A Thief's Way [Preview] | Companion-Story One of TALES OF THE AMULET |

PROLOGUE - A THIEF

The musky smell of Orchin's Tavern disgusted Chernil. Putrid body odor–mixed with cheap alcohol–accosted his nostrils as he scanned the tavern. Puffs of smoke occasionally filled the air. Uncouth men and women filled the tavern, laughing flagrantly like the crass filth they were.

Why would someone of such notoriety choose a place like this to socialize? Chernil thought. The tavern was unbecoming of any who had even a measure of social prestige.

Perhaps he should have sent someone instead. No, he reassured himself, I need to meet him myself. This task is too important. Despite Demitru's reassurances, Chernil was still leery of hiring a man he had never met. But Demitru insisted his friend was the best thief in all the civilized world–not to mention he possessed some unique tevisrals.

A wisp of cheap lavin wafted past Chernil's face and he curled his lips into a snarl. Chernil coughed with revulsion as he neared a barred window–the tavern's cashier booth. A dozing clerk sat behind the bars.

"Excuse me," Chernil said.

The clerk started, flashing Chernil a glance with wide eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry," the clerk apologized. "Cashing in? Or depositing?"

Chernil cocked his brow, and his snarl became more pronounced. The clerk flinched. "I am looking for someone," Chernil said. "I have been told he frequents this place often."

The clerk looked about nervously, and then leaned toward the bars. "You a plainclothes watchman?" he whispered. "Or... a bounty hunter?"

Chernil drew his lips to a line, not amused. Were bounty hunters common in Soroth? "No, I am neither," he answered.

The clerk relaxed.

"His name is Tilthan," Chernil said, "Do you know him?"

Laughing, the clerk nodded. "I sure do! In fact, he's sitting over there," he pointed across the tavern. "Second table away from the wall, middle row."

Chernil turned in the direction of the clerk's gesture, eyeing the aforementioned table: eight men sat around it playing a card game. Half the table seemed to know each other, as they were rowdily conversing. Though Chernil couldn't hear them above the noise in the tavern he deduced they were bantering with each other.

"Tilthan is the one with his back to the wall," the clerk said. "He's the short one sitting next to the tall chiseled man with brown hair. His name is Nordal."

Chernil focused on Tilthan. He had an irreverent demeanor about him. The thin thief wore a wine-colored velvet doublet. He looked out of place in this crowd–a tad overdressed when compared to the other patrons. Tilthan ran his fingers through his neatly cropped brown hair, nervously eyeing the others at the table.

The other gamblers showed their cards, and Chernil deduced they were playing a game of Sharzen.

Suddenly, Tilthan's brown eyes flashed with excitement and he violently stood, cheering. His abrupt movement knocked over his chair.