Young Writers Society

Ren’s fingers buzzed within woolen gloves. He had attempted at hiding his face the best he could, securing a large hat over his hair and ears, pulling it low over his forehead. He also wrapped a scarf over his neck and burrowed his chin in it. Any exposed skin was slathered in grit and grime—playing the facade of an industrial worker. While the outfit stood out among the sea of short-sleeved tunics and bare faces, it was better than no disguise at all.

And Ren didn’t care how bad the disguise was. He was in the streets of Aryotsk.

The city gleamed in the setting sun, the stone buildings casting long shadows that dragged behind each weary traveller. Tapestries and thick cloths were hung from window sills, left to adorn homes or simply dry after being washed. Even as vendors closed down their shops, the smells of lingering bread, garlic, and stewed meat floated to greet him. It was a far better view than the one in the tavern.

“The armory is this way,” the prince muttered from beside him, brushing a lock of red hair from his eyes. He started down the street, keeping to the sides and away from any dwindling crowds in the deepening dusk. Ren followed along, his eyes taking in each detail.

The remaining stragglers walking along the streets were likely returning from a long day of work. Some carried bags and baskets of goods: fish caught at sea, tools needed for industrial work, and freshly bought supplies. That fact made a similar, large basket the prince had bought feel more comfortable upon his shoulders.

If all went well, that basket would soon hold the armor of Styrkish warriors along with a few stolen weapons. If all went well, Ren would be back in the tavern shortly, unharmed. If all went well, they would be out of the city by nightfall, on their way to meet back with Amani, Zain, and Shadya.

Ren didn’t believe in the gods, yet he prayed all went well.

Fortunately, the roads seemed relatively vacant of guards but for one every few turns. In comparison to the well-guarded streets that morning, it was a stark difference. Ren had suspected the lack of security was due to the dwindling crowds, until the prince informed him that their robbery beyond the gates had been reported, sending guards to search the area outside the city. Ren didn’t know if that had been intentional in the prince’s plans, but he appraised him for it nonetheless.

While the lack of guards was helpful in walking freely about the winding city, the lack of crowds was worrisome. The deeper the sun sunk into the horizon, the less traffic polluted the streets, providing little cover for Ren and his terrible disguise. Soon, the streets would be all but empty, leaving Ren and the prince vulnerable—visible by any nearby eyes.

Ren didn’t only mourn the lost crowds for their vulnerability. Masses of bumping bodies was the perfect environment for any pick-pocketer, and he had been dearly hoping to leave the city with a few souvenirs.

Alas, if he left with his life intact, he supposed that was victory enough.

They walked silently for a while, attracting a few curious glances, but nothing concerning. They passed through narrow streets and main roads, brushing through the large, open marketplace as quickly as they could before drawing suspicion.

Ren couldn’t help but marvel at this new prince. He had expected someone raised under the importance of law—meant to uphold peace under that law—would be disinclined to break it. Yet, the prince seemed more willing than Kai, who fought some moral quandary against what needed to be done.

In fact, the prince had been more than willing. Rather than sitting back and protecting himself while ordering them all to do the dangerous work, he had paired with Ren to steal the armor and weapons they needed. He had also spent his morning walk scoping out the armory, meandering through the warrior’s district where it was placed—the most dangerous district of the city, as it was heavily populated by guards.

“You are full of surprises, Prince,” Ren muttered as they began to enter said warrior’s district. Fortunately, it was bordered by the industrial district, and the roads had a steady flow of grimy workers, giving Ren and the prince the perfect cover.

“What do you mean?” the prince responded, his voice quiet.

“You went scoping out the one part of the city most full of guards, and as a criminal at that. I must say, I’m impressed.”

“They do not know to look for me,” the prince supplied, his eyes darting around as they crossed the street. A group of guards passed, their steps synchronized and practiced. Ren turned his face away from them, meeting the prince’s clear blue eyes, the color of Styrka’s morning sky. From his position, the guards would only be able to see the back of his fur-capped head.

Ren grinned, not turning back to the road until the guards footfalls began to recede.

At the end of the street, the broad lake glimmered. Only a few boats continued to sail on its waters, the rest pulling into docks. Several fishermen and industrial workers walked along the broad road following the lake’s coast, and just bordering that road was the armory, a short, rectangular building, long and wide.

