'A simple enough job' Alder thought to himself, overlooking the wide expanse of candle lit, labyrinthine streets that stretched itself on forever in all directions. Multiple dark shadows on the skyline -- with great spires, ramparts and bastions - silhouetted themselves against a sky that was not quite asleep yet; stars had emerged from the dark places, but faint traces of the amber sun lingered in the west and were stubborn to leave.
'Just in, grab the necklace, and out. Easy as breathing.' He whispered to himself, eyeing one of the larger silhouettes he recognised as the Magister's Retreat, the private abode of the royal magi whom daily busied themselves advising the king in magical matters or whatever else it was they did with their time. What that was, Alder neither knew, nor cared.
He could not explain why he hesitated, sat in a concealed overlook on the rooftop of a dingy pub, going over the planning of this job again and again. It was after all, as he told himself, a job that was straightforward, but as the client had stressed, certainly not without risk. The consequences of getting caught... who knew? But then again, those were never Alder's to know. In twenty-three years of life, and eighteen years of thievery, never once had he been caught. Perhaps it came naturally, or perhaps it was simply a means to survive all that time growing up on the streets, in the gutters.
No parents.
No past.
No future.
Barely a name.
But then again, as he had once told himself, what did it matter? Who in this grand metropolis would miss one child, one gawky little teenager? No, one man, he had tried to remind himself.
None of them would have missed him. Ever.
Bitterness flared in his chest at these thoughts, and his grip on the wooden railing tightened, threatening to splinter it for all the creaks and groans the rotting material made. He had always been strong physically. Tall and powerfully built with broad shoulders, but his short amount of dark red hair and rounded -- boyish -face had always lent him an air of innocence that was so easy to exploit.
"Excuse me mister, but could you please spare a coin and a bit of your time?" he remembered once asking a fussy old book-keeper in the marketplace in his most saccharine voice. The fool had fallen for it, and Balthasar, his long-time partner-in-crime had slipped behind the stand and snatched half a loaf of bread and a few dusty coins to boot whilst Alder had stood deaf to a hundred and one reasons why there ought to be laws against "filthy vermin" such as him.
'Balthasar...' he whispered to himself. The two had been as close as brothers for as long as either of them could remember. One had saved the other's life in a heist gone wrong many years ago. They had grown to live and steal together. Two absolute allies in a world where their enemies abounded. But there was always a little more to it than that, Alder thought.
He remembered distinctly the leaping sensation in his chest when they had locked eyes that night. Balthasar even looked somewhat like him, with a similarly athletic build, but with long onyx black hair and eyes that were grey but tinged with blue, like the colour of thunderclouds... But what exactly was that sensation? The answer had flown into his subconscious the moment he had posed the question to himself.
'I will do it tonight'. He resolved under his breath. 'I... I swear I will tell him, later.' But where was he? They had agreed to meet here at sundown. The planning of this job had hinged on both of them working in tandem, for it was the unwritten rule of the freelance thief that pure solitude was to invite risk. To infiltrate a heavily guarded tower, such as the Magister's Retreat for instance, without backup was to guarantee death. Minutes crawled past, until with no sound whatsoever, Alder recognised the presence that stood beside him. He turned, and there was Balthasar. Were it not for their deep familiarity, he would have had quite a job discerning who was beneath the large leather hood and linen balaclava that concealed Balthasar' face.
They exchanged a short greeting, and proceeded to begin cataloguing their toolkit. After all, now was the time for focus, and business had to come before pleasure.
They had dressed near enough identically, for Alder similarly shrouded his face. They were garbed in ordinary enough leather brigandines with an assortment of pouches and bandoliers that contained every tool they may or may not have needed to complete the job. Everything from hooked ropes, lock-picks, smoke bombs, various colourful alchemical solutions and climbing picks among numerous other items that were the stock and trade of two expert thieves. With not necessarily confidence, but just absolute focus and concentration, the two of them set off for the keep.
For two as seasoned as they in their trade, and in such a clustered rabbit warren of narrow streets and alleys, it was a trivial matter to keep to the cobble rooftops, out of sight and out of mind, as they journeyed towards the imposing silhouette of the Magister's Retreat.
It transcended an ordinary mage's tower, and was something akin to a walled city within a city. The stout stone walls were lined with numerous battlements and turrets, manned by a small army of not just typical city guards, but instead the magisters' own elite spellstriders, who were feared by kingdoms the world over for their unwavering discipline, high level of training in both the martial and magical, and their notorious ruthlessness. Neither Alder nor Balthasar were intimidated by the unflattering rumours that were the gossip of pubs and taverns all over the city about them.
'They're more corrupt than the church's inquisitors, and that's saying something!' was a popular line that had done the rounds over the years.
