Adventures of Vyx Vlyn Part 3
Darla stalked her quarry. She slipped behind the tall man, using his own cloak to conceal her movements like Lysette had instructed her. The folds of his hood were enough to hide her subtle movements as she crept slowly towards him. Her soft-soled boot slid noiselessly across the stone floor as she jockeyed herself into the perfect position for a sudden knife thrust into his broad back. Now though, the cloak was working against her, concealing his spine and shoulder blades from her. There was nothing for it but to trust that the set of his shoulders would show where to land the blade. She sprang forward and drove the knife into his back, hoping that the blade would slide between his ribs and pierce his heart killing him instantly.
“Not bad,” Lysette said sarcastically from behind her, “If you know that your target isn’t going to move anytime soon.” Grabbing a handful of the cloak, the small dark haired instructor righted the cloaked dressmaker’s form. She lifted the cloak and pointed at the dent Darla’s wooden blade tip in the fabric form. “This isn’t a fatal wound. It would hurt like hell and might, I repeat might, incapacitate him if you’re lucky. When you’re knifing someone in the back though, never count on your luck.” She moved her finger a few hairs higher. “This is where you wanted to land the strike. This would have punctured his heart and killed him. Yours would have enabled him to yell for help twice, maybe even three times before the next strike would have killed him, unless your hands are faster than they were yesterday.”
Darla looked at her feet, not daring to meet her teacher’s eyes. Lysette had an intense dislike for people born to wealth, and took it out on Darla every day. “I practiced like you told me to do.” Those two hours that she spent every night stabbing imaginary people were actually starting to pay off. She was getting faster, and her movements were getting more fluid.
Lysette continued her lecture to the rest of the class, telling them how to determine the best place to stab when sneaking up on someone. Of course her personal favorite was clapping a hand over their mouths, pulling their head back and slitting their throat from ear to ear, slashing through their larynx to prevent them from speaking of calling for help. The best someone could do in that situation would be to gurgle loudly as they began to drown on their own blood.
Darla watched Conner as he helped unload a cart. He’d taken off his linen shirt to keep it from becoming soiled and his torso gleamed with sweat in the torchlight as he lifted the heavy sacks and stacked them neatly beside a crate. He caught her eye and smiled and Darla felt her face redden and heat move down her chest.
A stinging blow on the back of her head brought her back to the present. Lysette was staring at her. “Well Darla? Care to answer the question?”
“Uh… I… I didn’t hear it, I’m sorry. Can you repeat it please?”
This time, the blow landed on her cheek as the slim woman backhand slapped her, snapping her head backwards and sending her crashing to the floor. “If you want to stare calf-eyed at boys, you can do that on your own time anywhere but here. If you want to be a Thief, then you had better start paying attention. The next time your mind wanders over to where the men are, my dagger will find your eyes.”
Darla scrambled to her feet and stood trembling before the angry woman. “Yes Mistress Lysette, I understand.”
Eyes harder and colder than the granite of the keep bored into the frightened girls, and Darla could feel their ice slip down her spine while she trembled under the scrutiny. Lysette nodded once and turned back to the rest of the teens. The lesson continued.
Later, after dinner with her family and back in her own room, Darla flipped her bronze knife end over end and deftly caught it. Conner had helped her buy this one and its mate not long after he had taken her into the Guildhall. ‘There’s no sense owning a sword unless you’re a Soldier,’ he had commented while hefting the broad bladed dagger she had kept in her boot. ‘This is a man’s dagger, not a lady’s knife.’ And with that he had selected a pair of slim bladed knives that she handled every night before she slipped into bed. The first week among the Guild, she had been struck time and time again by just how… ordinary they all looked. No one wore black cloaks and wore black masks over their faces to conceal their identities.
Conner had laughed when she asked about that. ‘We try our best to NOT draw attention to ourselves. The whole point of what we do is to steal things and NOT get caught. If we dressed that way, the guards would be able to pick us up before we’d ever be able to take a single penny, wouldn’t they?’