From the prince’s brief morning walk-through, he had found two entrances on the building, one facing the lake and another facing a tall, military administration building. On the other two sides of the armory was the main road and rows of military barracks.

Ren and the prince rounded the armory, stopping before the door facing the administration building. It was away from the main road, and thus away from any prodding eyes, but should any guard notice them, they would be instantly suspicious.

So Ren worked quickly. He pulled two picks from his pocket and began the process of picking the lock on the armory’s door. As he did, the prince stood beside him, looking out to the main road.

After several moments of maneuvering the picks within the lock, it clicked. Ren grinned broadly to the prince, pushing the door open a crack before slipping inside, shutting it behind.

The armory was dark but for a few dying torches lining the wall. In the dim, flickering light were the most weapons and armor Ren had ever seen.

The walls were lined with racks upon racks of swords, daggers, axes, bows, crossbows, knives, and more. In the center of the armory were tall shelves holding a wide array of armor, the iron glittering in the firelight.

Ren padded forward, swinging the empty basket off of his back. The sooner he got what he needed the better. The prince was out on the street, assuring no guards would enter the armory while Ren was inside, and the longer he spent inside, the more probable such an occurrence was.

Ren set the basket upon the ground and grabbed a broad chest plate from one of the racks. Then immediately let go.

Gods above, it weighed a ton. He tried again, arching his back as he strained to remove it from the hooks the straps were hung upon. With gritted teeth, he managed to get it off of the rack and into the basket. After much grunting and sweating, he finally got a second chest plate and set it atop the other, nestling them carefully in the basket.

Ren blew out a sharp exhale, shook out his arms, and moved to gather a few weapons from the racks lining the wall. As he palmed a dagger and an axe, nestling both in his arms, a sharp scream sounded from outside.

Ren stilled, listening. There was a clatter of hooves then a shout. Perhaps it was just an accident but…

Perhaps it was the prince, attempting to cause a distraction to steer the guards away from the armory.

Ren hurried back to the basket, shoving the stolen weapons inside. He placed the woven lid on top and crouched to don the shoulder straps. With a grunt, he stood, the weight heavy upon his back.

He hurried towards the door he had entered through. On his way, he paused before a rack filled with explosives, pots of flammable powders, and ammunition for cannons. His hand shot out before any complete thoughts were formed, grabbing a thick wad of explosives. He slipped it into his inner coat pocket, turning back to his exit. Who knows? Perhaps it would come in handy when their heist went horribly wrong.

Ren shoved open the door a crack and slipped outside, not allowing a breath of hesitation as he turned onto the main road. He didn’t wait for the prince as he walked in the direction of their tavern, the weight of the basket strengthening a pulse of pain in his shoulders. He kept his head down, avoiding any glances from guards, but they all seemed preoccupied with something down the street.

After a few turns away from the warrior’s district, the prince caught up with Ren, his skin flushed and hair disheveled. Ren grinned broadly, his hands tightening on the shoulder straps of the basket. His grin faltered as he noticed a swollen, dark welt forming on the right side of the prince’s face.

“What the…” Ren started. “What happened to you?”

“I stepped in front of a travelling horse,” he responded idly, turning to the road as they continued forward.

Ren’s brows rose as he stared at the forming bruise. The prince’s throat bobbed in discomfort, his hands twitching.

“You stepped in front of a travelling horse,” Ren repeated.

“Yes,” the prince said, gnawing on his lip. “The guards were headed towards the armory and I had to distract them. I could not think of anything—”

Ren interrupted him with a snicker. He covered his mouth as he laughed, trying his best to keep his voice down. Soon, he couldn’t help it, the laughs bursting from him in full volume.

“Shush!” the prince hissed nervously, his eyes darting to the curious passersby.

“You let yourself get run over by a horse!” Ren gasped between laughter, clutching his stomach.

“What would you have done?” the prince asked, the question genuine.

When Ren got a hold of himself, he said, still grinning, “Anything else. Interrupt the guards with pestered questions. Shout that you see someone committing a crime down the street. Tell them you were just stolen from. When I said divert any guards from the armory, I didn’t mean almost kill yourself!” He chuckled on the latter sentence.

“Oh,” the prince muttered, his cheeks reddening. “It worked though.”

“Damn right it did,” Ren agreed, smiling broadly. “I’m sure all nearby guards were quite intrigued by the scrawny boy getting trampled.”

