Wisdom - Chapter 2

Keith had never seen anyone so ugly. Yellow-stained teeth greeted him and his father at his uncle's home. Flakes of gray hair grew in no particular style, greasy-looking under the lamplight. Even his clothing took on an oily appearance. 

"Well, what a surprise!" his uncle rasped, then coughed. "Do come in, brother." He stepped aside to allow them in. "I received your letter. Can't tell you how…sorry…I was to hear about Greverlend." 

Keith followed his father into a comfortable setting. Three seats had been arranged next to a wide fireplace. Flames illuminated parts of the room with an orange glow. Though the temperature was desirable, it did little to warm the mood. 

"So you came to collect more money, is that it?" Keith's uncle rolled his eyes. "I don't know what Greverlend ever saw in you. She should have been with me. I could have offered a lot more." 

"Not all of us are …fortunate…like you, Shavary." Johnathan glared at his brother. 

Shavary: even the name rang with an uneasy tone. Keith felt those eyes burn through him. 

"Well, what can I say? My appearance has never truly suited any woman's tastes, and that little bastard of yours—" 

"Don't you dare call him that!" Johnathan stood in rush, hands clenched at his sides. "You remember why she was like that. You even had a chance to help her, but you refused. I will not allow you to disgrace him!" 

"Pah! It doesn't matter," Shavary whispered. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed one leg over the other. "Love passes. She got what she deserved. And you? You're next." 

"Wha—" Keith heard his father give a strangled cry before he collapsed, a dagger protruding from his backside. In those few moments, Keith had committed the gold-striped blade to memory. 

"I always did favor the back throw." A figure emerged from the shadows. "Less messy." 

Keith cringed in his seat, trying to disappear as the assassin strode over to remove the blade. He looked down at the small boy and flipped the dagger between his fingers. 

"Careful," Shavary cautioned with a smile. "He might bite." 

The assassin chuckled. "May have use for him." He sheathed the dagger. "Got a sack?" 

****** 

The faint sound of horseshoes clopping down pavement grew louder as Keith's senses returned. Tiny slits of light filtered in through the course material encasing him. His hands and feet had been bound together, and a cloth stuffed into his mouth kept him quiet. 

The clopping continued, but other sounds soon accompanied: people's voices, dogs barking, money jingling, and the steady rolling of carts down a dirt road. Keith realized he was not being carried over someone's shoulders like a sack of potatoes, but riding in a cart full of hay. He could see some of the pieces sticking through the sack. The hay made him itch, and the cloth was choking him. Thoughts of what he had seen with his father infuriated him, and he began to struggle. 

A powerful feeling welled up inside, something that made him feel in control. As he continued to struggle, the cords began to heat against his flesh. To his amazement, they seemed to melt away. 

The cart's wheel hit a ditch, and the sack he was in lurched forward. He managed to sit up and pull the damp cloth from his mouth, then reached down to untie his ankles. Another bump sent him flying to the back of the cart. Unbeknown, there was nothing to keep it from toppling out, so when Keith rolled over he found half his body dangling over the road. 

The next ditch rocked the cart back and forth. One of the haystacks slid into him, and Keith braced himself for the fall. 

Into a pair of crafty hands the sack went and was carried down a back alley. Black leather boots dispersed puddles of leftover rainwater that had yet to be consumed by the sun's gathering heat. Assorted pouches tied to the belt thumped into one another as the thief scrambled over some fallen shingles to his hiding spot. When he tossed the sack into a pile of other collectables, a small yelp from within made him pause. 

"Hmmm?" He stared in stupefied silence as the sack twitched. It took only a moment for him to realize that something other than valuables was hiding inside. "What have we here?" 

Pulling a dagger from his belt, he slit the top open to peer inside. "A stowaway." He removed the heavy material from around the small boy before noticing his tied ankles. "Or should I say…stole away." 

He chuckled, then slit the remaining bounds. "And here I thought I was looting something worthwhile." He sat on an old broken crate and began whittling on a piece of wood. "What's ye name?" 

