Daemon Ashford's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Daemon Ashford studied the map of the royal vault and knew he could not take it alone. He had sketched the guard routes from memory, the memory of a prince who once walked those halls as a boy. Now he lived above a shuttered market stall, in a loft of patched cloth and warped timber. The crown had cast him out. Soon he meant to rob it blind and turn that gold into an army. But the vault had three sealed doors and a watch of forty men. One thief, no matter how clever, would hang before he touched the first lock. He needed hands he could trust. So he climbed down to the tavern beneath his loft, where the exiled guard drank alone. Keira Ironhelm had worn the royal crest before Daemon ever fled. Now a scar cut across her cheek, earned the night the crown exiled her too. She did not look up when he sat. "I know your face," she said. "You're the dead prince everyone whispers about." She drank. "Come to get me killed?" "Come to pay you," Daemon said. "The vault that holds the king's war chest. I need a sword who knows its halls." She laughed, short and hard. "No one takes that vault." "One person can't," he said. "Two might. Three will." A shadow fell across the table before she answered. A half-orc filled the doorway, an axe slung at his back, tusks jutting from his jaw. Grak Ironhide dropped coins on the bar without a word. Men shifted their chairs away from him. Daemon stood. "You're the mercenary who broke the baron's gate last winter. I have better work." Grak's yellow eyes moved from Daemon to Keira. "Her I'll work beside," he grunted. "Not a soft-handed noble." "My hands aren't soft," Daemon said. He pulled back his sleeve and showed the rope burns and lock scars. "I've stolen from men who'd eat you for sport. The crown threw me out. It threw her out." He looked at Keira. "Did it ever reward you fairly, Grak?" Grak's jaw tightened. For a moment no one spoke. Keira set down her cup. "The war chest. How much?" "Enough to buy an uprising," Daemon said. "Enough to make the men who exiled us kneel." That word, exiled, hung between the three of them like a shared wound. Keira looked at Grak. Grak looked at Daemon. Then the half-orc pulled out a chair and sat. "One job," Grak said. "Betray us and I split your skull." "Agreed," Daemon said. He clasped each of their forearms. He had a crew. Then the tavern door banged open. A boy ran in, breathless, pointing back the way he came. "The king's men," he gasped. "They're searching every stall on this row. Someone sold your name." Daemon's new crew rose as one. He had the hands he needed at last. Now the crown knew exactly where to find them.