Blaze of Glory: The Adventures of Elasia Masters, #1

By M.D. Harrod

Elasia Masters, Blaze to the other rogues in the Crooked Family, spent ten years learning how to become one of Fharizan's best cat burglars. While trying to steal a shipment of rare Mage Ink from the city's richest merchant, she is betrayed by her fellow thieves. Now face to face with the merchant, who was also her late father's best friend, the nineteen-year-old rogue will need every bit of help she can get from the Goddess of Luck if she doesn't want to do the Last Dance on gallows built just for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.D. Harrod
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223020394

M.D. Harrod

After many, many years of never publishing a book, or even writing any for that matter, the existence of this and the ones that will be following it is a bit of a surprise to me. It shouldn't, I suppose. I've lived in several physical locations, all in the not-always great state of Kentucky, but the first book I read when I was seven, The Wizard of Oz, sent me to another world. Over the years I went to other worlds, thanks to Dracula and Lord of the Rings, authors like Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and H.P. Lovecraft, oh, and way too many comic books, I spent a lot of time living in my own peculiar headspace. Adding Role Playing Games to the mix in the 1980's got me to create my own characters, then, worlds for them to live, work and play in. It's been fun bringing them to life and I hope to keep doing this for as long as there's stories to tell. Follow me on Goodreads and on Facebook: M.D. Harrod COVER ARTIST: Barri Ja' Neise Parker Find her on Instagram @bybarriparker Or www.bybarriparker.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Always be prepared, so that your next step does not become your last step.

Of all the saying, quotes, crazy old man mumblings, whatever you want to call them, this is the only one my Master Edawan said that ever really stuck with me. As he taught me things like lockpicking, climbing walls, silent movement- all the things any young thief should know, he loved to add these pearls of wisdom of his to the lesson and would be disappointed if I could open a dwarven double set lock but not repeat the yawn-inducing cliche he preached as he taught me how. But even before I cracked the secret warehouse, even as I experienced the thrill of skulking across rooftops, and slunk, slinked, whatever, through the sewers, I knew you had to be ready for anything. Nothing goes according to plan, so, be ready for it to fall apart. If any job ever proved it, the one I did on a warm summer night in early June proved it beyond anything I could have imagined.

The most successful merchant in Fharizan, Ormil Salavar, has secrets, lots of them, of course; all the rich and powerful do. His were better than most and were better hidden. Well, not to those with a little inside knowledge, thanks to a chance visit with my father, Salavar’s best merchant captain and friend. I was seven and bored all those years ago; no kid wants to look at dumb old buildings, even under construction, right? The two of them were inspecting the site where a whole new set of warehouses would be built. I wanted to get sweets or a toy, anything more fun than this. I remember Mr. Salavar bragging that he would own them all, that the one we were standing next to would include a special hidden basement where he could conceal the most valuable of his goods. I didn’t care and started crying, wanting to leave. We were there forever, I didn’t get a new toy, just an interesting fact that I didn’t remember until much later.

It took 12 years and me running away in just the right direction across some warehouse rooftops from the City Watch to bring the memory of that day to the surface. After that, a few weeks of detective work, some bribery and a little bit of good luck led me back to that particular warehouse. As the city’s clock towers chimed the first hour past midnight and a cloud cover hid the light of Big Moon and Little Moon, I crouched low on the roof, thanking the Goddess of Luck I’d gotten the hot tip about a special shipment I knew Mr. Salavar had to have stored in that secret basement. Of course, I had to break in and pull off this heist, which would set me up practically for life and make up for not getting a new toy.

I hate to brag, well, no, no, I don’t. I brag regularly, in fact. That night I was at the top of my game. On the outside, the warehouse looked to be nothing special. To most people, it looked like any ordinary old warehouse; the average rogue would have passed it by with hardly a glance. It’s not an ordinary warehouse and I’m not the average rogue. In fact, it had the best locks money could buy, the doors were metal plates disguised with thin wooden overlays, the walls thicker than normal and the entire structure built on a reinforced concrete base. Unlike other warehouses, it also featured a climate control ventilation system, perfect for things that needed more unusual storage conditions.

