The Heart of a Thief (Leslie Harkle short story)

It was a lovely, bright morning in Skywatch, the summer was mild and the hills and forests took on vibrant color with blooms of flowers and new growth. Rays of sunshine peaked through the window curtains of a small stone residence that belonged to the young but powerful mage Leslie Harkle.

Morning routine

Inside the house's main bedchamber, the red-haired Breton beauty awakened alone on a large bed among the silken sheets. When the season warranted, as it did of late, she slept without nightclothes. She stretched languidly, arching her back, the silk blanket sliding down to expose her large pale breasts. She lay back down and daydreamed a bit, in no rush to get moving.

As her thoughts wandered, her delicate fingers traced over her soft skin, awakening her senses. She splayed out her long hair over her pillow and imagined herself curled up in the arms of a big strong warrior. Her hands cupped her breasts as she dreamed of pressing close to him, being held in strong, well-muscled arms; her nipples began to rise and harden from her self-arousal. She caressed them in small circles and squirmed about under her blanket.

Her loins began to ache to have something there as well. She slipped her small hand down her flat belly, lower, her fingers sliding over her small trimmed curly red patch of pubic hair until her fingertips slid over her sex. She parted her own folds and could feel the warm dampness there, begging to be stroked. Leslie arched her back again as her hand began a slow rhythm between her thighs. She moaned her pleasure through pouted lips and rolled over on the mattress, coming to rest on her knees with her flawless bare backside in the air. Stroking her swollen sex more quickly now, she imagined a big strong male figure behind her, entering her, taking her roughly. With sweet gasps she shuddered and came.

After a minute or two of waiting for the wonderful throbbing to subside, Leslie swung her slim legs over the bedside and stood to walk to her bathing chamber, combing fingers through her tussled luxurious hair. The bathing chamber adjoined the bedroom and was dominated by an oversized marble basin sunk halfway into the floor, with little steps leading up to the rim from the outside and inside. A turn of a polished copper handle on a plumbing tube started the water flow, and soon the basin has a foot of clear water in it.

Leslie placed her open hand close to the water in her washtub and called forth the magic within her with just a moment's concentration. Her hand became surrounded with an orange halo of barely visible light as she brought forth the essence of fire. In a moment, the water temperature rose to steaming and the mage ceased her cantrip. She gingerly stepped into the hot bath and settled in for a relaxing soak.

A little reptilian shriek broke the peace of the morning. Into the bathing room flew her dragonling familiar, an eight inch lizard with leathery wings and studded here and there with little rows of horns or spikes. It fluttered in and landed on the edge of the tub, looking at Leslie and cheerfully chirping in its own exotic fashion. She smiled and pet its head with a finger. "You were into the larder early today, weren't you? Did you come up here to escape the servants' wrath? Well, you'd best promise to be on good behavior. We're making a trip to the market today." The familiar straightened its posture and chirped again in affirmation, then fluttered off to his perch next to the dressing mirrors.

Once she dried herself, Leslie selected a lovely green gown and slipped it on in front of the mirrors. It accentuated her slim body quite well, especially at the waist, and the skirt was loose enough for her to move freely for a day of walking.

Leslie arrived in the marketplace. The main broadway was lined with colorful shops and stalls and was bustling with activity. The lovely mage headed to a side path and walked down toward the docks where she could find shops of less popular or commonplace goods. This was a place where almost anything could be found for sale if the buyer had gold enough.

Leslie entered a little gray wood-paneled shop with no sign hanging above its weathered door. Inside, she let her eyes adjust to the ambient light a moment, and then heard a familiar voice. "Well, if it isn't one of my old friends," she heard the masculine, cultured voice say. She smiled as her gaze fell on the pale yet handsome bard and devotee of the Nord goddess Shor.

He was an odd man in many respects, but they had shed blood together in many battles and adventures, and there were precious few people that she trusted like this vampire. "Dredge," she answered happily, and moved to greet him with open arms. They hugged briefly and she placed a light kiss on his cheek before parting and smiling at him. Leslie's familiar, riding on her shoulder and partly hidden in her long hair, gave a half-hearted hiss at the undead male. They both ignored it.

