Niklaus: Northkind Mage

 

They sat at the tables this time, as Niklaus was just then realizing how hungry he was.  The inn didn’t have much in the way of choices when it came to food, but the soldiers sitting at their table told him not to get the Harren Pocket. 

Niklaus cocked his head, not certain if he heard them correctly.  “What is it?”

“The shits for two days,” one of them said and elbowed the guy next to him.  They all laughed for a moment before the soldier addressed him again.  “I’ve never seen a Northman before.  You a warrior?” 

Roger chuckled beside him.  Why did everyone ask him that?  He didn’t look like a warrior, did he? 

“Thought all Northmen were warriors,” the soldier said with surprise.  “Heard you lot were born with axes in your hands.”

Bewildered, he wondered what else Tannikans made up about his people.  All the villagers in his town seemed to do was farm, brew and drink.  “Don’t you mean bottles of mead?”

“Ha!”  The soldier raised his glass.  “You’re all right.”  He introduced himself as Garrett and then introduced his crowd of fellows who huddled around the table; Niklaus would never remember their names, there was far too many of them, and Garrett wouldn’t take a polite decline when he offered to buy him and Roger a round. 

“You’re all warriors?” Niklaus asked, leaving his glass of whiskey untouched in front of him.  He was much more interested in the war.  “Just returned from the fight in the west?”

“Soldiers, Northman, not warriors,” one of them said with a laugh.  “And I’d say we did very well to come back whole!”

That soldier raised his glass and all the others did as well.  Niklaus noticed they were all fairly inebriated.  The one across from them was particularly drunk and kept swaying in his seat, humming a song to himself. 

“What was it about?”  He had been told conflicting stories.  When Athalla had first joined their party, she had said the war had been over Tangar to the south, but the barkeep had said the fight was in the west, which was why the inns were so packed with refugees from the western villages. 

“We weren’t the ones that went south,” a voice said behind him.  Niklaus turned in his seat to look at the man who spoke.  He was an older man, dressed in finer armor than any of the other soldiers, perhaps being of a higher rank.  He had a grizzled look, like the human version of a bear, and a haunted look in his eyes.  All the soldiers around the table quieted their drunken rabbling when he spoke.  “All that went south never came back.”

“What do you mean?”

“The jungles.  Those that weren’t killed by Tangarian hands never made it out of the jungles.”

“Why even go there?” Roger chimed in beside him.  “That’s the last place I’d go.  Good way to get spear through the chest if you ask me.  Not to mention those bloody flowers.”

“We fight for the Arravel crown, and go where our King tells us.  Fight whoever threatens Tannika.”

The thief shook his head.  “Still wouldn’t do it.”

“How are they a threat?”

The soldier across him had stopped his drunken humming.  “Bein’ a Northman, you wouldna know, would ya?” he said.

“We heard they’d been attacking the villages at the southern border.” The older soldier supplied.  “Scouts were sent, and reported back that not a soul survived.  Even the children were slaughtered.  The villages had been burned to the ground.”

“You can’t be serious!”  Roger scoffed in plain disbelief.  “They wouldn’t do that without a reason.”

“Whatever the reason, that’s what started this.” He turned his hardened expression to the thief.  “Pergne heard of the massacre, he had been called to fight and send his men to help us but he refused.”

“That’s what I heard!” Garrett shouted. “Bloody coward!” The drunken soldiers all muttered in agreement at these words.  “Showed him!” he said, causing them all to raise their glasses once more.

Niklaus was confused.  From the stories Athalla had told him of the Tangarians they didn’t seem the type of people to do such things.  She had said they kept to themselves, never leaving their jungles, unless it was to travel to the Sliverwood encampment in the western forests.  She also said they were a peaceful, tribal people, but one that would fight for their homeland till death.  They would have to have a very good reason to do such monstrous things as the soldier had described.

“All red-blooded Tannikans know he’s soft on those bloody elves…”  Garrett trailed off, and then shouted at the barkeep for another round for him and his fellows.

“Who is this Pergne?”

Roger groaned, clearly tired of this talk.  He clapped Niklaus on the shoulder and wandered off to the bar, away from their discussion.  The thief it seemed had enough talk of politics and war.

“He’s the King’s cousin by marriage,” The old soldier said and took Roger’s abandoned seat beside him.  “Divided Tannika in the middle with all this nasty business.  His territory is the whole of the West now. We’ll see how long he can hold onto it after being defeated.”

