Night of Long Shadows

CHAPTER 9

The second day of Long Shadows

Far, the 27th day of Vult, 998

In Wren’s considered opinion, taverns lacked souls. Certain buildings had them. Old historical sites, for example. Even newly built houses occupied by young families had a certain something you could feel as soon as you walked inside. But taverns fed off the spirits of others. They needed people to give them life. The light and the laughter soaked into the walls like water in the desert.

If one wanted to see the truth behind the pretense, one needed only to visit in the cold gray light of early morning, when rooms once filled with raucous celebration became drab, sad places. Sunlight filtered through grimy windows, but instead of adding cheer, it highlighted blemishes and scars best left hidden. Walls were revealed to be patchy and stained. The chairs were threadbare, the bar pitted and sticky. Ashes lay dead in the fire grate.

It depressed Wren to be in places like this. It reminded him of just how disheartening life could be.

And this particular tavern was a perfect example. It reeked of desperation, of money lost and lives ruined. The rugs were littered with betting stubs, each a testament to a desperate hope for a better life, or, since he was feeling uncharitable at the moment, a testament to addiction.

Wren looked around the empty common room. “Callian!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

A muffled thump came from upstairs. Then a scratchy voice floated down. “Who’s there? Go away. We’re closed!”

“Come and see who’s here before I rob you blind,” called Wren. He glanced around the room. “Not that there’s much to steal,” he muttered to himself.

He walked around the tables, avoiding what looked suspiciously like a puddle of vomit, and pushed open the doors that led to the balcony. He stopped breathing through his mouth and leaned over the railing, closing his eyes and inhaling a great lungful of fresh air. He let it go, then took another one, and finally opened his eyes.

A wave of vertigo washed over him as he looked down at the Stone Trees hrazhak field far below him. The huge indoor coarse was littered with piles of stones, clumps of trees, water courses, and anything else the organizers thought would add to the excitement of the shifter game. Wren thought he could see splashes of blood spattered on some of the rocks. His gaze traveled up to the spectator stands that circled to either side of him. They were empty, but they would fill again when the next games started.

He heard footfalls on the stairs behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Callian appear in the doorway behind the bar. The gnome looked like an ancient raisin left out in the sun for a few decades. Wren had known him for years, and he’d always had the same deep wrinkles, the same limp in his right foot. Although …

“The eye patch is new,” he said. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” said Callian, joining Wren on the balcony. “It impresses the ladies.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. They think I’m windswept and interesting.” He squinted at Wren, and must have seen the look of doubt on his face. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I don’t have needs.”

Wren raised his hands in surrender. “Something I don’t want to get into, thank you very much.” He paused. “It’s good to see you again, Callian.”

“Of course it is. Now what do you want?”

“A favor.”

“Yes, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. What kind of favor?”

Wren sighed and stared into the deserted stands below him. “I’ve got myself into a bit of a mess.”

“Always knew you would. Illegal?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah. Is Torin involved?”

“Not in what I’m about to do.”

“Good. Keep him out of it. He’s got a family to think of.”

“I know.”

“So … are you going to tell me what you need?”

He turned to face the gnome. “I need you to get the old crew together.”

Callian’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I need to break someone out of Warden Towers, and this is the only way I can do it. Now, here’s what I’ll need …”

At midday, Wren was seated at a table atop a magically strengthened glass platform that floated a hundred feet above the center of the hrazhak field. Callian said it was so honored patrons could watch the game without having to mix with the common folk. Wren had to admit that it afforded stunning views of the playing field. He could see the employees-mostly ogres and bugbears-rearranging the piles of stones and huge logs in preparation for the night’s games.

Wren had never been interested in the sport himself. He considered it barbaric and lacking in subtlety. It involved two teams of shifters beating each other to a pulp while trying to get hold of the opposing team’s wooden idol so they could deposit it in their goal. Of course, this being Sharn, hrazhak was fast becoming one of the city’s most popular sports.

