A Mage's Odyssey Ch's 1-2

Chapter I

Kuric clenched his fist as the laughter of the crowd slowly died in the yard. The minor insult from his adversary had no larger an effect than little irritation. The slightly less than average size fourteen-year-old boy was hoping to avoid another confrontation between Tighon and himself. The history between the two was all but pleasant. Only a year before had Kuric and his father moved from their home in Gnilos to the larger and what seemed to be less friendly city of Rhilwen. A yithian raid on the humble town and the life stolen from Kuric’s mother had prompted the departure. Yithians, uncivilized and vicious cousins of the orc hordes, have been the biggest threat to humans in the north since the Battle of Hil’gon. Gnilos was the subject of a yithian raid occasionally, however, they had been getting worse and more consistent until the town was almost crushed after the attack nearly a year ago.
The crowd that encircled the two boys quickly silenced at the sign that Tighon was about to speak.
“What’s wrong Kuric? You have some pressing matter to attend or are you just too afraid to fight me?” The larger fifteen-year-old boy demanded.
Tighon, known as the bully among the youth of the city, stood tall staring with evil green eyes, as he demanded an explanation. With shaggy blonde hair and a moderately muscular build, Tighon stood a solid three inches above Kuric. His sharp hard complexion precisely reflected his attitude.
“I don’t want to fight you Tighon.” Kuric stated, “Not again.”
“Why not Kuric?” Tighon inquired, “Don’t you think you deserve a beating after what you did?”
Tighon was referring to the day before when Kuric passed Teril Hullith’s daughter, Elizabeth, on the street. Teril Hullith, a high counselor in Duke Garington’s court, is quite wealthy and owns a large estate on the west side of town. Elizabeth had greeted Kuric on the street and he simply returned her courtesy with an unobtrusive smile and a short ‘hello’ while passing by. Tighon, who is tenaciously set on courting Elizabeth in a few years, has become quite jealous and is determined to eliminate any possible threat.
Kuric looked around at the anxious spectators. Among the many faces he recognized a few. Dagon, a strong and fierce sixteen-year-old who had recently been accepted to the Fighter’s Guild; Garret, a rather short chubby boy who’s father ran a trade house selling general goods and wares on the lower east side of the city; Heron, a tall lanky sort of boy who’s father, a fisherman, makes his living on a boat in Holamber Bay; Rowena, a petite brown-haired girl who’s father and mother both work in the Duke’s castle as a cook and maid. Kuric saw many other faces as he looked around the circle most of which he recognized and none of which he knew would help him.
As he desperately searched around for an adult nearby to break up the fight before it started he saw, out of the corner of his eye, what he believed was a tall old man wearing robes of a vibrant array of blues, purples, and yellows that contrasted the pure white of his long beard. Kuric quickly glanced to where the man was standing not more than a second ago, but to no avail, as his eyes focused on the spot where the man had once stood, there was only an empty space.
Kuric looked back to Tighon who was getting restless with anticipation. He knew there was no hope of evading the quarrel that lie before him. As the realization dawned on him that if he were to back down, all pride and dignity would run with him. To keep his pride, Kuric decided he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Its not worth fighting over Tighon,” Kuric informed. “I know you don’t like me, but I have no intention of courting Elizabeth and even if I did, it would not be a matter to fight over.
“Elizabeth and I shall begin our courtship as soon as we both turn sixteen. It has already been arranged,” Tighon argued.
“By whom,” Kuric inquired? “You assume your courtship shall begin, that is, if she’ll have you.”
Kuric knew such an insult would be enough to set Tighon off and readied himself for an oncoming attack.