“My whole family’s from the west,” Garrett said, “Born and raised in West Bay.”

“My—have you heard from them?” Niklaus asked him.  “Are they all right?”

“Fighting was well away from the coast, lad,” the old soldier beside him murmured.  “We met Pergne’s men in the valley.  The blood of our fallen soaks the farmland west of Murrae.”

Niklaus turned his attention back to Garrett.  “Your family would support such a man?”

“West Bay’s their home.  They’ll never leave the sea! We have lots of fellows from West Bay in the King’s army; their families, all fishermen and sailors.  Soldiering’s the easiest way out of that life.”

Niklaus couldn’t see himself signing up for such a thing.  He couldn’t kill for a living, he thought, not really understanding the soldier’s life.  His people would never let him in the Northern army anyway, given what he was.  He’d be killed before he saw any fighting.  If he had had a choice he would have stayed in Staatsgard, and been a farmer for the rest of his life, but his magic had steered his life in a different course.

“I’ve never seen the sea…”  Well, he had seen the sewage river washing out to the sea behind King’s; the eastern sea hadn’t been what he thought it was going to be.  It seemed so polluted from the sewage washing out.  He’d never imagined something so disgusting.  But it was probably best not to mention the whole prison debacle or where he was when it happened.  “What’s West Bay like?”

“Small,” Garrett said and laughed heartily.  The soldiers around them joined in after a time, looking for any excuse it seemed.  “Most of us live in our ships.  The sea is so blue there, there is no match.”

They all talked for some time about West Bay, which apparently was a dusty red fishing village on the edge of a desert that stretched along the western coast.  Garrett and some of the other bay boys, which is what they called themselves, talked freely about their old lives as fishermen and sailors of the western sea.  Though they seemed wistful, they all seemed to agree it was a poor existence.  And that the whole village reeked of dead fish, though Garrett said he almost missed it.

Roger rejoined them after a while, bringing food with him, and they both ate while being regaled of the soldiers’ travels across Tannika, how they had joined up for just that reason.  They had wanted to see the world.  It was all very interesting, but Niklaus was out of energy as it was getting late, so he and Roger said farewell to their new friends and went back to the room for the rest of the night.

---

Athalla had said she’d wanted them to come by the gold honestly and apparently she meant it.  As soon as they set out in the city the following morning, she was pestering people in the market district for work, though they looked more annoyed than grateful for the offer.  They took one look at her and Niklaus and told them to fuck off. 

When Niklaus looked around for Roger he was pretending as if he didn’t know them.  He had his back toward them, leaning against a shop front.

“A little help would be nice.”

“I told you it’s a waste of time,” the thief said, mischief in his eyes as he scanned the people walking by.  “You’re foreigners, sweetheart.  No one wants to give you anything.”

“I hate this city,” Athalla grumbled to herself.  Then she straightened her shoulders and looked determined, if a little angry.  She looked around at the shops for her next target, but Niklaus could guess what they were going to say to them.  “I’m not giving up.”

“That’s the spirit, woman,” The thief said, pushing off the store front with purpose.  “I was going to suggest we split up anyway.”

He watched Roger draw his hood up over his head, shadow hiding the top half of his face.  “Why?” But he already knew the answer to that.

“Because you’re drawing attention.” Roger looked back at them, only his cheeky grin visible from under the hood.  “Keep trying,” he said and backed off into the crowd.  “I’ll see you back at the inn.”

Niklaus searched the crowded street but somehow Roger had disappeared.  The elf was already walking away from him.  “Come on, Niklaus,” she called over her shoulder.  When he caught up with her she was cursing under her breath.  “Shifty bastard. He said he’d learned something.  Should have known he was lying.”

Over the next few hours it seemed every shop owner and market stall merchant was only trying to get them accustomed to rejection.  They would smile in greeting when they approached, but once it seemed apparent they were looking for gold and not looking to give any away, they were repeatedly told to fuck off and step aside for paying customers. 

His insane plan from the night before was sounding better and better to him, but he didn’t bring it up to Athalla.  It was a safe bet she wouldn’t approve.  It was at the front of his mind, however, when they were told to shove off for the last time.  He hoped Roger had better luck, or at least hadn’t gotten caught with his hand in someone’s pocket.