He lifted his face to the warm rays of the sun, feeling the heat sinking pleasingly into his bones. It was a refreshing change after the past few days of steady rain.

He hoped he had made the right decision. Getting the old crew together could be a colossally bad move. He’d thought about contacting his one-time protégé, Soneste Otansin, but had ultimately decided against it. It had been a while since he last saw her, but he’d heard she was working for Thuranne d’Velderan’s Investigative Services. That meant she was working legitimately, and Wren was hesitant about getting her involved in something illegal. Especially since she was enjoying a small amount of fame as a result of a recent case. She even managed to get a mention in the Inquisitive.

It was a shame, because she was really good at what she did, and he would have liked to catch up with her again.

The sound of distant voices caused him to look across to Callian’s inn poised above the grandstands. A soarsled had just left the balcony and was approaching the viewing platform, the round disc teetering slightly beneath its heavy load. Wren couldn’t help smiling when he caught sight of the ragtag group it transported. At the front was Bex, half-orc and druid. Wren noted that he still wore clothing bright enough to cause blindness in the unwary. And Salka was there. Wren’s smile faded. She was human, so he knew she would age quicker than he did, but she looked a lot older than he remembered. It seemed as though life had been tough on her since they’d parted ways. Behind her sat Callian’s nephew, Dalen. Wren breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the gnome. His whole plan depended on a good illusionist to cause a realistic distraction. Without Dalen, he didn’t think they’d be able to pull it off.

A new face was in the group as well, a young shifter Wren didn’t recognize. She stood at the side of the sled, her bearing tall and proud. No, Wren amended. Not pride. The set of her face, the look she gave the others-was arrogance.

Wren rose from the table. The sled slowed, ready to bump against the platform. While it was still an arm’s length away, Bex leaped across the gap, a huge grin on his broad face. The half-orc lifted Wren from the platform and clasped him in a painful hug.

“Wren! Good to see you! Didn’t think we’d hear from you again. Heard you’d gone legitimate.”

“I have,” Wren said.

Bex dropped him back to his feet and went to investigate the food laid out on the table.

Wren turned his attention to Salka as she stepped onto the platform. “Salka.” He leaned forward to hug her. She grasped his back tightly and held on for what seemed like a long time. “How are you?” he whispered into her ear.

“Later,” was all she said, before releasing him and taking a seat.

Dalen hopped onto the platform and shook Wren’s hand. The gnome couldn’t speak. His tongue had been torn out decades before in the War, and he refused to let a cleric heal it. No one had the guts to ask him why. He now communicated with his magic.

The shifter held back while Callian hopped off the sled and approached Wren.

“Who’s she?” asked Wren.

“That’s Ravi. She’s on one of the teams here. She’s good.”

“She looks like trouble.”

“Trust me,” said Callian. “She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s a good person to have watching your back in a fight.”

Wren was still unsure.

“You’re going to need all the help you can get on this one, Wren. Let her come.” Wren sighed. “Fine.”

Callian turned and gestured for her to leave the soarsled. Wren noticed she did it with an arrogant slouch as if to say, I’m coming because I want to, not because I was given permission.

Everyone took seats at the table and poured chilled fruit juice from the chipped glass pitchers Callian had provided. Wren sat at the head of the table and looked them over. It felt good to see them again. Except for a few extra wrinkles and lines, it was almost like the old days.

“So, half-elf,” said Bex, speaking around a mouthful of food. “What’s so important?”

“Yeah,” said Salka. “Thought you were too good to associate with us?”

“Now, Salka. We all agreed to keep contact to a minimum after that last job went … sour.” Wren grimaced slightly.

Bex barked a loud laugh. “That’s one way to put it. Another way is ‘catastrophic failure.’ Or ‘suicide run.’”

Wren smiled. “Fair enough. I’m afraid this one isn’t much better. I won’t hold it against any of you if you don’t want any part of it.”