Just as Kuric expected, Tighon thrust his right fist through the air towards Kuric’s face. A quick evasive maneuver allowed Kuric to barely escape the blow and recover for the next attack. Before he knew it, Tighon’s left fist buried itself in the Kuric’s right cheek just below his eye. Kuric heard the cheers from the crowd that signaled the beginning of the fight. The pain from the blow was sharp, at first, and grew rapidly as Kuric became disoriented and stumbled backward. He caught himself in time and side stepped, avoiding another attack from the larger opponent. Furious after catching a punch to the face, Kuric caught his balance, charged forward, and threw all of his weight into Tighon. He continued to pump his legs driving Tighon backward with strength he was unaware he possessed. As Tighon stumbled back and fell to the ground, Kuric raised his clenched right fist and brought it down with all of his might into the center of Tighon’s nose. Tighon looked mostly unharmed from the blow except for the trail of blood winding its way out of his nostril essentially finding his upper lip. Kuric somehow held the stronger opponent to the ground as Tighon struggled to gain his freedom. As Kuric reached his fist into the air for another assault upon Tighon’s face, a large strong hand grabbed his arm, preventing Kuric from striking Tighon again.
Kuric looked up and saw Hagart Umsil, a lieutenant of the city guards holding his arm firmly in place. Somehow the crowd surrounding Tighon and himself had dispersed without his knowledge. He realized he was probably too focused on the fight at the time to notice. Tighon pushed Kuric off of himself with a look of bewilderment presenting itself on Tighon’s slightly bloody face. Tighon knew that a boy Kuric’s size would not have the strength to throw him around like he just had. To be completely honest, Kuric also had no idea as to how he could have possibly even competed with Tighon in a fistfight. The last time they had fought was just shy of two months ago when Tighon thought Kuric’s father, a blacksmith, was charging too high a price for the repair of his father’s sword and armor. Kuric knew Tighon’s father was being treated just as fair as all of his father’s other customers and indiscreetly made sure Tighon knew it. Being called a liar was an insult enough for Tighon to leave Kuric staggering away with two black eyes, multiple bruises to the face, and a split lower lip. Tighon had come out of the fight with a few, barely noticeable, bruises. Tighon’s father, an arrogant colonel of the city guards and the Duke’s army, praised his son for publicizing such an injustice and a battle well fought.
“Again boys?” Hagart asked surprised.
Hagart like many other soldiers had heard of Tighon’s previous triumph over Kuric from Tighon’s father, Colonel Baritt Griffin.
“Tighon, come with me. Kuric, I’m sure you have somewhere to be. Move along,” Hagart demanded.
Kuric, at least, had some time to think on the trip to his father’s shop. How had he exerted enough force through his no more than average size body to keep a much larger and stronger Tighon at bay? What could he do to end the agonizing pain in his right eye? What would his father do when he found out about the fight? If he had even seen an old man in brightly colored robes, who was he and what was he doing in the courtyard?
As the warm evening sun gently beat down on the back of Kuric’s neck, he slowly strolled the stone pathway to his father’s forge. If not for the pain in his eye, Kuric might have enjoyed the warm breezy evening. As Kuric pushed the door of his father’s smithery open and slipped through he heard his father and Orin Trift, the royal stable master of Rhilwen, talking of business matters.
“They look good to me Arik. You did a fine job. How much do I owe you?” Orin politely inquired.
“Let’s see. Sixty horseshoes comes to two hundred forty Tirins.” Kuric’s father informed.
Kuric watched from the doorway as Orin Trift handed his father the gold coins and roughly tucked his purse back within the folds of his tunic.
“Thanks Orin. Your business is always greatly appreciated. I’ll see you next month then?” Arik invited.
“Thank you Arik, next month it is, “and with that, Orin Trift walked past Kuric, out of the door, giving the boy a short wink as he passed.
Kuric tried to make his presence as unnoticed as possible as he slowly strolled over to the other side of his father’s shop. Kuric’s father, of thirty-three years old, had been a blacksmith most of his life like his father before him. Much like Kuric’s grandfather, Arik, although kind and fair, is also a hard and demanding man.
Kuric stealthily walked over to a rack on the wall that he had seen so many times before and took down his blacksmith apron. As he put the top half of the apron around his neck he glanced at his father who was busy finishing the records of the latest transaction. His long brown hair tied stylishly behind him, Arik, no bigger than an average size man, was marked with charcoal and soot from almost a full day’s work. Kuric tied the apron behind him and sat by the hearth next to a table with many different size prongs atop.
