Story © by Bob Bearden 1998
All Rights Reserved
Page by Jilli / McConner

THE



OF MONTE ORWINN

by:   Bob Bearden aka Thon_

reta paused outside the gates of the city of Monte Orwinn and dismounted. He appeared, to any who might notice, to adjust his saddle, while in truth he was studying the gate and the guards. The man noted the raised portcullis, the height of the twin towers of the gatehouse, and the relaxed manner and bored expressions of the two guards who were watching those who entered or left the city. His narrowed eyes swept the wall for blind spots, areas that would be hidden from the guards and the towers. To his satisfaction he found several with a single glance. The white stone walls of Monte Orwinn were more decorative than protective, as befit the tales of the wondrous city. A thief could scale them at most any point, probably without aid of even a rope.

With an inner smile, Kreta led his horse to the gate. The guards barely noticed the small man in his drab gray clothes. His only visible weapon was a short sword, and his lack of armor showed that he was not of the mercenary class. Why more than a passing look to another weary traveler?

Beyond the gates lay a market square , which was abustle at this mid-morn hour. Stalls with brightly colored awnings and tables spread with wares called to the customer as loudly as the merchants and craftsmen that manned them. Kreta paused at a baker and lay down a copper common for a small loaf. He looked about the market as he tore the bread with his teeth and slowly chewed. It was like any other market in a prosperous city, maybe a bit finer wares on display than some, but that was said of Monte Orwinn anyway, that the finest goods flowed there. Kreta also noted the large number of cats. There were at least two score in sight, some lounging on counter tops while others sat around watching life in that unhurried way of the cat. That too was said of Monte Orwinn, that it was The Cat City. In fact, the Orwinn Tabby was a breed that originated here but was now found in the homes of many of the genteel folk of other cities. Kreta nodded to himself. The more cats the less rats, he thought. He did hate rats.

Hatred of rats came with his trade, he thought, as he worked his way across the market square to seek an inn. On more than one occasion his "occupation" had required him to use the sewer systems to escape, and the sewer was the Empire of the Rat, as his fellow thieves called it.

But a street over from the square Kreta found suitable lodging. The Griffin Tavern and Inn, proclaimed the brightly colored sign. Kreta hitched his horse and entered. At the counter he acquired a room and stable service for his mount, then left for a walking tour of Monte Orwinn. He strolled the busy streets which climbed slightly but steadily towards the estates of the wealthy and noble. It was the lure of those with too much gold that had led the thief to journey almost two hundred leagues to the foot of the Grandar Mountains and fabled Monte Orwinn. Especially the estate of Oskin Veller, a renowned cat-dealer among the wealthy of other cities. He was known to breed cats of the most varied variety and wonderful intelligence, a delight for the upper classes.

The shops and taverns of the upper city were much of an improvement over those near the gate and outer walls, Kreta noted. That bespoke the flowing of coin. Well dressed gentlemen and ladies were now in evidence, and Kreta almost wished his pick-pocket skills were up to the challenge to attempt the lifting of a purse. He restrained himself. Stick to what you do best, that was the motto of the successful thief. Those who let ambition over-rule ability often found themselves the main attraction at a city square hanging. A good thief was a cautious thief.

Kreta started as something rubbed his leg. He saw it was a large gray and white cat, making friends in the way of the feline. It also reminded him that he was standing too long in one spot while he watched the well-to-do folk moving about their business. The man quickly moved off, ignoring the disappointed cat.

By early afternoon, Kreta found his mark, the fine estate of Oskin Veller. It had too much ornamentation on its surrounding wall, he noted. Not only was it made to climb, but it was also much too low, barely over his head. He wondered how it could be said that Monte Orwinn lacked a Thieves Guild? This city begged to be taken by one with the skills. He surmised that there were magical wards around the wealthy estates, but that was common with many of the dwellings of those with gold or who themselves practiced the Art. He found that merely added spice to the adventure. He had acquired enchanted items to work around such obstacles during his long, profitable career.

A small white cat lay by the gate and Kreta went over and knelt to pet it, the better to look at the wrought-iron gate itself. Absently scratching the animals ears, the small thief studied the gate lock. There were a few simple runes of securing on the lock mechanism itself, child's play to counter or avoid, though with that low wall, why even bother with the gate? Kreta stroked the purring feline, almost as happy himself. A good thief could leave Monte Orwinn with his horse loaded with treasure.

"Might even need to buy a wagon," he told the cat. The contented creature merely looked at him with her green eyes, not catching his small jest. Kreta walked away from his "mark" whistling a bawdy tavern tune, pleased that he had made the long journey to The Cat City after all.

