J'role saw that the ork kept his head down, as if concerned only with swirling the mead in his mug. He didn't know what Garlthik was talking about.
"What are you doing looking about like that, making eye contact? You only do that if you need a mark to take a liking to you. We don't need that. Now he's paid attention to you.
Now he'll remember you. You are a thief. You don't befriend anybody, understand?
There are the people you steal from, and that's it. The only people you don't steal from are the people who don't own anything worth stealing. And you don't befriend them because they're not worth befriending. If they ever end up owning something, then you can steal it. But they're not your friends. Understand?"
J'role did-just barely-and he nodded his head.
Soon the portly, finely dressed man also came down to the common area. J'role eyed him carefully, keeping Garlthik's warning in his thoughts. He noticed that the rich man wore a ring with a bright stone that shone blue with the light it caught from the windows. It was bigger, much bigger, than the one Garlthik had bartered to the tavernkeep. The rich man took a table separate from the one where the guard sat.
"Tonight, when the reptile is on watch," said Garlthik, "you'll go in and steal that diamond-the one on the trader's finger. They're going to stay at least another night. He's well-fed and well-dressed. Once his kind stop moving, they stay put for a while."
J'role looked up at Garlthik's face and then down at his food, afraid of showing undue attention to the conversation.
"It's your test, boy. Your initiation. And your payment. I paid my mentor with coins I begged in the citadel. You haven't paid me yet. And you owe me for my diamond. That ring on his finger. You owe me. We'll do it tonight. Best be back on the road by then. I do believe Mordom has lost our trail, but better to be on the safe side."
A tight tension crawled over J'role's chest. The lizard-folk looked very strong. To steal something from him would be a difficult task. Dangerous.-
"You'll do just fine," said the creature, even as J'role's thoughts slipped into fear. He had the strange desire to be sitting alongside his drunken father back at the kaer. "You'll do just fine.'' "What?" thought J'role. It was the first time the thing in his thoughts had ever tried to offer comfort, and the words startled him. "I like you, boy. Didn't you know that?"
"No." "Well, I do."
"Will you let me talk now?"
"Talk? I'll always let you talk." The creature laughed: something oily passed through J'role's thoughts.
“I mean …like other people."
"Why would you want to talk like other people? I've given you an amazing gift."
“I don't want it."
"Well, no matter. No. I told you years ago, we'll be together until you die. I don't suppose you want to kill yourself?"
“No”
"Well, then there's nothing to be done, is there?"
"Why: don't you leave?"
"Not until you're dead. Not until you're dead."
The cold ring hanging against J'role's chest seemed to dig into his flesh. If he could only find the city. They would be able to help him.
"I'm going to go speak with the weaponsmith," said Garlthik, standing up. "Do what you will, but be back here tonight. Get some rest, as a matter of fact. It's going to be a busy night."
That night, long after the sky had turned black and the stars- blanketed the world and the people in the village and all throughout the land were asleep, Garlthik woke J'role. J'role's mind stirred itself from at deep dream: his mother, holding him in her arms when he was a child. Her flesh was a light gray, strong as stone, but soft and comfortable.
"Wake up. It's time."
The moon had passed toward her monthly death, and only dim light from the stars passed through the holes in the curtain. J'role made out Garlthik's big body, no more than a thick shadow, moving on all fours on the floor. The old, worn floorboards creaked under him.
But softly. Softer than they should have.
A scrape of stone against metal, once, twice, a spark, a sudden flame. An oil-soaked rag wrapped around a short stick set on a metal plate bursting with white illumination. It lit Garlthik's face now, the shadows carving up through the heavy fat and muscles, and fear came to J'role. A monster, he thought, just as his father had told him about monsters when he was at little boy.
A little boy? When had he become a big boy? Why did he no longer feel like a boy at all?
The light cast Garlthik's shadow huge against the wall as he hunched over the flame.
"Come here.”
Garlthik did not look at J'role as he spoke, but continued staring at the flame, as if it were a memory of years gone by, burning away. His voice was gruff and serious, not at all the way J'role was used to hearing the ork talk. The voice commanded him, drew him to something he not understand. He moved closer, crawling on his hands and knees.
"Here," Garlthik said, almost angry, but J 'role could not be sure. The ork extended his long arms and grabbed J'role by each wrist, tugging him closer to the flame until the two of them faced each other, The heat of the fire between them, the oily smoke rising up into their faces.
The heat turned J'role's flesh warm, making him think of when he was five and had the fever, and how Xiasass, the priestess of Garlen, old then, dead now, came to his room in the kaer and prayed for his health. Her hands were Thin and wrinkled, but her touch was gentle, like smooth stone. Marble. The marble of Garlen's statue itself, which J'role had once touched out of curiosity when no one was looking.
Xiasass soothed him as he looked into her face. She smiled at him as she prayed. People get so old, he had thought, looking up into her face. I might live after all.
Garlthik's hands were thick and coarse, not comforting at all. He gripped J'-role's wrists tightly, his face set and staring at J'role's, as if daring J'role to look back at him. But J'role could not bring himself to stare into the ork's face. It overpowered him, forcing his courage back.
He took a quick glance at Garlthik, saw the eye patch, thought of Mordom for some reason he did not understand, and then realized that Garlthik’s green eye matched the green eye on Mordom's palm!
What enemies the ork had! Did he really want to be with Garlthik? What was he doing?
He could die-or worse. Why did he want to be an adventurer, as Garlthik described?
Because of his father's stories? His father was a liar who had fed off the tales of his ancestors but never done anything to actually live what he spoke of. To get away from his village? As J'role thought of his home, it suddenly seemed more pleasant than he realized Why not go back? He could get by; some stolen fruit here, an egg there, a crust, some scraps. Watching the villagers live their lives, raising their families. A comfortable observer. Why not just go back?
But Garlthik‘s thick, strong grip against the muscles of J'role's wrists held him against the desire. The hands were not thin and old and caring like those of Xiasass. They were huge, hardy rough. They did not comfort. But they did hold. They possessed a different kind of strength. The hands of Xiasass had cared for him when he was weak. Garlthik's hands asked him to be stronger.
Did J'role want to be stronger?
He looked at Garlthik's broad face, toothy and maimed. The ork merely continued staring back at him, expressionless, waiting. J'role held his gaze. For a long time they gazed at each other. The heat of the flame made the air between them waver; the coiling, black smoke rose into J'role's nostrils, making him dizzy. But he held Garlthik’s stare until he thought he saw the tug of a smile at the edge of the ork's mouth.
Garlthik did not smile, though. "J'role," he said finally, "do you want to be a thief?"
Not just steal, J'role thought. Be a thief. Not to be me stealing, but be someone who steals. To be someone new.