The Thieves’ Guild Page 16

  “Was that… thing… another one of your pets?” Cael sneered.

  “I warned you that this was no game,” the Guild captain said. Ijus helped her to her feet, still chuckling. “Pitch knew the risks the same as you. You had to go off on your own, taking her with you, to face trials meant for a Circle of Seven, not two.”

  “We continued alone because we didn’t know where the others had gone,” the elf snapped. “We didn’t want our Circle to fail the test without a chance to even try.”

  “Yet you failed anyway, and it cost the life of your Guild sister,” Alynthia responded.

  “We did not fail,” the elf cried, struggling to free himself from Rull’s grip. “I won’t allow her to die for nothing. The guardian is dead. The way is opened.”

  “The way is still shut to you, apprentice thief,” Alynthia scoffed. “The behir’s lair is not the treasure chamber.”

  “I know that, but I now know the way, if you would just put me down!”

  Reluctantly, the giant thief lowered Cael to the ground and released his hold. The elf, weak from his wounds, nearly collapsed, but his anger lent him strength. He stood shakily, ready to do anything to spite the beautiful, dusky-skinned Guild captain. Alynthia stepped back warily, eyeing him.

  He stalked by her without even a glance and re-entered the Chamber of Doors. The others followed, hesitantly eyeing the dead behir where it lay stretched out at the center of the chamber. Cael paused just inside the room. His companions spread out around him, gaping in awe at the magnificent beast.

  Varia gasped and turned aside, burying her face in Rull’s massive chest. The remains of Pitch, pitiful as they were, lay scattered near the far wall. Ijus approached them, his fingers cracking .and snapping in something between curiosity and nervous horror. Seeing how little of the thief remained, Alynthia turned on the elf, her dark eyes burning with anger.

  “No door shall be opened to prove or disprove you,” she told him. “Make your guess and be done with it.”

  Without a word, Cael stooped to the floor and, with his left hand, which had suffered no burns, picked up a piece of the stone that had fallen from the roof during the monster’s death throes. He spun and flung the rock at the darkened entrance-way. To everyone’s surprise, even Alynthia’s, the stone bounced off the darkness as though it had struck a solid wall, and clattered to the floor.

  “A door that does not appear to be a door,” the elf said. “The room revolves.” His legs began to wobble beneath him. Mancred caught his arm and helped him to stand. Cael started to thank him, then noticed that the old thief was staring at him in undisguised respect. He turned away, unable to bear such admiration.

  “I am sorry,” he said in a voice harsh with weariness and emotion. “I am having trouble seeing. Everything is red.”

  “Your eyes are filled with blood,” the old man said. “Few who have been embraced by the behir survive to bear that Scar.”

  “Pitch wanted to do it for you,” Cael said. “She wanted to try.”

  “You succeeded. She did not die in vain,” Mancred said proudly, gripping the elf in an almost fatherly embrace.

  “The door is not opened, and it won’t be opened, not by him,” Alynthia said stubbornly. “When Pitch died, the test was ended. That is the law of Mulciber. All succeed or no one.”

  “Yet two accomplished what was designed to defeat seven,” Mancred argued.

  “You take sides with this elf?” Alynthia asked. “After what happened to Pitch?”

  “She chose her way,” Varia said tersely.

  “Not since Captain Oros came here has such a thing been done. Not even you, Captain Alynthia, entered the vaults alone, not even you solved the riddle of the doors,” Mancred said.

  “We act as a team. A lone wolf is a liability we cannot afford, no matter how great his individual skill,” she insisted. She stroked her bruised chin, thoughtfully. “You know the rules. In addition to costing you the life of one of your Circle, this elf has also ruined your careers within the Guild,” Alynthia frowned. “He has shown you the secret of this Chamber, yet failed the test. Knowing the secret, you may never try again.”

  Mancred sighed heavily, his head bowing in dejection. Hoag’s eyes flared with hatred as he looked at the elf. Even Varia looked away, unable to meet Cael’s gaze. Rull set his lips into a grim line and stared at the wall. Only Ijus made a noise, and that was to giggle. He quickly stifled his laughter at a sharp glance from Hoag.