"You haven't changed since last I saw you. What brings you to Skywatch?"

He shrugged lightly, though somehow he had a talent for expression that kept her attention transfixed. "I am ever in the service of my Lady," he responded cryptically, and then looked her up and down. "You are looking very fine indeed. Is there a special occasion I don't know about?"

Leslie shook her head lightly but enough that her dangling earrings exaggerated the movement. "Just getting some chalk powder," she responded in kind, folding her arms under her breasts and shifting to a relaxed posture. Both spellcasters were aware of the powder's usefulness in drawing ritual circles for complicated incantations, so further explanation wasn't necessary.

"No lady friends with you today?" Leslie inquired with a bit of a smirk.

Dredge grinned and took the bait. "They needed rest. Why, are you up for some entertainment?"

She giggled and touched his arm affectionately. "You're not going to get me into that dungeon you call a bedroom that easily, sir. Besides," she said as she rubbed her wrist for effect, " manacles chafe me so."

"And I keep telling you, that's half the point!" Dredge exaggerated a sigh of disappointment, then gave a full theatrical bow. "As you will. I must be going now but I should be around town for the rest of the week if you change your mind. It was good to see you, Leslie."

"It was good to see you too, Dredge. Gods bless your path."

As the sun began to drift toward the horizon late that afternoon, Leslie returned to her residence. An Altmer manservant greeted her at the door and took her shopping parcel without a word as she stepped inside the entry hall. She let loose the silk ribbon that bound her hair back, letting it fall freely now that it wouldn't be tossed around by the breeze.

While straightening her red locks with the assistance of a nearby wall mirror, she spoke to the manservant. "Are any others attending dinner tonight?" she inquired of her co-owners of the property. They were four in all, an experienced and successful band of adventurers: Leslie, the beautiful wizardess; Speaks-With-Blades, the mighty and righteous Argonian warrior; Dredge, the pious bard; and Sumar, the shadowy assassin.

"Speaks-With-Blades is attending the promotion of fighters of his guild in Ebonheart and won't return until tomorrow evening. Sir Dredge will be late this evening, madam, and suggested that you should not wait for him."

Leslie smirked briefly at the second title; it was true that Dredge was given the title of Raven Knight in his holy order of healers, but the servant had once assumed he was an actual knight, and she hadn't bothered to correct the amusing mistake since. "Very well, have dinner for one set immediately." He bowed respectfully and left in one direction while she moved the other, to the hallway and library.

As she entered the room lined with bookshelves, she noticed a letter placed on the side table where she liked to sit and read by the lamplight. She picked up the letter and partly folded it to break off the blue wax seal. It was from the elven court of Elden Root, at the heart of the Valenwood Forest. They invited her to attend their spring moon festival as an ambassador of the Mage's Guild in recognition of the services she and her adventuring group had performed for the Aldmeri Dominion. It was quite an honor, and she immediately planned on accepting.

Leslie was so engrossed in reading the letter that she didn't notice the lantern's flame flicker, nor the stretching of unnatural shadows across the floor. From the deep shadow, a dark-clad figure rose up behind Leslie's high-backed chair. He wore a full black cloak across his back but the dark gray end of a tail sticking out past its fringe made the cloth sway as if affected by a soft breeze. Dark, curving ridged horns dominated the man's brow. He wore a black cloth mask over his cheekbones and nose, but the eyes showing through were pupilless white orbs that betrayed no emotion. For clothing, he wore a loose silk shirt, a sash at his waist, simple trousers, and soft boots, all black as the void. Slowly, the man leaned over the chair and Leslie's shoulder, carefully avoiding the lamp side so as not to cast his shadow in her range of vision. He waited there for two breaths, and then pounced.

Before she could scream, Leslie was tightly grabbed by strong hands and yanked out of her chair. She tumbled to the floor and the dark figure held her down with his weight and superior strength. The mage struggled futilely for a moment before she began to call to mind one of the few escape spells she had memorized, magic that didn't require her hands to be free to call forth. Then the dark figure spoke and broke her concentration. "Hello, my love. Did you miss me?"

