With the Thieves' Guild destroyed, can Galan and Grog help a mysterious Druid steal a unicorn from a vampire, or will Sentinel Janu catch up with them first?

Galan, the leader of the Thieves' Guild, and his second in command, Grog, have seen their fair share of robberies, thuggeries, and assorted shady businesses. But the recent crack-downs by the Sentinels have all but destroyed their criminal enterprise, and now they, and an empty tavern, are all that remain of the guild.

Just when they thought all was lost, Lady Heatherdown of the Farrowood offers them a job. As a druid, it is not all that surprising that she wishes them to steal a unicorn. However, stealing one from a vampire might prove more than they can handle.

Little do they know, there is an informant in their midst. Sentinel Janu catches wind of their plans and takes on the case personally. It's time someone finally put an end to Galan and Grog before they do anything more to harm the helpless and destitute orphans on the streets of Threerun.Excerpt from the first chapterGrog's voice rumbled through the floor of the empty tavern. "You want to steal a unicorn?" He picked at one of his incisors, investigated what he removed, and creased his brow.

Normally the place would be packed with thieves, burglars, and robbers, but not anymore. Defeat weighed against Galan's bones. He sighed. Funnily enough, if you and your compatriots plan all your skulduggery in one place, it tends to scare off all the normal, non-Thieves' Guild-aligned patrons. That's probably why Franki closed up and threw Galan the keys. Now it was just a few upside down chairs on tables, a few barrels stacked behind the bar, the cloying smell of ageing ale, and these last two remnants of the Thieves' Guild.

With a forced smile, Galan ducked around the bar and searched underneath. Grog needed a drink to cheer him up, that was all. They could both do with a bit of cheer. It was a human-sized bar, so he couldn't see over the top of it, but it did make it easier to peruse the stock underneath. Where did Franki keep the big mugs, the ones you could sink your sorrows in and drown them for good?

Darkness sat stubborn in every nook and cranny, hiding not just the sorrow-drowning mugs, but the morning after mugs as well. Though Galan preferred the reassuring secrecy of dim-light within which to discuss business matters, the shuttered windows made it next to impossible to find anything down here. How had Franki ever managed to run the place?

He grabbed the single candle burning - all he and Grog could afford - and plunged it into the gaps between shelves. Nothing but plates here. A dead rat there.

"A unicorn must be worth a fair few gold pieces?" Grog said.

Galan glanced up at him. Grog pointed a little further down the bar.

The lone flame burned down the wick, barely an inch of it left, exactly how Galan felt. But, so long as that fire never went out, you could always start up another candle. The trick was in having enough money to afford another candle.

Hot wax dripped onto his fingertip.

They needed enough money for a new candle soon.

"Platinum pieces." Galan found the mugs and opened the tap on a keg. "A fair few platinum pieces, my friend." He shuffled his feet back as the first mug overflowed. His soft leather shoe was wet, and would no doubt need to be washed - another expense. Things weren't the same without Franki. He passed the mug to Grog.

The barstool beneath Grog groaned in protest as the half-orc shifted his considerable bulk. "If we can move it."

Galan gave his best, most disarming smile as he poured his own drink.

"You've got a buyer already?" Grog's prominent brow raised as he took a gulp.

"Yep." Galan climbed up a step stool on his side of the bar. Even then, he could only just comfortably rest his elbows. Grog still towered over him, all mu