“Danger comes with the territory,” said Ravi in a low voice. “Anyone who’s scared should get a proper job.”

The old group glanced at each other. Dalen raised his eyebrows at the shifter.

“What?” she growled. “You got a problem with me, gnome?”

Dalen smiled sweetly then lifted his hand into the air. Everyone stared at him, waiting for some kind of magical illusion.

Dalen slowly arranged three fingers in a gesture used during the War as an insult when vocalizing was not possible. Everyone burst into laughter, except for Ravi. She rose in her seat and looked ready to lunge across the table, but Callian held her back.

“Sit!” he snapped at her. “I vouched for you, Ravi. Do not embarrass me in front of my friends. I won’t stand for it.”

The shifter reluctantly sat down, but not before pointing a clawed finger at Dalen and mouthing, Later, to the grinning gnome.

“Right,” said Wren. “If we’ve all finished posturing, I’d like to get started on this. First off, I’m going to tell you your pay.”

“It’s not a robbery, then?” asked Salka.

“No, it’s not. And the pay is five thousand galifars each.”

Silence ruled the table as everyone digested this. Even Callian looked shocked.

“Five thousand?” asked Bex. “Who’s putting up the money?”

“I am,” said Wren. “I’ll leave it with Callian in case anything happens to me. You can collect after the job. I’m telling you this now because the job is dangerous.”

“So what is it?” asked Ravi. “For five thousand, I’d kill the king himself.”

“I’m sure you would. But thankfully, regicide is not part of the plan. I want to break a prisoner out of Warden Towers.” Silence greeted his statement.

“With the guards all present?” asked Bex.

“Most of them, yes.”

“When do you want it done?” asked Salka.

“Tonight.”

Bex burst out laughing. “Wren, you really know how to keep life interesting. Gods, but I’ve missed you.”

Wren grinned and glanced around the table. “Everyone in?” Those gathered nodded in turn. Wren clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Callian, the plans?”

Callian hopped onto the soarsled and picked up a leather folder, which he handed to Wren. Wren untied it and pulled out a small pile of vellum. Intricate sketches covered each piece. Wren spread them out on the table and placed the cups and glasses over the edges to keep them from blowing away.

“Plans for Warden Towers,” he said. The others leaned over the table to get a good look. Wren pointed to the middle section of the tower. “The cells are here, right in the center. On the bottom floor is a lobby, where everyone is brought in for processing. Here’s the mess hall, then the baths and recreation area.” Wren pointed to the floor above the prison level. “Above the cells are the barracks, interrogation rooms, offices, and such.”

“So how do you plan on getting us in?” asked Salka.

“Through the roof.” He tapped the top of the tower. “Warden Towers has a couple of hippogriffs. Not as many as Daggerwatch, but they stable them up here, with access into the tower.” He paused and leaned back in his seat. “One thing I want to make clear. This is a rescue operation. There’s to be no killing.” He held up his hands to forestall any protests. “Think about it. We’re breaking one person out of jail. He’s nothing to them. If they can’t find him quickly enough, they’ll drop it. They won’t want it known that Warden Towers is breachable. But if we kill one of them, they’ll keep after us until we’re all dead.” He looked around the table. “Agreed?”

Reluctant nods from most. He stared at Ravi. “Ravi? This is the deal. Agree, or you’re out. I’m not saying we don’t get physical-we may have to. Just don’t kill anyone.”

Ravi nodded, a brief dip of her head.

“Right. I need to gather some supplies. I suggest we meet back at Callian’s place at midnight.

The large skycoach slid through the night, flying as close to the rooftops as possible. Wren fingered the delicate embroidering sewn into the seats, then opened a small compartment in the door. It held a bottle of wine.

“Where did you get this coach?”

Bex grinned over his shoulder. “Best not to ask.”

Wren’s eyes widened and he pointed to the front. “Careful!”

