The Apocolypse Thief

So...I was asked to share a story I wrote and I couldn't find the original short I was going to put on here, but enjoy this full chapter from a project I started, got two or three chapters in and then got sidetracked by other things. It's relatively recent (just from this past July) and I actually had a lot of fun working on it. Enjoy!

The Apocalypse Thief

Chapter One

Gareth headed down the street, keeping his head down as he looked up at the house – two stories. It was roomy, with lots of windows and an inscription over the stone doorway, probably some sort of incantation to keep out troublemakers. A light burned upstairs – someone (probably the noble) up studying late, just as the informants said. He looked back and forth, but the guards were nowhere in sight. They wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes. 

He held up one hand and muttered an incantation under his breath – a very basic spell that could disable magical defenses. The incantation at the top of the doorway glowed briefly, then sparked and sputtered, as if it was going out. He nodded to himself and stepped through, into the house’s courtyard, with its quiet fountain and green trees. Definitely one of the wealthier noblemen, then. Space was at a premium in Rushreed City.

He leaned against the wall almost immediately, sticking to the shadows as much as he could. Just around the corner, he saw two guards, sitting by the door, drinking and playing cards. The information was accurate, yet again. He slipped quietly past them, and then behind in an awning, before he found what he was looking for: a large, heavy rock. He slid up right behind him and brought it down squarely on the guard’s head, denting his helmet and sending him to the ground unconscious. 

The other guard scrambled to his feet, but Gareth moved fast. He tumbled to the ground as well. They were rookies, in any case. All of the real warriors – soldiers, whatever – had been commandeered by the King for the war. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You’re both going to have a really nasty headache when you come to.” He reached down and took the key from one of the guard’s pockets and hung it around his neck. Then he walked over the large cask of ale sitting by the door, filled the tankards several times…and poured it all over them. With luck, people would think they were just drunk when they came to and tried to tell everyone about the mysterious thief who had knocked them both out with a rock. 

“Sorry,” he whispered and then unlocked the door, and slipped inside. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, before looking around. It was a nice room, with thick carpets, easy chairs and some thick leatherbound book on a table, apparently a tome about magic – or maybe of magic – going by the looks of it. But, as he had learned, it probably wasn’t worth anything. No sane nobleman would leave his most valuable (or powerful) possessions sitting around, for just anyone to find. Plus, it wasn’t what he was here for anyway.

He left the book alone, and then pulled out a magic scroll he had purchased from a reliable source: a tracking spell, though only of limited duration. He muttered the words. The scroll crumbled to dust. Nothing else visible happened but he immediately felt his gut tug him down the hallway. He hadn’t forgotten the nobleman at the end of the hall – he’d made sure to pay the manor cook generously to put a sleeping draught in the man’s tea. 

He reached a doorway, all of his senses tingling now. What he wanted was just beyond the door. He quickly muttered the dispelling incantation – really, the only spell he actually knew - just in case. A brief moment, the spell started to fizzle, but then began to glow with hot, red light. He bit back a curse and ducked into one of the nearby rooms, just as a solid sheet of fire blazed through the hallway. It left the wood and furnishings untouched – it was magical fire, and would only burn intruders. 

The spell died away and he let out a long sigh of relief. He was safe. The spell needed time to recharge. He pulled out a lockpick from his pocket and set to work on the door. It creaked open a moment later and he stepped into a room. A lantern burned from a window, and a man – he looked like he might have been in the second half of middle age, but not quite old enough to be called elderly – snored at the desk. A cup of tea sat next to him, half drunk and Gareth suppressed a smile. Still, he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. 

He glanced around, and then stopped at a cabinet, his senses going wild. The pendent was in the cabinet. He thought for a moment – if the door and the fire blaze was any indication, the magical defenses here would be far stronger than anything his basic dispelling could counter. There was always a way around it. He glanced over at the snoring noble – defenses (or, at least, halfway decent spells) could distinguish between friend and foe. 

So if the noble was the one to open the cabinet, or maybe just touch it. 

He shouldn’t wake up, he thought. That sleeping powder’s strong – more than a pinch and you’re out for a month.