Unfortunately for the merchant, I got to look at the original blueprints and the location of the ventilation shafts in the ceiling. They were small, but not small enough to keep me out; it pays to stick to my diet and be naturally petite, too. Of course, the outside openings in the roof and under the eaves had grills over them and good, secure pins and locks. Too bad for him, I’d trained for years and invested a fair amount of my ill-gotten gains assembling the tools I needed for any occasion. And this occasion turned out to be just right for them.

Locks and misdirection are good, but not enough, Salavar’s storage area also had a bunch of guards patrolling and watching key entry points in the warehouse district. I spent several uncomfortable nights learning the patrol routes and the behavior of the guards on duty. Like anyone doing a boring, routine job, these guys had gotten lazy. Some might say the guards let down their guard. I wouldn’t, I don’t do that type of humor. The night I made my move I waited until I knew Salavar’s guards wouldn’t see me sneaking across the rooftops to my chosen entry point, a vent shaft hidden under the eaves. Easily picking the locks, I popped open the grill and wriggled into the ventilation system, making my way through the ducts until I popped another grill and looked down into a large storage room.

Where the vent opened was close enough to one of the walls that I had no trouble using a stack of boxes and crates to work my way to the floor. Everything looked normal to me, rows of shelves, more boxes and crates, equipment covered with tarps, and lots of dust. The maid obviously slacked off when it came to this room. Getting my bearings took no time, the place was dark, but not pitch dark, the dim security everglows over the room’s two doorways gave off just enough light to guide me, thanks to my secret weapon.

On a previous heist I’d gotten a nice bonus. Besides the gems I’d come to steal, I found a secret compartment containing a pair of unusual magical goggles. Wearing them in a dimly lit room like this one, I could see everything up to thirty feet away as if all the lights were on and objects up to twenty feet further out in shades of gray. Never one to turn down an advantage, I’d added them to my thieving kit. Now, the boxes, crates and shelves that filled the place were not obstacles to me as I worked my way across the vast space and found what was supposed to be a hidden door to Salavar’s not-as-secret-as-he-thought basement vault.

I needed more than a few minutes to pick its special locks, bypass a not-clever-enough trap on the stairs and carefully navigate the maze that was this secret storage room before finding my prize, a container of very rare, very expensive Mage Ink. It held twelve vials of the ink spellslingers used to record their spells, write scrolls and phylacteries, and tattoo themselves with the sigils and runes that protected them. I wanted to take all twelve, but the pouch I’d brought with me could only hold six safely. I’m greedy, but there’s times to be sensible, so I carefully stowed my prizes away, took a deep breath and got ready to leave.

The hardest part, most thieves will say of a heist, is the getaway. For the average law-abiding citizen this comes as a surprise, I’m sure, but it’s true. At this point in the caper you’re riding not one, but two highs. You’ve beaten the things keeping you out, you’ve got your goods, you’re all pumped up now. You feel like a champion and that’s the problem. Overconfident, excited, already planning how you’ll spend your newly acquired wealth, you forget that you still need to get out as quietly as you go in and are more likely to make mistakes.

Lucky me, I’d learned from one of the best, although I’d never ever tell him that, hey, don’t want Master Edawan getting a swelled head, do we? As I stood there in that dark space, I went through the breathing exercises and mind-clearing disciplines he’d drilled into my head. Once I felt as focused as I had going in, I retraced my steps, checking the gray outlines of the warehoused goods ahead of me, looking for anything out of place or different. Nothing registered until I got close to where I’d made my entrance.

Almost instinctively I froze in place; I’d sensed something, but what? There it was, about forty feet away, just barely visible, a shape, not boxy, but more rounded, more organic. Someone was there, lurking next to a box, between me and my exit. This had to be a trap, no other thief would accidentally be here the same night as me. I crouched low, hoping they couldn’t see in the dark as well as I could. Some members of the Crooked Family could. Elves, for one thing, saw in dim light even better than I could with my goggles. Some could do it with magical talents or spells and rituals. Of course, some could smell or hear really well, too.

I shut down my unnecessary internal cataloguing for another time and got to work. Slowly, silently, I shifted to my left, working my way around the clutter to flank this unwelcome presence. So far, so good, it wasn’t reacting to me, and I couldn’t see any other not-boxy shapes. Not so good, though, my new best friend lurked too close to my exit. No way I could get out without us getting acquainted. I needed a knockout blow or a killshot that made little or no noise, unless making new friends among the guard community sounded like a great new life goal.

