The Heist

The sun was settling near the horizon when Corvin finally came upon the entrance to the underground trade route. The archway was the height of a city gate, over a story high and carved into the side of the ridgeline with an organic elegance only seen in the most ancient Imperial architecture. From afar it was beautiful, but the closer the young elf came to the construction, the more flaws he could see marring the stone. At one time, gold gilt must have painted the vine-like tendrils, and tiny pockmark carvings exposed places gemstones had once been fixed before scavengers had pried them loose. Corvin stepped through the open doorway, marveling at the sheer craftsmanship of the ancient entryway. It was believed that the elaborate subterranean trade route had been built by the original inhabitants decades ago. The land was more treacherous and wild then, and travelling underground not only protected merchants from attack, but also eliminated the chance of a caravan being stopped indefinitely by an avalanche, snow storm, or flooding river. Like so many other innovations of their ancestors, the network of tunnels was just another reminder of what the Empire once was.

Corvin turned toward a wide spiral staircase, an activation rune glowing on the side of the bannister. The symbol warmed under his touch, and the entire staircase lit up with an array of feyfire gems that illuminated the steps in soft emerald light. He clutched the cold ironwork of the railing to keep his balance as he descended, and breathed a sigh of relief as he foot touched the last step. To his left, he found a map of the closest tunnels etched in the wall beside the staircase. Rather than feyfire, the lines and letters were traced in luminescent algae that gave off a gentle glow. The map showed a clear path extending from where he stood to the closest underground caravan stop. There he would find a tavern, some lodging, and – hopefully – the wagon that contained his quarry. Energized by the thought that a warm meal and a comfortable bed could be waiting for him, the elf forged ahead.

It was only a few minutes before Corvina rounded a bend to find a large gateway to the left of the footpath. The sparks of light radiating from its scaffolding was golden amber instead of the feyfire green, and they were flickering ever so slightly. He realized that the archway was covered in tiny globes of handblown glass, each with a gas flame bouncing about inside. Daringly bright tongues of flame played off the brasswork of the arch, illuminating the sign across the top that read “South Central” in shades of copper and gold. Most homes in the heavily wooded Northern Territories avoided the use of gas lamps in their constructions. The fuel was volatile to store, and the danger it poised to the surrounding forests prompted many to use simple candlelight if magical options were unavailable. With little in the way of kindling in the underground tunnels, however, the risk here was minimal and the gas lamps far more practical than open flame.

Corvin turned, stepping under the brightened archway. Beyond, the tunnel opened into an immense cavern at least four stories high, the center ready to be filled with the daily caravans that passed through. Four sets of wagons had pulled into the space already, but there was room enough to accommodate twenty or so of various sizes. None of the four were particularly large; two were just double wagons and another a set of four. Names and crests too faint to be made out in the dark were stenciled on the wooden sideboards, claiming each as the property of a different merchant. In contrast to that careful uniformity, the last train of six wagons looked a bit motley with each carrying different designs. It must have belonged to a caravan company transporting several clients’ merchandise.

There was a round of applause and joyful shouts that sounded from the tavern far past the caravan lot. There must be some entertainment with dinner, which would be lucky for Corvin. Most likely, people would be inside enjoying a meal after a long day on the road. His stomach growled as he made the mistake of pondering tonight’s menu. What he wouldn’t do for a piping hot bowl of venison stew or a crusty loaf of fresh baked bread right now. He pushed the thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Heist first, dinner later.

A few people milled about by the stables, but for the most part the concourse was quiet. He skirted the caravan lot, and sticking close to the wall he sought out the crest of the specific carriage he was here for. Dismissing each set of caravans in turn, Corvin finally reached the last of them. They were armored, the dark wood girded with blueish-grey steel, and the emblem on the side was hard to make out against the color of the wagon. He had to get right up to close to it before he could make out the design, but immediately recognized the jumping pair of smiling hares, their long ears forming a continuous circle. This was the wagon he was looking for.

On reflex, the young elf touched the pendant that still hung from his neck, reminding himself why he was here and what he had to do. Taking a breath, he placed his hands on the side door of the wagon, listening. Still nothing. He tried the sliding door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. It opened smoothly, the track well-oiled. Aghast at his own luck, Corvin slowly pushed it aside.

“Hold on, Aurora,” he whispered, addressing the fairy companion that lay dormant in his necklace. “I think this just might work out.”

