The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Twenty-Three

This way. In here,” Alynthia whispered urgently as Cael hurried up the rickety stairs. She stood at the stair’s top, just beside a door and beneath a hanging sign painted with a large spreading tree. Below them, booted feet marched heavily down an alley slick with offal. Swords clanged against armored thighs, and spears clashed hollowly on shields as a patrol of Knights of Neraka passed almost beneath their feet.

“Where are we?” Cael asked as Alynthia swung open the door. A wave of light, noise, and heat, and a greasy odor of fried potatoes struck him full in the face. Just to the right of the door, a long bar stretched curvingly away into smoky shadows. Behind it stood a huge man with unshaven jowls and a great belly stretching his beer-stained apron. He looked at the two of them expectantly but said nothing as he pulled a pint and slid it down the bar to one of his customers.

“The Solace Inn,” Alynthia answered. They stepped inside. The door, hanging on titled hinges, banged shut behind them. “One of ours. We’ll be safe here.”

The common room of the inn was large and bean-shaped, wrapping around an irregularly curved wall painted to resemble the trunk of a massive tree. The beams of the roof were likewise made to look like tree limbs. About two-thirds of the way back into the room, a large stone fireplace crackled with flame, making the warm, early summer night even-more stifling, but it proved. a welcome sight to two adventurers who had just come through the Shoikan Grove. Directly across from the fireplace, a long narrow table was shoved almost up against the curved wall. It left a wide empty space in the center of the room.

“Some people call this place the Inn of the Next to the Last Home,” Alynthia said with a laugh as she slid into one of the six chairs surrounding the long table.

“Why is that?” Cael asked with perfect seriousness. He dropped into the chair beside her.

“I assumed you would know.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because… your father…”

“Oh, that,” he said offhandedly. “I have only once visited the village he frequented, and that long ago. Is there a waitress?” He glanced around as he pounded the table with his fist.

The inn was uncommonly empty this evening. A few customers huddled over their drinks at the bar, while a pair of dwarves sat at a table near the door and spoke in muted whispers, and an old man in a battered hat snored in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Cael again rapped his knuckles against their table and shouted for wine.

Behind the bar, a pair of doors swung open, emitting a great fat slug of a woman. She crept around the bar and slowly approached their table. Her hair, once red as a bonfire, was shot through with silvery gray locks, while her huge freckled bosom hung half out of her frowzy dress. She smiled wantonly at the elf as she neared, revealing mossy brown teeth.

“Wine for me and my friend,” Alynthia said to the woman. “We’ll pay with circles of steel.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, madam,” the woman said, bowing a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

“What was that?” Cael asked.

“They call her Big Tika. By paying with ‘circles of steel,’ I informed her that we are of the Guild.”

“But I thought-” Cael began, before a warning glance from Alynthia silenced him. The innkeeper approached, a pair of brown crockery mugs dangling from his fist. He clapped them onto the table, then drew a bottle from his apron and filled the cups to the brim with a thick yellow fluid.

“Best of the house, Captains,” he said proudly.

“I am sure,” Cael said uncertainly as he eyed his cup. He raised it to his lips, sniffed, sipped, winced, and set the cup on the table. Alynthia took a long draught of hers and sighed.

“It is good, no?” the innkeeper asked.

“Very,” Alynthia said. “Now leave us.”

“Yes, Captain.” The man bowed his way to the kitchen.

“What irks me,” Alynthia said while thoughtfully staring into her cup, “is that we’re still in the Old City. We can’t pass the gates, not tonight, so we’re stuck here, unless you care to hazard another journey through the sewers. They’ll be full of Knights and city guards.”

“Not particularly,” Cael answered. “Where would we go? Back to the Guild so that my sentence can be executed?”

Alynthia shook her head, then took another long draught of her wine. She set the cup down with a clunk and scrubbed her lips with the back of her hand. “I take full responsibility for our failure,” she said. “They cannot blame you. Oros will give us another chance.”

“What of Mulciber?”

“She is not unreasonable. No, the only reason she would order your death is if you tried to escape or if you betrayed us.”

“You keep calling Mulciber ‘she’. Why is that?” Cael asked. “The voice I heard that morning when I was judged was neither male nor female, and I can find no one who has ever seen her. Have you?”

“Yes…” Alynthia said hesitantly. “At least, I have been in her presence, seen her form shrouded in robes. But it was dark. Only Oros has actually seen her face to face, and he won’t describe her except to say that she is female. He cannot speak of their first meeting without a shudder.”