“I’ve had just about enough of this!” The elf said.  They both sat on a stone bench in an open part of the district.  Small trees had been recently planted here, and a few of the citizens sat enjoying the semblance of nature in the bustling city.  “I’m tired and hungry.  Have a splitting headache.”

“That’s the Sunvine,” Niklaus supplied, watcher her rub at her temples with her fingertips.  “We’re desperate, Athalla.  No one will help us.”

“Oh?  Is this where you tell me we’ve got to go back to the inn?  Wait for the Ro’kirr to come back, somehow dragging a chest carrying a fortune?”

“That’s not going to happen… I don’t agree with what he’s doing, you know.”

“I didn’t see you trying to stop him.”  She searched his face.  “You seem to allow it.  Let him do whatever he wants.”

Niklaus almost laughed. “Do you think I could stop him?”

“I don’t know.  You may be the best one of us to convince him.  Tserrus knows I’ve tried.”

                “I think it’s time to revisit some other options,” he said, looking over the buildings to the two towers of the college.  Seeing them made his resentment for his former mentor twist into a hard resolve.  “We could get what we need easily.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Athalla snapped.  “I should slap some sense into you, but I don’t think it would work.”

“There are so many apprentices they might not even notice me.”  Godfrey had said that within time he’d know the college like the back of his hand, and after a while that proved true.  He could be in and out hopefully in no time.

“You stand out, Niklaus, in case you haven’t noticed.  So do I.”  He looked at her, seeing her hang her head.  She sighed and after a moment raised her head to cut her eyes at him.  “What did you intend to do?”

“Get my hands on some notes.”  He shrugged at her questioning look.  “Mages guard their research jealously.  They’re constantly in competition with one another.  I can’t count how many times I had been approached, offered gold… among other things, just for a peek at Orlinda’s work.”

“You want to anger her further?  You heard Albermann.  They’ve started an inquiry.  The mages were watching the district, and if it wasn’t for them the whole city would have been covered in that fog. They know.”

“Yes, and I’m sure they’ve connected my disappearance with the stolen flasks.”  She didn’t have to convince him it was a bad idea; he already knew that.  But what choice did he have?  “I still have a friend in there,” he insisted, though he didn’t want to get Godfrey in any more trouble.  And he didn’t know if they were friends still after what had transpired that night. 

“Don’t be a bastard!” The elf shook her head in disbelief.  “Don’t use that boy anymore!  You’re better than that.”

Niklaus hung his head in shame, but wouldn’t drop the subject.  “Then I can do it myself,” he said to his feet, unable to look at her.  “It will be easy to get inside.”

“Getting out is the issue.  They will notice you, Niklaus.  I won’t let you do it.  I’ll knock you out if I have to.” Athalla watched him, her expression deadly serious.  He had no doubt that was what she’d try to do.  “Come on,” she said, standing from the bench.  “There are other districts we can search.  We should pick up some food on the way.”

He begrudgingly followed her, glancing back at the college.  Niklaus hoped they would find something soon.  If they didn’t, he’d follow through with his plan with or without her blessing. 

They picked up some apples from a produce stand on their way out of the market district and ate them leisurely as they walked.

“Failing finding a job,” the elf said as they waited in line at the large wooden doors that led to the neighboring district. “Do you have anything in your pack you could part with?  Anything of worth?”

He catalogued the contents of his pack in his mind and shrugged.  “I don’t have much.  Most of what’s in there are things we’ll need.  I do have some books one of the other apprentices had given me when I first arrived.  I don’t know if they’re worth anything but I could happily part with those.”

“Perhaps we’ll pass a pawn broker then, if you’re willing.  What sort of books are they?”

“History of the college, basic spells.  That sort of thing.  Interesting but I’ve read them over and over.  There’s no need for me to hang onto them.  They’re not that important.”

But he didn’t think they’d fetch much of a price.  Then he thought of his father’s axe, which he had been keeping in his pack since hooked to his belt it had only drawn negative attention. People here seemed to get nervous when they saw him with it (its handle stuck out from the pack, but no one really noticed it as long as it stayed within), as if he was confirming their prejudices about Northmen.  

Niklaus had never had to use it during their journey to King’s.  It was the only thing he had left of his father, and there wasn’t anything else left to go back to as the villagers had burned his home to the ground.  It was of fine make, there was no metal comparable to Northern steel.  If they found a broker honest enough it may fetch a handsome price.  It would hurt him to part with it, but he would for Athalla’s sake.

