The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cael and Alynthia hurried along the low passage. It ended abruptly at a steep stair. Alynthia scaled it quickly, then paused at the top to listen. Satisfied that no one was in the room above, she quietly opened a small wooden trapdoor and climbed into an empty cellar, finding things much as Claret had described them. Cael clambered up behind her, closed the trapdoor, and eyed the beautiful captain of thieves as if to say, Well, we made it!

“Unless I am much mistaken, they will have widened their search to include the whole city,” she said, deflating his pride for a moment. “I am safe enough now because most people know me as the wife of Oros uth Jakar, a leading citizen of the city. But you, my friend, are in mortal danger. Mistress Jenna recognized you, as did our friend Arach Jannon. They’ll not let you escape this city, if they can help it.” She looked him over, then shook her head. “Do you thinks you can make it to the waterfront without being captured?”

Cael nodded. Obviously she expected him to obey her unhesitatingly, and, surprising himself, he realized that was exactly what he would do. He felt proud to have earned some measure of her trust, yet also uncomfortable with the idea. He wished she would finish her speech and let him be on his way.

“My husband,” she said, pausing on the last word for emphasis, “has a ship moored at Blue Crab Pier. She’s called the Dark Horizon. He’ll hide you below decks until we can decide what to do with you.”

“Very well, Captain,” Cael said.

Alynthia smiled, her dark eyes twinkling by the light of his candle. “That’s what I like to hear!” she barked happily as she gripped his arm. “Obedience! It suits you well, freelance.” Her hand lingered there for a moment as the smile faded from her eyes. She quickly turned away.

They mounted the stone stair and paused at the door at its top. Outside, they heard the sounds of revelry. Smith’s Alley was perhaps the seediest corner of the city of Palanthas. Few folk would want to be caught dead here after dark, even a Captain of the Thieves’ Guild, for the people who inhabited this narrow, dank street were as clannish as dwarves and just as suspicious of outsiders. They protected their own and sometimes preyed on those foolish enough to venture into their domain. The people here had little to fear, even from the martial lords of the city. A contingent of Knights sent into Smith’s Alley was likely to suffer a barrage of rotting vegetables if they were lucky, stones if they tried to assert their authority too strictly. When things became too hot even for the denizens of Smith’s Alley, they were like rats, vanishing into a thousand holes.

“I’ll go first,” Alynthia whispered. “I’ll head south, towards Temple Row. You head north to the dock. Don’t get caught!” she finished sternly. “If you’re captured… better you die fighting. They’ll torture you for what you know.”

“I’ll tell them that I am a freelance,” Cael boldly asserted, then finished with a shrug. “It won’t be a lie either.”

“Good luck to you, Cael Ironstaff,” Alynthia said as she took his hand and pressed it. “I’ll try to visit you tomorrow. Don’t let Oros bore you with his stories.”

With those words, she pushed the door open and hurried through, closing it behind her. Cael listened as her footsteps faded into the distance. He stood for a moment on the stairs, staring blankly at the light of his candle. He felt strange, as light as a wisp of smoke, yet his feet seemed heavy. It seemed as though, with each receding footstep, something was being drawn out of him.

“What am I doing?” he mumbled to himself. Then, shaking off his last uncertainties, he dashed out Claret’s candle against the stone step, opened the door, and stepped boldly into Smith’s Alley, trying to look as if he belonged.

The alley was dark, though not to his elven eyes. His vision adjusted to the darkness, and he scanned his surroundings. All around him, leaning through dark open windows or overhanging balconies, people silently stared down at him, like a conclave of ghosts. In one window, a soft glow swelled as a wrinkled old man drew at the pipe between his teeth. He stared at Cael without seeming to care one way or another.

To the right lay the northern way, the way to the docks and Oros uth Jakar’s ship. To the left and about two bowshots away, there appeared to be some kind of party in progress. Flares were burning from the balconies and a crowd had gathered in the alley. Their shadows leaped and danced wildly, like satyrs in a drunken revel, and there was music playing, weird and high, shrill pipes and tambours thrumming. He noticed a lone, familiar figure trying to blend with the revelry.

“Alynthia,” Cael said to himself. “What is she doing?”

As he watched, several figures broke away from the main group of dancers. They surrounded Alynthia. One touched her. She spun, and another grasped her from behind. Cael saw the dagger flash in her fist. Her assailant fell, grasping his belly. The music broke off and a mob swarmed around her, yelling.

Cael found himself running toward them, desperate to rescue Alynthia. They were too far away. He’d not reach them in time. Foolishly, he saw, Alynthia was facing them, brandishing her dagger.

As Cael neared, the mob suddenly began to disperse. A wild idea came into Cael’s mind that they had seen him and were frightened. They bolted in all directions, flying through windows, slamming doors, up drain spouts, down cellars, and into the sewers. In ten heartbeats, the crowd vanished as though it had never been. Only the lights on the balcony, still flaring into the night, remained. Into this light strode a party of Knights of Neraka. There were five Knights, all heavily armed with cocked crossbows, swords, and heavy shields.