“All the more reason to fear for my life,” Cael grumbled. “You don’t even know if she is human, elf, or dwarf. She might be a monster or a creature from the Abyss.”

“You have nothing to fear,” Alynthia said with a smile as she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Cael laughed.

Her smile faded. “I thought you might,” she said indignantly.

“I am sorry,” Cael chuckled. “I just keep thinking of that night at the home of Gaeord uth Wotan, when I stole the dragonflower pollen from your bodice. You wanted to kill me. Now you want me to trust you. I learned a long time ago, before you were born, to trust no one.”

Slowly, her smile returned. She propped her elbow on the table and set her chin thoughtfully on her fist, eyeing the elf with something akin to curiosity. “When and where were you born?” she asked rather dreamily.

“I don’t know the whole story,” Cael answered evasively. “I never asked my mother and she was reluctant to talk about it. As for when I was born and how old I am, time has little meaning for me. Humans’ lives burn so swiftly, it is a wonder to me how they accomplish so many great things, and so many terrible things. Elves live their lives slowly and are not in the same hurry to accomplish or destroy.”

“Were you born before the Chaos War, or even the War of the Lance?” she asked.

“My first memory was of my mother standing by the sea, gazing at the horizon. A storm was blowing up, and the sea was gray as iron. She looked sad, because she had just received some news. She said to me, ‘The humans are at war again.’ I assume she meant the war in which Palanthas was attacked by the Blue Lady’s army, about seventy-seven years ago.”

Alynthia’s smile widened, her dark eyes sparkled. “The things you must have seen. I would love for you to tell me about them some time.”

A bang at the inn’s entrance startled them. “Perhaps another time,” Cael muttered as he rose from his chair.

Sir Arach Jannon stood at the bar, speaking to the innkeeper. Two of his fingers were splinted and his whole hand was swathed in a large linen mitten. He shook a finger of his good hand in the face of the innkeeper, who eyed the offending digit as if he wished to clamp his teeth upon it. Behind the gray-robed Thorn Knight, a pair of Knights of the Lily yawned and leaned on their spears.

“Is there a back way out of here?” Cael asked quickly.

“Better than just a way out. Follow me,” she said as she took him by the hand and pulled him against the wall.

Behind their table, an alcove in the false tree wall created a dark niche, in which sat a chair. Alynthia pulled the chair out of the way and stepped into this hollow. “We call this ‘Raistlin’s Niche,’ ” she said. She pressed against a false knot in the wall. The back of the niche opened slightly, revealing a dark room beyond. She pulled Cael through and silently shut the entrance behind them.

They found themselves in a cozy chamber large enough to accommodate three or four people. Alynthia quickly lit a candle, and by its light Cael saw a pair of low beds pushed against the inwardly curving wall. Sacks of dried beans were stacked in the middle of the floor, atop which lay a door that served as a table. Three chairs stood around it, and a fourth was pushed against the opposite wall beneath a small shelf. A bucket beside the chair was filled with stale water, while on the shelf stood a row of bottles, some corked, others obviously empty.

“We can hide here for days, if need be,” Alynthia whispered as she placed the candle in a bronze dish and set it on the table. “But we shan’t need to stay so long. When that cursed Knight is gone, we can be on our way.”

“How will we know?” Cael asked.

“There are peep holes in the wall, here and here,” she said as she pointed out a pair of inconspicuous pinpricks in the wall. Neither hole was at eye level, probably to prevent their casual detection from the opposite side.

Cael stooped over and placed his eye to one of the holes. Through it, he saw the Thorn Knight raise his good hand as though to strike the innkeeper, who cringed and pleaded his innocence. With a wave of disgust, Arach Jannon dismissed the man and ordered his guards to spread out and search the room. One approached the pair of dwarves, who merely shook their heads and continued their conversation, ignoring further attempts to question them. The other Knight prodded those at the bar. Most answered his questions briefly, paid their bills, and quickly exited the inn.

Meanwhile, Sir Arach meandered among the inn’s tables and chairs until he found himself before the long table across from the fireplace.

Cael felt a hand fumble at his sleeve, then tug on it. “I see him!” he whispered in answer to Alynthia’s frantic gestures.

Sir Arach eyed their two mugs of wine, still sitting on the table where they had left them. Slowly, he approached them, then sat down at the table in the very chair that Alynthia had vacated only moments before. He placed his good hand in the seat of Cael’s chair as though feeling for warmth, then returned his attention to their mugs.