They found a pawn broker and sold him the books.  All twelve of them fetched a measly five gold coins and two silvers.  Hmmph, he thought derisively, and Petra had said the books were priceless.  It seemed books of this nature weren’t worth much out of the college.  The man behind the counter looked too poor to even offer to show him the axe so they left with the few coins they had acquired.

Niklaus steered her toward a forge, seeing the sign from down the street.  Frella’s Ironheart, the sign read, which reminded him of home.  There had been one forge master in his village of Staatsgard.  A heavy, broad man with a great, wiry black beard.  As a child he used to watch him shape swords and axes, fascinated by the work, how the man had bent the steel effortlessly, crafting the weapons as if it were an art no other man had right to possess.  Frella was a Northern name, which was also a surprise.  He didn’t think there were any other Northern folk in the city.

They passed a man at the forge that looked very like the man from his own village.  The same reverence and determination in his face as he pounded his hammer on the steel, though his build was the same of any average Tannikan in King’s.  Short.  The man didn’t look up when they walked to the door of the weapons shop, too absorbed in his work.

“Why are we here?” Athalla asked once they were inside. 

Niklaus didn’t answer, taking in their surroundings.  The inside of the weapons shop was aglow with candlelit sconces.  Weapons and shields hung on the wall.  There was a long counter and a woman behind it shining a shield.  She looked up when they entered and waved them over.  She was a short, older blonde woman, her hair hanging in a loose braid down her back.  The sleeves of her dress were rolled up and she kept to her work shining the shield as they approached her counter.

“Welcome,” she said, finishing and setting both the shield and her rag aside.  She looked up at Niklaus, eyes alight.  “You’re a Northman!” she exclaimed.  “A Northman at my forge, my gods.  Please!  Take a look at anything you see here.”

“We’re not looking to buy, actually,” Athalla said, glancing at Niklaus.  “Why are we here again?”

“Frella’s Ironheart,” Niklaus said, smiling at the woman.  “Are you Frella?”

The woman laughed.  “No, my name is Isabelle.  My father was a blacksmith and got me into the trade.  I traveled north and learned from the smiths in your homeland, Northman, under a woman called Frella.  Marvelous things she did with metal.  She made an impression on me.  I spent many years at her forge, perfecting my craft.  When my father passed I came back to King’s and set up shop here, naming it after her.”  Isabelle smiled wistfully, lost in memory.  “She was a hell of woman.”

Niklaus shrugged off his pack, pulling out his father’s axe and set it on the counter.  The woman’s eyes lit up, gasping as she stared open-mouthed at the axe.  Her fingers reached for it, but stopped just shy of touching it.  She turned her gaze to Niklaus.  “May I?”

“Please,” he said and the woman grasped it in her hands, testing the edge with her thumb.

“Ooh!” she said, cutting her finger.  “It could use some sharpening.  I could do that for you, if you like.  No charge.  Just the pleasure of holding it for a moment.”

Niklaus beamed with pride, seeing the woman in awe as she held the axe, moving away from them to give it a few good swings.  She seemed very capable, more so than he as he never swung a weapon with the intention to kill. 

“These people are mad,” the elf whispered beside him.  He glanced down at her, but otherwise ignored this comment.

“It’s very fine!” Isabelle cooed.  “To be honest I’ve missed Northern weapons.  I’m afraid my work comes just shy of enough.”  She placed the axe back on the counter, seeming unable to take her eyes off it.  “Is this your primary weapon?”

Athalla chuckled to herself beside him, perhaps picturing Niklaus holding the thing.  He shook his head at the woman who had returned to her place behind the counter.  “I don’t wield it.  It was my father’s.”

“He was a warrior then?”

“Not all Northmen are warriors,” the elf said to her, causing the woman to flush in embarrassment. 

“Oh I know!  It’s just… such a fine weapon.  I’d never imagined to see something like this in King’s.  It’s truly a beauty.”  Isabelle looked to Niklaus, having to tear her eyes away from the axe.  “How did your father come by it if he was not a warrior?”

“It’s a family heirloom.  Passed down from his father’s father.  I’d only seen my father use it once.  A diseased wolf was attacking our goats…” he trailed off, lost in the memory.  Seeing his father swinging the axe at the snapping wolf’s face.  That wolf had killed three of their goats, tainting their meat and stringing blood, bone and entrails all over the back of their little house.  They had to burn the bodies along with the wolf’s.

