I pressed myself against the wall, not daring to breathe.

My eyes scanned the inconspicuous alleyway, littered with the usuals-- food and waste. Most people would’ve gagged, but I was used to it. After all, I’d lived in it for over two years now.

I turned my head sharply to the left to see him, wincing as the action pulled some muscle in my neck. A guard stood watch not far away-- if I spat, I’d probably hit his boot.

Not that I was going to test that theory.

He stood in a position that was probably supposed to be both defensive and alert, but I could already see, from the spirits-accursed angle, four places I could hit him to disable or disarm him.

Unfortunately, I’d agreed that I’d let him be distracted instead.

As if on cue, a young lady dressed elegantly dashed into the alleyway and collapsed dramatically into the guard’s arms.

He caught her and stared at her in terror.

She opened one eye and said in a breathless voice, “They’re following me! Save me, mighty knight!” She fell limp in his arms, her face turned in my direction. She opened one eye and winked at me.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Joanne. Always the dramatist.

She suddenly jolted up, covered the man’s mouth with her hand, and slammed it quickly against the wall of the alley. It made contact with a sickening crack, and he dropped limply to the ground.

“Unconscious, right?” I asked, letting a bored tone creep into my voice.

Joanne smirked. “Are you doubting my finesse?”

“Nah,” I retorted. “Just trying to figure out why I couldn’t have done that.”

Joanne flipper her black hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Well, for one, you’re missing some of the key characteristics of being a damsel in distress.” She paused, then said, “Wait, no, you’ve got all of them. Always needing to be rescued and screaming like a little girl.”

“Aww, thanks,” I replied, clasping my hands to my chest in false appreciation.

“You’re welcome. Now get in there! This is what we came for!”

I nodded quickly, the importance of this infiltration slamming down on me in an instant. I stepped casually over the guard and ducked though the door I that our information told us led to the new Flaming Sands base. My shoes echoed loudly in the corridor, and in annoyance I took them off and tossed them back to Joanne. She gave me a wave goodbye that I couldn’t tell was sarcastic or not and I returned it half-heartedly.  

I wasn’t exactly optimistic about this mission, after all, because clearly our long-rivals had gotten some serious money. That was why I had come, in fact, to figure out what on earth they’d stolen to get so rich.

I pressed myself close to the walls of this new hallway, taking a moment to admire the new base that the Flaming Sands had gotten. Where in Sabria were they getting their funds?

A voice echoed down the hallway from up ahead, and I froze, back pressed firmly against the wall. I almost swore in annoyance that they’d painted their damn walls-- frivolous, perhaps, but a great way to spot thieves dressed in the dreariest of browns pressed against the walls. Nevertheless, I stayed close to the surface and prayed to the spirits that the shadows would shield my form.

The voices came again, louder, and I strained my ears to try to catch what they were saying. One of my fingers clenched in anger, all that I let myself do, when I recognized that one of the voices in question belonged to Starlan. The tall, obnoxious boy had been in charge of the gang for ages and had stolen plenty of our loot.

“Look, I get that we’re a big midway point,” Starlan was saying. Peering ahead, I could see an opening to the outside (he has a damn courtyard in his house?) that silhouetted two figures-- Starlan and another taller, burlier man. “Seriously, though, can’t you just stay the night? We can get you some supplies and send you on your way in the morning.”

Send him where?

The two figures were walking towards me, now, and I evened my breathing the best I could. The bigger man was replying now, his voice nervous as he said, “But this document is of vast importance, sir.” The man indicated a piece of paper that he was holding. “I can’t possibly risk waiting, and if I’m away from my post for too long I’m sure to be discovered.”

Starlan nodded, the two now almost even with my spot on the wall. How they didn’t notice me was anyone’s guess, but I practically stopped breathing as they walked right on past me. “Alright, I understand. We’ll send someone to the base to deliver it right away. Thank you for your help.”

Base?

I couldn’t stop the sharp inhale of breath I had unconsciously took, and the two whipped around instantly, drawing their weapons; Starlan drawing a dagger and the man a sword. “Who’s there?” snapped Starlan, running towards me. “I can see you!”

“Damn it,” I muttered to myself, darting out from my place on the wall and drawing my dagger.

Starlan charged at me, but I caught his blade with my own and twisted it roughly. He didn’t let go, the idiot, and he screamed in pain as I nearly broke his wrist. I kicked him in the chest, knocking him to the ground, darted around the swordsman’s swing, and, for good measure, snatched the paper out of the man’s hands.

What can I say? I’m a thief, after all.

I glanced behind me and saw the swordsman’s furious face above me. Heart beating fast, I grabbed the sharper end of my dagger carefully and smacked the blunt end of it on the man’s wrist. His sword clattered to the ground as his fingers opened instinctively, and I took the opportunity to spin on my heel and run like mad.

“Catch him!” the swordsman screamed. I heard nothing from Starlan, and I assumed that my kick had hit his chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him. “He’s stolen the information!”

