The crowned falcon standard flew from the highest tower of Essendon Castle, marking the presence of the king. Essendon was the royal seat of Avryn and the kingdom of Melengar, and although not especially large or powerful, it was nevertheless an old and respected realm. The castle, an imposing structure of elaborate gray walls and towers, stood at the center of Medford, the hub of the city’s four distinct quarters of Gentry Square, Artisan Row, the Common Quarter, and the Lower Quarter. Like most cities in Avryn, Medford lay behind the protection of a strong outer wall; nevertheless, the castle also had its own fortifications partitioning it from the general city. This inner wall, crowned with crenellated parapets where skilled archers kept watch from behind stone merlons, did not completely encircle the castle. Instead, it connected to a large, imposing keep that served as its rear barrier. The height of the keep and the wide moat surrounding its base kept the king’s home well protected.

During the day, merchants wheeled carts to the castle wall and positioned themselves on either side of the gate, forming a tent city of bustling vendors, entertainers, and lenders who sought to do business with the castle inhabitants. This wave of local commerce receded at sunset because citizens of the city could not pass within fifty feet of the walls from dusk until dawn. This restriction was strictly enforced by royal archers who rarely hesitated to fire at those who ventured too close at night. Pairs of guards, dressed in chain mail with steel helms bearing the falcon standard of Melengar, patrolled the perimeter of the castle. They walked casually, with thumbs in their sword belts, often discussing events of the day or their off duty plans.

Royce and Hadrian watched the pace of the guard’s routine for an hour before moving toward the rear of the keep. Just as DeWitt had explained, negligent gardeners had ignored a spider-work of thick-stemmed vines tracing their way up the stone. Unfortunately, the vines did not reach as high as the windows. On this frosty late autumn night, the swim across the moat was bone chillingly cold. The ivy, however, proved to be quite reliable, and the climb was as easy as ascending a ladder.

“I now know why DeWitt didn’t want to do this himself,” Hadrian whispered to Royce as they hung from the ivy. “After being frozen in that water, I think if I fell right now I would shatter on impact.”

“Just imagine how many chamber pots are dumped into it each day,” Royce mentioned as he drove a small, ringed spike into the seam between two stone blocks.

Hadrian looked up at the many windows he presumed led to bedrooms and cringed at the implications. “I could have lived without that bit of insight.” He pulled a strap harness from his satchel and fastened it to the eyelet of the spike’s ring.

“Just trying to take your mind off the cold,” Royce said, tapping in another spike.

Although tedious and tense, the process was surprisingly fast, and they reached the lowest window before the guards completed their circuit. Royce reached out and tested the shutter. As promised, it was open. He pulled it gently back, just a hair, and peered inside. A moment later, he climbed in and waved Hadrian up.

A small bed draped in a rich burgundy canopy took up the center of one wall. A dresser with a washbasin stood beside it. The only other piece of furniture was a simple wooden chair. A modest tapestry of hounds hunting deer covered much of the opposite wall. Everything was neat but sterile. There were no boots near the door, no jacket thrown across the chair, and the bed covers showed no wrinkles. The room was unused.

Hadrian remained silent near the window as Royce moved across the room to the door. He watched as the thief’s feet tested the surface of the floor before committing his weight. Royce mentioned once how he had been in an attic on a job when he hit a weak board and fell through the bedroom ceiling. This floor was stone, but even stones had loose mortar or contained ingenious hidden traps or alarms. Royce made it to the door where he crouched and paused to listen. He motioned a sign for walking with his hand and then began counting on his fingers for Hadrian to see. There was a pause, and then he repeated the signal again. Hadrian crossed the room to join his friend and the two sat waiting for several minutes in silence.

Eventually Royce lifted the door latch with gloved hands but did not open it. Outside they could hear the heavy footfalls of hard boots on stone, first one set, and then a second. As the steps faded, Royce opened the door slightly and peered out. The hall was empty.

Before them lay a narrow hallway lit by widely spaced torches, whose flames cast flickering shadows, which created an illusion of movement on the walls. They entered the hall, quietly closed the door behind them, and quickly moved approximately fifty feet to another door. Ornate and elaborately carved, it had gilded hinges and a metal lock. Royce tried the door and then shook his head. He knelt and pulled a small kit of tools from his belt pouch while Hadrian moved to the far side of the hall. From where he stood, he could see the length of the corridor in both directions as well as a portion of the stairs that entered from the right. He stood ready for any trouble, which came sooner than he expected.

A sound echoed in the corridor to his right, and Hadrian could hear the faint noise of hard heels on stone coming in their direction. Still on his knees, Royce worked the lock as the steps grew closer. Hadrian moved his hand to the hilt of his sword when at last the thief quickly opened the door. Trusting to luck that the room was empty, the two slipped inside. Royce softly closed the door behind them, and the footsteps passed without pause.

They were in the royal chapel. Banks of candles burned on either side of the large room. Supporting a glorious vaulted ceiling, elaborate marble columns rose near the chamber’s center. Four rows of wooden pews lined either side of the main aisle. Cinquefoil-shaped adornments and blind-tracery moldings common to the Nyphron Church decorated the walls. Alabaster statues of Maribor and Novron stood behind the altar. Novron, depicted as a strong handsome man in the prime of his youth, was kneeling, sword in hand. The god Maribor, sculpted as a powerful, larger-than-life figure with a long beard and flowing robes, loomed over Novron, placing a crown upon the young man’s head. The altar itself consisted of an ornately carved wooden cabinet with three broad doors and a rose-colored marble top. Upon it, two more candles burned and a large gilded tome lay open.

DeWitt had told Hadrian he left the sword behind the altar, and they headed toward it. As they approached the first set of pews, both men froze in mid step. Lying there, face down in a pool of freshly spilled blood, was the body of a man. The rounded handle of the nondescript dagger protruded from his back. While Royce made a quick survey for Pickering’s sword, Hadrian checked the man for signs of life. The man was dead, and the sword was nowhere to be found. Royce tapped Hadrian on the shoulder and pointed at the gold crown that had rolled to the far side of a pillar. The full weight of the situation registered with both of them—it was time to leave.

They headed for the door. Royce paused only momentarily to listen to ensure the hall was clear. They slipped out of the chapel, closed the door, and moved down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Murderers!”

The shout was so close and so terrifying that they both spun with weapons drawn. Hadrian had his bastard sword in one hand, his short sword in the other. Royce held a brilliant white-bladed dagger.

Standing before the open chapel door was a bearded dwarf.