“You’re looking to sell it then?”  The words seemed torn out of her.  She looked sympathetic, but if there was anyone to whom he could sell it, this was the lady.  The way she looked at it, held it.  She really appreciated the axe and its worth it seemed. 

Niklaus nodded reluctantly, and Athalla looked to him in surprise.

“Niklaus you don’t have to do this!”

“We need the gold.  I said I’d help you if I could.”  The elf was hesitant and seemed ready to protest yet again.  He held up a hand to stop her.  “You’re my friend, Athalla.” 

Isabelle watched this exchange interestedly, her hands absently clasping the axe on the counter.  “If you can let it go to me, I would pay you handsomely.”

“How much could you give?”

She stared down at the axe, a smile brightening her features.  When she looked up she said, “Wait here.”  Isabelle rushed away and stuck her head out of the front of the shop, shouting to the man at the forge.  “Edwin, go beat some sense into Vaughn.  I need my debt repaid.”  She turned to them, the giddiness of her expression making her look years younger.  “Forty,” she said then shook her head, “No! Fifty gold, I swear it.  Just wait till Edwin comes back!”

Back at the inn much later, they had fifty five gold coins and some change, minus what they used to pay for another night in their room and some food for dinner.  Athalla wrapped her arms up around his neck when once in the room and kissed his cheek. 

“I can’t believe you did that.  You sweet, sweet fool.”  She held onto him a moment longer and he didn’t know what to say.  He returned the embrace, a bit short on breath as she was squeezing him too tightly.  He felt about to choke.  “You didn’t have to.  I’ll pay you back.  I’ll get it back!”

“There’s no need…” he said awkwardly, pulling away from her.  “And don’t thank me until Roger gets back with the rest.  Hopefully he’s had some luck wherever he’s got to.”

“We’re halfway there!  I can’t believe it!”  She said excitedly, dropping into one of the chairs at the table.  “Keep that gold safe.  Don’t let it out of your hands.”

Niklaus patted his pocket, taking the other chair across from her.  “I won’t.  I promise.” 

Though he had been loath to part with his father’s axe, he was glad it fetched such a handsome price.  He had never thought it would have been worth so much.  Though its sentimental value had made it priceless.  Niklaus grinned at her; he had never seen the elf so happy.  She munched on some bread, smiling over at him ever so often, unable to hide her glee.

They both ate and drank water in silence, waiting for Roger’s return.  They had done pretty much all they could for the day, and were tired from their long walk around the city. 

The thief didn’t return until well into the evening.  Though the way he flew into the room it seemed as if his ass was on fire.

“What a bloody day!” he shouted at the two of them.  He looked harried, his hands shaking as he emptied the contents of his pockets on the table between them.  “You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get this much.”  Roger set a large dusty bottle on the table, along with several coin purses, a pile of letters and a couple of rings. 

“What is this?” Niklaus asked, turning the bottle so he could read the label. 

“Tangarian Red.  Don’t get too attached though.  We’re going to give it to Albermann.  It’s very fine, and a good year too.”  Athalla picked up the bundle of letters, rifling through them with a curious expression.  “Oh, I don’t know about those.  That’s all the courier had on him.  I figured we could deliver him in his stead.  You get paid for delivering such things.”

Roger’s hands were still shaking as he opened the coin purses, dumping the coins on the table.  They went flying everywhere, clinking on the floor near his feet.  The thief was in such a state, his breaths fast and shallow.  Niklaus stood, putting an arm around his shoulders.  Roger sagged against him, turning to bury his face in his chest until he calmed himself.

“Are you all right?”  He asked as the thief pulled back to look up at him.  “Were you followed?”

Roger looked up and shook his head, forcing a smile on his face.  “I spent the last two hours making sure of that.” He reached up and patted his cheek, placing a kiss there on the corner of his mouth.  “I’m well enough now.  I’m glad you didn’t come with me.  What a time I’ve had.”

“Blessed Tserrus!” Athalla exclaimed from the floor by their feet.  She was picking up the coins, counting them as she stuck them in her palms.  Niklaus looked down, seeing a mound of them spilling out of her hands.  “There’s about twenty gold here altogether!  And that’s just here on the floor!”