“He’s figuring it out!” Alynthia whispered. Cael nodded and gripped his staff.

The Thorn Knight lifted Alynthia’s mug to his nose and inhaled the scent of the wine. His forehead wrinkled into a scowl, as though the smell offended him. He then took a small taste of the wine, turned his head, and spat quickly. Something there caught his attention, for he bent over for some minutes examining the scuffs and dents in the floor’s ancient wooden planks.

Finally, he sat up, a puzzled expression on his face. He glanced around the room as though assuring himself of the fact that there were no other exits. One of the Knights emerged from the kitchen and shook his head at Sir Arach’s inquiring glance. The Thorn Knight sat back in the chair and allowed his gaze to settle once more on the mugs before him.

“Is there a way out of this room?” Cael whispered.

“There is a trapdoor through the roof.”

“You had better open it.”

Sir Arach leaned forward and lifted Cael’s mug from the table. He swirled the golden liquid, watching it thoughtfully. Slowly, a smile bent his thin lips. He called to his guards. They hurried to his side, one of them sheepishly wiping beer froth from his lip.

“Move this table!“ the Thorn Knight ordered. His guard quickly obeyed, shoving aside the table and sending Alynthia’s mug crashing to the floor. Sir Arach then stooped and quickly examined the area of the floor once covered by the table.

Satisfied that no trapdoor let through the floor here, his eyes shot to the roof above them. “Prod it with your spears!” he snapped. “Check for trapdoors. They were here, at this table, only moments ago.”

The Knights stabbed at the thick-beamed ceiling, but discovered nothing. Sir Arach’s gaze drifted to the wall. Cael started back, feeling as though he’d met the Thorn Knight’s probing stare and been discovered. “He knows we are here!” he hissed.

As though to confirm this, the wall thundered under the blows of the Knight’s mailed fists.

“Hurry!” Alynthia whispered. She stood in the chair by the wall, directly beneath a small square opening in the ceiling. “Follow me!” She leaped, caught the edge of the hole, and pulled herself through.

Cael shoved his staff up through the hole. Alynthia caught it, and Cael dragged himself onto the roof just as Raistlin’s Niche burst open and the Knights shoved into the room below. “After them!” Sir Arach screeched, pointing upwards.

Cael reached for the trapdoor to close it. A spear shot up, grazing his arm and rending his sleeve. Fingers appeared on the edge of the hole, and a head struggled upwards. Alynthia kicked the door and leaped atop it. A howl of pain from below brought a fiendish grin to her face.

“This is fun!” she growled as she jumped on the trapdoor, hearing the satisfying crack of snapping finger bones. Freed of its impediment, the door jarred shut. She slid a small bolt home, locking it Spears hammered against it from the underside, rattling the hinges, but for the moment it would hold.

Meanwhile, Cael clambered to the roofs peak. Loosened tiles slid away behind him and shattered on the alley cobblestones below. He waited while Alynthia followed him. She was nimbler than he at rooftop acrobatics and reached his side with hardly a sound.

“Where is your precious Guild now?” Cael asked her as he looked out over the city. To his left, the old city wall curved away towards the waterfront.

Alynthia ignored his comment. “Let’s get off this roof before they surround the building.”

They slid together down the opposite slope of the roof until they reached a brick chimney just at the roofs edge. Alynthia quickly unwound the coil of rope from her pouch and wrapped it around the chimney. She tied it off with a fast sailor’s hitch, then dropped the remaining coils over the edge.

Cael grabbed the rope in one hand, clasped his staff under the other arm, and swung out over the alley. Using his free hand and both feet, he slid down the rope. He was quickly joined by Alynthia, who was just above him.

They had not descended half the distance when a patrol of Knights appeared at the alley’s end. Cael stopped to watch them, but Alynthia, unaware of the danger, continued her descent and bumped into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. He fought to maintain his grip, faltered and fell a few feet, then caught himself by one hand on the sill of an open window. Without thinking, he tossed his staff into the room, then pulled himself up and through.

He regained his footing just as a candle flared. A pair of frightened gray eyes stared at him over the edge of a blanket spread over a small, rickety bed. He began to apologize when the look of fear changed to one of recognition, then surprise.

“Cael?” said a girl’s voice from beneath the blanket. “Cael Ironstaff?”

