The heavy portcullis slowly pulled upward with a tired, metallic sound that frightened the old mule of the merchant that had come to Giant's Foot. Two guards staggered out, not yet fully awake, irritated by the storm and the merchant, who was to blame that they had had to leave their dry cabin.
"Go away!" one of them shouted when he had finally opened his eyes enough to size up the merchant. "No dwarfs in Giant's Foot, lord's orders."
"I'm Haruld Shvart," said the merchant in a thick dwarvish accent. "It's your lord that sent for me. I have metalware and runed wires."
"Look, my friend," said the other guard, gripping the hilt of her sword, as to signify that her use of the word 'friend' had been purely decorational. "You might as well be the Deep King himself, Lord Modray sends for no dwarf, and that I know."
"He has sent for me. Here, I have brought his letter, see for yourself." As he said that, he reached down to his belt, then his hand froze. "Abyssal depths," he swore, "where is it?"
He started looking for his letter of recommendation franticly, opening up his pouches, saddlesacks, and every other accessory where he could have misplaced his key to the castle of Giant's Foot. The guards grew more and more irritated, and, consequently, untrusting - not that they had trusted the dwarf too much to begin with, probably. Soon, one of them had her sword drawn, which only made the merchant swear louder that he, right hand to the ground, had the letter, just can't seem to find it. This was the moment Emily chose to step out of the crevice she's been sitting in, and to slip under the half-drawn portcullis. Before she disappeared again inside the castle, she loosened a leather string on her belt, and let the merchant's letter drop to the ground. With a bit of luck, they would find it before the guards turn him away.
Every thief, rogue and conman knows that the more securely guarded a place, the easier it is to infiltrate. Once you're in, everyone assumes you're meant to be there. If you're a petite blonde young woman, armed with a slender form and a fine woolen cape, lined with soft silk, not a soul will dare to stop you to aquire who you might be, or where you might be going. That is, until you reach the keep, where his lordship and his family reside.
No one questioned her there either, but it was not the cape that protected her, but her taking off said cape, under which she wore a nondescript, dark greyish tunic and hood. They did little to charm the eye, but, if she stayed still, stood against a stone wall, they tricked it into mistaking them for another pile of stones, not anything to be looked at twice. And that was the art of hiding: not to disappear from the inquisitive eyes, but to be so mundane that you aren't deemed worth a regard in the first place.
As for the keep itself, it was finely carved stone, but it was old, and the hundreds of years of weather, weapons, and maintenance had provided it with enough bumps that Emily could scale it easily. She slid in a small window, and landed soundlessly in a pitch-dark room. She took out her portable torch, a small wooden rod with a circle of runed wire on one end. She connected the two ends of the wire, and it lit up with soft white light. In the middle of the room, on a small table, she found what she was looking for: a foot-long tooth, lying on a soft cushon. It was said to be the incisor of a two-headed dragon, a species that had been extinct for millenia. It was worth more than entire countries, and that simpleton Lord Modray just left it sit...
Before she could figure out what to do next to get past what she suspected was dozens of layers of defensive spells, the room lit up, and half a dozen guards stepped in, with crossbows pointed at Emily. Behind them was a young man, around twenty-five years of age by his looks, no older than Emily. His fine clothes and soft skin indicated nobility, and his age indicated he might be the son of the lord.
"The thief," he said, in a sharp, mocking tone. "You are quite the animal to catch. But, as I'm sure you'll agree, you are now caught. No use to run now."
A setup! Of course. Emily felt ashamed how easily he played her. He knew the rumour would spread about the dragon tooth - a fake, no doubt -, and that she would try to steal it. But why set her up? She wouldn't have come here if not for the tooth. But no time to figure that out. She had to get out of there.
The finely dressed man stepped closer. The soldiers had completely surrounded her.
What happens next?
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