“You were in another fight today,” Kuric’s father stated disapprovingly.
“Yes, I’m sorry father, but there was nothing I could do. For some reason Tighon believes I am thinking of courting Elizabeth. I couldn’t just back down, Father. Then everyone would always make fun of me. They would call me a coward!”
“Better to be a coward then getting your nose broken Kuric! I don’t want you getting in any more fights! Now for your punishment, you will repair all of Linus Biggot’s horseshoes by tomorrow or I’ll whip you myself!”
Kuric knew his father’s threat was empty. He would never hit his son, but Kuric thought it would be better not to test his father. Kuric despised anything to do with horseshoes, whether it was casting or repairing them. He liked to blacksmith with his father when it was swords, daggers, maces, axes, or armor because they were all interesting to him to make or repair tools that either protect or kill, but horseshoes were so boring that it always took him much longer to complete the task. His father noticed this about Kuric years ago and had realized that it could always be used as the perfect punishment.
Kuric set to work right away so he could have some free time to himself that evening. A few minutes later, Kuric’s father told him to lock the shop when he was done and walked out the door.
Linus Biggot is a wealthy landowner, and personal adviser to the Duke, who owns the largest estate on the west side of town. He also owns a vast pastureland and some twenty-five horses all of which have shoes that must be repaired by who else but Kuric.
At least during the tedious process of repairing Biggot’s horseshoes, Kuric could think about things. Why did Tighon’s family, the Griffin’s, dislike his family so much? Tighon’s father knew that Arik had done a fine job repairing his sword and armor and charged a fair price at that. Tighon knows that Kuric doesn’t have the class status to court a girl as high class as Elizabeth Hullith. Why then? He couldn’t figure it out and decided he didn’t want to try to anymore for the time being.
Another thought came back to his mind. Who was the old man in robes watching his fight from the distance… well, if there was a man at all? Could he just be a figment of Kuric’s imagination? No, it couldn’t have been. Why would he imagine something like that of all things? Maybe it was just some crazy old man with a poor sense of fashion that happened to walk out of sight coincidentally after Kuric had seen him. That would be highly unlikely. Kuric decided that he wasn’t going to figure that one out either and he would perhaps think about it another time.
Then Kuric thought of what he was going to do when he grew older. He speculated becoming a blacksmith like his father and his father before him. With nowhere else to go, no other family left except his aunt and uncle to teach him a trade, and no other skills, he would be forced into becoming a blacksmith. That wasn’t such a bad thought since Kuric enjoyed the trade for the most part but he didn’t know for sure if that’s what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He unintentionally stopped thinking about it as he looked out the window of his father’s shop and noticed the sun had gone down a while ago and darkness had fallen upon the city of Rhilwen. He put all of the tools away and cleaned up the shop a bit before he sighed a breath of freedom for his task was finished.
Kuric then walked over to the rack on the wall and picked up a single sword and held it out before him. Kuric recognized the slender double-edged blade known as a rapier with an intricate and attractive hilt design. Easily the best-crafted and most expensive sword in Arik’s shop, Kuric admired his father’s work. The blade was superbly counterbalanced giving it the feel of speed and lightness. For the next half hour Kuric practiced his swordplay pretending he was a great warrior like he had done so many times before. After he decided he had practiced enough of his attacks, parries, and counterattacks, Kuric put the rapier back on the rack and went to the door.
He walked out into the cool night air that felt refreshing in contrast to the heat inside the shop. He locked the door and started his walk home.
In no hurry, he slowly walked the path toward home looking at all of the shops and houses lining the streets as the cool breeze brushed against his face. Kuric thought about his mother and how he missed her. It had been so long ago that his mother died but it still felt to him like it was only yesterday. He unwillingly replayed the nightmare of her death in his mind.