  “However, what you say has some merit, and I have decided to take the six of you into my personal Circle of thieves,” Alynthia concluded proudly. The others roused at these words and at the promise of adventure that they heralded.

  While the others whispered excitedly, Alynthia caught a handful of the elf’s long coppery hair and pulled his face near her own. She said nothing, but her threatening gaze spoke more plainly than words. He returned her stare without flinching, his teeth gritted, fighting off the darkness of weariness and pain that threatened to crush him.

  “You look like a fiend from the pit,” the beautiful thief said, grinning. “Varia, see what you can do for old Blood Eyes’ wounds.” She turned away and stalked from the chamber, Hoag dropping in obediently behind her. Cael collapsed, and soon was awash in the soothing waters of Varia’s mystical healing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The two Knights of the Lily guarding the door to the Lord’s Palace glanced at each other in concern. A woman they both knew by sight and reputation was gliding across the Great Plaza below, her long red robes flowing behind her as she walked, her hands folded together and hidden by the robe’s voluminous sleeves. The robe’s hood was pulled up just to the crown of her head, so that rather than concealing her face, it accentuated its handsome shape. A few strands of gray hair strayed from the hood to fall luxuriously over her shoulders.

  She headed for the Lord’s Palace, and both Knights knew she had no scheduled appointment this morning. One glanced at his list of expected guests, just in case the name of Mistress Jenna had been added. His hopes were dashed. He looked at his companion, who returned his forlorn gaze with a sour grimace. Neither relished the thought of the approaching encounter. They gripped their swords as though these slender shafts of steel could somehow help them. Mistress Jenna, glancing up at them and seeing the resolve on their faces, did not slow her pace. She reached the foot of the stairs, where the great platform had stood for the Spring Dawning festival almost two months earlier. She mounted the stairs without breaking her stride.

  The Knights stepped out from beneath the great arch of the palace entrance and met the great sorceress at the top of the stairs. She smiled patiently and moved to pass between them, but one held out a restraining, black-mailed hand. The smile faded from Jenna’s face. She stopped, stepped back, and settled her robes about her.

  If this were any other citizen of Palanthas, the Knights would have acted forcibly. Because it was Jenna, the female Knight made an attempt at cordiality. “I am sorry, Mistress Jenna, but you have no scheduled appointment with the lord mayor this morning. Perhaps you would like to set an appointment? The Mayor should have a free moment sometime the day after tomorrow.”

  “I am not here to see the lord mayor,” Jenna answered coolly.

  “We cannot allow you inside,” the male Knight said in what he hoped was a steely voice. “Sir Kinsaid does not allow casual visitors to the Lord’s Palace.”

  “There is nothing casual about my visits, Sir Knight,” Jenna snapped. “I go where I will, when I will, and how I will. I was here before you were born and I will still be here when you are gone. You will allow me to pass or you will tell Arach Jannon to come out here and meet me. It matters little to me, either way. Now hurry up about it. You may have nothing better to do than to stand in front of doors and act important, but my time is of immense value.”

  “Yes, of course, Mistress,” the female Knight assented. She hurried away. The male Knight remained standing before Mistress Jenna, while she returne
d his gaze with an implacable look. He had fought pitched battles against ogres and minotaurs, sailed a galley into the teeth of a storm on the Blood Sea of Istar, but these were nothing compared to what he now endured. Soon, he could no longer withstand her scornful scrutiny. He made a show of turning his attention to those strolling about the Great Plaza, and the clouds of pigeons rising and settling at their passing. Gulls circled overhead, crying the song of the sea.

  At last, when he thought he could bear it no longer, his companion returned. Breathlessly, the female knight apologized to Mistress Jenna, ceremoniously added her name to the roll of guests, checked the name off, and ushered the elder sorceress through the doors. When she had gone, the female Knight sighed as they resumed their posts by the door. “Now what do you suppose she wants with him?”

  “Who cares, so long as she is gone from here. Wizards! Pah, may they all rot together,” the male Knight said boastingly.

