresh loaves on the seller's trays. 

Grinning to herself, Aelwyn slunk to the next rooftop, the sweet breads warming her back through her pack. 

***

By highnoon, the market was awake and in full swing. The streets were packed with people of all sizes, shapes and colors. Children wove between the crowd, laughing and tossing half-formed balls of slushy snow at one another. 

From her perch atop The Twilight Brothel, Aelwyn watched crowd. 

One man was bartering loudly with a blacksmith, trying to haggle down the price of a gleaming claymore. A woman in one of the many food stalls could be seen adding sawdust to her stew. 

Aelwyn watched a beggar-child reach into teh coin pouch of a young rich couple, while her friend distracted them with a coin trick. It was enough to bring a smile to her face. The coin trick was the first thing Breya and Brenin had shown her all those years ago. 

The memory of her old friends was enough to make her smile falter and disappear. 

Breya and Brenin had be true beggar-children, four years older than her, born and raised on the streets, making bed wherever their feet led them, and eating whatever they could steal. She had offered to bring them to the orphanage she had been staying at at the time, but they had refused. 

Last she had heard of the twins, Breya had enlisted into the army while Brenin had taken up residency in the Spire, after having been caught plotting to assassinate a lower-ranking noble. 

Aelwyn brushed the memory aside, it did her no good to reminisce on casted stones. 

She brought the last bite of basil-mint bread to her lips and swallowed it down before wrapping the rest in a clean piece of leather. She wasn't the only one that needed to eat. 

Standing, she stretched her back and arms, her muscles groaning with satisfaction as the bones in her shoulders and elbows popped. 

I'm getting too old for this She thought mirthfully as she walked to the edge of the brothels' shingled roof. 

She lept from the edge was assuredness, twisting her body like a dancer and catching the ledge. 

She let herself dangle for a moment while she thought of her next move. She rocked herself slightly before letting go. Grabbing the iron-rod balcony with a loud thud. She heard a scream of panic come from the other side of the balcony doors before they were thrown open. 

"Aelwyn!" A young courtesan with dark skin and long black hair twisted and braded back into loose knots, popped out. "You know the Madame hates it when you climb the balconies!" 

From inside, Aelwyn could see the sprawling mess of blankets and a frantic nobleman and woman attempting to dress in a hurry. 

"Sorry Myella!" Aelwyn laughed as the two nobles hurried from the room in a hurry. From above, she heard the courtesan spit out a string of curses her way before slamming the balcony doors closed in frustration. 

Hanging by just her fingertips, she dropped onto the window seal below. Thankfully the room was vacant. 

Last thing I need is another angry courtesan throwing a chamber pot at my head! 

Balancing precariously on the thin ledge, Aelwyn made her way to on eof the support beams. Wrapping her arms around it first, she half-slid half-fell down the smooth wood.

A drunkard lay curled up on his side, his face pressed against the building's wall. He stirred slightly, when Aelwyn's feet crunched in the dirty snow. His face was pale and gleaming with sweat. 

The first thing that caught her attention wasn't his ragged breathing nor the way he smelled of sewage, it was the fine, fur-lined cloak that he had on. It was perfect for the winter nights and the palms of her hands itched. 

"Hey friend," she nudged him with her boot. "Are you alight?" 

He opened one blurry, bloodshot eye, groaned and went back to his est. Aelwyn could smell the reek of vomit and piss coming from him. 

She ran her hand over the soft mink fur, definetly a noble's cloak. She looked back at the man, he definiately didn't look like a noble. 

Stolen perhaps?

She contemplated to herself for a moment. 

If she took it, the man would surely freeze to death in the cold Skáldian winter nights, but... if she didn't take it, she would freeze. 

The decision was easy enough. 

She made quick work, pulling his arm from the cloak, rolling him completely onto his belly and pulling it off his other arm. The whole time, he groaned and moaned, his breathing rattling in his chest, but he did not stir awake. 

She rationalized with herself: if he was a nobleman that had gotten a little too drunk and passed out then that was one less noble roaming the city, believing that he owned the place, on the other hand,  if he did steal it from a noble, then it was one less thief to compete with. 

To her it felt like a win-win situation. 

But that still didnt stop the nagging feeling of regret that seemed to worm its way into her belly. 

She pushed the feeling away. The world was harsh and it was eat or be eaten. It didn't have room for those who weren't willing to eat. 

 

She slung the fur cloak across her shoulders, ignoring the stale scent of alcohol that seemed to cling to it as she left the man to his fate on the hard-packed snowy ground.

Perhaps the All-Mother will show mercy? 

...Or perhaps he'll just be another victim in the countless of others that lay dying in the dark alleyways. 

She had just rounded the corner to the main street when the sound of screaming horses filled the air and a hust fell over the market. Curious, she weaved her way through the crowd. 

A caravan of war horses traveled slowly through the market street. Whispers broke out at the sight of the war party. Their faces were pale, covered in mud, and blood, dark circles hung around their haunted and sunken in eyes, the rancid smell of blood and sparkweed hung heavy in the air. People scrambled out of theri way as the war party passed by. 

Atop a large black stallion was General Valerius Strand, the noble war general that had led their nation to countless victories against the neighboring countries of Altrax and Croaton. Aelwyn had heard many whispers from the courtesans wishing for the general to stop by their establishment, but it was only his men that did so. 

Though Myella did say that while she was in training, he had stopped by once, though all he did was listen to one of the older courtesans play the harp and sing. 

With tanned skin, a sharp jaw, dark hair and a muscular build, Aelwyn could see the appeal. She had seen him only one other time, three years ago after the defeat of Croaton. Then, he had looked regal, noble, younger. Waving at passersby jovially after a battle hard fought and won. But now, he looked grim and haunted, covered in bruises and muck. 

The crowd did not move, they just stood still, watching the military parade through the town in wary silence. 

The smell of death and blood did not leave the market, even when the war party was no more than a thread in the distance, the scent remained.