Around the time Satchel turned five years old, Jarek moved from his small, one-room grotto into a larger home nestled within Beggar’s Corner, the poorest area of the Pipes. It had become apparent as the boy grew older that more space was needed.

  Unfortunately, the pipes in the house didn’t always work. The hot air was sometimes not, the water pressure never stayed consistent and the sewage took longer to flush away. The gaslights maintained a low light, occasionally flickering brightly for a moment before settling back down.

  In the middle of the room sat a small black stove, its fire burning brightly. Satchel sat at the rickety wooden table across from the stove and stared intently at it. Jarek had been gone all day, allowing the young thief to get some much-needed rest.

  Satchel went over the events of the previous night for perhaps the hundredth time that day when Jarek burst into the room with a hard and angry look on his face. No one could pull off an expression like that. The old man did nothing for a moment and then threw something on the table. It was the parchment Satchel had stolen the previous night, its black seal still intact.

  “What in the blazes did you steal?” Jarek demanded.

  Satchel replied, “I already told you. I don’t know.”

  “I’ve been getting that same answer all day. Not one person I talked to seems to know what you’ve snagged.”

  He picked up the parchment and held it in front of Satchel’s face, showing him the seal.

  “I can’t identify the seal, nor does it break off to see its contents. Even Bromly was at a loss. Bromly!”

  Jarek threw the parchment back onto the table and paced around the room.

  He began talking again, more to himself than to Satchel. “The one thing he did tell me was...no it’s too ridiculous. He must be mistaken. But, Magic?”

  Satchel’s eyebrows went. “Magic?”

  Ignoring Satchel, Jarek continued, “But, that is what he said. Magic.”

  At one time, magic had been a part of daily life in Tirian. Legend had it that the High Elves introduced it to humans. Before this, only the elves knew magic and how to use it. The High Elves felt compassion toward humanity and wished to bestow a gift upon the young race.

  Unfortunately, human nature corrupted that gift, albeit with some help from treacherous Dark Elves. After the end of Junggen’s War—in which magic played a part in the decimation of seven of the thirteen major cities on the continent—Hegemon Seligar outlawed the use of magic. However, he did not stop there. He began systematically hunting down elves of all kinds to stamp out magic use once and for all. The mass genocide of the elves continued until his own guard assassinated Seligar.

  His son, Lysander, took power and put a stop to the killing. Many speculate that it was more for financial reasons than out of kindheartedness. He kept the ban on magic in effect. That was nearly forty years ago.

  As a boy, Jarek had seen the atrocities inflicted on the elves first-hand. He had told Satchel some of the stories. They had given the young apprentice nightmares. If magic was involved, the scroll could not be taken lightly.

  “It’s no help,” Jarek continued, “that I can’t track down either of your victims. It’s as though they disappeared. In my city!” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Satchel. “You’re sure you didn’t know anything about them?”

  Satchel kept his eyes still and nodded in reply. While relieved that Addie had not been caught for her sake, he did not look forward to running into her. As much as he feared Jarek’s temper, it was nothing compared to Addie’s. If he told his mentor, the old thief would find her and bring her back to their home. Satchel still had a small scar on his chest to remember the last time he had made her angry.

  Jarek frowned, walked to the edge of the table, and gazed at the flames in the stove.

  “I had a bit more luck with the spyglass,” he said. “I had a hunch the moment I laid eyes on it. It belongs to Captain Sebastion.”

  “Captain Sebastion?”

  Jarek considered a moment before answering. “An old colleague. The captain is the former leader of the Harkon Pirates.”

  Satchel’s eyes widened. He had heard of the Harkon Pirates. They were a notorious group of marauders that terrorized the Armendr Sea. Tales drifted up from the port cities to the taverns in the Pipes. None of them painted the Harkon Pirates in a good light.

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  How did Jarek know their leader? Satchel almost asked the question but thought better of it. Jarek would tell him if he thought Satchel should know. Neither of them spoke; they sat in uncomfortable silence for some time.

  Eventually, Satchel decided to gather up the bread and leave when Jarek said in a steady voice, “I may have to go to Brunland.”

  “Brunland?” Satchel repeated.

  “Yes, Brunland. Did I stutter? Sebastion used to make port there. Since I can’t very well leave you on your own here, you’ll have to come with me. Oh, and one final matter.”

  He dropped a small sack that clinked as it landed on the table in front of Satchel.

  “Compensation for interrupting your job. It’s not the amount you were promised, but it’s enough.”

  Satchel stared into Jarek’s eyes. Within them, he saw a small hint of fatherly pride and affection, a rarity. It lasted only a second before the familiar hardness returned. Despite his consternation, Jarek was proud that his apprentice managed to pull off a tough heist.