Darla smiled as the gleaming golden blade twisted in the air as she tossed it from hand to hand. One full rotation end over end, left hand to right, and back to the left, over and over again. Feeling confident in her skill, she flipped a little harder, getting two full revolutions and started the trip back and forth again. This had been very hard for her the first week, but now it was easier than tying her shoes. Three revolutions and the flickering reflections of the candlelight danced along her walls, gold that shot faster than dreams arcing across her walls. Instead of throwing four revolutions as she would normally do, she slid the second knife free from her boot and tossed it low to her right hand as she flipped the other knife high and to her left. It was clumsy, but she still had all of her fingers attached where they were supposed to be, so she was going to call this a success. Darla had juggled knives for the first time!
* * * * * * * * * * *
Conner stared wide eyed in amazement as Darla flicked the knives into the air, tossing them back and forth easily before his startled face. “How long have you been able to do that?” he asked breathlessly.
“Oh, a while now,” she lied smoothly. “I taught myself you know.” At least that was the truth. The four blades twisted as they scribed arcs through the air, flicking from the young girl’s hands. “It looks cool, but I don’t know what I’ll be able to do with it as a skill.”
“Absolutely nothing,” came the harsh reply as Lysette stepped around a large crate where she had been watching the two young thieves. “This is what a Bard learns. Is that what you want to be? A fool for the Duke’s amusements? We can arrange that and get you out of here where the rest of us are trying to learn serious skills for serious work.”
Darla’s concentration broke and the knives clattered to the ground, ringing against the stone flags at their feet. Tears sprang to her eyes, but Darla refused to cry.
“Don’t be too hard on her Lysette,” Conner began as he came to Darla’s defence. “It’s just quickness training of a different kind. Even you have to admit that her hands are much faster now than they were when she first came here.” He smiled down at Darla’s damp face. “Soon you’ll be able to master the BellBoy.”
Lysette snorted and turned her back on the two. “Make certain that you’re at class on time,” she called over her shoulder as she stalked away.
Darla stooped to collect her knives, but Conner had already gathered them for her. She smiled and slid the blades into their leather sheathes, one in each thigh high boot and one up each loose linen sleeve. “One day I’ll learn how to use a sword, and then you and I can spar.”
“I get to be shirts then,” Conner said with a laugh and slipped away to work.
Shocked at first, Darla laughed as she went to class. Well, at least it’s never boring in these classes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
After almost a year learning the tricks of the trade, being drilled on all manner of stealth movements, learning the subtle art of setting, finding and springing traps, Lysette finally presented Darla with her Guild Crest. The little ring was worn on the smallest finger of her right hand, and looked almost identical to her Father’s Merchant Guild ring. The only difference was her Father’s had a picture of a fist clutching a coin purse and hers had a fist clutching a cut coin purse with three coins sliding free.
The little silver ring glittered on her finger and she vibrated slightly in her shoes as the ceremony progressed. The Guildmaster himself was going to meet them and formally accept them as full members into the Thieves’ Guild. Darla stood among her fellow graduates as the concealed door behind the Guildmaster’s Throne slide open and he and his retinue slipped in. Master Thieves from all over the Dutchy solemnly lined the walls and Lysette took her place among them. They stood along either side of the Audience Room, dressed in black velvet cloaks and deeply cowled, each cloak held closed by the Master’s right fist so his or her ring showed plainly in the low light. When all the Master Thieves were in place, the Guildmaster himself stepped from behind his tapestry and took his seat in the ornate throne. The warm beeswax candle light played along the polished wood and gleamed from the golden and Mother-of-Pearl inlays.
The Guildmaster was a relatively nondescript man of middle height and middle weight. He was neither muscular nor bulky, lean nor flabby. He wore a black leather vest over a crimson shirt of silk, black silk pants tucked into his polished black leather boots. Each finger was adorned with a golden ring, most set with stones and his ebon belt had a jeweled golden buckle. A black leather hood was over his head concealing his identity from the new Journeyman Rogues.