  The female Knight chuckled. “Brave words,” she murmured.

  Her companion smiled at her ruefully. “To tell you the truth, I felt as though she had stripped off my flesh and was examining my very bones.”

  Sir Arach Jannon’s chambers lay deep beneath the Lord’s Palace. He had chosen them ostensibly for safety’s sake, as he sometimes conducted delicate magical experiments that were best performed far from sensitive view. The hallways and stairs leading to the door, and the chambers themselves, were carved from the living stone beneath Palanthas long before the Palace itself was built. For two millennia, the chambers had remained largely unoccupied, used instead for storage and, during the Chaos War, as shelter for the Lord Mayor and his family.

  Jenna surmised that Arach had chosen these chambers not to protect others from his sometimes-dangerous experiments but to force his visitors to walk half a league just to see him. She would have used a spell to transport herself, but the chambers were protected against magical intrusion, and she didn’t want its wards to deflect her spell and cause her harm. Her magic had grown too unstable of late to trust its use in such an inessential way.

  Not that she would have admitted that her magic had grown unstable. The worst of it was, she had no idea why this was happening to her magic, and she didn’t know if other mages were experiencing the same troubles. She wanted to probe her grayrobed adversary, to see if his magic might also be weakening. She had to admit it would make her feel better if the problem was somehow rampant.

  She found Sir Arach sitting cross-legged in mid-air, three feet above a fine rug from the minotaur island of Kothas. A juvenile trick! He smiled as she entered, and bowed his head in a mockery of respect. Showing off his magic like some hair-brained apprentice. How she wished the Thorn Knights, the magic-using branch of the Knights of Takhisis (Neraka!), could be forced to undergo the -tests once given in the Towers of High Sorcery. She felt sure it would weed out a good many of what she considered to be spellcasting yokels.

  Jenna paused just within the doorway, refusing to go further until Sir Arach came down from his magical perch. With obvious reluctance and a frown at her poor sense of humor, the Thorn Knight unfolded his legs and lowered himself onto the rug, then removed the silver ring from his finger. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger to show her.

  “Ring of levitation,” he explained. “It was confiscated from a kender three days ago at the Knight’s High Road gate. Would you like it?” He flipped it to her.

  It bounced off the front of her robe and fell to the floor at her feet She did not move, did not even bat an eye. The ring rolled away, vanishing under a cupboard beside the wall. Arach watched it go ruefully, but he made no move to retrieve it He turned his eyes back to his adversary and found her eyes boring holes through him.

  “Mistress Jenna, it is an honor to receive you in my humble chambers. Please have a seat. I will order tea.” The Thorn Knight swept behind a large, pockmarked desk and motioned Jenna to a low comfortable chair, but she remained standing at the door. Arach shrugged and settled himself into his own chair. He clapped three times, and a small bell dangling above the desk tinkled cheerfully.

  “I don’t want any tea,” Jenna growled.

  “Wine, then?” he suggested. “It is a little early in the day, but…”

  Jenna scowled, but did not dignify his remark with a response.

  With an obvious show of weary patience, Sir Arach folded his hands together and placed them on the desk before him. “How may I help you, then?” he inquired.

  “Why haven’t you captured him?” Jenna snapped.

  “Why haven’t I captured who?”

  “I gave you bis name, told you of the magical boots I sold to him, all so that you could capture him. I haven’t time to chase down every thief and cutpurse in Palanthas. That is your job, Lord High Justice,” Jenna said with a sneer.

  “When he surfaces, he shall be captured, I assure you,” Arach said confidently.

  “Your assurances date back approximately two months.”

  “Every Knight in the city knows his description, so if he shows himself on the streets, rest assured he will be captured. Meanwhile, his magical boots remain right where he left them. They have not been touched, and he has not returned for them. When he does, there is a glyph placed on the door of his dwelling, one that will stun him for several hours, allowing us to collect him at our leisure. Until that time, there is nothing else to be done.”

  “Hmmph. A glyph?”

  “I placed it there myself.”