“At your service,” he answered reflexively. “Do I know you?”

But the blanket flew back, and a chit of a girl, dressed only in a gauzy shift, flew from the bed and wrapped her arms around him. “How ever did you find me?” Claret cried as she squeezed the breath from him. “Oh, it is so romantic of you!”

Alynthia swung into the room and landed with a thump beside them. “Cael, what are you… oh, I see!” she said as she placed one fist on her hip.

Claret spun around and glared at the female intruder. “Cael, who is this person?” she asked suspiciously.

“Alynthia Krath-Mal, meet Claret. Claret, Alynthia,” Cael hurriedly introduced.

“Of all the houses and all the people in Palanthas, you drop into the room of someone you know, and a girl at that! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you planned this,” Alynthia accused.

“It’s destiny!” Claret answered, defending the elf. “I take it you’re in trouble, else you’d not have intruded so boldly upon my sleep.”

“Gods,” Cael muttered “Another woman who speaks like a bad romance.”

“Do not fear. I can help you,” Claret continued without hearing him. She gazed up at the elf with her big, soulful gray eyes.

Alynthia shot Cael a glance.

He shrugged. “Well, she did help me before,” he said.

“There is a little known door out of this building. My father doesn’t even know about it,” Claret said. “It’s secret! I discovered it myself. It leads to a staircase that descends to a tunnel that crosses under the city wall and comes up into a building on Smith’s Alley. The secret door is in the cellar. Come on, I’ll show you the way.” She took Cael in one hand, her candle in the other, and pulled him from the room.

“My parents are asleep,” she whispered as she led them down a narrow hall. “A dragon couldn’t wake my father, but we should be careful not to disturb mother. Say!” She stopped and gazed suspiciously at the elf. “What happened to your limp?”

“I was in disguise,” Cael whispered conspiratorially.

Claret smiled knowingly. “Oh! How clever!” She resumed her tiptoe escort. Cael looked over his shoulder at Alynthia, a smug smile on his face.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she hissed.

“Have you any other suggestion?”

“Shhhhhh!” Claret scolded. She paused at an opening where a stair descended into darkness. “I thought you two were supposed to be stealthy thieves.”

“My apologies,” Cael whispered.

The stair led down two flights to a low, damp cellar. The floor was of hard-packed earth. A few barrels and numerous rotting crates lined one wall. The remainder of the room was occupied by heaps of old furniture covered with moldy sheets or moth-eaten blankets.

Claret paused near the bottom of the stair. Above her, there was a heavy beam that supported the floor of the room above. Nailed to this beam was a rusty horseshoe. Claret reached up and gave it a turn. One of the flagstones at the base of the stairs popped up. Cael helped her slide it aside, revealing a narrow stair cut into the earth. A few feet down, the clay turned to hard stone.

Claret started down the stairs, only to be stopped by the elf’s hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes steady.

“You’ve done enough,” Cael said softly. “You should go back to bed.”

“But I want to go. It’s exciting,” the girl answered. “I want to go with you, Cael.”

“The people chasing us want to kill us,” Alynthia scolded. “This isn’t a game.”

“Claret understands that,” Cael said to Alynthia before the glowering girl could make her reply. “She is braver than her age and experience allow. Were she free to follow us, I would gladly have her in my company. But she has a family, a mother and father who would miss her, and brothers and sisters, too, I’ll warrant. She has to take care of them, if danger comes.”

Claret stared sulkily down into the dark stairwell. “I suppose,” she finally agreed. “There wouldn’t be anyone to do their laundry.”

“Well, let’s be going then,” Alynthia snapped impatiently.

“I thank you, dearest Claret, for your aid,” Cael said to the girl.

“You are most welcome, kind sir,” Claret responded. With a deep curtsey, she stepped aside to let them pass. Alynthia pushed past Cael and descended into the gloom.

“Wait! If I’m not going, I must tell you something,” Claret said as she gave Cael her candle. “Go down these stairs, then along the passage. Be careful, as sometimes there are rats. Then, up the stairs at the other end. They let into a cellar like this one, only it is empty. In the cellar are two stairs, one of wood and one of stone. Follow the stone stairs to a door. It opens into Smith’s Alley.”

“I thank you again. Now, get you back to bed, dear girl, before your parents discover your absence,” Cael laughed as he started down the stairs. Claret touched his arm.

“If you escape with your life, you will return?” she softly asked.

“Most assuredly,” the elf solemnly promised.