“Welcome to the Guild, you newest members of our family,” he began in a rich voice that carried easily to the furthest reaches of the room. “From now on I am your Mother and Father. I am your leader and your confidant. I will share your joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, and your wealth of course.” The surrounding Master Thieves laughed at this briefly then they grew silent once more.
“Each of you has struggled to prove your worth, to show that you belong here with the Masters rather than with the beggars, the thugs and the common rabble that scrabbles for pennies in the sewers. You have had to learn innumerable skills of our trade, things that you had probably never even heard of before coming here. Trust me you will,” his voice cut off suddenly as his eyes came to rest on Darla’s face. He cleared his throat twice, feigning a cough. “You will need every skill you have acquired. Now, come and tell me who you are from this day forth.”
The Journeyman on the farthest left of the row came forward first, kneeled at the Guildmasters feet and they had a very brief conversation. “Arise Leoman, and be as one with your Brethren.” Leoman rose and The Masters applauded from the sides of the room. Smiling they shook his hand as he progressed around the perimeter of the room until he had reached the door where he was conducted out into the Guildhall where he joined the rest of the Journeyman Thieves.
Several more of the newly promoted Rogues were individually accepted and they too made the circuit of the room until it was Darla’s turn. Nervously she approached the glittering throne and eyes downcast she kneeled on the soft pile before it. The Guildmaster cupped her chin with his ringed hand and raised her head until her eyes met his. “And you child, You who come before me before the bloom of womanhood is fully upon her. What would make a little Minx like you wish to join our band of cutthroats and brigands?”
“I…” she couldn’t speak as she realized why the voice sounded so familiar to her. She couldn’t know for certain, but the way his eyes bore into hers, the sound of his voice, even the scent that clung to his expensive clothes all reminded her of Eamon, her Father’s Dock Manager. “I just…”
“Come now little one, do I frighten you so badly that you cannot even speak?”
Darla swallowed hard and shook her head. She took a deep breath and smiled. Well, I’ve been dealing with Eamon for a couple of years now. I’ve got nothing to fear from him at all. “I’ve decided to join you because this is where I belong.”
“Is it now? Well then Little Vixen, tell me your name so that I may welcome you properly.”
Little Vixen. “My name is Vyx Vlyn.”
“Not bad,” Lysette said sarcastically from behind her, “If you know that your target isn’t going to move anytime soon.” Grabbing a handful of the cloak, the small dark haired instructor righted the cloaked dressmaker’s form. She lifted the cloak and pointed at the dent Darla’s wooden blade tip in the fabric form. “This isn’t a fatal wound. It would hurt like hell and might, I repeat might, incapacitate him if you’re lucky. When you’re knifing someone in the back though, never count on your luck.” She moved her finger a few hairs higher. “This is where you wanted to land the strike. This would have punctured his heart and killed him. Yours would have enabled him to yell for help twice, maybe even three times before the next strike would have killed him, unless your hands are faster than they were yesterday.”
Darla looked at her feet, not daring to meet her teacher’s eyes. Lysette had an intense dislike for people born to wealth, and took it out on Darla every day. “I practiced like you told me to do.” Those two hours that she spent every night stabbing imaginary people were actually starting to pay off. She was getting faster, and her movements were getting more fluid.
Lysette continued her lecture to the rest of the class, telling them how to determine the best place to stab when sneaking up on someone. Of course her personal favorite was clapping a hand over their mouths, pulling their head back and slitting their throat from ear to ear, slashing through their larynx to prevent them from speaking of calling for help. The best someone could do in that situation would be to gurgle loudly as they began to drown on their own blood.
Darla watched Conner as he helped unload a cart. He’d taken off his linen shirt to keep it from becoming soiled and his torso gleamed with sweat in the torchlight as he lifted the heavy sacks and stacked them neatly beside a crate. He caught her eye and smiled and Darla felt her face redden and heat move down her chest.
