"The Thieves of West Haven" by Chris Michael Poole

The Thieves of West Haven

Prologue

There was a long war being waged in the world of Westwind when a group of thieves known only as the Seven embarked on a quest to find an ancient and powerful relic. They must hurry! It was a race for power against the Dark Lord of the Infertile Valley.

Chapter One

Departure

It was early morning in southern West Haven. News had reached town of a find in the mines south of the forest. Hardly a soul at the thieve’s guild had slept a wink and there were already seven horses packed and saddled outside the gate.

Inside, the hearth was lit and seven darkly cloaked figures sat around it deep in discussion.

"We leave tonight. It’s a new moon, and darkness will be our cover." A man with a stern jaw and thick eyebrows stomped his foot, drawing attention to the group.

The six others in the room nodded in agreement and dispersed to the sleeping quarters. They had the day to pack and make preparations for the nearing journey.

Martin, one of the Seven, stood in his room fumbling over his belonging as Thorbern stood in conversation at his doorway.

"This will be a great triumph for the Seven," said Thorbern scratching his white beard.

"I agree," Martin replied, an air of doubt in his voice, "but with the times of darkness and war one can never be sure."

Thorbern nodded, and there was a mocking voice from down the hall, "Doubts!" a red haired fellow with fierce eyes scoffed. "There isn’t a dwarf in the mines to match our steel."

Thorbern groaned and glared at Red crossly, "Eavesdropping again, Red?"

"Maybe so," Red grinned mischievously, "but you two always have your doubts no matter how the odds are matched. Doubts or no, we ride tonight, and day after tomorrow we’ll see what sort of doubts you’re having."

With that, he patted his money pouch and disappeared from the doorway.

Thorbern winked at Martin, "He’s right you know."

Martin supposed so, but rumors told of the Dark Lord gaining wealth and power, and there was a sure bet they would be involved in the job as well as the Seven. Just then the clunk of heavy boots sounded down the sleeping quarters and Martin had no more time to think about the matter. The men left their rooms and stood at full attention in the hall.

"Thorbern," Raven ordered, "help Thatch load the rest of the supplies onto the horses, and Martin once you’re finished preparing, help Burr pack our rations. He’s in the cellar. Make haste, you fairies," his voice echoed. "Night approaches; we ride in three hours." Raven tromped out of the sleeping quarters, his cape trailing behind him obediently.

Thorbern left without another word, and Martin retreated back into his room to finish preparing. He shoved his bedroll into a pack and hoisted the rest of his belongings over his shoulder.

"So long, room," he said, closing the heavy, oak door. "I shall return with gold and scars to prove the tale." He locked the door, pocketed the key, and made way towards the cellar.

When Martin reached the cellar, Burr was already busy unloading the contents of several barrels into seven small satchels on the dusty floor; he was glad to have help and immediately set Martin to work.

"I need four more barrels of food rations from the back," he instructed, "and another jar of ointment."

Food rations. Martin remembered them too clearly and unpleasantly from the last job. They were stuck eating the bland rations for three months. Anyone could survive a day on one ration, but Raven insisted on them eating two at least. This made for a belly ache and unpleasant after tastes for as long a Martin could remember.

Despite his lurching stomach Martin hauled the barrels over to Burr and retrieved the ointment as well. It wouldn’t be long before it was out of the jar and stinging in their wounds.

"Why so glum?" Burr asked, noticing the persistent frown on Martin’s face.

"I dunno." Martin tried to even out his frown, unsuccessfully. "It’s just the war is getting worse for both sides. Wouldn’t you say it’s a fair guess the Black King will be sending scouts to check out the find, too?"

Burr narrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I suppose you’re right, but even if they did, we can handle a few scouts."

"Yes," Martin replied, "but it would draw more attention to the Seven. We could be putting ourselves on Black King’s most wanted list."

Burr shuddered at the thought of the Infertile Valley. "Don’t fret about it. Raven won’t let it come to that."

Martin agreed and shoved the rest of the dried meat into his satchel.

"That’s all," Burr concluded and dusted his hands on his leather leggings. "Now help me carry these up to the gate, and we’ll be done."

Martin carried three of the satchels and his bedroll and hurried up the stairs.

* * *

There was one hour till departure. The red fall sun was setting, and long shadows ran across every hill like water. Again the group was gathered. Six robed figures sat around the lit hearth. The day would soon be done and a great friend, the night, would arrive.

The room was quiet as they listened to the crackle of the fire and the call of the barn owls. Thistle, the Seventh in the group entered the room with several steaming mugs, distributed them, then disappeared only to return with more.

It was licorice tea to calm their minds for the journey ahead. The Seven had begun the final preparation. No one spoke but everyone thought of the coming days and sipped their steaming mugs. The next hour continued in this manner, then one by one, they the rose and made their way outside, down the brick walk to the horses.

The night was warm, and the air smelled of old campfires; the sky was clear and the moon new. The seven companions mounted their horses and rode off. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, their speed increased and they galloped silently south. Their destination, the Dwarfish Mines....