“I was not trampled,” he muttered. “Just knocked down.”

“Was it you that made that awful screeching sound?”

“No, that was the woman riding the horse.”

Ren’s laughter began anew, seizing his stomach and bringing tears to his eyes. Then, slowly and cautiously, a smile began to blossom over the prince’s lips as well.

…

Rieka grumbled as she sulked on the side of the road, peering at the fortress. The prince had scoped out one of the servants’ entrances on the side wall that morning, and she had been staring at it for what felt like hours, waiting for the moment someone vacated it.

Naturally, she had been given the most troublesome job. While the prince and Ren were off stealing armor and Kai was waiting up in their tavern rooms, she was left to jump a maid, steal her keys, then drag her back to the tavern to hide her while they completed the heist. The task would’ve been a simple one within Reindale, but in Aryotsk, she had to knock her unconscious without a single guard noticing.

Kai had offered his sword, but the prince had declined, claiming the Larabosi steel would draw attention, and attention was the last thing they needed. Instead, she had a vial of some fast-acting sleeping draught they had gotten from an apothecary and a cloth to administer it with. Rieka had never used chemicals to do her work for her and it felt like foul play.

The door against the fortress’s inner wall swung open, and Rieka stepped back to hide in the shadows of a nearby apartment building. She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out the cloth as a lean woman stepped out from the doorway, locking it behind. The maid tucked the ring of keys into a deep pocket within the folds of her woolen skirt and reached up to adjust the kerchief securing her braided hair.

Rieka cringed as the woman stepped forward, her leather boots tapping against the stone street. Rieka had knocked out plenty of men before—with bare fists at that. Only, this opponent wasn’t one that was fighting back. It wasn’t even a guard she was in danger of.

Rieka stepped out behind the maid, following her down the winding road that branched from the fortress. As she walked, she tipped the draught onto the cloth, tucking the empty vial back into her pocket.

When the narrow street was empty but for the maid and herself, Rieka picked up her pace, her stomach twisting. Let’s just get this over with, she hissed to herself. Don’t be such a coward.

The woman paused, craning to glance over her shoulder. Before she could catch a glimpse of Rieka’s face, Rieka whirled the woman around and shoved the cloth to her mouth and nose. She winced as the maid thrashed, kicking and stomping on Rieka’s toes. But she was weak, and before long, the woman went limp, her head lolling onto her shoulders.

Rieka sighed, easing her hand away from the woman’s mouth. She glanced at the cloth in disgust before tossing it against the wall of a bordering building. Stars, if the prince’s awful plan didn’t work and this had been for nothing, she would kill him before the Styrkish government had a chance.

The woman was dead weight in Rieka’s arms, and she awkwardly maneuvered her until one arm was draped over Rieka’s shoulder and she was braced on Rieka’s hip. The woman’s pointed chin dipped to her collarbone, rocking to the side with each sway.

The goal was to feign her as a drunk. Rieka’s lip curled. She hardly looked drunk—she just looked dead.

Fortunately, the girl was as light as Ren, so as she started down the street, dragging her along was easy. As she stepped out into a main road drenched in the early night’s shadows, she began to sway precariously, playing the drunk. She felt incredibly ridiculous.

Each time someone passed and their gazes caught on her, Rieka’s heart thrummed in her chest and she waited for the moment they called her out as a fraud. Waiting for them to realize she was not, in fact, a drunk carrying her friend home after an evening of fun, but rather a fugitive—a traitor to Styrka—carrying a maid of the fortress’s unconscious form.

Only, the glances passed, catching and releasing like a dull fisherman’s hook.

The woman was taller than Rieka, and as she walked, her feet began to drag behind, her body slumping onto Rieka’s. She fought the urge to shove the girl off into some alley, grab the keys, and leave her to be found by some guard. Of course, doing so was idiotic as once a guard found her, all of Aryotsk would be on guard and security would be strengthened. It was also idiotic for Rieka to even consider such a thing. Stop being a coward.

Rieka turned down the second to last street before the tavern would come into view. It was a dim street, only a few lights from windows illuminating the cobblestone. The stars were only beginning to appear, the night in that strange place of darkness before the sky lit up once more.

A guard marched down the sidewalk, his boots tapping in a steady beat. He slowed when his eyes caught on Rieka and the woman.