“The bottle’s worth about fifteen.  I’m hoping he’ll accept it in lieu of gold.”  He stepped back from Niklaus’ arms and pulled a bundle of clothes from his satchel.  “Got you some fresh things, too.  Both of you.”

Athalla stood, looking at the thief in disbelief.  “You said what?”

“By way of apology, elf. Don’t get used to it.” 

Niklaus unfolded the clothes, looking them over.  They were simple, but clean and free of stains unlike the clothes they both currently wore.  He cocked his head at Roger, searching his face.  How had he come by all this? 

“I don’t want to be seen with you both dressed the way you are,” Roger said, quickly trying to cover his good deed.  “Could hurt a bloke’s reputation.”

Athalla mocked a frown, seeming to try with difficulty to keep from laughing.  She ended up smiling then and punched the thief lightly in the shoulder.  Niklaus supposed this was her way of thanking him.  “You wretch!”  She said, gesturing to the clothes. “You stole these.”

“Sure, how else was I to come by them?”  He shrugged and took Niklaus’ abandoned seat at the table.  “Go on,” he said.  “Change so I don’t have to look at the state you’re in.”  The elf didn’t protest anymore and they both changed into the fresh clothes Roger had provided as he busied himself eating at the table.  “How did you fair looking for work?”

“We had no luck there,” Athalla said, pulling a pale blue shirt over her head.  She tugged on some dark green trousers and tossed her stained clothes on the floor in the corner.  “No one wanted us.”

Niklaus was left with some brown pants which were thankfully long enough to cover his legs this time, unlike the ones he had been wearing under his robes.  As he thought about this, he realized he hadn’t seen those robes again since he’d given them to Roger.  The thief had probably thrown them in the street like he did those trousers he had been wearing in the prison. 

There was dark blue shirt for him to put on, so he shrugged off the one he had been wearing which used to be white, but was now a yellowish brown color, uniformly and permanently stained from the sewage water.  He tossed that in the elf’s pile of old clothes and stuck in arms in the sleeves of the fresh shirt, sighing in pleasure. 

“We had a good day actually,” Niklaus said, smiling over at Athalla.  “Though we did walk ourselves nearly to death.”

“Niklaus did a very foolish, sweet thing,” she said to him, reaching over to squeeze his arm briefly before returning to her seat at the table. 

“Well, out with it!” Roger said, staring at her in amusement.  “Look at your face!  I’ve never seen you so elated.”  He looked to Niklaus, giving him an appraising stare.  “That was a fine choice,” he said, trailing off staring at his chest.

Niklaus hastily did up the buttons on his shirt.  “I sold my father’s axe.  Got good coin for it too.”  He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling relieved and refreshed to be in clean clothes.  “And some books to a pawn broker.”

                The elf positively beamed at the both of them.  “With what you’ve brought I’d say we have enough to make your friend help us now.”

                “Really?”  The thief’s expression turned thoughtful as he stared at him.  “You sold your father’s axe?”

                Niklaus shrugged, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “What could I do?  We needed the coin.”

                “Oh, Nick,” he said, his expression unreadable now.  He was silent for a moment, almost contemplative as he sipped on some water.  “You silly, sweet man…”  Roger pinched a piece of bread off the loaf on the table.  “Who did you sell it to?”

                Niklaus narrowed his eyes, following the thief’s thoughts.  “Oh no, I’ll not say.  It was an honest deal, and she appreciated its value.”

                “She gave us fifty gold,” Athalla said, amazement in her voice.  Roger’s fingers stopped short of stuffing the bread in his mouth.  His eyes widened.  “I know!”  She spread her arms to the coins on the table.  “I’ve never seen so much coin!”

                “Nick, sometimes you can be so naïve it’s just precious!” Roger grinned at him, causing a blush to rise in his cheeks.  He ducked his head to hide it.  “All right, you two.  Let’s count up this coin and see what we have.”

                They busied themselves counting up the coins and dividing them into piles: silvers, coppers and a sizable pile of gold.  Altogether the coins added up to about eighty gold’s worth.  The bundle of letters Roger said he’d deliver tomorrow, assuring them that he’d get paid for his trouble, though Niklaus felt sorry for the poor courier whose job had been stolen from him.  The couple of rings caught his eye and he turned them over in his palm, looking at them curiously. 

                “How did you get ahold of these?”

