The Thieves’ Guild

Chapter Thirty-Four

Cael dragged Alynthia’s limp body ashore beneath Blue Crab Pier, down amongst the piles and the scurrying blue crabs. He laid her gently on the pebbly shore, kneeling beside her as he lowered her head to the ground. He bent over, opened his mouth, and exhaled enough seawater to fill a bucket, retching it out in one long groan. The first thing that his master taught him about the ironstaff was that it gave him the ability to breath water as readily as air, but the transition was always a painful one, something he avoided when he could.

At last, he threw his head back, his lank, wet red hair whipping across his back, and filled his lungs with air. Again. Again, drinking in the salty air, until finally he began to cough, clearing his lungs of the last remnants of the sea.

He turned his attention to his companion. She lay before him, her flesh chill, her lips blue, eyelids parted to reveal her dark eyes, now dull, staring blankly at nothing. He felt no lifebeat when his fingers touched her neck. His coughs turned to sobs. His hair fell across his face, hiding his features from her unblinking stare.

When the blue dragon breathed its lightning breath into the water, the blast had stunned Alynthia. Cael had felt the staff absorb much of the energy just as it had done with Mistress Jenna’s spell. Now, he berated himself, blamed himself for letting go of Alynthia, for not holding her beneath the water while the dragon attacked. By the time he had reached her, she had already filled her lungs with water.

Now, as he looked at her, he saw in his mind the faces of all the others who had been killed on his account. He saw Pitch’s charred remains heaped against the wall of the Chamber of Doors. He saw Hoag turned to stone and Ijus blasted by Mistress Jenna’s magic, Kharzog with a sword through his old dwarven bellows, Gimzig gripped in the jaws of a sewer monster, and Claret’s entire family pulled apart and destroyed. Now, one more life was added to this score, one more innocent victim of his games, and this one, he realized, grieved him more than all the others, even more than Kharzog. If only he had stayed by Alynthia’s side while in the dragon stables of the Lord’s Palace, if only he had not let her struggle free of the staff, if only the dragon hadn’t blasted the depths of the sea with its lightning breath.

With a scream of rage, he unleashed his sword. He stormed about beneath the pier, sending blue crabs scurrying in every direction, slashing heedlessly at everything around him. His magical blade passed through braces, supports, ropes, and even through a wooden pile supporting the pier. Only when the pier began to creak ominously, after many of its supports lay in chunks along the shore or bobbed in the surf, did his anger begin to subside. Still the pain remained.

He returned to Alynthia’s side, tossing his sword on the ground beside her. “She will not die,” her growled. He knelt at her side again, placing one hand beneath her neck and lifting it slightly, tilted back her head, which caused her lips to part He’d seen his mother do this a dozen times. A dozen times she’d saved the lives of shipwrecked sailors in this manner. He wasn’t even sure if he knew how to do it properly. But he had to try.

“You will not die, Alynthia Krath-Mal,” he whispered as his placed his lips over her cold blue ones. He covered her eyes with his hand, at the same time pinching together her nostrils, then breathed forcibly into her mouth, puffing out her cheeks.

He lifted, inhaling, and listened to the air escape her lips in a sad parody of breathing. “Come back to me,” he whispered again, returning his lips to hers. Again her cheeks puffed. “Come back to me.” Again. Again.

He continued, continued on past the moment when hope failed, grimly past the moment when it began to seem a sacrilege, when his conscience told him to leave her body in peace. He continued, with each breath whispering, “Come back to me, my love.”

As he bent to her lips yet one more time, she blinked. He paused, waiting, hope renewing, searching her dull eyes for a flicker of life. It came, dimly, but it came. He blew into her mouth again, felt her twitch, and when his breath escaped her lips this time, with it came a bubble of seawater. She coughed. He rolled her on her side, letting her retch the fluid from her lungs, gently patting her back, and holding her in his arms until she had finished.

The place was called The Bone and Four, which was short for the Bone and Four Skulls. Above the door hung a battered wooden sign painted with these symbols. Cael kicked open the door and lurched into the room, carrying over his shoulders what appeared to be a large wet bundle, and leaning heavily on his staff.

