The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Eleven

It was the first time he had seen anyone other than his bunkmates and trainers in three weeks. His escort, a wavy-haired young thief from the Fifth Circle, knocked on a small, nondescript door, then stepped back to wait. The hall they stood in was low and narrow, lit at regular intervals by candles in silver sconces. Cael had never been here before. He wasn’t even sure where he was. He’d not seen the light of day since that morning in the sewer, with the dawn light filtering through the grate above.

The door opened, and with a wave of his hand, Captain Oros motioned for Cael to enter and sit. The captain ordered wine, bread, and cold meats to be brought to his chamber. An apprentice thief, his eyes as wide as platters, hurried from the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Alone with the elf, Oros unbuttoned his coat with a sigh.

Cael closely watched the Guild captain. It seemed to him that the man acted a little too friendly a little too soon. Not three weeks had passed since Mulciber had sentenced the elf to death for his freelance activities, then granted his provisional pardon, and today the leader of the Eighth Circle of the Guild had summoned him and was now treating him like an honored guest, or even an old friend.

He realized of course that under the guise of casual friendliness the Guild captain was studying him. Every so often, as the man moved about the room, lighting a candle here, adjusting a chair there, pouring wine or carving the bread, he’d look up to see the elf’s reactions. Though hungry and thirsty, Cael toyed with the food and drink set before him until he saw the Guild captain set to his own meal with unabashed gusto. Finally, he eased his aching throat with a cup of chilled pale wine, then devoured the meats and hearty bread brought by the servant.

Three more cups of wine carried him through the meal. Another servant arrived to remove the plates, but Cael kept a tight hold on his cup. He felt the wine, the sweet oil of conversation, loosening his tongue. He was dying to have a word with the Guild captain, but as yet the man had hardly spoken three words to him.

The chamber in which they dined was small but comfortably furnished. In one corner stood the table at which they ate their meal. Opposite the table, a pair of deep chairs huddled near a glowing brazier. A few books and curious oddments littered the shelves, but none of them attracted his curiosity. In fact, the only thing more interesting than the Guild captain himself was a sea cabinet shoved into the third corner of the room. The cabinet was banded with scrollwork iron and fastened by a silver lock. It looked large enough to hold a store of treasure.

When all the servants had gone, Captain Oros invited Cael to join him by the brazier. Cael settled into his chair, but the Guild captain remained standing, sipping thoughtfully at his wine while he eyed the elf.

Finally, the Guild captain asked, “So how have you enjoyed your little stay with us? Bogul tells me you’ve been coming along nicely.”

“Is that so?” Cael asked, surprised. So far, he had not been able to detect much of anything in the way of training. He had been living in Thieves’ House for about three weeks now, and during that time he’d done little besides rooming with a group of six other thieves, “brothers” and “sisters” of his Inner Circle (to use the Guild’s terminology). Their immediate commander was old Hook-nose, whose real name was Bogul. They lived together in a small dormitory of seven beds, isolated from other thieves, playing dice and telling stories of previous thefts and jobs, eating, and drinking wine. Three hours per day they spent in a large empty room that they called the gymnasium, performing a regimen of callisthenic exercises surely meant to kill them, under the critical tutelage of a severe, ice-eyed female half-elf of the Kagonesti persuasion. If this were not enough, they spent another hour every day wrestling with a pair of dwarves, twin brothers named Gunder and Gawain, who did their very best to break every bone in the thieves’ bodies. The first week of Cael’s captivity and ‘training’ was a haze of pain broken only by bouts of extreme fatigue and excessive drinking, gambling, and telling of enormously stretched tales. By the second week, Cael could hold his own with his fellow thieves, at least in the drinking part (he’d always bested them in the telling of tales), but he still lost hugely to their dice. By the third week, they’d stopped calling him “elf” and started using his name, he’d figured out how they were cheating him at dice and had won back a good portion of his losses, and the previous day he had actually stood Gawain on his head, for which he received a hearty breath-stealing congratulatory thwack on the back from Gunder.

The brothers and sisters of his Inner Circle were not apprentice thieves, not by any measure. They were all experienced pickpockets, safecrackers, and cat burglars. The oldest of the group was Brother Mancred, an old cutpurse with some skill in magic, they said. He rarely bragged, not like the others, and spent most of his time sitting, his gaze far away. Next eldest in the group was Hoag, a dark-eyed native Palanthian who tried to assume the role of second in command to Bogul. He was the most hostile towards Cael, and never stopped calling him “elf.” His particular expertise was lockpicking. He liked to tell a story of stealing the whiskers of a leopard, a story that always began the same-“I once took a bet from a gnome in Tarsis…”-and was always received with groans and threats.

There was Pitch, a hard-nosed ex-legionnaire from the Legion of Steel. She was more warrior than thief and wore her hair shaved close and neat. She suffered from a pathological need to win, and grew angry and violent when she lost at dice. The others seemed to suffer her without too much complaint.