  “Market Day is in two days,” Jarek said. He held up his left hand. “My arm’s response time has slowed slightly as of late, and I want Jacob to look at it. We’re also going to shop for supplies. Until then your time is your own. I’m retiring for the evening.”

  At that, Jarek walked down the hall toward the door to his bedroom. Satchel clipped the pouch to his belt and ran through the front door and out into the dank hallway, barely able to contain his excitement. The thought of leaving the Pipes swam around his head. The more Satchel thought about it, the more excited he became. He had never ventured beyond the checkpoint, and the only view he had ever had of the outside world was through the hole in the rock ceiling over Ledion Square.

  He knew exactly how he wanted to spend his money. There had been a black cloak hanging up in Gruber’s tailor shop that was down one of the main shafts on the other side of Ledion Square. Satchel would have to hurry. He ran as fast as he could, taking every shortcut he knew.

  He was so lost in thought that, as he finished crossing the Square, he had no time to react when a hand grabbed his shirt and dragged him down a narrow side passage. Jerking free of their grip Satchel turned to run but lost his footing and fell to the ground. Rolling onto his back, he raised his head and found himself looking up into the deep blue eyes of a very angry redheaded seventeen-year-old girl.

  “Addie!”

  She reached down, grabbed a chunk of Satchel’s dark hair and pulled him up. Throwing him face-first against the nearby wall, she pressed her knee into the small of his back and held his head against hard stone. Satchel let out a pitiful grunt.

  As she padded his clothing with her free hand, she asked, “Where are they?”

  Finding the money pouch, she pulled it off his belt, relaxed her knee and let go of his hair. But, before Satchel could make a run for it, he felt cold steel against his neck that made him stay put.

  “Is this what they promised you, runt?” she said. “What did you do with them?”

  Satchel kept his mouth shut.

  “Tell me or I slit your throat.”

  “Slit my throat and you’ll never know where they are.”

  Addie turned him around, “You gave them to Jarek, didn’t you?”

  “What if I did?”

  “We’ll just have to go see him, won’t we?”

  Satchel shook his head. “Won’t do you any good.”

  “All the same, we’re going. Try to run and I’ll make sure you can’t even use your hands to eat with.”

  Satchel sighed. “I won’t run.”

  “Good.”

  “Can I have my money back?”

  “No.”

  Satchel led the way toward Beggar’s Corner. They arrived at the edge of the Square, and he looked to the ceiling high overhead. The sun had gone down, and the stars peered in through the opening. As they went behind the butcher’s shack, he halted.

  “Why are you stopping?” said Addie.

  “You hear that?” he said in a whisper.

  “Hear wha-” Then she heard it, too.

  Music.

  No one played music in the Square this late in the evening. Most people were at home or on their way thanks to the curfew. Satchel moved slowly in the direction of the music. Addie followed. The sound became more distinct as they drew nearer to its source. Chords and notes thrummed from strings up into the air; they were close.

  They rounded a corner and saw him. A man sat cross-legged in plain view with his back against a wall and played music on a mandolin. The song floated and drifted between the buildings; each individual note seemed to carry weight. It was a song of remorse, regret, and deep sadness. Satchel winced a little as he felt his chest constrict. Not only that, but he also sensed the song within his mind. He swallowed, grunted, and then the feeling went away, but the song inside his head did not. A sob came from behind him.

  He looked back at Addie and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t feel that?” she said, fighting tears.

  Wanting to show that he was tougher than Addie thought, he said, “It’s a little sad, but nothing to get worked up about. The man’s an idiot to play that thing at this time of day. He’ll be lucky if the guards just rough him up a little.”

  “But, no one’s gone near him.”

  And it was true. Satchel looked around and saw that no one had approached him. Incredibly, several of the guards had staggered across the square and stood listening, all with the same sunken look on their faces.

  Something is not right about this, Satchel thought.

  He and Addie stood unmoving as the bard played on. Addie continued to cry silently. Satchel wanted to get away from there, but the music seemed to root him to the spot.

  Something is definitely not right.

  The boom of thunder snapped their attention. Satchel looked back to the ceiling of the Square. Clouds had rolled in. Arcs of lightning flashed here and there followed closely by a low rumble. It had also caught the musician’s attention. He stopped playing, got up as he shouldered the mandolin and walked down the street away from them.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” said Satchel.

  Addie wiped her eyes and nodded. Rain began to fall through the skylight as they continued onward in silence. Satchel was not sure why that man bothered him, or why the music had affected Addie as it did. Something deep within his very being tugged at him. It felt ancient. It made him angry.

  And that song wouldn’t stop playing in his mind.