He strode over, and pushed the nobleman’s chair over to the cabinet and then quickly used his hand to pull it open. He held his breath, and then used the noble’s hand to disable the defenses around a small box of gold and faint pink lacquer. A small pendent had been placed lovingly inside, with a chain of silver and a ruby shaped like a teardrop. 

He tentatively picked it up, careful not to touch it with his bare hands, in case there were more defenses. He stowed it in his bag and nodded at the man.

“Thanks for your help,” he muttered. The noble snored, unaware. Gareth smiled slightly, and headed back the way he had come, walking quietly down the stairs and out to the gardens again. He felt a very slight twinge of unease as he stepped outside. 

That had been remarkably easy to pull off - maybe a little too easy. He had long since learned to trust his feelings about stuff like this; it had proven useful in the past. He slid into the shadow of the gateway, before the street. It was deserted. He frowned, and then glanced up at the bright moon in the sky and then back at the gray street, still unable to shake the feeling that there was something very wrong here. 

He stepped out into the street. And immediately, a beacon of light burst from his satchel – from the gemstone – into the sky. He cursed, this time not bothering to be quiet about it and immediately yanked the pendent from his bag. But it was burning hot. He yelled in sudden pain and dropped it, where it spilled onto the pavement…and promptly dissolved. 

He started to run, hearing heavy booted footsteps behind him and knew almost instantly: he’d been had. The mysterious client, the way he’d been able to break into the house with little help…it was a trick to catch him. The real pendent was far better defended than what he’d been expecting and what he’d been told about it. 

Guards – real guards, this time, professional soldiers in the employ of the King – ran into view, swords drawn.

“Right,” he said. “Do not want to meet them.” Behind him, the pendent still blazed with red light. He took off running, glancing at the still stinging brand on his palm. He wondered briefly if it was magical – it was probably a tracker. He’d heard rumors of the new spell developed by the court mage, now used to track criminals and prisoners. 

He muttered his dispelling incantation again, difficult as it was to focus while he sprinted down the street, guards in pursuit. He felt a pins-and-needles sensation in his hand, but the brand didn’t disappear. He hadn’t expected it too. This was strong magic, and it needed a proper mage to actually get rid of it. Or maybe…

If they think I’m just going to lie down and surrender, they’re sorely mistaken, he thought. They’re going to remember tonight.

 

He ran over a bridge, which overlooked the broad Rushingleam River, and then jumped over the side, into the water. He looked up, just in time to see the guards point arrows at him. He dove underwater just in time, risking another glance at his hand. The brand was starting to fade now, as he thought. Enchantments had a chance to be washed away in running water, especially if newly cast. 

Not a commonly known fact, but a useful one still. He surfaced again. Unfortunately, he now had other problems. Such as the fact he was stuck in a fast-moving current, rushing through the city. At least nobody saw him – that would definitely attract attention. The guards would undoubtedly be looking for a man fished from the river.

He treaded water for a long time, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible while the shores of the city slid by. Once this was done, he decided to make it a point to never accept offers from the spotlessly dressed man in solid white, or, for that matter, anyone that couldn’t be vouched for on the streets. His one mistake, really his only mistake. Well, not really his only mistake. But all the same…

The gray bulk of the Great Temple passed him by. 

A ghostly light appeared ahead of him, riverboat. He dove underwater again, holding his breath for almost as long as he could bear, trying to swim out of the ship’s way. It passed by painfully slowly, and then stopped. He heard a distant splash and an explosion of bubbles as the anchor plunged into the bottom of the river, dragging against the mud. 

He couldn’t stay under forever. He would just have to hope the darkness would conceal him and he came up, gasping for air. Just in time to see the soldiers with crossbows, and a captain, standing here, his scarlet cloak billowing in the breeze. A young mage stood next to the man nervously – his robes hanging loosely on a very skinny frame. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t the great Gareth Calistone. Clever trick, getting rid of the tracking spell by jumping into the river. But really, it was only a matter of time.” 

He gestured to the mage who murmured an incantation. Gareth winced, it was as though someone had driven a hook into the small of his back. He was yanked clear out of the water and onto the deck, sopping wet. 

 “Nice to see you too,” he said.