A huge beefy man named Rull loved to perform feats of strength, not to intimidate or dominate his companions but simply to win their praise and applause. Still, Gunder and Gawain laid him on his back nine times out of ten during the wrestling hour. The other female of their group was Varia, an acrobat, actress, pickpocket, and con artist. Where Pitch was hard and bitter as vinegar, Varia was the very picture of womanly beauty. Surprisingly, her brother thieves never made the usual banal attempts to gain her affection. Cael learned why when he spent nearly an entire day of his first week tied up in his bed sheets after making inappropriate advances and discovering that Rull regarded her as a sister not only in name but also in blood. Before becoming a thief Varia had studied at the Citadel of Light and had learned a little of the art of mystic healing.

The sixth thief of their little band was a dark-spirited knife-in-the-back fellow named Ijus. The others said that he was a failed apprentice mage, a street magician gone terribly awry, but he rarely spoke for himself except to make some sick joke, usually at the most inappropriate times. He thought death the grandest joke of all and held a vast repertoire of macabre tales stored up in his twisted mind. However, he was a favorite lackey of Hoag’s, and followed him around like a whipped dog.

Although the past three weeks had seemed tiresomely pointless to Cael, he now began to realize the reason behind his incarceration. He was building camaraderie within a group of thieves who had already been together for a while. Through shared misery (and nothing is more miserable to a thief than boredom), they had forged something resembling friendship. He was the new member in an old group, and without this bonding period, in which they got to know one another, shared wisdom and techniques, and established their social hierarchy, he posed a threat to their success in future capers. Now, he was almost one of them, and he felt it. He was accepted, even if only on a provisional basis. Their approval awaited some final test-that he understood. Perhaps this was to be it.

“I had no idea I was making any progress at all,” Cael said, fishing for a hint as to the purpose of this interview.

“Your Inner Circle hasn’t killed you yet,” Oros commented as he poured himself another glass of wine. “I call that progress.” He settled back in his chair and massaged the glass between his huge, pawlike hands, eyeing the elf curiously.

Cael returned his gaze without blinking for as long as he could stand it, but his curiosity soon got the better of him. His eyes flickered once more to the cabinet standing in the corner.

Noticing this, Captain Oros asked. “Would you like to see what is inside it?”

“If it is not too much trouble, shaffendi,” Cael answered. Oros laughed. “I’ve seen much of the world, my friend,” he said. “In my travels, I learned a bit of Elvish-enough to know that you just insulted me.”

Cael chuckled.

“Shaffendi is one of those untranslatable Elvish words, often used in reference to pompous twits,” the Guild captain continued as he approached the cabinet. He removed a small key from his pocket.

“Your forgiveness, m’lord,” Cael apologized, bowing his head. “It is a habit I developed in my dealings with humans. The ignorant like the sound of the word and so believe it to be a title of respect.”

“That’s quite all right,” Oros laughed. “I know a smattering of perhaps a dozen languages. For example, if I were to address you as the Great Khashla’k, you might never know that I had called you a horse’s ass.”

“A hit, m’lord,” Cael acknowledged. “You score on both points.”

“I had hoped you might use a more respectful Elvish term when addressing me,” Oros said. “One day you might call me shalifi.”

Cael grew serious. “That word is not lightly spoken, m’lord. Human scholars translate it as ‘master’ or ‘teacher,’ but its true meaning reaches far deeper.”

“That I know all too well,” Oros answered respectfully. “I only mentioned it because I like you. You have great talent, great energy and ingenuity. Many months have I watched you, Cael, tracking your career. The Vettow Ivory, that was yours, was it not?”

Cael bowed his head in assent.

“It is folk like you who are the future of the Guild-the daring, the bold. With a strong hand to guide you, there is much we could achieve.”

“I don’t work well with others,” Cael countered. “I prefer my own company. I am a loner, an outsider. Others may walk in the light of day, but I am a dark elf, cast from the light.”

Captain Oros burst out laughing. “Is that what you tell people?” he asked.

“It’s true!” Cael shot back. “I am thoroughly evil. I was cast out by my mother’s people for practicing the dark arts!”

“Pah! One look at you tells me that you don’t have what it takes to be truly ruthless. You are dangerous, yes. All of us are dangerous in our own way. You may be twice my age, my friend, but young you are nonetheless. A shrewd judge of horses, ships, and people am I. That is how I have achieved my position.”

“You know nothing,” Cael said with a smile. “I love the shadows. I embrace the night.”

“Be careful when you embrace the darkness that the darkness doesn’t embrace you,” Oros answered sharply. “Listen well to what I and others teach you. It will save your life.”

“I do just fine on my own,” Cael snapped. The wry smile faded from his lips. “Give me a sword and I will show you what my true shalifi taught me.”

