Chapter 6 - Tales of the Past

Miktan woke to the sound of the heavy knocker striking on the door. He shifted in the high-backed chair he used for reading. Miktan looked up to see Jonson standing in the doorway to the library. Miktan nodded to him and he started off towards the front entrance. Miktan rubbed sleep from his eyes. He wished that Jonson took more initiative instead of waiting for Miktan to tell him what he already knew what he needed to do. Jonson was a good manservant, perhaps too good at times.

Miktan looked around at his library and it’s collection of books. It was nothing spectacular, especially when compared with the libraries of some of the nobles in Garlin, but it was more than enough for him. Miktan had managed to read most of the books. There were some that held no interest for him however. The books had come with the house, which he’d bought from a blacksmith who had become quite wealthy during the war with Actaron. The man had collected the various books because that is what he thought people with wealth did. When his business had slowed after the war, the blacksmith realized he could no longer afford the house and sold it as it was to Miktan at a reasonable price.

Miktan still enjoyed reading stories, though he could recite most of them just as he had during his time as a bard. There was something about the epic tales of the heroes of old that intrigued him. It was a life he wished he had lived, not that his life had been boring. Far from it, he had been part of a crew of thieves that had pulled some of the greatest heists in recent history. Miktan had heard his share of tales taken from the exploits of the old gang, though they were embellished far beyond anything they had ever done. He supposed that was true of any tale told over time.

Miktan had spent a fair share of his time in inns and taverns throughout the kingdoms sharing the tales of their exploits, changing any details that would tie the caper to himself or his companions. It wouldn’t do to tell a tall of Braas the Shadow-Walker and Miktan, not at all.

Miktan smiled as Jonson escorted a young boy, almost a man, into the library. The boy stood, cradling a canvas tube. He wore the black and gray of House Danar’s staff and had his shoulder length black hair pulled back. Miktan looked the boy over, marveling at how much he looked like his father, with hiw mother’s coloring in the eyes and hair.

Matthew had no clue who his parents were; had no idea that they were Braas and Helen, two members of the old gang. Two of the best thieves and con-artists the world had ever seen. It wasn’t long after Matthew was born that Braas approached Miktan, wanting to pull one more job. One job to end it all, vaulting them to full-fledged legends and more importantly to set his new family up to live comfortably the rest of their lives. A pang of guilt stung at Miktan at the memory.

Matthew stepped forward, handing the canvas tube to Miktan. He took the tube and slid the flute from it. Every detail was just as he remembered. A smile crept across his lips as he held it once again. Miktan held the flute to his mouth and played a few notes; they came, crisp and clear. After all those years it still held it’s tuning.

“Lovely,” Miktan said, looking up to Matthew as he lowered the instrument to his lap, “thank you for retrieving it for me. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Matthew returned the smile, “It was nothing,” he said nonchalantly, just as his father would have.
Miktan motioned to one of the chairs in the room for Matthew to sit. Matthew shifted something on his belt as he sat.

“What have you got there boy?” Miktan asked, trying to catch a glimpse.

“Just something else I found in the vault,” he replied as he pulled a black dagger from his belt, “I’m not sure why, but they seemed familiar to me.”

Miktan held back a gasp as he saw the blade. He recognized it as another item from his past.
“One of a pair, is it not?” Miktan asked carefully.

Matthew nodded and pulled the second blade from his belt. There was no mistaking it now. The two identical daggers could only be Braas’ shadow-blades. That was what he had always called them. They had always seemed like more of a good luck charm to the man rather than weapons, though he was more than capable with them.

“Do you know anything about them?” Matthew asked, looking up to Miktan with curious eyes.

So much like your father, Miktan thought before he spoke, “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like to hear a tale?” Matthew’s eyes gleamed as he nodded, “Very well. Some years ago, well before you were born, I was a member of a group of people who were notorious for pulling some of the greatest heists in all the world. At least, that was what we liked to believe. Those blades belonged to one of the members of that group.”

Miktan paused for a moment, thinking things over before continuing before, “He was a great thief that went by the name of Gabriel,” Miktan was sure that Matthew didn’t know his parent’s names, however, if he recognized the blades at all, Miktan didn’t want to take too many chances, “He was a great thief. Fast hands and a sharp wit. He could manage to get in and out of places that other thieves wouldn’t have dared even dream of trying. His feats garnished him the name of Shadow-Walker and those daggers were his Shadow-Blades and Gabriel took them on every heist, claiming they brought him luck. They saw him through thick and thin,” Matthew looked down at the blades he held in a new light.

“I remember the night that Gabriel died very clearly. It was the night that I lost this flute,” Miktan said, motioning to the instrument in his lap, “it was suppose to be our last job. We were going to rob High Lord Danar, though his house was not one of the high houses at the time. Lord Danar was cheating the people that worked for him, paying them enough to live, but not enough to move on. We planned the heist to take place during a banquet Danar was holding. Lord Danar sent out an open invitation for bards to play and entertain the guests that evening. We used that as our cover. During the evening, Gabriel and his wife broke into the vault to take all they could, but something went horribly wrong. The vault was empty except for a large number of guards. Gabriel and his wife tried to flee but were no match for the men.”

Miktan’s eyes began to well up with tears, but took a few deep breaths, forcing the pain away, “I was in the dining hall when the two were brought in before Lord Danar. He brought them forward and announced what they were found doing and sentenced them then and there. The Lord then asked if there was anything they wished to say. To this day, Gabriel’s words are clear in my ears,” Miktan closed his eyes as he recited the words, “You all may believe that we are the thieves, yet I tell you it is you nobles that cheat your workers that are the true thieves,” Miktan looked up at Matthew before he continued, “I watched in horror as they were executed. It was when Lord Danar’s eyes fell on me that I knew I had to escape. I ran like I had never run before, leaving my flute behind. I barely escaped that evening. I disappeared from Garlin for a time before finally returning.”

Matthew stared, eyes wide, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry Miktan,” he looked down at the daggers before holding them out towards the older man, “take them, you deserve them more than I do.”
Miktan laughed weakly, “What would I do with such things boy. No, I think you should keep them, I’m sure Gabriel would rather have it that way.”

It pained Miktan to hide things from Matthew, but he wasn’t sure the boy would be able to handle the truth at that moment, especially having just heard that story. Miktan stretched out towards Matthew’s mind, ever so slightly manipulating it. He brought on a touch of weariness, adding to what was already there. Miktan had not woven a thread in a long while. Bringing on weariness was a simple matter, not like manipulating emotions.

Miktan had done well to hide that he was a Mind-Weaver in the past, not wanting the Weaver’s Guild to get their fingers into him. They were better now than they had been during the war, recruiting anyone and everyone that had access to one of the threads of power, training them to fight against Actaron.

Matthew yawned and started to rise, “I’d better get back to the warehouse and get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you stay here tonight Matthew. It’s late, and I’d hate to hear that something happened to you on your way to the warehouse.” Miktan was ready to brush away any hesitance that the boy might have, but there was none.

“If it all right with you, than sure. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my eyes open the whole way to the warehouse anyway.”

Miktan hadn’t been entirely aware of how tired the boy was before he had added to it. He motioned to Jonson who had stood quietly beside the door of the library while the two had conversed. He stepped forward and began helping Matthew to the guest room. Matthew gratefully accepted the help and the two slowly exited the room.

Miktan stood, smiling, “You must be proud of the boy Braas,” Miktan walked to the fireplace and set the flute on the stand that sat on the mantle, “so very proud.”