“We’re closed, mate,” said a man behind the bar. “After curfew.” Another man rose from the end of the bar, his head bumping among the low rafters. He was fully seven feet tall, and his sallow yellowish skin identified him as having ogrish parentage. He clenched a pair of warty, ham-sized fists and growled.

“Plus, the dragon’s about,” the first man added.

Cael merely stared at the two for a moment, then shut the door with his staff. The common room was small, having only a few tables and booths, but at most of these sat wretched-looking men in various stages of debauchery. Not a few snored with heads sunk onto folded arms. The place was remarkably quiet. It seemed most of the patrons were content to wallow in their private miseries.

“Closed. Right,” the elf snorted, but there was no mirth in his laugh. He struggled to an empty corner booth and, leaning his staff against the wall, lowered his bundle onto one of the benches and shoved it into the corner. He then squeezed in beside the bundle and gently pushed aside the wet blankets in which it was wrapped. A face, dusky but drawn, with sunken cheeks and a bluish tinge about the lips, appeared from the folds.

The innkeeper shrugged, and the ogre resumed his seat.

A barmaid approached Cael’s booth. “Brandy,” he barked, as he chafed Alynthia’s cold hands between his own. “And a dry blanket, if you have one.”

Soon, the brandy was brought, and a new blanket was wrapped around Alynthia’s shoulders. The barmaid stood by, watching him try to warm his companion.

“She’s pretty. What happened to her?” the girl asked. “Did she fall overboard?”

“That’s right,” Cael said, while pouring a little of the warm liquor between Alynthia’s lips. She coughed and stirred, blinked, then grasped the cup held to her lips and tilted it back. Brandy flowed in runnels down her cheeks as she gulped the fierce liquid.

“Are you a sailor?” the barmaid asked.

“I’ve sailed the sea, if that’s what you mean.”

Alynthia set the cup down and leaned over the table. Her back heaved as she wretched up more seawater. Cael hovered over her tenderly.

“Is she your woman?” the barmaid asked.

“You ask too many questions, girl,” Cael said.

“Because if she isn’t…”

“How old are you?” Cael asked.

“I’ve seen nineteen summers,” the girl boasted.

“I am old enough to be your grandfather,” he said as he pushed back the wet tangle of his hair, revealing one pointed elven ear. The girl gasped.

“Go and fetch some more brandy and hot food if you have it,” he commanded.

“I couldn’t eat,” Alynthia groaned.

The girl squeaked a quick “Yes sir!” and dashed away.

“How do you feel?” Cael asked as Alynthia sat up, somewhat recovered. Her lips still bore a bluish tinge. She shivered with cold.

“Like a netted codfish,” she joked feebly. Her teeth chattered.

“More brandy will fix that,” Cael said as he turned to look for the barmaid. The girl hurried from the kitchen, bearing a jug and two steaming bowls. She slid these onto the table and turned to go. Cael grabbed the hem of her dress.

“Thank you,” he said to the girl.

She blushed and performed a small curtsey, then hurried away.

Alynthia shook her head bemusedly, then turned to the food. She sniffed at it, then groaned and leaned back. “I really don’t think I could,” she complained.

Cael poured them each a brimming cup of warm brandy. “Drink this,” he said, pushing it into her hands. She drank it down in quick sips, and by the time the cup was empty, her chattering and shivering had ceased. She set the cup on the table for Cael to pour more, then sniffed at the stew.

Cael lifted the heavy crockery jug, then set it down with a gasp of pain. He clutched his right shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Alynthia asked.

“It’s nothing,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Nothing, my eye. Let me see.” She pushed his hands aside and peeled back his wet tunic to expose his shoulder. What she found there made her start back and gasp.

“It’s only a scratch,” the elf said as he eyed the gash in his shoulder. A little blood trickled between the ragged white edges of the wound.

“A scratch!” she exclaimed as she gingerly examined it. “Why, it goes right down to the bone. You are lucky it didn’t slice the artery. How did it happen?”