The what? I wondered, but didn't linger on it. If he had called for reinforcements, my best bet was to get out of here as fast as possible. I darted out of the door and into the alleyway, nearly tripping over the guard who still lay unconscious on the ground. Joanna was nowhere to be seen, so I gathered she’d returned back to our base, “home” if you will. I didn’t feel the safest about leading our rival faction straight towards our base, though, so as soon as I exited the alleyway onto the main street, I took a right turn the opposite way of out hideout and walked right into the crowd.

Some passersby gave me strange looks as I tore down the street towards the tavern, but I didn’t really care. I looked like any of the many thieves that roamed the streets of the tax-heavy Sambria Empire, where no one could afford to own a grain of sand. I suddenly remembered the twin’s old trick: slow down and blend into the crowd, so I quickly changed my pace to what matched the rest of the crowd.

It was people of all ages and occupations that crowded the streets. I blended in easily to all of the many scrawny teens with ripped clothes and a scared look in their eyes.

The streets were paved with bricks, probably so the supposed “carriages” could travel, but I’d never seen one of those in my life. No one had enough money to afford such luxuries. There was barely a horse or beast of burden on these roads, too: instead, nearly everyone walked as I did, barefoot and swiftly, letting the sand touch our tough soles.

I couldn’t remember the last time the sand had hurt my feet, now, though I was sure there was once a time where my feet never touched the ground without sandals.

I glanced behind me quickly, swallowing when I saw a couple people behind me pushing through the crowds frantically and angrily. Clearly, they were still furious.

What was this parchment? What was the big deal?

I quickly scurried down another alleyway that I knew led to another road, risking a glance behind me to check if any of those following me had spotted me. I waited until I thought they passed, ducking behind a pillar on the side of the building, before peering out cautiously, dagger in hand.

There was no one there.

I breathed out a sigh of relief, realizing that I must have lost the lot of them in the crowd. I was suddenly aware of the crumpled piece of parchment still in my hand. I opened my hand and smoothed out the paper, squinting at the black blocks on the parchment.

To the rebels--

I blinked at the letters again. I was quite sure of those three words. After all, they were the only words really seen everywhere. To was just a common word, the was as well, and the word rebel was stamped on every wanted poster in Sambria. But that, and the word wanted itself, was about the extent of my reading skills. It wasn’t like I knew what the little symbols meant all alone: only in those four chunks.

I nearly crumpled the paper in annoyance before stopping myself. Clearly, this little thing said something quite important. Even if it wasn’t any use to me, surely someone else would pay me well for it.

Grinning, I turned my clothes inside out, lightening the color, and stepped back out into the streets of Nashkoro, heading towards the information dealer.

-==-==-==-

“Open up! Open up! I need something read!” I pounded on the door with fervor. “Old man, are you deaf?”

A couple of people in the surrounding area looked at me with a combination of annoyance and confusion. I looked like a maniac, indeed, knocking on the door enough times that my knuckles were starting to become sore.

I had been banging on the doors for almost four minutes straight when someone finally walked over, clearing his throat.

“Um...boy,” the man said, his voice catching slightly on the second word, as if biting back the instinct to call me a rat or a dung-ridden carcass, “you do know that he’s not here? He’s at the tavern. Left hours ago.”

I blinked at him, feeling like an absolute idiot. I remembered, then, that some days the man would only seek out meeting at the local tavern. Something about “less chance of betrayal”, but I knew if for what it was.

“Right...I knew that. Uh, thanks.” I nodded at the man, feeling extremely awkward, and quickly ducked around the crowd of people that had clearly been watching me make a fool of myself and headed for the tavern.

It wasn’t a long walk to get there, though I kept glancing over my shoulder anxiously. The stress of the day had finally caught up to me, and I was suddenly very, very aware of all the soldier that were patrolling the streets. If the first three words of the note were any indication, this letter would probably get me in worse trouble than getting thrown in prison for a night.

I pushed open the doors of the tavern, scanning the crowd inside for the information dealer who was surely seated somewhere inside. I walked through the entrance, feeling uneasy at the lack of guards there-- weren’t they required to make sure three-year-old orphans didn’t wander in accidentally?-- but brushed it off. It wasn’t like I wanted to talk to anyone from the government. Especially when I might be carrying rebel documents.

Of course, for all I knew, it could totally be a death threat or something. All I’d read were the first three words, after all.

I scanned the multitude of people again, looking for the man who would tell me what the heck I was holding. The people themselves weren’t any different than they normally were, of course, people of varying shades of brown intermingling and knocking each other over. Anyone who was profiting off the war was instantly recognizable, as their clothes held no blemishes or rips, and I resisted the urge to march over there and tell them how immoral they were all being.

The whole place was noisy, yet somewhat relaxing for it. Silence was the sound of an empty desert-- noise was civilization.

A man in the corner suddenly caught my eye, and I shoved my way past a giggling woman and slid down across from him. He lifted his eyebrow slightly and raised his hand to drop his hat lower, letting his rings flash golden for a quick moment.

“It’s me, Aiden,” I muttered. I drummed my fingers on the table in a quick pattern-- three short, two long, and the man quickly relaxed.