A stinging blow on the back of her head brought her back to the present. Lysette was staring at her. “Well Darla? Care to answer the question?”
“Uh… I… I didn’t hear it, I’m sorry. Can you repeat it please?”
This time, the blow landed on her cheek as the slim woman backhand slapped her, snapping her head backwards and sending her crashing to the floor. “If you want to stare calf-eyed at boys, you can do that on your own time anywhere but here. If you want to be a Thief, then you had better start paying attention. The next time your mind wanders over to where the men are, my dagger will find your eyes.”
Darla scrambled to her feet and stood trembling before the angry woman. “Yes Mistress Lysette, I understand.”
Eyes harder and colder than the granite of the keep bored into the frightened girls, and Darla could feel their ice slip down her spine while she trembled under the scrutiny. Lysette nodded once and turned back to the rest of the teens. The lesson continued.
Later, after dinner with her family and back in her own room, Darla flipped her bronze knife end over end and deftly caught it. Conner had helped her buy this one and its mate not long after he had taken her into the Guildhall. ‘There’s no sense owning a sword unless you’re a Soldier,’ he had commented while hefting the broad bladed dagger she had kept in her boot. ‘This is a man’s dagger, not a lady’s knife.’ And with that he had selected a pair of slim bladed knives that she handled every night before she slipped into bed. The first week among the Guild, she had been struck time and time again by just how… ordinary they all looked. No one wore black cloaks and wore black masks over their faces to conceal their identities.
Conner had laughed when she asked about that. ‘We try our best to NOT draw attention to ourselves. The whole point of what we do is to steal things and NOT get caught. If we dressed that way, the guards would be able to pick us up before we’d ever be able to take a single penny, wouldn’t they?’
Darla smiled as the gleaming golden blade twisted in the air as she tossed it from hand to hand. One full rotation end over end, left hand to right, and back to the left, over and over again. Feeling confident in her skill, she flipped a little harder, getting two full revolutions and started the trip back and forth again. This had been very hard for her the first week, but now it was easier than tying her shoes. Three revolutions and the flickering reflections of the candlelight danced along her walls, gold that shot faster than dreams arcing across her walls. Instead of throwing four revolutions as she would normally do, she slid the second knife free from her boot and tossed it low to her right hand as she flipped the other knife high and to her left. It was clumsy, but she still had all of her fingers attached where they were supposed to be, so she was going to call this a success. Darla had juggled knives for the first time!
* * * * * * * * * * *
Conner stared wide eyed in amazement as Darla flicked the knives into the air, tossing them back and forth easily before his startled face. “How long have you been able to do that?” he asked breathlessly.
“Oh, a while now,” she lied smoothly. “I taught myself you know.” At least that was the truth. The four blades twisted as they scribed arcs through the air, flicking from the young girl’s hands. “It looks cool, but I don’t know what I’ll be able to do with it as a skill.”
“Absolutely nothing,” came the harsh reply as Lysette stepped around a large crate where she had been watching the two young thieves. “This is what a Bard learns. Is that what you want to be? A fool for the Duke’s amusements? We can arrange that and get you out of here where the rest of us are trying to learn serious skills for serious work.”
Darla’s concentration broke and the knives clattered to the ground, ringing against the stone flags at their feet. Tears sprang to her eyes, but Darla refused to cry.
“Don’t be too hard on her Lysette,” Conner began as he came to Darla’s defence. “It’s just quickness training of a different kind. Even you have to admit that her hands are much faster now than they were when she first came here.” He smiled down at Darla’s damp face. “Soon you’ll be able to master the BellBoy.”
Lysette snorted and turned her back on the two. “Make certain that you’re at class on time,” she called over her shoulder as she stalked away.
Darla stooped to collect her knives, but Conner had already gathered them for her. She smiled and slid the blades into their leather sheathes, one in each thigh high boot and one up each loose linen sleeve. “One day I’ll learn how to use a sword, and then you and I can spar.”
“I get to be shirts then,” Conner said with a laugh and slipped away to work.