Sumar's familiar silken tones whispered in her ear in their tense embrace. Leslie, flustered, let her arms and legs go limp and the assassin immediately loosened his grip, though he stayed positioned on top of her. "You bastard," she breathed as the panic drained away. "Of course I missed you." She smiled up at him now, and he smiled back with a mischievous grin. With a thought he dispelled the unnatural shadows that leaked from his flesh so she could see him clearly in the lamplight.

Leslie spoke first. "The servants said no one else was home. I should have guessed they wouldn't know if you were here or not."

"I like to keep in practice," was all he replied, but she felt his smooth tail sliding up against her calf and knee under her skirt.

shadow games

She shifted on her back for comfort and let him toy with her. "Do you get much practice ambushing and wrestling young women?" she inquired teasingly, and pushed her thigh softly up against his at the groin.

Sumar took the opportunity to snake his tail further up between them, its tip poking her panties. Her breath caught briefly while he answered. "How much is enough? Perhaps you should put me to the test?"

She giggled at that. "I do have a test for you," she returned, and leaned up to place her lips against his neck, kissing his skin at the collarbone. "Show me what you can do with that tail. Remove my small clothes; no hands."

The bedroom was dark. The curtains were pulled nearly shut so that only a sliver of moonlight fell across the floor from the window. Breathing softly, slow and steady, Leslie's sleep hadn't been disturbed by Sumar's exit some time earlier. She lay in the same spot on the left side of the bed, her red hair spilled out over her pillow and a light blanket pulled up under her arms.

A small metallic click sounded softly from across the room, and Leslie's brow furrowed, the noise bringing her partly back to consciousness. When the noise came again, she opened her eyes. The third time it was louder, as the bedroom door handle made a full quarter-turn and the door quietly groaned on its hinges. Candlelight from down the hall spilled in a widening shaft across the floor, but it only opened a few inches before halting. A little brown shape fluttered into the room and looped its way over to the bed as Leslie was sitting up.

"Oh, you poor little thing," the mage cooed to her familiar, stretching her hand out for it to land on. When it did she held it close to her chest. "Did you get shut out? I'm sorry. Mistress was distracted." As she spoke, she glanced over to the right side of the bed: empty. The rest of the room was quiet and still, so Sumar was gone, she supposed. Leslie stretched out her hand again and the familiar took flight, circling happily nearby as she gathered up the edge of the blanket and held it against her chest as she climbed out of the bed. She strode to the big window with the blanket trailing to either side of her and pulled back one side of the curtain to look out on the cityscape beyond.

The city of Skywatch was sleeping at this hour, dark rooftops stretched into the distance. Beyond those lay hills to her left and the sea to her right. Skywatch was located on the shore by the sea, and drew its people by the trading that flourished here. On the other side of her property, she knew, was the marketplace, where the rooftops were broken up by wide avenues kept aglow in the light of lantern posts through the night. She thought she could hear the faint notes of some musician practicing a melancholy tune there even now, and felt a bit of kinship with that stranger. She had friends in the city but often she felt alone here, just as she was now, standing before the window, playing to an ephemeral song all her own.

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The dark brick jutting out at the top of the wall held his weight and he carefully swung one boot up to catch his heel over that ledge and give him leverage. The guards, hired as private security from some mercenary company, had just passed his climbing spot and shouldn't, if Sumar had their timing memorized, be back at this spot for three minutes. He slipped over the wall as quietly as a cat and dropped into the shadows of the villa's walls. The pinkish stone structure was a fairly upper class residence on its own, but it was only one of the properties maintained by a single lord.

He took silent measured steps that brought him up to the glass-paned white wooden doors on the second story of the villa, and mentally gauged the noise turning the gilded knobs would make. Risking a brief glance through the glass, Sumar made himself mentally picture the full layout of the room inside. There was a visiting area just inside the doors to the left side, with a small couch and chairs surrounding a low table. To the right was a small liquour cabinet and serving counter. On the back wall, a closed door and a hallway that led deeper into the house. That is where Sumar chose to be. He slid into the shadows and they welcomed him; it took just a step through the mystical darkness and he was suddenly crouched in the hallway. He instinctively bled shadows that deepened the already umbral corridor and moved forward on the hunt.