Bex turned and smoothly pulled the skycoach upward. Wren peered over the side as a thin spire receded behind them. “You almost hit that one.”

“Do you want to drive?” asked Bex.

“No. I’m just saying.”

“And I heard you. Now keep quiet. I’m concentrating.”

Wren looked down to make sure that the enchantment woven into his shiftweave clothing was attuned to its natural state of darkweave, the shadows woven through the fabric concealing them from casual observation. It was the fourth time he’d checked, but he couldn’t help it. Nerves were getting the better of him.

He glanced at the others. Ravi was perched on the other side of the coach, peering down into the darkness. Wren wasn’t comfortable with her, no matter what Callian said. He’d have to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t get out of control. He’d told Bex and Salka as well. The last thing they needed was some hot-headed shifter ruining everything.

Wren glanced over his shoulder to Salka, who stared down at her hands. There hadn’t been a chance for him to ask her what was wrong. He made a mental note to talk to her once this was over. Maybe he could help with whatever it was.

Warden Towers appeared out of the darkness ahead of them. Coldfire lights and torches could be glimpsed through the windows all the way up the building. Bex pulled the coach into a climb, and Wren gazed up into the cloudy sky before the half-orc leveled out again.

The tower hunched below them. The roof was a maze of chimney stacks and little huts, the use of which was completely lost on Wren. One side of the roof was covered in rubbish-scrap metal and chunks of rock. The other side held the hippogriff stable, a long, low structure that hugged the edge of the rooftop.

No guards were about. Which meant that Dalen must have started his illusions. Wren had asked him to create the image of a small army of creatures from the Cogs attacking some buildings close to Warden Towers. The hope was that most of the guards would respond to the attack, leaving the tower with a skeletal staff of guardsmen, taking some of the pressure off Wren and the others.

By the look of things, it was working.

Wren made his way to the front of the coach and pointed to the piles of rubbish. “Bring us down over there, flush with the roof. I don’t want to land this thing. We’ll have to leave it in the air and hope nobody sees it.”

Bex nodded and lowered the coach until it hovered next to the rooftop. The group hopped off and Bex tied a makeshift mooring rope to one of the bent pieces of metal. Then they hurried across the roof to the stables.

Iron bars formed a cage around the buildings. The bars weren’t simply a fence. They had been bent backward over the stable yard itself, so that no one could climb over. Double gates were set into the fence so the hippogriffs and their riders could access the tower. A massive padlock kept them locked. Wren glanced at Salka, but she shook her head.

“It’d take too long.”

Wren nodded and turned to Bex. “Ready?”

The half-orc nodded. Wren turned to the padlock and concentrated. After a moment he could feel heat emanating from the metal. He added power to the infusion until he was forced to take a step back. The metal took on a faint rosy glow, a glow which slowly grew stronger until the whole lock and some of the surrounding bars turned a deep orange.

“Bex?”

“I’m here.” The half-orc stepped up behind Wren and held his hands out, almost as if he were warming them from the heat. “Now,” he said.

Wren cut off the infusion and Bex released the energy he had been building. Wren felt a blast of cold on the side of his face, like laying his cheek in snow. The padlock let off an explosion of steam and a loud cracking sound, like the slow breaking of ice. Wren took out a dagger and hit the padlock with the pommel. The lock fell to pieces at his feet.

“Told you it would work,” he said, pushing the remains of the padlock about with his foot.

Ravi went to push open the gate, but Wren held her back. “Hold on,” he said, rummaging through his satchel. He pulled out a vial and dripped a small amount of liquid onto each hinge. “Oil,” he said in response to their looks. “Many a thief’s career has been cut short by squeaky hinges.” He gave the gates a gentle push and they swung silently inward. “Bex, after you.”