“An Ergothian she-shark, I’d say,” Cael said.

“I… I did this?” Alynthia asked incredulously.

“Aye, my captain,” the elf answered. “When you thought I was a lacedon dragging you to your watery grave.”

“Oh, Cael, I’m sorry,” she cried. “And you saved me after that!”

“I thought it was your corpse I was hauling ashore,” the elf whispered. “I’m sure we’re both taken for dead. The dragon breathed a bolt of lightning into the water above us. You should have seen all the dead fish. There’ll be a glut in the market tomorrow morning.”

“This wound needs stitching,” Alynthia said, trying to change the subject.

“We’ll not find a sawbones at this hour,” Cael said. “Best wait until morning. Then we’ll find Claret and leave the city.”

“Leave the city?” Alynthia asked.

“There’s nothing else to be done. Your husband is in league with the Knights. He plans to betray the Guild to them, just as he must have done four years ago.”

“I don’t believe it,” Alynthia muttered. “It seems like a dream, a horrible dream.”

“Believe it, young lady,” said a gravely voice from the next booth. A wizened head, wrinkled as a dried apricot and of nearly the same hue, appeared over the top of the partition. A surly gray beard grew in patches along his sunken cheeks, and one eye was covered in a milky white sheath that oozed a thick tear. But the other eyed glittered at them.

“You believe your young friend, Alynthia Krath-Mal. He sees your husband for what he is!” the old man cackled.

“Do I know you?” Alynthia haughtily asked, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice. A troubled shadow darkened her eyes.

“Aye, you know me,” the old man said as his head ducked away. A moment later, a lathe-thin old sea dog, dressed in an oiled otterskin coat and bending over a cane carved from a whale’s bone, slid onto the bench opposite them. He smiled a huge toothless grin that set his good eye sparkling with mirth. He then pointed at Cael’s cup. The elf slid the brandy across to the old man, a curious expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to recall…” Alynthia slowly said, her words trailing off as the old man reached across the table and set something in front of her. When he pulled his hand away, Alynthia’s lips began to tremble.

A tiny dragon made of intricately folded paper stood on the dinted table before her.

“Knodsen?” she cried.

“Aye, my pretty. It’s Old Knodsen,” the ancient sailor said, a tear springing out from his good eye.

Suddenly, Alynthia was across the table, embracing the old man and sobbing pitifully. A few people lifted their heads and stared, but most ignored them. Cael shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to react.

Slowly, the old man extricated himself from her arms and pushed her back to her seat. Cael wrapped the blanket close around her shoulders and pressed a brandy into her hands. She gulped at it, not looking at the elf. The old man sipped his, then eyed the bowls of stew. Cael nodded and pushed one of the bowls closer.

“I’m sorry, but I see you two are old friends,” Cael began as he rose to leave. Alynthia grabbed his arm and pulled him down again.

Without looking at him, she said, “When I was a little girl, voyaging on my stepfather’s ships, Old Knodsen here was the dearest friend a girl ever had.” She picked up the little paper dragon and clutched it to her chest. “He used to make these paper animals and leave them all over the ship for me to find. It was a wonderful game. He watched over me. Old Knodsen was father, brother, and playmate to me.”

“Aye, that I was,” the old man said with a grin.

“But you went down with the Mary Eileen,” she said accusingly. “Oros… er, Captain Avaril told me all hands were lost. Only he survived.”

“I was lost,” the old man said, his voice far away and his eye staring into the stew. “Lost for years.” He shook his head as though refusing to remember. He looked up, a tear in his eye.

“I was taken aboard the minotaur galley, as were others from the Mary Eileen, as your Avaril well knows. I was chained to an oar three benches away from him. It grated him to be a galley slave, no better than the men he once commanded, though even then we looked to him to lead us to freedom. He was our captain still.

“He seemed to believe his responsibilities to us ended when the Mary Eileen foundered. He made a private deal with the minotaur captain-Kolav was his name-and got himself released from the oar chain. What he traded, I do not know. Likely it was information. We began to raid the northern coast of Solamnia, striking unprotected villages. They had great success, seeming always to hit just after a patrol of Knights of Solamnia had left the villages.”

