1. Out of Company, Out of Coin

Nerris wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned over the corpse. The stench of loose bowels filled his nostrils, and flies were already starting to buzz nearby. The dead man lay under a tree at the edge of a wide stream. Nerris's two best friends, Dist and Jhareth, observed with him.

"It's a pity," Dist said. "He was so young."

"We've only known him for a day," Nerris said. "You say that like he was an old friend."

"That's true," Jhareth chimed in, "but he was going to teach us how to fight."

Nerris snorted in disgust. "Is that all you ever think about?" He wiped his forehead again. The afternoon sun was high overhead, frying them where they stood.

"How else do you expect us to survive out here, Nerris?" Jhareth asked. "All the people we've seen die since we left Haladast: women, old men, children--"

"What's your point?"

"Peasants, nobles, dogs--"

"All right!" Nerris said.

"What did they all have in common?" Jhareth crossed his wiry arms and smiled. "None of them could fight. We won't last long if we barely even know which end of a sword to use."

"What about him?" Nerris jammed a thumb in the direction of the dead man.

Jhareth shrugged. "He's a special case. Most people don't drop dead in their sleep."

"Well, we won't learn anything standing around here." Nerris straightened his back and brushed the brown hair from his eyes. He had gotten shaggy since leaving home, and hadn't seen a pair of shears since either. He stretched his arms and yawned. He was well-muscled for a boy his age, in tone if not bulk.

Dist was not. He folded his arms across his ample midsection. "A thought occurs."

"Do tell," Jhareth said. "That's a rare enough event for you."

"This is a well-traveled road," Dist said, ignoring him. "What if someone happens upon us here and thinks we had something to do with this? I don't really feel like being hanged before I've even known a woman."

"They usually let you have a last request." A wry smile appeared on Jhareth's face, where he was trying to grow a goatee.

"We should bury him at least," Nerris said. "He was a noble, after all."

"Open your eyes," Jhareth said. "Does this look like a noble to you?"

Nerris gazed upon the corpse. They never knew his name, but he said he belonged to a noble house. He was a few years older than he and his friends, a full grown man, seventeen years old at the least. He wore good boots, hose, doublet and a velvet vest. "He seems bona fide to me."

"His clothing may be fancy, but far below a noble's standards," Jhareth said. "Look, there are holes in the armpit and stains down the front. His doublet doesn't even match his eyes."

"So?" Dist said.

"No noble would be caught dead wearing a doublet that doesn't match his eyes, not in Agos. It's the latest style."

"What do you know about fashion?" Nerris asked.

"I listen and observe."

Nerris chuckled. "The only thing you observe lately is the bottom of a tankard."

"If he's not a noble, who is he?" Dist asked.

Jhareth shrugged. "A vagabond, a thief most likely. I suspected as much. Probably would have robbed us blind, maybe slit our throats as well."

Dist laughed. "Then he's as stupid as he is unlucky. Like we have any money."

"Oh, well," Jhareth said. "In you go." He pressed one boot against the man and shoved hard. The corpse turned over and flopped onto his back. After a second shove, he toppled into the water with a loud splash.

The three boys watched the man float downstream. After only a few moments, he was washed away by the current and they lost sight of him. Jhareth gave him a mock salute.

"There you go, Nerris," he said. "Burial at sea. Is propriety satisfied?"

"I'm more concerned at what killed him," Nerris said. "Whatever it was, I hope we don't catch it."

Jhareth reached into his jet black hair and pulled something out between two fingers. "Merciful Clystam. Fleas again? Or is it a tick?"

"Could be both," Dist said.

"This is serious, you two," Nerris said. "What if we brought some plague into Orrigo?"

"He didn't have any ghastly pus-oozing sores that I could see," Jhareth said. "You worry too much, Nerris."

They had faced men barricaded with pitchforks at every village on their way to Orrigo, asking if that was where they came from through cloth covered mouths. A mild outbreak had occurred in the city, they said, with the plague killing some and merely disfiguring others. Some had believed them, though they warned against going to Orrigo just yet. Others didn't want to take the chance and had chased them away.