Night in the mountains comes swift, as the orb of fire that men call Sun drops below the peaks that mark the horizon like dragon's teeth. The streets of Monte Orwinn were soon in purple shadow, illuminated here and there with lanterns. In the upper city, magical orbs hovered atop stone posts, casting their golden light like a pyramid beneath them. Into this section Kreta moved, now wearing his gray cloak that was enchanted to make him blend with walls when he stood still. He had spent three days observing his target, as well as the neighborhood it occupied, and had memorized the patrol patterns of the Watch. He knew the best route to avoid the light orbs, having in fact been to the estate's walls already in a practice stealth. Except for the same white cat, nobody had seen him. She undoubtedly belonged to the estates owner, Oskin Veller.

The slim thief glided from shadow to shadow, cat-smooth himself. With his cloak of gray he was all but invisible. Amateur thieves, those who courted short careers that ended on the rope, thought in terms of black when selecting their "evening wear". Kreta knew that black oft times caught the eye in shadow by its starkness, whereas gray blended perfectly. And with a bit of enchant added to it, it was unsurpassed for his work.

Like a wraith, the thief reached the wall without a sound. He ran his gloved hands up the wall, caught the coils of a dragon cut into the stone, and pulled himself up and over in one smooth motion, never pausing at the top. Lightly he dropped into the garden beyond, senses alert for a scent or motion that might mean a guard dog shared the grounds with the cat. He had seen none on previous visits, but that did not mean that there was not one. His nostrils flared as he sought a scent, but there was none but the sweet smell of the flowers and vines. Satisfied, Kreta slipped along a hedge row to the main house itself. He had already chosen a second floor window that had never shown light in the past two nights.

From his belt, the man took a silken rope. He held it loosely and spoke softly," Tera tamera", the command words that had cost him one hundred gold nobles to learn. The wizard that had given him this secret often received business from Kreta, for he was seldom wrong. He had not been wrong this time, either, proven as the rope snaked up the wall to the balcony and wound itself around the rail. The thief tested once to be sure it held, more out of old habit than doubt of the enchanted cord, then ascended rapidly to the balcony. He eased over the rail and dropped to a crouch to survey the grounds below. Nothing moved.

Kreta tested the latch of the balcony door, expecting it to be locked. It was not. He smiled, careful not to reveal his white teeth. This was almost no challenge. Easing open the door, he slid within the darkened chamber. Kreta touched a ring he wore to both eye lids, feeling the familiar tingle. His vision sharpened dramatically, so that he could make out the canopied bed that dominated the room. A guest bedroom. There would be little of value here, and his vision would only be affected for less than a quarter of an hour, so Kreta wasted no time searching. Across to the entry door, listen for sound, then cautiously open it.

Empty hall beyond. Good. Kreta moved out of the room and padded silently along. From a pouch he selected a small amber gem stone. It gave a very faint glow, deep within. As he moved, it dimmed or brightened, guiding him, as always, to other gems. And where there were gems, there would be the rest of the treasure. Twice his enchanted vision alerted him to movement, yet on both occasions it was proven to be merely cats. One a large black tom that sat upon a divan and regarded him with only mild interest and the second a smaller feline that rubbed his leg briefly, found no petting was to be had, and moved off on business of its own.

Moving as surely as if it were his estate, Kreta soon came to a trophy room . On the walls were the mounted heads of boars, deer, elk, and one magnificent tiger, as well as a collection of weapons. Obviously, the owner of the estate fancied himself a sportsman, Kreta thought as he followed his Gem of Seeking across the room to where the tiger glared down at him in a forever snarl. He ran his hand lightly over the stuffed head, searching for something out of place, indication of a trap. He found none. He tested the teeth. They did not move. He tried moving the entire mounted head, but it was secure. Then he noticed, with his enhanced vision, a small button in the back of the open mouth. Ah, he thought, that would be hard to notice even if the room were lit, but easy for one with elf-like sight.

Kreta reached into the mouth and pushed the button. He was rewarded with two results. The first was a panel sliding open under the mounted head. The second was the mouth snapping shut on his arm.

The man almost cried out as the teeth of the trophy sank into his forearm. Silently cursing himself for being so easily fooled, Kreta drew his short sword and used it to pry the mouth open. He examined his throbbing arm, but the damage seemed not to be extensive beyond the punctures made by the teeth, and they were not deep. No broken bone, he was relieved to note. But the thought of poison came to mind. Fumbling in a belt pouch, he took out a small glass vial, popped the cork seal, and drank the cool liquid. The thief was glad he had thought to bring an anti-venom potion. Now, to that hidden panel. He knelt and saw a passage going down and away. Sheathing his sword, Kreta crawled into the narrow opening. It was not a sharp incline, but it was smooth and offered little traction. Just as he thought he should secure his rope before crawling further, the passage floor dropped away under him and he plunged downward. Some ten or so feet he fell, and luckily was able to land on his feet, despite the uneven and unstable nature of the floor. Looking down, he saw why. The floor was covered in loose coins, sacks of coins and assorted items of treasure. Kreta's heart pounded! He had found the treasure room.