                Roger shrugged and was uncharacteristically silent, offering no more than a frightened look that flickered in his green eyes.  He shook his head, seeming to come out of a reverie. 

                Athalla scooped up the coins and divided them into three coin purses, which she gave to Niklaus to hold onto.  She told him again not to let them out of his sight as he secreted them away on his person.  She then began to examine the bottle of Tangarian Red, rubbing the dust off its label.

                “That was a hard one,” Roger said finally, gesturing to the bottle with a jerk of his head.  “The barkeep had said Sliverwood stopped trade over a month ago.  It’s Albermann’s favorite.  I assume he’ll value it quite highly.”

                “Why do they call it Tangarian Red if it comes from the Sliverwood?”

                “I’ve never seen this before,” Athalla said, shaking her head.  She looked up at Roger in surprise.  “Perhaps it came from the Sliverwood in the west.  Our clan doesn’t make wine.”

                “It’s just a name,” the thief explained to Niklaus.  “I’m not sure why they call it that.  It’s wonderful on the tongue.  Very rich and full of flavor.  In comparison, Tannikan wine is water.”

                “I’m half-tempted to try it if it’s as good as you say,” the elf whispered, but set the bottle down amongst the other things Roger had stolen.  “I’m surprised you could fit all this in your pockets.”

                “Ah,” he said, winking at her.  “That’d be telling.”

                Niklaus chuckled at him, amused and amazed by all he had acquired.  “So, what do we do now?  We have enough, but the meeting isn’t for a few days.”

                “We should get this to Albermann straight off tomorrow, before it starts to tempt us,” Roger sighed mournfully, his eyes on the bottle of wine.  “And we should work on your act, elf.”

                “My act?” Athalla looked confused.  She was rifling through the letters again, reading the addresses.  She looked over at Roger uncertainly.  “What could you mean?”

                “Tell me, do you know anything about the art of seduction?”

                Athalla’s pale face flushed with color.  “I’m going to need a drink if there’s any more of this talk!”

                The thief turned to Niklaus, but he looked about the same.  He was embarrassed for her, hearing those words.  “You couple of children!” Roger exclaimed with a sigh.  “Fine, let’s hide this stuff under the mattress.  We’ll go down and see those soldiers at the bar.”

                “Whatever for!”

                “You’re not trying it out on me!” Roger protested, grinning from ear to ear.  He stood and walked over to her, studying her face.  “Hmm,” he said, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.  The elf jerked when he released her long white-blonde hair from her bun, letting it flow down around her, hanging in soft waves.  “That’s a little better.  Get that look off your face and you’d be prettier.”

                “What look?”

                “The look that says you’re frightened of someone stealing your virtue,” he drawled.

                Niklaus laughed helplessly from the edge of the bed, covering his blushing face briefly with his hands.  He had to admit, she did look better with her hair down—a little softer, but the look on her face!  Her pale eyes were wide with fear.  She looked like a frightened child.

                “Can’t I try it on Niklaus?” she said, turning her fearful look toward him.  He balked, a bit surprised at the suggestion.  “Oh, I mean… I know you.  It’s less intimidating since you’re my friend.”

                “Not for me…” Niklaus admitted in a small voice.

                “No, how would we know if it was working?”  Roger said with a laugh.  He grabbed her shaking hands and pulled her from her chair, spinning her around slowly so he could look at her.  “You’re actually quite pretty for an elf and a sight better in clean clothes.”

                Athalla said nothing to this, still obviously fretting about the whole thing.  “Roger,” she said finally, her voice shaking slightly.  “I’m not…”

                “Of course you’re not.  You obviously don’t know the first thing about it.”  He said plainly, irritation in his tone.  “Look, if you can chat up a drunken soldier I’d say you’re golden.  It should be easy!  This Lord Holmes will likely be off his nut at this party thing, so don’t worry so much.”  She didn’t look very relieved by those words.  Niklaus wasn’t either.  “We’ll be with you the whole time.”

                Niklaus shrugged when she looked over at him, casting a pleading look in his direction.  “A drink will help,” he said, but wasn’t sure if it would with the state she was in. 

                “See?” Roger said and pinched her cheek, causing the poor elf to wince.  “Give us a smile.”  Now that she had to think about it, Athalla forced herself to smile but it was more of a grimace, causing Niklaus and Roger to cringe in its wake.  “Gods, let’s get a drink in you.  That was scary!”