As I closed the distance, I carefully pulled my nightstick from its holster. A stout blow to the head usually solved these kinds of problems. Best of all, my victims make the little to no noise I preferred. Besides, the way he hunched over made any attempt to target the throat or the heart with my dagger likely to fail. Decision made, I swung my lead-weighted cosh, solidly connecting with his head.

The blow bounced all wrong off his noggin, damn, the bastard had on a padded cap or helm or something under the hood of his gray cloak. He staggered but recovered quicker than I liked. I’d already shifted away and a good thing, too, I saw my new friend drawing his short sword. I turned my shift into a roll and, as I hopped up, swung my club at him. Even off-center, I still hit his left leg, making him drop the weapon he’d pulled. As my foe clutched the leg, grunting in pain, I lashed out with my right foot, trying to knock his new bad leg out from under him.

He managed a clumsy leap to the side and staggered into a pile of empty crates. They toppled over, crashing to the concrete floor as I groaned. I couldn’t have done a better job of alerting the guards if I’d sent invitations in gold ink. Whistles and horns began to blow, meaning that the sound of marching feet and shouted commands would no doubt be heard very soon.

The jackass that screwed up my heist untangled himself from the debris. I turned and jumped to try to reach my makeshift escape ladder and get away. When it’s not your night, it’s not your night. I missed the stacked boxes, badly, and before I could try again my enemy hit me in the back with a piece of wood, knocking me down. I could hear the guards moving quickly and getting closer; my opponent dashed for the shadows as I picked myself up.

Just as I staggered up the first box, a door burst open, and the room filled with burly thief haters. They had lanterns and needed no magic lenses to see me failing to get away. The combination of bright light and the magic goggles now blinded me, so I pulled the goggles off my eyes and let them dangle around my neck. I dropped to the floor and crouched into a defensive stance. One little girl, eight big guards, it didn’t seem fair, maybe I should tie one hand behind my back. Moving quickly, a dagger in each hand, I thrusted and danced in the midst of my would-be captors. Well, scratch the would-be part. They presented spears, pointy end me-ward in a tight circle, daring little me over.

Even as I dropped my weapons, reluctantly surrendering, I noticed that my uninvited guest had vanished. How rude, not to stick around for my hanging. As rough hands tied my hands behind my back and a blindfold covered my eyes, a sudden ray of hope in the form of a voice I hadn’t heard in years cut through the rough celebrating and joking of the guards.

So, mates, what fine fishie has our net brought us? That voice, raspy and gruff, carried me back in time to happy days with my family and my favorite of my dad’s three brothers.

The guards quieted down and before any of them could speak, I piped up. Why, Uncle Foros, I thought you swore to the Lady of the Sea that you'd throw yourself overboard before you ever took a job on dry land.

A pair of hard, callused hands spun me around and whipped the blindfold from my face. Dark brown eyes, very much like my dad’s, looked down at me, studying me carefully. I saw suspicion, sure, but doubt, as well. He’d gotten old and grown a potbelly since the funeral, his hair and beard were still brown, but, with generous helpings of gray mixed in, wrinkles worked into his face and around his eyes. Uncle Foros now looked like Grandpa the last time I’d seen him.

I needed to chase the doubt and suspicion away if I wanted to live to see the dawn. So, that left knee still throb when the weather changes? I asked. And do you have any more of those sweet bits you used to carry? I haven’t had one in ages.

I can admit now that I was also praying desperately to Baleal, the Goddess of Luck, who I felt owed me one. I’m not the most religious of rogues, well, very few of us really are, but it’s generally believed that while she’s not watching us closely, she still watches and surely, she couldn’t expect me to get hung for thievery when a favorite uncle was the one who’d caught me. Of course, Foros hadn’t seen me in about ten years, I hadn’t exactly kept in touch, and there is the whole I just got caught stealing thing, but, hey, let’s not quibble over a few minor details.

Chapter Two

Uncle Foros ordered a lantern brought close so he could get a good look at me. As the light illuminated me, he grabbed my bright red hair and tugged, making sure it was mine, I supposed. And it’s not dyed, it’s natural, I whispered. Same color as hers. Now, he bent closer, all six feet of him, peering into my jade green eyes. Dad always said I had her eyes, too, didn’t he?

While the examination continued, the guards were getting restless. They wanted to have fun and made sure I knew they considered hanging thieves the most fun you could have.