His target was sleeping in the main bed chamber. His work would be quick and impersonal; bring his blade across the man's throat, hold his mouth closed with one hand until he ceased struggling. The first step went as planned. Sumar brought his blackened scimatar over the exposed neck and drew it quickly across, the curved edge easily opening a lethal wound. Then some magic came unexpectedly into play. The assassin didn't know if it was a ring or trinket the old man might've been wearing, or if the defensive enchantment was on the person himself, but the attack triggered a teleportation effect. Just as his throat began gushing red, the target vanished from under Sumar's hand.

Cursing his luck, Sumar made the split-second decision to follow. The daedric taint that suffused his body gave him supernatural powers, one of which was to 'tag along' and retrace teleportation magic, following his enemy wherever they might flee. The decision was a double-edged sword, for he knew not where that destination might be; he could be headed somewhere significantly more dangerous than an old gentleman's guarded villa.

The shadows pulled him between the planes of existence and abruptly brought him back; the distance they had moved was short, probably still within the city walls. Sumar looked around quickly to get his bearings. In front of him was the target, stumbling forward as his lifeblood quickly flowed from him, leaving a messy trail of red puddles and droplets. The room was lit somberly by high-hanging lanterns, and ahead lay a dais with an altar of some god. It mattered not; the tiefling dashed forward and kicked the stumbling man to the floor, then drove the tip of his blade through the man's back between the shoulder-blades to make his demise certain.

When the body ceased moving, Sumar removed his sword and looked up at the altar. It seemed the old man had prepared this private sanctuary as a literal one should he be attacked. He couldn't have known his killer would be so skilled at his art. The altar, just feet from where the man died, was dedicated to the goddess Kynareth and had no less than half a dozen vials of healing potions sitting at the ready. Sumar swept them into one of his cloak's hidden pockets and with the same flourish gave a mock salute to the goddess' symbol on the wall in thanks. Without a word, he stepped behind one of the columns where the lanterns cast long shadows, and was gone.

When morning came, Leslie rose early and dressed in her favorite robes. The emerald green outfit was a more modest dress of a traditional style with full sleeves and conservative neckline. She slipped her feet into a matching pair of soft green shoes and adorned her fingers and wrists with simple silver bands and bracelets. Her long red hair was tied into a single braided ponytail that hung to the base of her spine.

The lovely mage descended the stairs and saw Sumar lounging on one of the low couches in the sitting room, an open bottle beside him on the table. She paused for a moment to regard him, then chose not to question his late night absence. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Dredge emerged from the first floor hallway. Though he was still dressed in his bedclothes, he appeared well-rested. She smiled at him and walked over.

"I'm sorry I missed you coming in last night," she started to say, but the pale man raised a hand in a gesture of appeasement. "It is of no consequence. I'm glad to see that you are well," he leaned a bit to peek into the sitting room, "and that we even have our shadowed friend in attendance this morning."

"Then it really is a shame I have to be off," Leslie told him, and watched a bit of disappointment creep into his features, "because it would be grand to have the four of us together for a change. Speaks-With-Blades's coming back today, you see, but I must hurry off to Elden Root. I've been invited to attend their summer moon festival as an ambassador." Dredge seemed genuinely impressed. "That's quite an honor. I hope you enjoy yourself thoroughly," then he leaned in a little closer and said in conspiratorial tones, "I have heard the party they throw can leave a man exhausted for a week; truthfully I am a bit jealous."

Leslie playfully shoved him away and then walked to the sitting room where Sumar lay.

The dunmer was sprawled on a couch in just the same position as she saw from the staircase. He smiled and winked at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. "You heard?" she inquired; Leslie knew his hearing was quite acute, and he could be paying attention to every detail when he seemed most relaxed. Sumar dipped his head slightly. "I did. I hope you have a grand time," he added with a playful smirk," those elves won't know what elegance is until you arrive."

"Flatterer," she teased, but she glowed with the compliment all the same. He knew she loved to hear such things.

"I'm taking a bottle of the white '41 as the customary gift."