The thief stared in disbelief at the wealth scattered before him. Thousands of silver and gold coins, gem encrusted drinking vessels, an ivory statuette of some pot-bellied god with emerald eyes the size of a child's fist, daggers and swords with ruby's and diamonds in the pommels. He was set for life and he knew it. All the tales of Oskin Veller's wealth were true, and soon all the tales of Kreta's wealth would also ring true.

Kreta noted that the weapons were all too large for a normal man, as if Oskin Veller had raided some giant's lair in an adventurous past. Still, it was for their gems and not their use as weapons that the thief desired them. He knelt and removed from a pouch a small sack of green leather with silver stitching. It was his greatest item of magic, a Gateway He began raking the gold coins and loose gems into it by the handful, and no matter how many he shoved into it, it remained empty. Yet, back in his hidden stronghold in a city hundreds of leagues away, coins and gems were appearing out of the air and showering to the floor. Even the coins seemed to have been from a giants lair, for some were large as saucers, yet still they fit into his Gateway, and that was all he had mind for. Until he heard the clatter of coins not made by him.

Kreta froze in mid-scoop, his body tense. Someone was approaching him from behind, and only a shifting of coins had given them away. Slowly the thief eased his hand to his waist and gripped the hilt of his sword. He took a deep breath, exhaled it partly, and rolled to the side. Coming to his feet in the stance of the tested street fighter, Kreta stood ready.

"Gods of Thieves!" he softly swore as his keen sight revealed what was creeping up from out of the shadowed recesses of the treasure chamber. It was a rat, but of a size he had never imagined. As large as a wolf, but heavier it was. It's red eyes regarded the man, and it crept closer, its nose twitching as it smelled him out. Kreta had always hated rats, but now he knew fear at sight of one. He waved his sword in menace, but the monstrous rodent came closer. It seemed confused as much as threatening, sniffing the air as if unsure of the scent of the man. Kreta weighed his chances and saw that his best hope lay in striking first. Settling back on his heels, the thief took another calming breath.

With a speed that even surprised him, Kreta lept at the huge rat, closing the distance in a bound. He drove his sword at the things chest with all his desperate strength , shouting as he turned all his shoulder into the stroke. Caught unawares, the hideous rat moved only at the last possible moment. Yet, it was enough to prevent the blow from going to its heart. Instead, the blade bit into the muscular shoulder, bringing a squeal of pain from the beast. The rat responded to the attack instantly, lunging at Kreta. Stepping back, the thief stumbled over the pot-bellied statuette and went down into the pile of coins. In a thrice the rodent was upon him, its breath in his face. With maddened strength, Kreta drove his sword into the monsters belly, just as its teeth locked in his shoulder. Pain lanced through him as he ripped into the rat with his blade. It released its bite and pulled away, trying to escape the impaling sword, but Kreta grabbed it by the throat and stabbed again and again. In a frenzy of hate and fear the thief hacked and stabbed until the huge rat no longer moved. He then sank to the floor, gasping for air. There was something odd about the whole thing, yet he couldn't quite reason it out. His potion should have worn off, yet he could still see in the virtual darkness. The coins were so large. but stranger still, he no longer perceived them as having value. In fact, he found that he was hungry and the dead rat smelled inticing....

Undarr the Shifty emerged from the shadows and casually walked towards the Estate of Oskin Veller. He had journeyed far to relieve these cat lovers of some of their wealth, and so far he had seen nothing more formidable than lazy guardsmen and lazier cats. No thieves were working the market in Monte Orwinn, which he also found both odd and inviting. This city was much in need of a thieves guild. At the gate of the estate, he paused to pet a cat that lay there, using that pretext to survey the possible ways into the grounds. The cat jerked as he stroked it, and Undarr looked down. It was a handsome Tom with a gray coat that blended nicely with the paving stones of the walk. The thief saw that he had touched an area on its shoulder where the hair was missing and a scab was formed over a wound.

"What got you, ol' Tom? Another cat or one of those big sewer rats? "Undarr laughed. " If you had the skills of a master thief like Undarr the Shifty, I bet you would have got not a scratch. Though I would benefit from some of your natural reflexes, I warrant. Perhaps we will discuss a trade, once I am rich and famous."

 

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