Bex hurried into the stable yard. Salka followed him, then Ravi and Wren. Bex put his ear to the door, listened, then carefully lifted the latch and pulled the door open. Darkness greeted them. Wren could hear the gentle breathing of sleeping animals. Bex slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Wren had told him to make sure the hippogriffs wouldn’t wake up for the rest of the night. If they needed to make a quick escape, he didn’t want the Watch chasing after them.

Wren slipped out of the yard and back onto the roof, heading for the north wall. Dalen had said he would give them a sign when a sufficient number of the Watch had shown up to confront his illusion. Any time now …

A small light shot upward and bloomed into a slowly-growing circle of blue stars before it faded away. That was it. Wren hurried back to the others. They were waiting inside the first room, near a door that led into the main tower.

“We’ve got about half a bell before they realize what’s going on and come back.” He nodded at the door. “Anything?”

“Not sure,” said Bex. “It could be a room for the grooms.”

Wren took out his crossbows, modified to carry custom-made bloodspikes. He’d spent the afternoon crafting infusions for tiny vials that would render those hit immediately unconscious. He’d handed them to everyone, but Ravi hadn’t been happy. He turned to the shifter.

“Remember, Ravi. No killing.”

“Fine.”

“Hoods up,” said Wren, lifting the hood of his shiftweave cloak over his head. The cloaks were specially made to disguise their faces as well as their clothes. To an unsuspecting onlooker, they would appear as ordinary members of the Watch, their unremarkable features instantly forgettable.

Bex opened the door. It was dark beyond, but Wren was still able to see. In fact, Salka was the only one who wouldn’t be able to see. All the others had varying forms of night vision.

Wren slipped through the door and looked around. A tack room. Various types of saddles, from gilded and ornamental to functional and plain, hung from the walls. Cages held small animals-food for the hippogriffs. He could hear them snuffling and nosing about in the hay. Blankets were piled on the floor to his right, and an old rusty rack held a variety of brushes to groom the steeds.

Another door lay straight ahead. Wren put his ear against the wood and heard the sounds of snoring. He tried the handle. Locked. He nodded at Salka. She stepped forward, took out her picks, and set to work. In no time, she had the door open. Wren indicated for Bex and Salka to take one side of the room while he and Ravi took the other. The plan was for them to rush in and use the spikes without waking anyone.

It didn’t quite work out that way. As Wren pulled the door open, the hinges gave a high-pitched squeal of protest. He froze, glancing at the wincing face of Bex.

“Why didn’t anyone remember the oil?” he whispered fiercely. “I just told you-”

“Whassa?” said a voice from inside.

Wren stepped in and loosed his crossbow at the man sitting up in his bed. The bloodspike hit him in the chest, sending him straight back onto the mattress. Someone cursed to his left, then tried to raise his voice in a shout. Wren looked over but Bex was already there, his huge hand clamped over the groom’s mouth. He jabbed a bloodspike into his neck with his free hand. Wren turned to find Ravi raising a fist over the last groom. She brought it down in a sharp jab that knocked him unconscious. She saw Wren glaring at her, and dropped her victim to the floor.

“What? Don’t want to waste the bloodspikes if I don’t have to.”

Wren took a spike from his satchel and jabbed it into the groom lying at her feet. “We don’t want them waking up, Ravi. That’s the whole point.”

The shifter shrugged and stepped around the body to inspect the next door. Wren lifted the man back into his bed and tucked the blankets around him so he appeared to be sleeping. Bex and Salka did the same with the others.

The door beyond opened into a long hallway lit by coldfire lamps. At its end, they emerged into a large room. Two more corridors fed into the area and a staircase in the corner led down into the tower. Wren thought back to the plans. One of the corridors headed to an identical room on the other side of the tower. The second one, that veered diagonally to his left, was the one that interested him.