Despite warnings, they continued toward their destination. Orrigo was the only port city on the northern coast of Agos. Nestled in a large valley between two peaks of the Gosseen Mountains, its dark gray cobblestones and old fashioned architecture contrasted with the sparkling blue of the Aristian Sea made for a picturesque image.

They hadn't come for the sights, however. One league west of the city, atop a high hill, rested the fighting academy known as Gauntlet. The school was widely known for turning out famous warriors and generals, and it had been their shared dream to attend ever since Nerris's mother had first told him of the school when he was a small child.

The man who now floated downriver had told the three he could help them get in. Tuition to become a Gauntlet cadet was expensive. Nerris's mother had taught he, Dist and Jhareth basic arithmetic, so he knew the numbers were much higher than any amount of money he or anyone else in the village of Haladast had ever had. They quickly found out that on the road they were the lowest of the low. The stories never talked about the constant hunger, the wear and tear on their shoes and clothing or the scarcity of real money. If they wanted to eat they had to hunt, which thankfully they had been taught at a young age and become quite adept given a bit of practice.

The game became scarcer once they entered the mountains, and their new friend had promised them food. Jhareth had him figured out obviously, and Nerris suspected he and Dist had known the truth deep down as well, but who knew when they would get to eat again. If he was indeed a thief, his death was just as well. He probably would have killed them in their sleep the first chance he got and sold off the meager possessions they carried.

It was a beautiful late summer day, and the city gates were open, members of the watch checking wagons but waving individual travelers through. Hunger must have been foremost on Jhareth's mind as well, because as soon as he found a likely street with not much patrol, he set up his favorite scam, a shell game he had picked up somewhere during his travels and brought back to Haladast with him. He didn't have any shells, but used three tin cups he kept in his satchel.

Passersby placed their coins on a rotten table he had picked out of an alley. Jhareth covered the coin in one of the cups and switched the three back and forth so fast his mark often lost track of where the coin was. Nerris leaned against a torch post across the road and Dist lingered at the mouth of a nearby alley, both trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in case one of Jhareth's marks turned belligerent. It was all a trick, of course; Jhareth never lost unless his mark looked well off. He would let those men win a few rounds, upping the bet each time until Jhareth fleeced him. Some of the stupider ones even kept playing, hoping to win back what they lost.

Around midday, Jhareth packed up and they headed to Bendel Square. A statue of Saint Bendel stood at the center, looking over the ramshackle stands where street vendors peddled their wares. Amidst the hustle and bustle they found a food vendor and Jhareth bought three bowls of murky brown stew, and they sat on the patio of a nearby building to eat.

"So where is Gauntlet?" Dist asked, looking around as if he could spot it. "I can't see it from here."

"Of course you can't," Jhareth said. "This is the big city, not Haladast. Gauntlet is beyond the western gate, up in the foothills. You'll see it soon enough."

"How?" Nerris asked. "If we keep this up, it will take ages to save even one term's worth of tuition and I hear autumn classes will begin soon."

"You're right," Jhareth admitted. "The only people who fall for my game are the dregs of the dregs, and dregs don't usually carry much coin."

"Otherwise they wouldn't be dregs," Dist said.

"You boys looking for work?" a nearby merchant said. "I could hire me some porters."

"How much does it pay?" Jhareth asked.

"Four coppers a day."

Jhareth grimaced. "No thanks." He could make three times that wage scamming the dregs, Nerris knew.

The merchant shrugged. "Suit yourself. I heard tell the Feighs were looking for some to do work at the keep. Apparently the plague took a good chunk of their serving men. They pay better surely, though you need the proper credentials for that kind of lordly work."

"Feighs?" Nerris asked.

"Damn, son, you born on a farm?" the merchant asked. "The Feigh family, Highlords of the Gosseen Mountains, lords of the city of Orrigo." He pointed to several men huddled around one of the food vendors. They wore deep blue doublets with a mermaid sigil sewn on the front. "Those are Feigh men right there. They work up at the castle in the northwest part of town."

