The Guardian looked up at the manor, which was positioned on a slightly raised embankment, and sighed. 'This wealth could help so many if it were not so poorly used and unfairly gained.'

He did not dwell on the thought, and ghosted quickly along the wall to hide in the shadows. The soldiers entered quietly through a side entrance, and a quiet click of the lock sounded as they closed the door. Silver could see a slit of light through the open, curtained window. The sergeant in charge was giving orders.

"You four take the sacks to the store room. The rest of you get some sleep."

Silver edged his way around the building and discovered that it was actually detached from the main house. A small thoroughfare of open air ran between the soldiers' quarters and the manor.

As Silver watched, four guards carrying the burlap sacks traversed the gap and were admitted by a fifth guard into the house. The Guardian ducked toward the formidable entrance and looked around. Four large windows ran down the wall adjacent to the manor's door. Each was glazed by two panes of glass and latched shut from the inside.

'An expensive touch, My Lord,' he thought as he ran his finger along the nearest sill. Peeking in the window, Silver could not see any light within. Whether that was due to no light being lit or very heavy curtains, the Guardian could only guess. He chose not to enter through the first or second, but selected the third window as his point of entry.

Taking a small penknife from his cloak, Silver examined the tiny fissure between the wood frames of the window pane. The knife, a gift from the town blacksmith, was unusually thin and made of a hard rare metal. Silver had received it after quelling an out-of-control fire that had leapt from the forge.

'Why did he have so many run-ins with fire?' Silver shook his head as he went to work. The knife fit neatly between the panes, sliding up to unhitch the latch with a quiet click. Silver paused and waited for someone to sound the alarm. When no cry came, he pulled the window toward him as it swung soundlessly on its hinge. The Guardian released a breath he was unaware he was holding.

'Time to move. Get in. Get out.'

With barely a whisper, Silver passed into the room and placed his soft-soled boots on the floor. The room in which he stood was large with marble floors. Tapestries that hung from the walls could be seen in the faint starlight. There were a few benches and stools lining the walls, and a small wooden raised area along one side. Many sets of double doors adorned all the inner walls, each set opening up into overflow spaces for games of cards and quiet trysts.

'A ballroom.' The Guardian was glad there was no dancing tonight. That would have been awkward.

He continued into the room and after checking the farthest door, exited into the hallway. The hallway, like the ballroom, was empty and quiet. Despite the fact that the baron, his family and the servants were surely all sleeping, the Guardian had at least expected to encounter a guard or watch or some sort by this point.

The sick feeling in his stomach came back with double force, but still Silver would not heed his body's warning. He headed down the hall and toward the center of the manor.

While Silver was unfamiliar with the layout of the manor—his thieving had never actually brought him inside before—he knew that the baron would want to keep his treasure well away from prying eyes and close to him. After three blind corners down long corridors, the Guardian felt deep down that he was close.

As he neared the end of another hall, he could see the dancing shadows from a torch just around the bend. The soft shuffle of feet along the corridor neared. Silver pressed himself hard against the wall and froze. A guard armed with a sword at his waist and holding a sharp spear appeared from around the corner. In professional fashion, he did a three point turn and scanned the area.

Unfortunately, the light of the lamp ruined his night vision, and he had no way to see the man in black hiding in the shadows only an arm's length away. All seemed normal, and the guard made the return trip down the hall none the wiser.

Silver counted the steps until the guard reached the far end of the corridor and turned. He was relieved to find the guard's footsteps continue to recede. 'This must be the end of his route.'

The Guardian crouched low and cautiously peeked around the corner to see if another guard would come. When none did, he realized that the Baron Monte must have sent out most of his troops to collect items from the villagers leaving only a skeleton crew at the manor. His barracks could not have held more than thirty to forty men comfortably, and more men than that would have been a waste of money and resources that the baron could use elsewhere.

Silver waited for the guard to return, plotting his next move. When the soldier appeared and turned to make his return trip, Silver ghosted through the shadows and uncertain light behind him. His slow-quick alternating movements matched the dancing firelight.