At first Keith did not answer. Only when he was certain this person was not a threat did he reply in a small voice. 

"Keith, eh? Supposing ye weren't expecting a lot of things today. Or maybe ye just got lucky. Who knows, really?" 

With speed Keith could not focus on, the dagger was sheathed as the thief stood and took a deep bow.

"I am Blackavar." He spread his arms. Long sleeves matched his dark pants, patched in several places. "Master of the Thieves' Guild and an escaped slave that no one has caught in years. Impressed?" 

"I…suppose." Keith hardly knew what to say. "What's a Thieves' Guild?" 

"Ah, not from around here? Well, I'll tell ye. The Thieves' Guild is…sort of like a clan. Ye come and go, taking or leaving. I guess in many ways it's like a contest to show off who's the best thief around, which—ehem—would be me." 

Blackavar grinned, two of his front teeth made of gold. He had large eyebrows for such a narrow face, and his long sable hair kept falling in his eyes. His vest, as Keith noticed, contained some green mixed in with the all-black look, and a rather interesting rectangular pouch rested on one side of his waist. Following his gaze to the pouch, Blackavar beckoned him closer. 

"Ah, I see ye have taken interest." He lifted the outside flap and reached inside. When he pulled his hand out, it contained a fistful of pink sand. 

"You carry…dirt." 

"Not just any dirt!" The thief lowered his voice. "Magic. Ye don't just find sand like this lying around! Ye must go to a special place to retrieve it." He poured it back in the pouch "But me, I didn't have to go anywhere to get it." 

"Why's that?" 

"Well, I am a thief." Blackavar's chest swelled with pride. "Stole it right from one of those magic-users!" He pranced around the boy, demonstrating as though one of his greatest feats. "What are they thinking? With the way they hold their pouches and such, it's so easy to slip a hand into one and pull out something good. And believe me, they always contain something good." He posed with one boot on top of the crate "I've yet to come across a mage that has nothing of value to me." 

He grinned. "Alright, enough out of me. Let's hear about yeself. I'm certain ye must a family somewhere. Not every day ye find yeself in a sack riding the back of a hay wagon, eh?" 

Sadly, Keith shook his head, his white curls bobbing around his dimpled cheeks. 

"No," he said quietly. "They're all gone. Both of them." 

Blackavar's smile faded. "Both? So ye're an orphan then? What happened? They up and leave ye?" He shook his head. "Nay. With the way ye were, I'd say they were taken from ye." 

Keith looked up, angry tears welling in his eyes. "By my uncle. Only he didn't exactly do it." 

"So an assassin then! Sorry that had to happen to ye, but I've seen and heard too many to count." With one finger, he gently lifted the boy's chin. "My, what a pair of blue 'uns ye got there! Jewels for eyes! Medallion will think ye're a magic-user for sure." 

"Medallion?" 

"Why, the guild's Master Mage, of course! Will take no other." Blackavar noted the boy's unusual appearance as though seeing him for the first time. Blue eyes? White hair? He was not the normal albino, rare though they were. "He'll want to take a look at ye sure enough." 

"Where is this guild?" Keith asked. "I hardly even know where I am." 

"Well, I can help ye with that!" Blackavar jumped to his feet and spread his arms in welcome. "This, dear lad, is the Realm of Lexington, a thief's paradise. Ye've got the market in the center of town. New merchants come every month to sell and buy. There's never a short supply of anything! They even sell slaves here." He held a finger to his lips. "Not something ye want to get into. Slavery's a whole different business in itself. Been and seen it. Don't want no more of it." 

Keith listened to Blackavar ramble on about great steals and guild members. Though he could not replace the boy's parents, having someone to talk to was comforting. There was no end to the thief's jokes and enthusiasm, and soon Keith felt right at home as though he had never left. 

After a while, Blackavar gestured down the alley. "Would ye like a tour of Lexington? I could talk until sundown, but unless ye see for yeself, ye won't believe how easy it is to get some of these things!" 

Keith grinned. "Be my guest."