Jhareth scratched his chin, considering, but Nerris shook his head. "Jhareth, they'll never take us. You heard the good merchant. We don't have credentials."

"What are those?" Dist asked.

"It means we need experience working for lords."

Jhareth set his empty bowl on the patio. "You two just sit tight for a minute. I'll be back." Nerris and Dist watched him disappear down an adjacent street.

"What do you suppose he's up to?" Dist asked.

"No good, like always," Nerris said, looking back to his brown stew. It was a shame, really. In addition to being better paid, servants of the Feigh family no doubt ate better food too. If only they had credentials.

2. The Collector's Promise

Nerris looked around the old shop, not quite understanding why they were there. The old man behind the counter appeared to be a seller of potions and vials, judging from the wide shelf at his back. The shop also had other items, however; pots, cauldrons, clothing from days gone by, even weapons. Dist was examining an old bow hanging on the wall. Silver inlay snaked around the polished wood and the ends were fashioned in the shape of hawk heads.

"This is what I call a weapon," Dist said.

"You like it?" The old man stopped his conversation with Jhareth to address Dist. Despite being a bit shaky, his voice carried across the dimly lit room. "It's said to be the bow of one of Saint Bendel's most trusted men. He drove away the demon worshippers from these lands with shafts of pure light."

"I wish I could afford it." Dist had a knack for archery, but never enough money to buy a proper bow. The ones he made had a tendency to shoot crooked.

"I'll buy it for you after we pull off this job," Jhareth said.

"What job?" Nerris asked. "I thought we were going to be applying for work in Lord Feigh's household."

Jhareth had kept them waiting for nearly two hours before finally returning to Bendel Square and bringing them to this musty place. He said he had been to the underbelly of Orrigo, looking for a forger. It had taken all of the money he had earned playing the streets, but he bought them all reference scrolls from some lord or another saying what good servants they had been, complete with a fake seal.

"When I found the man I was looking for, he told me of this shop," Jhareth said. "Old Delwen here has been looking for some bodies to infiltrate the castle, so the forger referred me."

Infiltrate? Nerris didn't like the sound of this.

"Your friend Jhareth assured me he is the best thief around, and even picked my own pocket to prove it," Delwen said. "Now that I've had a look at you three, I think you're suited for the task. You all have a trusting look about you."

Dist took his eyes from the bow and looked to the counter. "Jhareth, what--"

"There is an idol in one of Lord Gaviel's storerooms," Delwen said. "It belonged to his father, and I doubt the young lord even knows it is there. It is certain he does not know its worth."

"So why not offer to buy it off of him?" Jhareth asked.

The old man's lips pursed. "It is not the sort of thing civilized men admit to owning. The idol is not very large, and can be carried with one hand. It is carved in the likeness of a lesser demon, a recreation of a being not seen in this world for a millennia. It is blasphemous for a follower of Clystam to keep one in his possession, but I know for a fact it was in the castle as recently as three months ago. I offered to take it off the lord's hands, but we could not agree on a price. A fortnight later, Lord Feigh died of that illness that spread through the town. Lord Gaviel is a devout man, and if he finds it, I am afraid he would sooner see it destroyed."

"So the job is to steal from the Lord of Orrigo?" Nerris shook his head. "Jhareth, this is the dumbest idea you've ever had."

"How so?"

"It's stealing," Nerris said. "It's wrong. How many times must I tell you that?"

Jhareth rolled his eyes, and Delwen cleared his throat. "I would pay handsomely, of course. Twenty golden marks for safe delivery."

Nerris shook his head. Had he heard that right? "Twenty?"

"Each."

Dist looked at Nerris, his mouth slightly ajar. "That could pay for a full two years of tuition at Gauntlet."

Nerris clenched his teeth. The start of term for Gauntlet was nearing, and this way they wouldn't have to wait for a year while they saved up their wages sweeping floors and emptying chamber pots. Still, theft was theft, no matter what ends it served.

