The forest was dark, fog blanketing the ground, clouds covered the sky. The fire flickered between the trees, far off, but growing ever closer as he stalked towards the drunken bandits. They had stolen wine today and their laughter echoed painfully in the night. The closer he crept, the fewer night creatures kept him company. These men were a blemish on the forest, and it was time to remove it.

He paused outside the firelight, letting his eyes adjust. They were falling asleep now, sprawling on the ground in a stupor. Four men, all armed with swords and crossbows, useless now. The last one fell to snoring and Jakob struck.

Silent footsteps as he moved through the campsite, slitting throats with a whisper. Too drunk to even open their eyes, they bled out on the ground. He made a quick inventory of their loot and gathered their bulging purses. The wine was nearly gone and their weapons old and unremarkable. Kicking dirt over the remains of the fire, he set off, leaving the bodies to the hungry forest.

Weighed down with the stolen gold, he walked all night. Reports of these thieves had brought him out of his comfortable home in the city, but it was worth it. The forest brought wealthy merchants to the city and Jakob depended upon them arriving with goods intact. Broke and robbed customers did him no good. Most highway men knew better than to stray close to Himisch, and now more would hear the tales.

Jakob reached the city at dawn, slipping in through the sewer grate at the river. A good dousing woke him up and washed off the mud and leaves. Once home, he would have business to take care of. His shirt would need burned, one of the men had spurted blood onto his sleeve. He had plenty more, but next time he would be more careful.

“Throw him out on his head!” The king cried.

Julian figured that was a better pronouncement than being thrown out without his head, but he still turned and ran for the doors before anyone could change the verdict. His multicolored balls still littered the floor, tripping up a few of the rushing guards. His pigeon darted about the rafters, but he always came home eventually. His guitar banged against his back and he darted about. They took hold of him before he made it out, but simply escorted him the rest of the way, with no throwing at all. Julian decided it was a fair end to the day and headed home.

The streets were full of revelers from the harvest festival; singing, drinking and staggering about. He lifted a purse here, toasted a few people there and made it home a little richer and warmer than he had started the day. The king had failed to pay him, and as a king’s money come from the people, it was only fair they should foot the bill.

His room at the top of the Roasted Boar was dry and warm since the rain had stopped the day before. He sat down on the straw mattress and spread out the purses he had gathered – five in all – to see what his performance had been worth that day. Four held a modest amount of money, silver coins and a few copper. The fifth was a shock, as he had targeted no one he thought very wealthy, they tended to make more problems when they came up short. It contained gold and several rings with fine cut gems.

Julian gazed at them, holding each up to the lamp for a better look. They had to be worth more than all the money combined. What were they doing in a plain leather purse of a drunken merchant? What was he going to do, no one would buy these off him, they would ask too many questions. Maybe it was time to head to the big cities of the coast after all.

Julian stuffed the money into the purses again and hid them about his person. The gold and rings he put inside his shirt. Making sure he had left nothing else behind, he slipped out of the inn and headed east. He would be able to flag down a carriage in the morning. Right now, he wanted to be as far away as his feet could take him.