The three of them were sitting down for a meal when they heard screams and cries coming from the streets. All of a sudden a yithian standing over six feet tall with dark green almost black skin came crashing through the door to Kuric’s family’s house. The yithian, very large and muscular, bore the scars of many battles and wore jewelry around its neck with several dried tongues of fallen enemies. The yithian wasted no time and came charging into the room, bringing back its arm holding it’s massive warhammer, and brought it down upon Kuric’s mother. When the yithian began its charge, Kuric’s mother had stood up from her seat preparing to run but was not fast enough to evade the yithian’s attack. The warhammer had come down upon her right cheek with enough force to break her neck and throw her body across the dining room floor. Where the hammer had hit her cheek, it split open the skin and spattered blood across the wall. Kuric’s father felt both sadness and a rage that Kuric had never known his father to possess.
Kuric could only sit where he was at the dining room table completely terror-stricken and unable to react. Kuric’s father immediately clutched the knife he had only seconds before been cutting his steak with and leaped at the yithian. Holding the knife in his hand blade up, Arik’s son watched in fear as he drove the knife at an angle into his enemy’s throat. Kuric remembered in disbelief as his father lifted the yithian three feet off of the ground and throwing it backward against the far wall all in one swift motion. Kuric hid under the table with his father’s dagger as he watched his father run into the bedroom and emerge only seconds later with his sword in hand.
“Stay here,” Kuric’s father fiercely commanded.
Kuric then remembered watching his father disappear through the doorway only to returned a half hour later, exhausted, and covered in blood the hue of night that obviously was not his own.
The terrifying vision drifted from Kuric’s mind and reality became conscious to him once again. He then walked up the steps to his humble home, quietly opened the door, and entered. His father already asleep in bed, Kuric went to his room, undressed and crawled under the covers. He lay there awhile in thought about the day’s events, his mother, and his future. Tomorrow would be a new day, but the same routine. Kuric thought about the inhuman strength his father had shown when his mother was killed in Gnilos and how he had possessed the same mysterious strength when fighting Tighon. What did it mean? Kuric didn’t have time to think of answers to his own question before he was overtaken by a warm and comfortable sleep.


Chapter II

Kuric awoke the next morning from a pleasant sleep and looked out of his window to see that the sun had not yet risen. He climbed out from under the warm covers of his bed and dressed himself in a fresh tunic and a pair of trousers. On his way out of the door, Kuric snatched an apple from a basket sitting atop the kitchen table.
The sun was just beginning to illuminate the sky as the city slowly came to life. The business owners were opening their shops while vendors were busy laying out their grains, fruits, and vegetables for sale in the marketplace. Citizens of Rhilwen were leaving their homes for another days work.
Kuric bit deep into his breakfast and tasted the sweet juices that seeped from the delicious apple. Today, he decided to walk a different route to his father’s shop that would take him by the harbor. He could smell the salty waters and enjoyed the feel of the cool refreshing breeze streaming through his hair as he watched the sailors, hoping for a profitable days catch, preparing their sails and nets. He recognized Heron and his father aboard the fishing boat, Latania, readying the ship for a day at sea.
The city of Rhilwen, a place of immense size and population, had always amazed Kuric. He often wondered how men could build such glorious things like the royal castle of the Duke and Duchess Garington. Although it was quite a distance away from where Kuric was standing, he could still see the great castle sitting atop the northern slope of the city. He imagined that by the look of the castle, it must be hundreds of years old and taken many years to build. He then began his march toward his father’s shop, thinking of what tasks await him
Kuric once more strolled the stone pathway until he arrived at his father’s smithery door. Pushing the door ajar, Kuric entered into the wave of heat where he found his father hammering the orange-hot blade of a broadsword on the face of a large anvil. He closed the door and watched his father at work, patiently waiting for him to finish.
Arik used the hammer to strike the blade of the broadsword against the anvil, flipping the sword over with each hit, ensuring that the blade was never struck on the same side twice. Once his task was complete, he set the blade aside to let it cool for a few minutes before setting the iron of the blade in a barrel of water.