The Guild captain merely dismissed Cael’s bluster with a wave of his hand. “I am sure you could cut me to ribbons. I am no swordsman. I am a leader of swordsmen. I get others to fight my battles for me. Kolav, for instance.”

A door opened and the minotaur ducked into the room. Cael leaped to his feet and put a chair between himself and the monster. Kolav laughed as he fingered the giant tulwar hanging at his belt. “That’s twice you’ve challenged me, little elf,” he boomed. “Be careful, or someone will make you eat your bragging words and wash them down with your own blood.”

“Melodrama is not your forte,” Cael said. “Why don’t you go find a nice fat heifer to play with?”

“Khashla’k!” the minotaur snarled. With a speed belying his giant stature, the monster leaped across the room and snatched the heavy chair from in front of the elf. He flung it aside like a piece of doll furniture. Cael dodged aside and grabbed the wine bottle from the table.

“If I am to fight, at least give me a sword!” he shouted. Was this, then, to be his test?

“I’ll give you a sword! Right between your ribs!” the minotaur returned.

“Kolav!” Captain Oros barked. The minotaur instantly halted, but a rumbling growl shook the room. Cael put the wine bottle to his lips and took a long swig, then returned it to the table.

“Leave us, now,” Oros ordered the minotaur. Reluctantly, the beast obeyed. However, he paused at the door and swung his great horned head around to glare at the elf.

“You will pay for your disrespect, elf,” Kolav growled. “The day of my revenge shall come. Challenge me a third time, and oath or no oath, I shall eat your liver.”

With those words, Kolav slammed the door with such force that it split down its length.

“What did he mean by that?” Cael asked as he righted his chair. Despite his attempt at a casual demeanor, his heart pounded in his chest. It was all he could do to calm himself.

“Didn’t you know? Elven liver is a minotaur delicacy,” Oros said.

“I meant the oath. What oath?” Cael asked through gritted teeth.

“Kolav has sworn an oath to serve me without question,” Oros answered.

“How did you manage that?” Cael asked. “I’ve always heard minotaurs are headstrong brutes, incapable of following a human master.”

“Yes, they are a great deal like freelance thieves,” Oros returned. “Yet they have their own code of honor. This one, his life I saved. He swore to serve me in exchange. But his tale is woven with the contents of this cabinet,” the Guild captain continued as he unlocked the sea cabinet. He threw wide the doors and stepped back to display its contents.

To Cael’s great disappointment, there was no fabulous pirate-won treasure inside. Instead, the cabinet contained a finely wrought model of a three-masted Palanthian galleon. The skill and care with which it had been carved showed in the warm glow of its planks and the careful detail of its ornaments and rigging.

“This is the Mary Eileen,” Captain Oros said, his chest swelling with pride. “She was the best command I ever had. A fast ship, a trim ship, the best ship in the Palanthian fleet, and I the youngest captain ever to earn so prestigious a command. I sailed her for five years, the best years of my life, but I drove her aground in a storm west of the Teeth of Chaos, and before I knew what was happening a pirate galley crewed by minotaurs was upon us. I lost all hands, and was myself captured by the minotaurs and chained to an oar. After a weary three months, the minotaurs were in turn rammed by a warship of the Knights of Takhisis, near Port Balifor. I was able to free myself and my bench companion from the chains and escape the sinking ship. The Knights took us captive, but my family paid my ransom, and I was released. I paid for the release of my bench companion, for we had become close mates in those three months aboard the minotaur galley. That companion was Kolav, and he has been my servant to this day.”

“She’s a fine ship,” the elf agreed as he eyed the model. “It broke my heart to lose her,” Oros said. He grew quiet, and spent quite a long while staring thoughtfully at the model. Suddenly, he laughed, and reaching into the cabinet he pulled the model out and placed it atop the table where they had dined.

“Look here,” he said as he pointed at the crow’s nest at the top of the main mast. There, carefully balanced on the lip of the basket, stood a tiny gull made of carefully folded paper. The paper was old and yellowed, as though the toy gull had stood there for many years, Wings poised for a flight that had never begun.

“Alynthia placed that there,” Oros chuckled. “By the gods, it must have been twenty years ago. She took three voyages aboard the Mary Eileen, she and her father. I had a bosun’s mate aboard the ship then. He used to thrill Alynthia with his little animals, which he made by folding scraps of paper. Poor old chap. He went down with the ship. I was just glad Alynthia wasn’t aboard that day. I haven’t been to sea since.”

At these words, the door jerked open. Alynthia appeared there, a scowl darkening her face as if she suspected she was the subject of the conversation she had just interrupted. She stepped back, motioning to the elf. “Come with me!” she snapped.

Draining his glass to the lees, Cael clunked his glass to the table. He wiped his lips.

“I am ready,” he said.