The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Thirty-Two

Let’s have another look at your map,” Cael whispered. They had followed the sound of Mulciber’s footsteps for some time, and the passage had gone on straight as a swordblade through the solid rock for many more steps than either thief remembered seeing on the map. A quick glance at the floor plan confirmed their suspicions. They were now in some new construction, one that probably began at that staircase they had passed a minute ago, one that wasn’t covered on the map. Mulciber’s footsteps led this way, and they were determined to follow.

As Alynthia folded up the map and stowed it in a pouch, Cael asked, “What would Mulciber be doing here?”

His beautiful companion shrugged, her dark eyes filled with worry, but she did not voice her thoughts. Instead, she hurried onward, her soft boots making little sound as she walked. Cael followed.

Eventually, the passage brought them to a crossroads. Directly ahead, the passage sloped upward, illuminated at regular intervals by torches set into the walls. To the left, a stairway descended steeply into darkness. To the right, another passage joined this one. They paused, listening, but were unable to determine the direction of the echoing footsteps. Alynthia swore softly in indecision.

“I don’t like the feel of those stairs,” Cael said as he peered into the darkness. “There’s a lion’s den smell about them.”

“Straight ahead, then,” Alynthia said. “That way, at least, is lit by torches.”

They hurried up the slope. Cael, the taller of the two and likely to be the first to spot anything ahead, now took the lead. The slope only took them a short distance, no more than a bowshot, before it leveled out again. In the distance, a brighter light shone between thick pillars. They slowed their steps, cautiously approaching the end of the passage and entering a cavernous chamber brightly lit from above.

They found themselves on a pillared balcony overlooking a wide circular arena. The floor was scattered with straw, and beside some of the pillars stood barrels of tools: long brooms and brushes, mops, and rakes. Numerous cedar buckets, most of them filled with water, were stacked near the balcony’s edge. Also near the edge stood a pair of fine, tooled-leather dragon-saddles.

Clearly, they were still underground, but this place could well have served as a coliseum, had there been seats for the spectators. Instead, there was only the one balcony, six pillars deep around its entire circumference. Twenty feet below the balcony was a sawdust floor ringed by a stone wall. Into the wall had been cut numerous tall archways, which, by their darkness, spoke of cavernous chambers beyond. Above, the stone arched in a great dome, the top of which was covered by a peaked wooden roof. Magical globes of light floated and hovered about the massive chamber, some meandering among the pillars of the balcony, others gliding mere inches from the floor. One or two bumped about the wooden roof as though trying to find an escape.

The air here had a peculiar reek to it. It was a stable-smell: hay and sawdust, leather and grease, saddle soap. There was, however, no odor of horses. Rather, something more pungent pierced the air, sharper in the nostrils, an ozone smell, and the coppery smell of fear. The two thieves paused for a moment, nodding to one another in silent realization of where they were. This was the Dark Knights’ dragon stable. The place was nothing more than a rumor on the streets of Palanthas, but those rumors spoke of a place where blue dragons were housed, ready to fly to war at a moment’s notice. Rumors also said that wyverns, the small vicious cousins of true dragons, were kept here to fly as couriers to any region of Ansalon.

Warily now, realizing the true extent of their danger, Cael crept up to the edge of the balcony. At first, the room had appeared empty, but as he gazed over the ledge, he saw that the black-robed master of the Thieves’ Guild was standing directly below him, his arms folded across his massive chest. Alynthia slid up beside Cael to view their great leader. Her dark eyes burned as she gazed down at Mulciber.

She recoiled, pulling the elf away from the edge of the balcony. From beneath a darkened arch opposite the chamber where Mulciber stood, two Dark Knights appeared. One wore the black armor of a Knight of the Lily, the other the gray robes of a Thorn Knight. The two stopped just beneath the arch, one resting a gauntleted hand on the pommel of his long sword, the other folding his hands into his robes.

Even from this distance, Alynthia and Cael recognized the Knights. Sir Kinsaid’s eyes gleamed like agates as he stared across the chamber at the dark-robed figure of Mulciber, while Arach Jannon’s narrow visage peered out from the depths of his gray hood.

Alynthia trembled as her fingers dug painfully into the elf’s shoulder. “Will there be a fight?” she whispered in his pointed ear. “Should we help Mulciber?”

From below came Sir Kinsaid’s thundering voice. “It has been a long time since last we met, Avaril,” the Lord Knight said.

Alynthia stiffened at these words, all the illusion draining from her eyes.

“Aye,” came the answer, a deep voice, no longer the harsh, vaguely feminine croak of Mulciber.

“Oros!” Cael hissed. He pried himself from Alynthia’s frozen grasp and crawled to the edge of the balcony, but he feared to draw too near lest the Dark Knights spot him. He backed away until he reached the shadows of the columns, leaving Alynthia huddled on the floor, staring dumbly at her own hands.

As he ghosted among the columns, circling the huge chamber, the conversation continued below.

“The same deal as before, old friend?” asked Sir Arach. “You turn over everyone, and in exchange, you take your pick of the treasures.”

“Aye,” the dark-robed figure answered grimly. “It’s a cycle of nature.”

“Everyone,” the Thorn Knight reaffirmed. “Including the elf and his accomplice.”

Cael crept through the shadowy columns to the edge of the balcony.

The dark-robed figure pulled back his cowl, revealing the ashen face of the Captain of the Eighth Circle of the Guild. He swallowed, then nodded his assent. “What must be must be,” Oros said. “I have never been one to shrink from the hard realities.”

“What will you offer to assure your cooperation?” Sir Kinsaid growled. Possibly, he was as disgusted by the thief’s betrayal as was Cael. “This time I will brook no return of the Guild. This time, it ends.”

Oros opened his robe and swung a heavy bag forward, dropping it with a metallic thud on the floor. Cael crept closer to the edge of the balcony.

“Coins?” the Lord Knight of Palanthas laughed without mirth. “Is that the limit of your imagination? With all the treasures in your hoard, you bring coins. You underestimate me, Captain Oros,” he ended sarcastically.

“I do apologize, my Lord,” said the black-hooded figure.

An angry Cael looked back along the curve of the balcony and saw Alynthia staring at him, silent tears soaking her mask. As quickly as it had come, now, his anger cooled. He knew his place was beside her. He began to edge away to safety.

At the same time, the staff in his hand began to vibrate. The vibration rose to a barely heard hum and then to an audible buzz.

“What is that noise?” Sir Arach asked sharply.

What indeed? Cael wondered. The buzzing grew steadily louder while he crept back to the columns as rapidly and stealthily as his elven feet could hustle.

“I know that noise,” a voice thundered from beneath his feet. “All my kind know that sound. We hear it in our darkest nightmares. It is the sound of a sword of power!”

Numbing fear swept over the elf. Looking round in horror, he saw Oros stagger back, throwing up his arms as though to ward off a blow. Sir Kinsaid and Sir Arach backed away from something emerging from the archway below Cael. The Thorn Knight scoured the room for the source of the buzzing noise even as the dragon emerged from its stable.

“The elf!” Sir Arach shouted as he caught sight of his quarry, frozen with dragonfear atop the balcony.