Because of his limited training, Kuric could not forge swords, or any other weapon for that matter. He had, however, become expertly proficient at repairing all types of weapons and armor. Kuric knew that his father seldom made weapons that weren’t already sold to a customer, and wondered who had purchased this moderately expensive item.
“Good morning Father,” Kuric greeted.
“Good morning Kuric,” Arik replied, “I see you finished all of Lord Biggot’s horseshoes. You did well. There was a lesson to be taught in my decision, and I hope you have learned it. No more fighting, Kuric. Do you understand?”
“Yes Sir,” Kuric replied reluctantly.
“Good. Now, we have a lot of work to do today, so go ahead and get started on fixing the dents and cracks in those shields over there,” Kuric’s father pointed as he explained, “and then, when you’re finished, get started on repairing those shortswords on the rack over there. And then over on that table you’ll find…”
Kuric let out a long sigh while he finished listening carefully to his father’s instructions and then started his long and tiresome chore. He knew it was going to be a long day and thought it would be a good idea not to ask his father to let him go play in the courtyard today.
The day went quickly as Kuric worked diligently repairing various iron objects in his father’s smithy. He looked up to the window just in time to see the sun waning in the sky, already partially submerged below the horizon. Kuric continued repairing the silver colored breastplate of Sir Brique Triton, a knight in Duke Garington’s service. It was the third task Kuric’s father assigned to him. The breastplate bore the symbol of Rhilwen, the blue wolf. Kuric was surprised to hear his father assign him to such a task since the slightest mishandling of a knight’s breastplate would certainly be costly.
“That looks good Kuric,” Arik stated approvingly, “I can finish the breastplate. You’ve done well today. If you wish, you may leave, but don’t be home too late and be careful, the city isn’t safe at night.”
Kuric, surprised by his father’s decision to allow him to leave without finishing his chores, gently set the breastplate and hammer down on a table nearby.
“Thank you Father,” Kuric said appreciatively, “I’ll see you at home then.”
Arik nodded to Kuric and went back to hammering a dagger blade against the anvil face. Kuric took off his apron, hung it on the rack, and walked out of the shop door. The cool air felt invigorating after spending hours in the heat of the smithery.
Kuric wandered the streets like many nights before as the light from the moon peered down upon him. He heard the music, drunken laughs, and slurred dialogue of carousers from the many inns and taverns that he passed. Meandering around the streets and through the alleyways, he found himself over on the west side of town. The large houses of wealthy owners loomed up into the sky before him. If he were to keep walking a few more blocks to the west, the space between estates would lessen and the size of the houses would increase. It was known in Rhilwen that the farther west one lived, the more land they owned and the more wealthy their family.
Kuric looked up at the two and three story houses as his eyes glistened with appreciation for their size and beauty. Off in the distance, he heard the muffled shouts of what seemed to be a small group of men, whom he presumed were city guards. Just then, someone hung from the roof of the house nearest Kuric and silently fell to the ground. This person was so silent in fact, that if Kuric had been any farther away, he would have been completely oblivious to their presence.
Kuric looked over to the spot where this alleged criminal had fallen and quickly realized that he was gazing at a dirty, yet attractive, young girl. The girl seemed not to be much older than he and found himself not knowing what to do. Should he charge and capture her for the guards? Should he run away and pretend he never saw anything?
While Kuric was pondering what would be the best course of action, the girl quickly walked towards him. He now could see the definition and size of her body. She had a pretty face with long, slightly curly brown hair, and blue eyes. She stood the same height as Kuric, if not an inch taller, and wore a worried look on her face. Upon further inspection, he saw that she was dressed in men’s attire wearing dark brown trousers and an olive green long-sleeved tunic. Kuric also noticed the belt she had on. Attached to the belt was a small scabbard with a dagger nestled inside. The appealing young thief carried a small sack in her hand, which Kuric assumed, was stolen Tirins. She stopped within arms length of Kuric and he still had no plan in which to follow.