"Nerris, I know you're a man of morals," Jhareth said, as if reading his thoughts. "It's risky, too. I am aware of that. But this is Gauntlet we're talking about. We've dreamed of nothing else since we were old enough to climb a tree. Besides, how do you think families like the Feighs came into power in the first place? Their ancestors didn't serve others. You're right, stealing is wrong, but such is life. A man has to get what he wants however he can get it. What does it matter if he picks a pocket or takes it at swordpoint?"

There was sense in what Jhareth said, and he obviously wanted to do this. Dist looked to him, wondering what he would decide. Nerris clicked his teeth while he mused. If Lord Feigh didn't even know he had this idol, would he miss it? He would probably destroy it anyway.

"All right," he said, giving in. "I hope you have some kind of plan, Jhareth."

"I have maps of the castle," Delwen said. "You won't be able to take them with you, so you'll have to memorize them here." He disappeared into the back room.

"I can't believe I'm considering this," he said to Jhareth's wide grin. "Dist, are you all right with this?"

Dist shrugged. "If nothing else, I'm tired of having to skip meals. This job is worth a large ransom."

"Fame and fortune," Jhareth said. "That's why we're here, isn't it? Might as well get the fortune part taken care of."

3. A Lady's Favor

Their hiring at the Feigh household went smoother than Nerris had thought. The old lord had sent his family across the sea to Faerlin when the plague had hit, and they would be coming back soon. Nerris hadn't yet met Lord Gaviel himself, but the steward was in desperate need of people and barely glanced at the parchments they gave him.

"You three worked for Lord Branden, I see," he said when he interviewed them in his chamber. "How is his lordship faring?"

Nerris stared at him blankly. How would he know? Thankfully, Jhareth quickly provided an answer. "In good health," his black-haired friend responded. "But the plague made it east and took a fair number of his peasants. Less bodies, less taxes and less income, you know? So he was forced to dismiss some of us." He flashed the steward his best smile. "His lordship was very generous to give us a good recommendation, though."

The steward nodded, leafing through their documents. "Very good. I've met his steward. He runs an efficient household. If you're good enough for him, you're good enough for me."

Nerris, Dist and Jhareth were assigned their duties and they spent the next couple of weeks laying as low as they could while they waited for the right opportunity. Despite losing their lord and his brother to the plague, the family was large. Lord Gaviel's oldest sister was already married and lived elsewhere, but that left six other siblings in addition to his newly widowed mother. They employed a lot of servants, making it easier to stay out from under the watchful eyes of the steward.

Their opportunity to snoop around came on a blistering hot morning. Nerris was sweeping old rushes from the room of Lady Sessa, Lord Gaviel's mother, when Jhareth barged in, grinning ear to ear. "I think tonight's our night," he said.

"The party?" Nerris asked.

"How did you know?"

"Medon told me," Nerris said, referring to the steward. "I'm to attend and serve drinks and food to the guests."

"Oh," Jhareth said. "I haven't gotten that assignment."

"This is to celebrate the return of the lord's family," Nerris said. "Many nobles will be there, so they only want their best looking servants attending. For appearances, you understand." Medon hadn't actually said that, but Nerris knew it would tweak his friend's hooked nose.

"Medon must be blind as a beggar if he thinks you're better looking than me," Jhareth said. "Anyway, this will be the best chance we have to snoop around that storeroom. The lord's family and his men-at-arms will be focused on the party."

"Have you found the storeroom?"

Jhareth nodded. "Stumbled across it our second night here. It was locked, but before I could get my lockpick out a guard chased me away. Luckily, he knew I was newly hired and thought I was lost. This time I'll have Dist with me and he can watch out for any passersby."

"I'm sure he'll find it preferable to his current task," Nerris said.

"Why? Where has he been all morning, anyway?"

Nerris opened the door to the garderobe. Dist was hunched over the privy seat, half his body inside, scrubbing furiously with a rag soaked in some kind of lye. He swore profusely as he worked, and Jhareth busted out laughing.

"I'll get you for this, Jhareth," Dist said.

"You'll be thanking me when we're sitting pretty at Gauntlet," Jhareth said.

© Copyright 2026 Nicholas Andrews. All rights reserved.