Only once did the guard pause. He sneezed violently, and when no one blessed him, he continued his journey. By the man's slow but determined pace, it was likely near the end of a watch and even later than Silver thought.

There was a door in the middle of the hall. It was metal and had a large lock below the beautifully decorative doorknob. None of the other doors that Silver had passed had a lock. While it was possible other doors in the manor could contain locks, only a few would actually need them: the baron's personal quarters, the office for official business, and the treasury.

Silver moved to the lock and with a special pick he had drawn from his cloak, he began to move the tumblers. It was tedious work, and sweat began to drip from beneath the Guardian's hood. 'I'm out of practice.' At one point, Silver could have opened any lock as easily as breathing. It had come in handy when stealing from his fellow thieves.

Footsteps of the approaching guard rang off the marble floor. Silver hurriedly jiggled the lock as the last tumbler fell into place. As the soldier rounded the corner, the cloaked figure slipped into the doorway and shut it behind him. He froze with his back to the door and waited for the alarm to ring out, sure he had been spotted. Luck was on his side, however, and no such warning was raised.

The Guardian lit the torch on the wall with a striker from his cloak. The room in which the silver-eyed thief found himself held a large desk piled with papers, a few shelves with every manner of bound book and knickknack resting atop the wood, and a second door on the opposite wall from which he stood.

At first Silver bemoaned his bad luck—this was the baron's office after all—but then he noticed the lock on the second door. Why would a door inside a locked room need a lock? The Guardian, having warmed up on the first lock, made quick work of the second.

The second door opened soundlessly and Silver gaped at what he saw. Retrieving the torch from the wall, the man found that the weak light from the flame reflected a hundred fold off the riches inside the vault. Every manner of precious metal and stone was present and accounted for in neat piles as far back as the light could touch.

'He has more wealth than the king!' For a moment, Silver could only stare. All the things a poor man like him could do with those riches paraded themselves through his head. He never had a mind to be wealthy, but the temptation to live more comfortably was nearly too good to let pass. 'Get what you came for,' he told himself.

The bags from the collection were at his feet. The guards had hastily thrown them inside the door hoping to get some sort of sleep that evening before morning's wake up call. If the Guardian had taken another step, he would have tripped over them.

Silver placed the torch on the wall inside the vault and went to work. The sacks were deceptively heavy, and the Guardian discarded the idea of bringing all of the sacks home. 'I will repay them some other way,' he comforted his conscience. He also hoped that if the items hadn't yet been counted, the mirror would not be missed. Grabbing the first sack, the dark haired man rifled through its contents and came out wanting. The second and third sacks yielded similar results. In fact every bag was void of the mirror. How odd!

The Guardian pulled out the drawing that Sage had given him. 'Did that soldier steal it for himself? That makes things more complicated.'

He glanced up from the paper and noticed a pedestal above the sacks, which he had previously ignored. On it, an object that looked exactly like the drawing he held say regally atop the platform.

Silver triumphantly pulled the mirror from its perch. Up close he could see all of the delicate labor that had gone into forming such a work of art. He marveled at the craftsmanship and reminded himself to ask Sage where and how her family had acquired it. Silently the looking glass slipped into the void of the Guardian's cloak and disappeared.

Silver thought about reclaiming more of the 'tribute', but he had no way of knowing where it belonged. His promise to Ethyn rang out in his mind. If he couldn't return something to its rightful owner, then it was just a secondary form of stealing. He could not add that to his conscience just now.

The Guardian reluctantly left the rest of the treasure undisturbed. He tiptoed back out of the vault.

With a sigh, he retrieved the torch and closed the door to the storeroom with the small latch releasing a clunk as it fell into place.

Suddenly, the office door flung open and the room flooded with soldiers. Backing the Guardian up against the door, they parted just enough for an unremarkable man in flowing robes to pass between them. The man was Baron Monte.