Traverse

Chapter 5: The Thief and The Knight

By midday, the knight arrived.

Sir Ahren cuts an imposing figure as he rode into town on a massive black horse. His armor gleamed in the sunlight, the crest of a hawk emblazoned on his chest plate. A sword hung at his side, and his piercing green eyes scanned the gathered crowd with quiet authority.

The townsfolk parted as he dismounted, his heavy boots thudding against the cobblestones. A hush fell over the square as he addressed them.

"I have been informed of a disturbance," he said, his voice calm but commanding.   "Tell me what has occurred."

Several townsfolk spoke at once, pointing fingers and recounting tales of the theft. The librarian, an elderly man with a hunched back, stepped forward.

"Pages have been torn from several maps in my collection," he said, his voice trembling with anger. "I don't know who did it, but it must be someone unfamiliar with our customs. No one in town would deface a book like that."

Ahren nodded thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "An outsider, then?"

The townsfolk murmured in agreement, and several glanced toward the tavern.

---

Inside the tavern, Malorie busied herself polishing mugs, trying to appear indifferent to the commotion outside. She had just set a glass on the shelf when the door swung open, and Sir Ahren entered, his presence filling the room.

Greta looked up from the bar, her expression calm but wary. "Sir Ahren," she greeted him. "What brings you to my tavern?"

"The theft at the library," he replied, his voice steady. "The townsfolk say you've taken in an outsider."

Greta's eyes flicked briefly to Malorie, who froze mid-motion. "Aye, I've given her work. The girl was half-dead when I found her."

Ahren turned to Malorie, his gaze sharp. "What is your name?"

Malorie swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the counter. "M-Malorie," she stammered.

"And where do you come from, Malorie?"

Her mind raced. She couldn't tell the truth—not that she even fully understood it herself. "From the east," she said vaguely, avoiding his gaze.

Ahren frowned. "The east? Which town?"

Before Malorie could answer, Greta stepped in. "She's been working hard and keeping out of trouble, Sir Ahren. If you're here to accuse her of something, you'd better have proof."

Ahren's eyes lingered on Malorie for a moment longer before he stepped back. "I'll return when I have more questions. For now, keep her close. If she's innocent, she has nothing to fear."

With that, he turned and left, the door swinging shut behind him.

---

Malorie worked tirelessly in the tavern, her nerves stretched taut. Greta hadn't said much after their earlier conversation, but her usual sharpness was tinged with something else—unease.

When Sir Ahren strode into the tavern, the room seemed to shrink. His piercing eyes immediately locked onto Malorie, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as if he already knew she was hiding something.

"Sir Ahren," Greta greeted him, her voice steady but wary.

"I've come about the theft," he replied. "The townsfolk claim an outsider is to blame." His gaze flickered to Malorie.

Greta stepped forward. "She's been working hard and staying out of trouble. If you're looking for proof, you won't find it here."

Sir Ahren tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Proof has a way of revealing itself, given time." His words sent a chill down Malorie's spine, but she forced herself to keep scrubbing the bar as if she hadn't heard him. ---
Over the next few days, Sir Ahren made a habit of visiting the tavern, always sitting where he could watch Malorie. His presence was a constant weight on her shoulders, and she grew increasingly paranoid.

Whenever she ventured out to the market to buy supplies, she felt his eyes on her, even when she couldn't see him. The sensation was unnerving, but she told herself she was imagining things.

Still, she took extra precautions, hiding the stolen map pages behind the curtain of her window. She didn't dare carry them with her anymore, knowing that Sir Ahren was always nearby. ---

Late one afternoon, while Malorie was out running errands, Sir Ahren made his move. He slipped into the tavern unnoticed and ascended the stairs to her room. Greta was busy in the kitchen and didn't see him.

Inside the small room, Ahren's sharp eyes took in every detail—the neatly made bed, the stack of borrowed books from the library, and the faint smudge of ink on the desk. But it was the curtain by the window that caught his attention. It hung slightly askew, as if it had been disturbed recently.

He pulled it back and found the stolen map pages pinned to the wall. The intricate lines and markings revealed routes and landmarks, some of which led far beyond the town.

Ahren's lips curled into a faint smile. "Interesting," he murmured.

Just as he was about to examine the maps further, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He quickly stepped back, letting the curtain fall into place, and turned to face the door.

---

Malorie opened the door, her arms full of bread and cheese from the market. When she saw Sir Ahren standing in her room, her heart dropped.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Ahren raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanor infuriatingly unshaken. "I might ask you the same thing about these." He gestured toward the curtain.

Malorie's eyes darted to the window, and without thinking, she rushed forward and grabbed the curtain, pressing it tightly against the maps. "You have no right to be in here!"

"I have every right to investigate a crime," Ahren said smoothly. "And what I've found here raises many questions."

"It's not what it looks like," Malorie said quickly, though she knew how weak the excuse sounded.

"Then perhaps you'd like to explain," Ahren said, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, and Malorie felt trapped.

"I'm trying to find my sister," she said, her voice cracking. "I don't know this place, and I don't know why I'm here. I just needed a way to figure out where to go."

Ahren studied her intently, his gaze searching her face for any sign of deceit. "If that's true, why not ask for help instead of resorting to theft?"

"Because no one here trusts me," Malorie shot back. "And why should they? I'm a stranger to them. To you."

Ahren's expression softened ever so slightly, but his tone remained firm. "Trust is earned, not stolen. You've made things harder for yourself by lying."

Malorie swallowed hard, her grip on the curtain tightening. "Are you going to turn me in?"

"That depends," Ahren said, stepping back. "You claim to be searching for your sister. If that's true, you'll have to prove it."

"How?"

"You'll tell me everything. No more lies, no more half-truths. If I believe you, I'll consider helping you."

Malorie hesitated, weighing her options. She didn't trust him, but what choice did she have?

"All right," she said finally. "But you won't believe me."

"Try me," Ahren said, his green eyes locked on hers.