“Wait here,” he said, and ran down the corridor. It led to the center of Warden Towers and opened onto a gallery that wound all the way around the inside of the building. Wren leaned against the balcony and peered over the edge into the central shaft. It dropped all the way down to the ground floor, where he could make out the bustle and lights of the central hub of the tower. He could see guards scurrying on the floors below him. They shouted back and forth to each other as they tried to figure out what was going on outside. Wren counted down three levels to the cells. Guards patrolled that level, pausing every now and then to peer over the balcony.

“What’s going on?” said a voice behind him.

Wren slowly turned to a sleepy-looking guard tying on his tabard. The guard glanced up at him. “I can never get this right,” he said with a sheepish grin, trying to look over his shoulder to tie the ties.

Wren glanced down the corridor. He could see Bex peering around the corner in the distance. “Uh, do you want me to …?”

The guard looked up and grinned. “Thanks,” he said, turning to the side. Wren tied the two pieces together. “So, what did you say was going on?”

“Oh. Some bugbears and orcs are causing trouble. The Nights of Long Shadows. You know how it is. In fact, you should probably report in. Last I heard, they were looking for reinforcements.”

The guard nodded, checking that his scabbard was attached correctly. “I’d better head down.”

“Good luck. Wish I could join you, but I have a shift on cell watch.”

The guard hurried around the balcony to the lift. Wren watched him descend, then took a deep, shaky breath and rejoined the others.

“What was all that about?” asked Bex.

“Don’t ask,” said Wren.

They took the stairs down three floors to the prison level. Wren peered along the passage that led to the central shaft, but it was empty of guards. “I don’t like this. There should be more guards around.”

“But they’re all off fighting Dalen’s monsters,” said Salka.

“I know, but …” Wren shook himself. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

They hurried down the corridor onto the gallery, walking around it until they arrived at the passage that led to the cells. They moved cautiously, then turned to a recessed doorway. Wren faced the others. “There should be five of them. Pick your target and make sure he’s out cold. We don’t want any alarms raised. Ready?”

Everyone nodded. Wren took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and plunged into the room, a crossbow in each hand. He loosed one at the man lounging at a desk just inside the entrance. At the same time, he loosed the other at a woman who was walking into the room carrying a tray full of steaming mugs. The bloodspike caught her in the throat and she jerked against the wall, sending the tray flying from her hands. It hit the ground with a loud crash, the mugs smashing, shards spinning through the air. He turned to the other guards, but they were already slumped into a doze.

“Which one has the keys?” he asked, loading more bloodspikes.

“Got them,” said Ravi.

Wren held out his hand and the shifter threw them through the air. He caught them and hurried to the door on the opposite side of the room. “Bex. With me. You two stay and guard this side.”

The door led into a narrow corridor. Cells lined both sides, fronted by heavy metal doors, each with a small grill at the height of a human’s head. “Bex, you take that side. He’s over six feet, short hair, tattoo of a dragon down his arm.”

Bex nodded and peered into the closest cell. Wren did the same on his side. The first held a shifter who was sleeping on the floor. The next held a gnome who paced back and forth in the tiny room. He moved along as swiftly until Bex called to him.

“Wren, this him?”

Wren peered through the grill and saw Cutter sitting on his bed. He was staring blankly at the wall.

“Cutter,” he called. No response. “Cutter! Can you hear me?”

The man didn’t even look at him. Wren inserted keys into the lock, one after another, until he found the one that fit. He pulled open the heavy door and entered the cell, kneeling in front of Cutter.

Wren pulled the shiftweave hood down so Cutter could see his face. He indicated for Bex to do the same. “Cutter? Cutter, look at me.” He waved his hand in front of the man’s eyes, but he didn’t even blink.

“Drugged?” asked Bex, leaning over to stare at Cutter’s face.

“I don’t think so. I think-”

“Well, well,” said a voice behind him. “If it isn’t the half-elf barrister. And you managed to see your client. That’s nice.”

Wren turned and saw the woman guard he had talked to yesterday standing just inside the doorway. She was accompanied by four members of the Watch. “Not going to run off again, are you? We didn’t finish our chat.”