The inside was pitch black, but with the mention of her name the amulet emitted an ever so dull glow. Corvin climbed into the wagon car, examining the shelves in hopes of finding the right ritual component he needed. Just as he was about to reach for a drawer, he felt the grip of a strong hand wrap around his ankle.

“Just want do you think you’re doing?” the voice asked from the floor.

Corvin raised his hands slowly to signal he was unarmed. As he did so, he peered down into the shadows of the wagons floor to find what he’d thought was just a pile of blankets was actually a rather large, solid form. The stone grip on his ankle tightened as the shape sat up slightly, switching on a portable gas lamp with his free hand as he did so. The bright yellow flame illuminated the large cabin, occasionally refracting off of a loose shard of crystal or errant gem. Corvin’s eyes adjusted quickly to the shift in light, and judging by the clothing and facial tattoos he guessed his captor was a warrior from the Southern Steppes.

“Well?” The man growled softly, his golden eyes shining in the light of the lamp.

Corvin had prepared a lie, but it seemed so flimsy now in the face of another person. “I need a binding crystal. A powerful one.”

The warrior raised one brow in disbelief. “That’s it?” he scoffed.

Corvin recognized now from the smooth skin of his captor’s face that the young man was probably no older than he was, even if he was nearly twice his size in pure muscle. “Yes, that’s it. You see, my fa-” Corvin remembered he was a fugitive mid-word. “My employer is vested in this particular wagon, and we hoped we could just retrieve one prior to delivery. It just seemed easier to not bother anyone.”

The figure on the ground didn’t seem convinced, but he loosened his grip and sat up, scratching his head in even more confusion. “Why didn’t you just ask the driver?”

“I would have, but you see I - “

Oh, just tell him the truth already. The fairy’s quiet voice echoed from somewhere in the back of the elf’s mind.

“What, tell him I have a magical fairy necklace in need of a little pick me up? I’m sure that will be a whole lot be-” Corvin looked down. The young warrior stared back, rightfully giving him a wide-eyed expression. “You can’t...hear her, can you?” Corvin sighed. He’d been alone for so long he didn’t even think about what he might sound like having one-sided conversations with a voice in his head.

“The only person I hear right now is a thief who is very, very, crazy,” the young man replied.

Whatever sinews of bravado and adrenaline that were keeping Corvin moving these last weeks snapped, and he slumped to the floor. “Yeah,” he replied quietly, “that sounds about right with how everything else is going,” He dropped his head into his hands. He was tired, and hungry, and failing at the one thing he thought he might be able to control. The weight of the last days fell on him hard, and he wished the rocky contents of the wagon would bury him and put him out of his misery.

There was a beat, and then he felt a huge hand tentatively rest on his hunched shoulder. The mortal touch was more comforting than Corvin would have expected. He breathed a few times, swallowing back the exhausted sobs that threatened to consume him. When he finally looked up, the young man was sitting across from him with a look of concern that outweighed any confusion he still had.

Attempting to give a small smile, Corvin apologized, “I’m sorry. This was a terrible idea. I just didn’t know what to do. It would probably be best if you just turned me into your driver so you don’t get into trouble for letting me in.”

The warrior pulled his hand away and avoided eye contact. “Get into trouble? Oh, I mean, yes. You are probably right.”

“Wait, why haven’t you called the guards?” Corvin asked, realizing how odd the whole situation was.

If there was any doubt still of the boy’s youth, his shy expression proved otherwise. “Well, truth is - I’m not supposed to be in here either.”

He couldn’t help it. Corvin’s mouth stretched out into a smile, and he just managed to cover it with his hands to muffle his laughter. “I’m sorry, what?”

The boy looked deflated. “I’m a stowaway. Which I think is better than a thief, but I somehow doubt the driver would think so. That’s why I haven’t called the guards.” His secret out, he extended his hand. “I’m Draedin.”

The elf returned the offer of friendship and replied without thinking, “Corvin.” He winced as the words left his mouth, realizing he should have given a pseudonym. If Draedin recognized the name, he made no show of it.

“So, you need a binding crystal, huh?” The warrior looked to his left, then to his right, and finally reached up onto one of the half open bins lining the walls. He pulled out what looked like a pillar of quartz around six inches tall. He held it out. “Will this do?”

Corvin took the crystal, turning it in his hand. “Well?” he asked the air quietly, waiting for the fairy to answer.