Cael slipped into the shadows beneath a stair, barely ten paces away. The Knights warily approached Alynthia, who still stood her ground. Her weapon had disappeared.

“Good sirs!” she called to them in a strained voice. “Glad I am that you happened this way. Surely, you have saved my life from those ruffians.”

“Mistress Alynthia?” the lead Knight asked uncertainly.

“The same,” she answered. “I am the wife of Oros uth Jakar, as you know. He will certainly be grateful for your timely arrival here. I am sure you will be rewarded.”

The captain of the Knights remained wary, his sword drawn but dangling at his side. “What do you in this place at such an hour?” he asked. The other Knights kept careful watch over the shadows around them.

“I… I indulged too freely this eve and became confused on my homeward trek,” she stammered. “I did not know where I had ventured until it was too late.”

“May I examine your papers,” the captain said.

“Why do you need to see my papers?” Alynthia asked.

“It is the law, Mistress.”

“Do you know who my husband is?”

“Yes, Mistress. I still must see your papers.”

Reluctantly, Alynthia withdrew a small wallet from her belt and handed it to the man. He took it and stepped back, nudging one of his fellow Knights, who casually but obviously trained his crossbow on the beautiful captain of thieves.

“We have been searching for a thief this night,” the captain said as he turned so that the light of the balcony flares might fall across the identification papers in his hand. “An elf, with red hair worn quite long. A friend of yours, we are told. His name is Cael Ironstaff.”

“Ah, yes, Cael! We dined together earlier tonight. Why, What has he done?” Alynthia asked.

“He may have been witness to a crime,” the captain said as he thumbed through Alynthia’s papers. “You dined with him, you say. What time did you part company?”

“Just before sunset.”

“Where did you sup?”

“With my husband, at a place called The Portal, in the Old City. I fail to see why you are questioning me. I thank you for your rescue, but I must be on my way. My husband is expecting me.”

The captain closed the leather wallet with a snap. “Forgive us, Mistress,” he said. “Your papers are not in order. You must come with us.”

“Not in order?” she cried.

“There is no stamp showing your exit from the Old City this evening.” He took her by the arm.

“But they must have… I didn’t…” she stammered.

“I am sure it will all be cleared up. Nevertheless…”

Cael had watched all this with a growing sense of panic. She’d be questioned, suspected. They could prove nothing, but it didn’t matter. Sometimes mere suspicion was enough. Not even her husband could protect her, nor would he dare to try, for fear of exposing the Guild.

Impulsively he stepped from the shadows into the light of the flares. “Did I hear someone mention my name? Cael Ironstaff, son of Tanis Half-Elven, at your service.” He bowed with sweeping arrogance to the startled Knights even as he gripped his staff.

“Grab him!” the captain of the Knights shouted as he flung Alynthia aside. Grinning, the Knights swept in a circle around the lone elf. He clutched his staff tighter, holding it awkwardly like a sheathed sword at his side.

“Mistress Alynthia, you may go,” Cael said as the Knights closed around him.

“Mistress Alynthia, if you flee, you will as much as prove your complicity,” the captain growled without turning. “You, elf. Surrender your weapon. You obviously have no concept of how to use it anyway. A staff is no weapon against swords.”

“Mistress Alynthia, please, run!” Cael shouted.

Without thinking, she turned and started to flee. But she had not gone a dozen paces before she stopped. She whirled around to watch the drama unfold.

She was not the only one. A second pair of eyes watched from the door of the building through which they had entered the alley. A score more watched from the balconies, rooftops, and surrounding windows.

Unmindful of his observers, Cael turned his full attention to his opponents.

“A staff is no match for swords,” he said. “Though my shalifi showed on more than one occasion that, properly wielded, a staff might overwhelm a good swordsman, even a vaunted Knight of Takhisis.”

“Knight of Neraka! Pah, arrogant elf!” one of the Knights spat. He set aside his crossbow and drew his sword. “We’ll see about that.” The others followed his example.

“Then again,” Cael argued, “he often told me never to match wood ’gainst steel. ’Twere better far to meet a swordsman with sword. And so he gave me this.”

Cael drew from the staff a long bright sword. Indeed, it seemed almost as if the staff had transformed into a sword as his hand passed along it, for no empty scabbard remained. The hilt of the sword was wrought of the same black wood as the staff, and there was no crosspiece to protect his hands. In the pommel, a green jewel, glowed like sunlight through green waters.

“An illegal weapon, and magical to boot!” the Captain snarled. “It will make a fine trophy. Let’s test its mettle.”