“Good evening, young sir,” the girl whispered.
Kuric, not being of royalty, nobility, or knighthood, was surprised to hear such a greeting. He hesitated for a moment and then replied to her greeting with his own.
“Good evening. Are you, by any chance, being chased by the guards?”
The look on her face was enough to give her away, but Kuric found it shocking that she replied honestly.
“Well, yes, I am. I was wondering if you could help me out with that. Do you think you could hide me somewhere?”
“Hide you,” Kuric inquired, “Why would I want to help a thief and get in more trouble than I should?”
The entire time Kuric spoke, he kept his eyes on the girl’s hands, and more importantly, her dagger. In case his comment might have offended her he was ready, to do what he could, to defend himself.
Both the girl and Kuric heard more shouts from the guards that indicated they were getting closer.
“Um, you wouldn’t,” she replied smoothly, “but I’m begging you to help me now. I promise you, I steal only from those who deserve it.”
“Who was so lucky this time?” Kuric asked sarcastically.
“The Griffins,” she stated proudly.
And with that the guards came around the corner with torches in their hands just as Kuric managed to push the girl into the shadows where even the moonlight did not see.
“Over there! There’s someone over there!” bellowed one of the guards.
Kuric threw his hands in the air to show that he was unarmed as a group of three guards and Colonel Barrit Griffin raced towards him. While these four men made a dash toward Kuric, he understood the foolish mistake he had made.
Barrit Griffin was a burly man that stood over six feet tall. Kuric admired his muscular build and his battle hardened complexion. What bothered him the most was the look upon Colonel Griffin’s face. Griffin looked as though he wanted to find someone, anyone, to punish for the displeasure this thievery had caused him and Kuric was right in his path.
The guards surrounded him as one grabbed him and reached into the pockets of his trousers, looking for the stolen items. While one checked his pockets, Colonel Griffin, wearing his bed attire, began to interrogate him.
“What’s your name boy!” demanded Griffin.
“Kuric, sir,” he replied.
“He doesn’t have anything on him sir,” the guard reported.
“Sergeant Ryte, Corporal Jarrig, search the next few blocks over and find my thief!” Griffin ordered.
“Yes sir,” Sergeant Ryte replied as he began jogging down the street with Corporal Jarrig until they disappeared around the corner.
“What are you doing here boy?” Griffin inquired harshly.
“I was only going for a walk sir,” Kuric stated.
“A walk?” Griffin asked skeptically.
“Yes sir,” Kuric confirmed.
“Did you see anyone go by here?” Griffin continued to interrogate.
“No sir,” Kuric informed.
Griffin paused in thought for a moment before he spoke again. Kuric noticed the only guard left in uniform intently studying the shadows where the female thief stood in hiding. The guard then started taking steps toward the girl’s dark hiding place. Kuric thought it was all over. The guard would find the thief and discover that Kuric was trying to hide her and they would both be arrested. Knowing Colonel Griffin, they would also probably both be executed.
“Captain Taryx,” the guard halted and turned to face his commander, “Go to the keep, double the guard for the next few nights, and tell the men to be on the lookout, for there are thieves among us!”
“Yes sir,” Captain Taryx replied and hastily ran back around the corner where they had first arrived.
Kuric heard the sound of a horse galloping away and figured it was Taryx on his way back to the keep. Being alone with Griffin didn’t settle Kuric’s nerves and probably made them worse. He didn’t really know for sure and didn’t want to think about it. He was too scared.
“What did you say your name was boy?” Griffin asked in a more reasonable tone.
“K...Kuric, sir,” stated Kuric shakily.
“Wait a minute. You’re the son of Arik the blacksmith aren’t you!” Griffin demanded more furious than before.
“Yes sir,” Kuric stated losing hope fast.
Griffin looked Kuric in the eye and then grasped his tunic with both of his hands. Kuric felt both scared and helpless. He didn’t know what to do or have time to think about it. Should he scream? Griffin pressed his face inches from his own and stared into his eyes, inflicting a fear Kuric had never known.