Shocked at first, Darla laughed as she went to class. Well, at least it’s never boring in these classes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
After almost a year learning the tricks of the trade, being drilled on all manner of stealth movements, learning the subtle art of setting, finding and springing traps, Lysette finally presented Darla with her Guild Crest. The little ring was worn on the smallest finger of her right hand, and looked almost identical to her Father’s Merchant Guild ring. The only difference was her Father’s had a picture of a fist clutching a coin purse and hers had a fist clutching a cut coin purse with three coins sliding free.
The little silver ring glittered on her finger and she vibrated slightly in her shoes as the ceremony progressed. The Guildmaster himself was going to meet them and formally accept them as full members into the Thieves’ Guild. Darla stood among her fellow graduates as the concealed door behind the Guildmaster’s Throne slide open and he and his retinue slipped in. Master Thieves from all over the Dutchy solemnly lined the walls and Lysette took her place among them. They stood along either side of the Audience Room, dressed in black velvet cloaks and deeply cowled, each cloak held closed by the Master’s right fist so his or her ring showed plainly in the low light. When all the Master Thieves were in place, the Guildmaster himself stepped from behind his tapestry and took his seat in the ornate throne. The warm beeswax candle light played along the polished wood and gleamed from the golden and Mother-of-Pearl inlays.
The Guildmaster was a relatively nondescript man of middle height and middle weight. He was neither muscular nor bulky, lean nor flabby. He wore a black leather vest over a crimson shirt of silk, black silk pants tucked into his polished black leather boots. Each finger was adorned with a golden ring, most set with stones and his ebon belt had a jeweled golden buckle. A black leather hood was over his head concealing his identity from the new Journeyman Rogues.
“Welcome to the Guild, you newest members of our family,” he began in a rich voice that carried easily to the furthest reaches of the room. “From now on I am your Mother and Father. I am your leader and your confidant. I will share your joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, and your wealth of course.” The surrounding Master Thieves laughed at this briefly then they grew silent once more.
“Each of you has struggled to prove your worth, to show that you belong here with the Masters rather than with the beggars, the thugs and the common rabble that scrabbles for pennies in the sewers. You have had to learn innumerable skills of our trade, things that you had probably never even heard of before coming here. Trust me you will,” his voice cut off suddenly as his eyes came to rest on Darla’s face. He cleared his throat twice, feigning a cough. “You will need every skill you have acquired. Now, come and tell me who you are from this day forth.”
The Journeyman on the farthest left of the row came forward first, kneeled at the Guildmasters feet and they had a very brief conversation. “Arise Leoman, and be as one with your Brethren.” Leoman rose and The Masters applauded from the sides of the room. Smiling they shook his hand as he progressed around the perimeter of the room until he had reached the door where he was conducted out into the Guildhall where he joined the rest of the Journeyman Thieves.
Several more of the newly promoted Rogues were individually accepted and they too made the circuit of the room until it was Darla’s turn. Nervously she approached the glittering throne and eyes downcast she kneeled on the soft pile before it. The Guildmaster cupped her chin with his ringed hand and raised her head until her eyes met his. “And you child, You who come before me before the bloom of womanhood is fully upon her. What would make a little Minx like you wish to join our band of cutthroats and brigands?”
“I…” she couldn’t speak as she realized why the voice sounded so familiar to her. She couldn’t know for certain, but the way his eyes bore into hers, the sound of his voice, even the scent that clung to his expensive clothes all reminded her of Eamon, her Father’s Dock Manager. “I just…”
“Come now little one, do I frighten you so badly that you cannot even speak?”
Darla swallowed hard and shook her head. She took a deep breath and smiled. Well, I’ve been dealing with Eamon for a couple of years now. I’ve got nothing to fear from him at all. “I’ve decided to join you because this is where I belong.”
“Is it now? Well then Little Vixen, tell me your name so that I may welcome you properly.”
Little Vixen. “My name is Vyx Vlyn.”