Chapter One: Win Some, Lose Some
Kostin talked as he circled the box, a cube of black wood a forearm’s length across resting on a table at the center of the junk-cluttered attic room. The afternoon’s heist had come off without a hitch, and Kostin was still basking in the giddy afterglow of his success; his mind and mouth, as the old Varisian saying went, were determined to outrace one another. It had taken every scrap of will he possessed to leave the box alone until his friends had arrived that evening. Kostin knew that the real danger with a score like this was not so much in the stealing of the thing, but in the opening. Whatever this box was—and by extension whatever was in it—was special. The exact kind of special that made fortunes and got people killed in equal measure.
“So… to the box itself.” Kostin, having finished his retelling of the day’s con, got on with the business of the evening. “The wood is clearly onyx bark from the Mwangi Expanse, spot-lacquered in the Vudran style. The inlay is most likely the work of a Chelish silversmith, and the locking mechanism—at least what is visible so far—is almost certainly of dwarven make. Agree?”
“Not even close.” Aeventius Reatés, scion of one of Magnimar’s oldest—and now most impoverished—families, looked up from his scrutiny of the box to fix his glowing eyes on Kostin. “But it is wizard-locked. And why exactly is… she… here for this?”
“The name’s Taldara, Aeventius,” The third member of the group was a tall blonde leaning uncomfortably on the edge of a wobble-legged Galtan dining table. “Though I suppose feigning ignorance of my name is just your way of making me feel welcome after all these years.” Taldara paused to scratch the head of the sleek badger draping her right shoulder and shifted her gaze toward Kostin. “As far as why I’m here, well, our mutual friend lied to me.”
Most Chelaxians assume every Varisian’s a thief. In Kostin’s case, they’d be right.
Spreading both hands in a gesture of pleading innocence, Kostin deployed his most charming half-smile. “We could still be looking at a major find, Tal. Besides, isn’t this more fun than sketching the Irespan all day? You should be flattered I trust you with something like this.”
Aeventius, the bluish glow of the detection spell fading from his eyes, pushed his way irritably past Kostin to examine the box from another angle. Tall and sharp-featured, with jet-black hair sweeping back from a high forehead, the wizard looked every bit the full-blood Azlanti he claimed to be. “There are precautions we must take before…” Aeventius trailed off and cocked his head, listening. “Someone at your door.”
“Flattered!” Ignoring the wizard, Taldara shot to her feet and took a step toward Kostin. She wore her fair hair back in a single, thick braid that exposed the pronounced tips of her ears, lending her a somewhat severe aspect. “You told me exactly what you knew would get me here. And now it seems that, in addition to this having nothing to do with Thassilonian artifacts, we’ve come to help you appraise stolen goods.”
Caught with your hand in another man’s pocket, Kostin thought. How is it he could coolly lie his way into Dockway’s cargo impound with little more than an inexpertly forged writ of seizure and a cocky swagger, but this girl so completely disarmed him? Woman now, he corrected. It had after all been twelve years, long enough for even someone with Taldara’s half-elven heritage to leave childhood completely behind and grow into someone new, a stranger.
And stranger she was, returning to Magnimar a world traveler, scholar, and newly minted Pathfinder—far more than Kostin had managed to do for himself. No, Kostin Dalakcz had stayed behind—stayed behind and become exactly what the predominantly Chelish population of his city suspected all Varisians of being: a thief.
At least he didn’t run a harrow
Kostin talked as he circled the box, a cube of black wood a forearm’s length across resting on a table at the center of the junk-cluttered attic room. The afternoon’s heist had come off without a hitch, and Kostin was still basking in the giddy afterglow of his success; his mind and mouth, as the old Varisian saying went, were determined to outrace one another. It had taken every scrap of will he possessed to leave the box alone until his friends had arrived that evening. Kostin knew that the real danger with a score like this was not so much in the stealing of the thing, but in the opening. Whatever this box was—and by extension whatever was in it—was special. The exact kind of special that made fortunes and got people killed in equal measure.
“So… to the box itself.” Kostin, having finished his retelling of the day’s con, got on with the business of the evening. “The wood is clearly onyx bark from the Mwangi Expanse, spot-lacquered in the Vudran style. The inlay is most likely the work of a Chelish silversmith, and the locking mechanism—at least what is visible so far—is almost certainly of dwarven make. Agree?”
“Not even close.” Aeventius Reatés, scion of one of Magnimar’s oldest—and now most impoverished—families, looked up from his scrutiny of the box to fix his glowing eyes on Kostin. “But it is wizard-locked. And why exactly is… she… here for this?”
“The name’s Taldara, Aeventius,” The third member of the group was a tall blonde leaning uncomfortably on the edge of a wobble-legged Galtan dining table. “Though I suppose feigning ignorance of my name is just your way of making me feel welcome after all these years.” Taldara paused to scratch the head of the sleek badger draping her right shoulder and shifted her gaze toward Kostin. “As far as why I’m here, well, our mutual friend lied to me.”
Most Chelaxians assume every Varisian’s a thief. In Kostin’s case, they’d be right.
Spreading both hands in a gesture of pleading innocence, Kostin deployed his most charming half-smile. “We could still be looking at a major find, Tal. Besides, isn’t this more fun than sketching the Irespan all day? You should be flattered I trust you with something like this.”
Aeventius, the bluish glow of the detection spell fading from his eyes, pushed his way irritably past Kostin to examine the box from another angle. Tall and sharp-featured, with jet-black hair sweeping back from a high forehead, the wizard looked every bit the full-blood Azlanti he claimed to be. “There are precautions we must take before…” Aeventius trailed off and cocked his head, listening. “Someone at your door.”
“Flattered!” Ignoring the wizard, Taldara shot to her feet and took a step toward Kostin. She wore her fair hair back in a single, thick braid that exposed the pronounced tips of her ears, lending her a somewhat severe aspect. “You told me exactly what you knew would get me here. And now it seems that, in addition to this having nothing to do with Thassilonian artifacts, we’ve come to help you appraise stolen goods.”
Caught with your hand in another man’s pocket, Kostin thought. How is it he could coolly lie his way into Dockway’s cargo impound with little more than an inexpertly forged writ of seizure and a cocky swagger, but this girl so completely disarmed him? Woman now, he corrected. It had after all been twelve years, long enough for even someone with Taldara’s half-elven heritage to leave childhood completely behind and grow into someone new, a stranger.
And stranger she was, returning to Magnimar a world traveler, scholar, and newly minted Pathfinder—far more than Kostin had managed to do for himself. No, Kostin Dalakcz had stayed behind—stayed behind and become exactly what the predominantly Chelish population of his city suspected all Varisians of being: a thief.
At least he didn’t run a harrow
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