“What are you doing here, boy?” he asked, pushing his hat back up and exposing his bright blue eyes-- a true rarity in this empire. I couldn’t actually think of anyone else with his eye color. “I translated that map for you ages ago. It worked, didn’t it?”

I sighed. “Yes, yes. But I have something new.” I flipped the paper upside down and slid it across to the information dealer. He flipped it over, concealing it from view by tilting it, and I saw his peculiar eyes widen.

“Where did you get this?” he hissed, folding the paper up and practically shoving it back in my hands. “I thought we agreed to be neutral with the damn rebellion?”

“So it does have to do with the rebellion?” I asked, glancing around despite knowing that the noisy tavern practically ensured that we wouldn’t be heard. My eyes, though, fell on a pair of guards who walked into the tavern at that very moment. My breath caught in my throat.

“Does it have to do with them? Does it have to do with them? This is the Sambria Empire’s troops numbers and locations in a letter directed specifically to the rebels!” He spoke this in a fierce whisper, clearly having noticed the same guards I had and wary of the surrounding people.

I glanced down at the parchment in my hands, flabbergasted. “Really?”

He glared at me. “Why the spirits would I lie to you?”

I shrugged, taking the piece of paper and slipping it into one of the special pockets on the inside of my pants. “I’m just surprised Starlan got this.” I had a feeling this bit of information would spark the dealer’s interst, and I was quite right.

“The Flaming Sands are supporting the rebellion?” he asked, eyes gleaming.

“Apparently,” I said. I tapped my fingers on the table again, five times, and the dealer clearly understood my intent. As he dealt in the acquisition and sale of information, I’d given him a piece of blackmail or a hefty bit of information.

“1000 florid,” he said.

I frowned. Heck no. “2000.”

He frowned. “1250.”

“1800.”

“1600, take it or leave it.” The man’s smile looked forced in that strange way that seemed like he was actually happy but trying to mask it with false satisfaction.

“Deal,” I agreed quietly. That was enough money to support our gang for months.

“I’ll get it to your base in a day,” he said.

I blinked. “You know our base?”

“You could tell me,” he offered. There was a glint in his eyes that looks suspiciously like greed.

I shook my head firmly. “Rendezvous. Fountain. Second alleyway from the right.” That was our standard rendezvous for all of our dealers. Joanne or one of the twins stopped by every day, so it was safe.

The information dealer frowned. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

I nod, suddenly once again aware of the guards that now were getting their drinks. The parchment felt heavy in my pants as I got up, nodding to the dealer as I left. I tried to shoulder my way through the crowds back to the door, whacking aside tipsy and dead drunk alike as I passed through.

“Watch it,” hissed someone, and I turned around to see a girl glaring at me. I glanced at her armor, then, realizing that she was a guard, and a young one at that. She was one of the strangely pale individuals of the countries, probably an immigrant from somewhere, and her hair was the color of fire.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize, trying my best to stop my sarcasm from slipping into my voice. Soldiers could be awfully touchy.

With half of them being conscripted nowadays, it was no wonder that they dished out their irritation and anger on poor individuals like myself.

“This stupid war,” I muttered to myself, completely forgetting that I was standing directly across from a soldier who didn’t need much of a reason to justify her lashing out.

“What did you say?” she hissed.

At that, my temper snapped. I’d had a long day, alright? I’d been chased by angry gang members, hammer on the door of a man that wasn’t home, bartered (which was not something I enjoyed doing in the slightest), and now I was being insulted by a soldier. “And why should I have to answer to a stupid soldier?”

The girl hissed. “That’s it!” she yelled. Her companion, a male with almost grey eyes, sauntered over. “Rebel!” she hissed, pointing at me.

“Whoa!” I cried, throwing up my arms in surrender, my words coming out of my mouth so fast my tongue nearly tripped over itself. “No, you’ve got the wrong guy. I hate the rebels, you see, so I really can’t possibly be--”

“Liar!” hissed the girl. She turned to her companion. “He put down the war and insulted soldiers.”

The man glared at me. “Is that so?”

When put like that, my “crimes” did seem a bit worse than I’d meant them to be. “Well, I suppose I did say that, but it was just because--” Suddenly, I was overly aware of the parchment in my pocket, seeming to burn a hole in my pants.

The man fixed me with an icy glare. “You’re right. A rebel through and through.” He frowned. “Weren’t you speaking with someone earlier?”

I fought the urge to glance over at the table where the information dealer still sat. The soldier glared at the tavern, which stayed oddly quiet. No one seemed to want to out my dealings, and I wonder if the alcohol made them all a bit more sympathetic to my cause.

“Answer me!” ordered the man at the silent tavern. Still, no one spoke.

The girl turned to her companion and shook her head. “We’ll get it out of him,” she announced. She turned to me and grabbed my shoulders. “You’re under arrest.”

My cries of protest were ignored as I was forced out of the establishment. As we broke out into the streets of Nashkoro, I was suddenly aware that while my companion wasn’t outed, I wasn’t saved either.

Nashkoro was just like me, then.

We hated both sides.