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back the recessed handle, I entered, immediately comforted by familiar
surroundings.
I lit the lantern on the shelf by the door, tapping the stone portal closed with
my shoulder. My mood brightened as the flame glow picked up the wondrous
things I had stored in my burrow. I moved into the room, and as always,
lingered to touch these ancient magical objects. Many had been created in the
Heartlands and many had come to the Sunset Mountains by the old trading
routes.
I'd stolen artifacts from peasants and aristocrats, alike. The gentry had rare,
fanciful items that I loved and used to adorn my home, collectibles such as the
banquet board cut from northern wood and fashioned in the Year of the High-
mantle, when Azoun IV took the throne of Cormyr. It was rubbed to an
exquisite luster by some craftsman of long ago, and the spell, too, was laid on
like silk. Three short, lyrical words pronounced while standing at the long end
of the table made the magic come together and the finest, tastiest foods
appear.
Such classic antiques were in great demand, but high in price. The
merchant class of the Heartlands couldn't yet afford them, so they settled on
buying those more homespun objects I collect from the peasants. Their
particular fancies were spell-sewn quilts that kept a person warm on the
chilliest days, and cinnabar leaves once grown in the long-dead city of Shoon
and used by their magicians to conjure feng shui good luck.
I flamed up another lantern and flooded the cave with soft, orange light.
There was one item here for which I had come specifically. Opening the top
drawer of my storage chest, I unwrapped the delicate packing paper
surrounding my favorite possession. I carefully removed it from its parchment
nest, lifting out the ancient, hand-sewn shawl.
Spun through with gold and platinum, and strung with tiny bronze beads, it
was shaped like an arrowhead, lacking fringe or ruffle-edging to mar the
simplicity of its lines. The weaving's antiquity and worth? Beyond
comprehension.
I stole it and the incantation from a mountain wizard who used the shawl to
capture his enemies. With a little ingenuity, it was possible to trap a person's
life-force in the very fibers of the weaving. When I claimed the shawl as my
own, I discovered that it had imprisoned many people already. By reversing
the spell, I released them whole and complete. They went away thankful for
their freedom and the chance to retaliate against the man who had done them
wrong. Emptied, the cloak was packed away, though I knew that one day I
would have an opportunity to try its magic on someone like Bareen Tykar.
* * * * *
Thieves can be masters of disguise. It helps to deflect the possibility of
being recognized when out and about on business, and I, for one, take such
things seriously. I move around too much in the towns and cities of the
Heartlands to risk being recognized by my many enemies.
This night I walked through Kendil wearing coarse, brown linen. My long
blond hair and tight beard were stained dark. I had added the tracks of a false
scar along my cheek and an eye patch to balance the look. Sporting a limp, I
hoped to distract attention from the filthy bindings wrapping my bad hand.
I entered Bareen Tykar's shop just before closing time, waiting silently by
the door until he'd finished with a customer. The old man stared at me, and it
looked as though he was going to summon his thugs.
Lowering my voice and wheezing a little, I spoke before he could call them.
"You're the owner of this store?"
"Aye. So?"
"I just came to town and there be people here who tell me you like to buy
old things."
"Who said that?"
"Some moon elf over at the inn. He was into his cups, but I thought I'd
check it out. The year's been hard and funds are down. I'm selling off my
personals, you see."
He stared at me silent, calculating, distrustful. After a moment, his
curiosity won over his caution. "What do you have?"
I shuffled up to the counter and grinned, making sure I breathed on him as I
leaned close. The smell of onions and brown bread made him flinch. "What I
have is a shawl," I said in a conspiratorial tone. "Struck through with powerful
mountain magic."
"Let me see it," he said.
I opened my carry sack and gently pulled out the shawl, spreading it on his
stone counter. The weaving glistened in the shop's candlelight. Bareen
Tykar's eyes grew wide for a moment, then, as if he remembered his
bargaining stance, he pasted on a bland expression.
"What does it do?" he asked.
"It'll mint you coins: gold and silver and platinum and copper."
His mouth came open a bit on those words, but after a sputtering inhale, he
shook his head. "I've never heard of such a thing as this shawl. It's a fake."
"No, it's not. See these filaments in the weaving itself? Look how bright
they are with the metals. It's through these fibers that the magic works to
make the coins. I can't do much with it anymore, though."
"Why?"
"With each speaking of the incantation, the shawl's power wanes. It'll give
up only so much gold, silver, and platinum per owner. I've used my turn, you
see, and all I get now are copper pieces and not many of them."
He leaned in again and touched the shawl lightly. "You say this shawl is
old? How old and from where does it come?"
"It belonged to a dwarf living in the Sunset Mountains and was made before
the first Orcgate Wars in Thay."
"That old, then, is it?" Bareen Tykar asked. "Do you have letters of
authenticity?"
I laughed. "From a dwarf? Are you mad?" I smoothed my chuckling into a
glaring frown.
He snorted and crossed his arms, propping them on his huge stomach. "I'll
require a demonstration. If copper is all you can make, then do it so I can see
if this shawl really does what you say."
I counted to ten before nodding. Straightening. I took the shawl from the
counter and placed it over my shoulders. It was a gossamer delight, so soft
and billowy. How it sparkled against my linen shirt. I twisted slightly to pick up
the candlelight as I slowly wrapped myself in it. The man's nostrils flared in
response.
Being the careful man I am, I'd spent time planning out this encounter. I
made a small, leather bag, designing it so it would easily fall open after pulling
a slender, almost invisible thread attached to the clasp. This delicate task took
me days with my bad hand, but in the end it worked well. I could place several
coins inside it and by regulating the tension on the string, I could dump a few
at a time. Before coming to Bareen Tykar's shop, I had slung the pouch over
my shoulder and packed it beneath my coat. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]