  “Very clever of you, I’m sure,” Jenna smirked. “Still, if you really wish to capture him, I suggest that you drop by the Three Moons tonight.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because the Guild plans to make an attempt on my house tonight,” she said.

  “There is no Thieves’ Guild in Palanthas,” Arach asserted, his voice rising slightly.

  “Cael Ironstaff will be with them,” Jenna continued, her eyes narrowing.

  “How do you know all this?” the Thorn Knight asked suspiciously.

  “Does it matter? All that matters is that it will happen. I strongly suggest, Sir Knight, that you be there.” With these words, she spun and, pausing at the chamber door, added, “Bring your glyph if it gives you pleasure!” She stalked out, her robes sweeping behind her. The door slammed shut with a resounding boom.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Luckily, Cael found the privy unoccupied, though the scent of lingering pipe smoke proved that it had only recently been vacated. He pulled himself up through the hole, reentering the privy by way of a small round opening primarily meant as an exit. The privy’s door had been replaced, since it was so rudely pummeled into kindling by Captain Alynthia’s thugs, by a stout new one of planed pine stained a deep burgundy red. Even the doughty little bolt that allowed him time to escape had been replaced with a shining copper latch.

  Cael clambered free and quickly hooked the latch to prevent anyone from barging in unexpectedly. He sat back and relaxed for a moment, pondering his next move. His clothes were in terrible shape. He’d been wearing the same outfit for the better part of two months. He could not go about much longer dressed like this, he thought with a rueful smile.

  Before he left the privy, he turned to the wall and placed his hand against its stained wood. He spoke no word, but from beneath his outstretched palm there grew a bar of red light, spreading above and below, like a door opening onto a brightly lit room. Where the red bar glowed, the wall began to bulge outwards until Cael’s ironwood staff, sheathed in reddish fire, burst free of the wall. Where it had been, there was neither sign nor mark upon the wall. Cael sighed and clutched it to his chest like an old friend. He unlatched the door and opened it.

  The sharp end of a stiletto against his throat stopped him before he’d taken a step.

  “Your arm must be long indeed to have fished that staff from the sewers,” Alynthia said with a laugh from the other end of the blade.

  She stood blocking the door, wearing a loose blouse of palest green silk a
nd violet trousers bound about her hips by a wide belt and tucked into knee-high black leather boots. Swordsman’s gauntlets of double-stitched leather protected her hands and completed her costume of dashing swashbuckler.

  Her face grew serious. “There are agents of the Dark Knights watching this place, just as I foretold,” she said. “It is good that you came by way of the sewers instead.” She returned the stiletto to its sheath. “You look a mess, and you smell like a pig wallow. Phew!” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “We have a long evening ahead, you and I, but first you need a bath! I know just the place, but first let us get you something to disguise your face and those elven ears. Your room, I seem to recall, is up those stairs?”

  She stepped back to allow Cael to pass, all the while pinching her nostrils. As Cael led the way up the stairs and to his room, his staff thumped rhythmically against the floor.

  “Are you limping again?” Alynthia asked in muffled tones.

  “I am in disguise,” Cael grandiloquently pronounced. “The limp allows me to smuggle an extraordinary weapon through the gates of the city. Besides, no one suspects a cripple of such deeds as I have accomplished in my career.”

  “Well, it’s silly and altogether amateurish,” Alynthia said. “You’ll have to stop relying on such an outmoded weapon. We can show you ways to slip a dagger or sword past the guards.”

  “I will not abandon my staff,” Cael said. He paused before the door of his room and fingered his pockets for the door key. “It was given me by my shalifi.”

  A low whistle from down the hall drew their attention. An old beggar lay in the corner under a heap of rubbish, but nothing else could account for the noise. Cael gripped his staff, but Alynthia merely smiled. “It’s only Mancred,” she whispered.

  Slowly, the old thief rose from his resting place and shuffled toward them, taking care to not move too quickly and give away his disguise. When Cael turned back to the door, and with his staff smashed the butt against the doorknob to snap the lock, Mancred threw aside all caution and rushed at them both, wildly waving his arms.