As one, the black-armored warriors proffered the Knight’s salute to an enemy. Cael stole the moment to cut down the Knight closest to him while the man was involved in foolish ritual. He seemed only to caress the man’s belly with the edge of his sword, but the steel rings of the Knights’ mail parted, and the coils of his belly flopped out onto the cobblestones. He pitched forward with a surprised cry, trying to hold in his guts.

“A thousand pardons, Sir Knight,” Cael said with a smirk.

The rage-filled Knights roared and advanced as one. Cael dodged lightly over the fallen Knight, attacking the next closest. He parried the man’s overhead swing, flipping the Knight’s own blade back into his face. His iron helm prevented a split skull, but blood poured from a wicked gash above his eyes. He staggered back, blinded by his own blood.

Two Knights rushed Cael now, while their leader held back, shouting orders. They came at him side by side, so the elf slipped to his left, blocking the high thrust of one by placing himself opposite the other. At the same time, he lightly knocked aside the low thrust of the second Knight. Like a snake, he followed his block with a short chopping stroke that disarmed his opponent. Blood fountained from the remaining stump. The first Knight tried to shove his screaming companion aside while simultaneously delivering a high slash at the elf’s neck. Cael ducked this blow, thrust his blade completely through the still-screaming Knight, and pinked his companion in the heart before he’d recovered from his failed attack. Both slumped together in death’s embrace.

Now, the blood-blinded Knight staggered forward, blinking furiously. He aimed a cut at Cael’s forearm, but the elf’s blade caught the attack, slid round it, and quivered home. It caught the Knight in open-mouthed surprise. Steel grated against teeth as Cael withdrew his blade and let the man fall, already dead, to the cobblestones.

The elf spun, facing the captain, just in time to see the man raise a crossbow and fire. Cael dodged, while at the same time his hand leaped up, as though jerked by a string, and caught the bolt a hairsbreadth from his chest. He stared at the bolt in amazement. The hand that gripped the deadly dart glowed with a yellow light, which quickly faded. The gloves he’d taken from Jenna’s vault, he suddenly realized. They must be magic!

A slow grin spread across his face as he regained his composure and tossed aside the crossbow bolt.

“Gods!” the captain swore, staring in horror at the elf. He dropped his spent crossbow and drew his blade. “Do you know the penalty… ?” he began. “Gods! Takhisis, my Dark Queen, help me!” he swore anew.

The elf smiled at him and waved his sword as if to say, Come on then, if you are coming.

“I cannot in honor flee you,” the Knight said, “but know that you are undermatched and gain no glory in this battle.”

“I seek no glory,” Cael responded. “There is no reward in the death of another. So say the elves.”

“Then surrender,” the captain said.

“I cannot.”

“Neither may you go free.”

“Then attack me, for free I shall be.”

Without saluting, the captain raised his sword and charged. Cael stepped into the attack and with a single lightning quick stroke of his blade unseamed the man. His still-beating heart swelled through the rent in his armor. Cael stepped back. The Knight hugged himself pathetically, and toppled to the ground. Cael looked down and watched the darkness close over the man’s eyes.

Alynthia, still standing in the midst of the alley, was thunderstruck. A staff that became a glowing blade, and the freelance elf a deadly master of it.

Abruptly, she was shoved aside. “Out of the way, dog,” a voice growled. She fell into a pile of garbage heaped against the city wall. Looking up angrily to see her assailant, she winced and crawled deeper into the safety of the offal. A regiment of Knights tramped past. One or two glanced at her and laughed, but no one seemed to recognize her, for which she was heartily glad.

At the head of the Knights strode gray-robed Arach Jannon, bearing his bandage-swathed hand like a standard before him. “That’s the thief!” he shouted, pointing at Cael. “By the gods, he’s slain our brethren!”

Cael was taken aback by the force of arms arrayed against him. So much trouble, so many deaths already, and for what? There would be more to come, his own most likely. He passed his hand over the blade of the sword, changing it back to an ordinary staff.

“I want him alive!” Sir Arach commanded. “A hundred steel coins to the one who brings me his staff.”

The Knights poured forward. As they came, though, a great noise arose around them. Rocks, stones, bricks, and roof tiles rained down into the alley. A fireball erupted as a flask of burning pitch shattered in their midst. Screams, sickening thuds, and resounding clangs were heard as stone and brick struck flesh or bounded off upraised shields. From their rooftops and windows, the denizens of Smith’s Alley rose up, hurling curses, and anything else that was handy, down on the invading Knights.

Cael stole that moment to duck away. He fled north, leaving the Knights to their riot-quelling.

A pottery jar exploded on the cobblestones near Alynthia, raking her with tiny razor-sharp fragments. She clambered from the refuse heap and fled south toward Temple Row. As she ran, a high-pitched voice shouted arcane words. A thunderous boom shook the narrow alley, and behind her a lightning bolt exploded against the side of a building. People screamed. Flames leaped up, turning the sky an angry red. She stared back for one moment longer, then slipped away into the shadows as alarm bells rang out all over the city.