“Fun night?” he mused when Rieka was near.

“Yeah,” Rieka bit out, her stomach twisting. She prayed to the stars he wouldn’t look closer. That he wouldn’t notice that the woman was not in a stupor of intoxication but rather in deep unconsciousness.

The man chuckled. “You sound enthusiastic.”

“Right,” Rieka snapped. “Very. Now I should get going.”

“Would you like some help?”

Rieka scanned the guard, her brows lifting. He was short—far shorter than Kai—and only a boy, likely a year younger than even Rieka. She dismissed him and started down the street once more, hoping she appeared confident. “No. I’m fine.”

“It’s really no trouble. My shift is almost over.” He moved to follow along, reaching out to assist with the maid.

Rieka jerked away from him, shooting him a glare. “I said I’m fine.” Why wouldn’t he just leave? The longer he lingered, the more anxious she became, and the more anxious she became, the louder her head grew, screaming at herself to stop feeling anxious.

The man blinked, releasing the woman’s arm. “Fine,” he grunted, his cheeks flushing red. He backed away a curt step, his chin dipping in a sharp nod. “Good night.” With that, he turned on his heel and started back down the street.

As his form retreated, Rieka blew out a harsh exhale. Her heart thrummed in her chest, pounding in her ears and temples. She willed it to still—to stop betraying her cowardice—but it continued to pound.

With a scowl, she trudged back down the street, no longer bothering to sway like a drunkard. When she got to the tavern, the dining room was full of men and women drinking and shouting. She passed by without notice, not even attracting attention as she awkwardly dragged the woman up the narrow staircase by her shoulders.

She knocked thrice against the door, leaning the woman against its wooden panels, when the prince swung it open on the other side, the maid fell through, crashing to the floor with an unceremonious thump. The prince shot Rieka a glance, but she brushed past him, ignoring the unconscious woman.

A set of stolen armor was laid upon the scarlet rug in the center of the room, the iron gleaming in the candlelight. The prince had already donned his, his thin form awkward in the broad chest plate. As the prince struggled to drag the unconscious maid all the way into the tavern room, swinging the door shut behind, Rieka’s eyes lingered on the axe, shined and sharpened.

Her hands drifted to its hilt on their own accord, the wood smooth against her palm. The sole axe head was long, curved, and wicked. A spike protruded from the end, perfect for stabbing should it be necessary.

Before she got the full chance to swing it and relish the feeling of an axe in her palms once more, the prince said, “Don the armor. Ren and Kai have already left.”

Rieka scowled at the order but let the axe fall to the rug with a dull thud. As she began strapping on the armor, she jerked her chin to the maid. “What are you going to do with her?”

The prince propped her against the wall, standing to straighten his lopsided armor. “Leave her here.”

“Unbound?” Rieka gave him a look, finishing the last of the straps. When the armor was secured, she paused, suddenly realizing what she was wearing. She hadn’t worn armor like it in two years. She brushed her fingers against the smooth metal, the weight steady on her form.

“She will not wake until we are gone,” the prince assured.

Rieka palmed the axe once more, attempting to not seem too eager as she tucked it onto her hip. Her eagerness only extended to her newly acquired weapon and armor, but beyond that, her nerves were abuzz beneath her skin, clattering in her ribcage like a hive of bees. Rieka attempted to squash it and focus on what needed to be done, but it was futile.

Instead, she could only think of two things: how she was betraying her country once and for all, and how she might be caught and incriminated for it.

If the prince was nervous, he tried to not display it. His jaw was set, only one crease between his brows. He hurried about the room, burning any of his notes in the furnace and tucking Kai’s sword away, as they couldn’t bring it with them. When he was finished, he turned to Rieka, his brows knitted.

“Do you have the keys?”

Rieka gave him a look and lifted them. “Of course I have the keys.”

The prince nodded and shifted under his armor. He stood uncomfortably, as though he couldn’t handle the weight of it. Rieka rolled her eyes.

As they moved to leave the tavern for the final time, Rieka paused, her gaze falling upon the unconscious maid.

If all went well, no more harm would come to her people. If all went well, she would have betrayed her country, yes, but no one would be hurt and she could continue in the prophecy and receive her gold. If all went well, no one would know a fugitive had been in their midst.

Stars, she prayed all went well.