“Boy, listen to me carefully; I don’t like you or your family and if you ever come near my house or my family again, I’ll not only whip you until it hurts for you to breathe, I’ll make sure everyone in the city suddenly forgets the way to your father’s forge. I have more power in this city than a peasant boy like you could ever dream of. Do you understand me boy!”
Kuric was so afraid he couldn’t speak and only nodded his head to acknowledge Griffin had spoken. Griffin, who still held on to Kuric’s tunic, pushed the boy backwards with much greater force than necessary. Kuric hit the ground hard and let out a short whelp while Griffin turned and walked away from him. Once Kuric saw Griffin finally vanish around the corner, he picked himself up off of the ground and called to the thief.
“Everyone’s gone. You can come out.”
The girl slowly walked out from the shadows, peered around cautiously, and trotted over to Kuric.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a worried tone.
“Yes, I think I’ll be alright,” Kuric stated as he regained his composure after the wind was knocked out of him.
“Griffin doesn’t like you much, does he?” the girl asked already knowing the answer to her question.
“No, not really,” Kuric confirmed.
“My name is Kitt. At least that’s what everyone calls me in the Teehslate Tindes. It’s nice to meet you Kuric,” she said politely.
“I mean no offense, but I wish I could say the same about meeting you Kitt,” Kuric stated, “what is the Teehslate Tindes?”
“It is the name of our faction of thieves here in Rhilwen. Now, if you’ll be so kind, please follow me.”
Kitt took off into a sprint down the street. Kuric, who decided he didn’t have anything to lose, took off after her.
Through streets and alleyways they ran, to the very edge of the western side of the city where Kitt led them down to an entrance to the sewers.
“So Kuric, what happened to your eye?” Kitt asked politely.
After a long day’s work and stress from the latest events, Kuric had forgotten that the skin around his right eye was as black as the feathers of a crow.
“Well, I was in a fight yesterday,” Kuric announced.
“With who?” she questioned in an obviously interested tone.
“Tighon Griffin,” he replied with a grin on his face.
“Aw, now it all makes sense. The Code of Thieves will not permit me to take you any farther into our lair, and it cannot be found without a thief leading you,” Kitt declared, “however I would like to thank you for helping me. You could have told the guards where I was, but you didn’t, and that, among thieves, is honorable.”
Kitt took the dagger and scabbard off of her belt and handed it to him.
“To show my gratitude, Kuric, I offer you this dagger. Thank you,” she said.
Kuric took the dagger and studied the designs on the leather scabbard. When he looked up again he saw that she had already departed down the tunnel.
“Wait!” he yelled.
She turned around to look at him.
“How will I find you again?” Kuric inquired desperately.
“In the day I work as a serving girl at the Azure Wolf Inn,” she informed.
After thinking for a moment, Kuric nodded, indicating that he understood.
“You said the Teehslate Tindes call you Kitt. What’s your real name?”
There was a pause of hesitation.
“Katherine,” she said, “I’m fifteen.”
“It’s a nice name,” Kuric complimented, “Where did you come up with the name Teehslate Tindes?”
“It’s Arkonian,” she informed, “It means ‘to steal things’ when translated.”
Kuric smirked at the irony as he pulled the dagger from its scabbard and studied the silvery colored blade. The blade itself had to be at least three and a half, maybe four inches long. He looked up from the dagger and back to Kitt.
“Your welcome,” he said while holding his newly acquired weapon, “and thank you for the gift.” Kitt smiled warmly at him and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.
Kuric suddenly became aware of how late it was getting and started on his long journey home, being extra careful not to go anywhere near the Griffin’s estate. On his way home he thought to himself about his day. He wondered if he should tell his father about the encounter with Kitt and Barrit Griffin, but then thought he would only get into more trouble and decided against it.
Kuric quickly made his way home with a smirk on his face because, if he was not mistaken, he had just made a friend.