“But then their luck eventually ran out. They were surprised by a fleet of the Knights of Takhisis. The galley was rammed and sunk. Your future husband surrendered, and because he was once a Knight, they didn’t execute him.”

“Avaril was never a Knight!” Alynthia exclaimed.

“Aye, he was a Knight of the Rose at one time, my dear,” the old man said. “That’s something very few people know. He was shamed for some reason or other, probably cowardice or betrayal, if I know him at all. If not for his family’s influence, he’d probably have been hunted down and executed with his own sword.

“He let his men die aboard that pirate galley, while he saved himself. I’d been working for months on loosening my chain’s staple, and when the ship began to sink, her hull staved in by the Knights’ ram, I escaped. Fear lent me strength. I couldn’t save the others. I couldn’t free the others,” he cried. “They called my name, begging me to rescue them, but they cursed the name of Avaril. But I was not strong enough to free them, and he abandoned us all.

“When the battle was over, I found myself adrift atop a bit of flotsam, while the Knight’s fleet sailed away. Eventually, I washed up on an island in the Blood Sea, and there I lived a haunted life, always in fear, always running. The island was home to shadow wights. Finally, I was rescued, and from there I was able to follow Avaril’s career by talking with sailors, pirates, smugglers and the like. They say he purchased his and the minotaur captain’s lives by revealing the locations of the treasures they had buried during the months of raiding the coast.

“The Knights put them off in Palanthas, penniless and destitute. He was disgraced as a merchant captain, and no ship’s master would trust him. For a while, he made a living as a street illusionist, pulling coins from people’s ears and throwing his voice to amaze the ignorant, all the while hating the people he entertained. Eventually, Avaril joined the Thieves’ Guild, it is said, and his minotaur companion served as his loyal body- guard. What keeps the two together I’ll never understand. I think Avaril never purchased the minotaur’s freedom. I think the Knights of Takhisis released the brute to be a constant reminder of his treachery. ’Tisn’t loyalty that drives Captain Kolav Ru-Marn. Because of Avaril, he survived the sinking of his ship and disgraced himself. He can never return to the minotaur homeland.”

Alynthia stared blankly at the table, slowly shaking her head. “It can’t be true,” she muttered. “It’s too much to believe.”

“Think about it Alynthia,” Cael said. “Because you helped me, he has declared you kidnapped. He has betrayed you as well.”

“I, would have done the same thing to him to protect the It was I who betrayed him by failing,” she argued.

“No, you wouldn’t have betrayed him,” Cael said. “You haven’t betrayed the Guild. You would have done whatever it took to free your husband. Even now, you protect him.”

“It was Mulciber’s decision,” Alynthia said. “Oros is only following Mulciber’s orders.”

Slowly, Cael nodded. “Yes, I see that now,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Alynthia sharply demanded.

“He was only following Mulciber’s orders. He isn’t the Guildmaster. Mulciber is,” he said.

“That’s right,” Alynthia said. “We all follow Mulciber’s orders.”

“Who is Mulciber?” Cael asked.

“She is the true leader of the Guild.”

“From where did she come?”

“No one knows. She first appeared and reformed the Guild after the Night of Black Hammers, recruiting first my husband and then the others to her cause.”

“I see,” Cael said.

“What do you see?” Alynthia barked.

“The truth,” he answered.

“Good. So now you see Oros can’t have betrayed me. If he really wanted to kill us, don’t you think we’d be dead by now? No, he has only been giving us time to redeem ourselves,” she declared. “The gods only know what risks he has taken protecting us.”

“Alynthia, my dear sweet Alynthia,” Old Knodsen said in a husky voice. “Do you believe that Old Knodsen would lie to you?”

She stared at the old sailor as though he had struck her across the face. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered.

“Listen to your friend,” the old man encouraged. “Oros betrayed the crew of the Mary Eileen, as he will betray you now.”

She looked at Cael. Slowly, her head sank to her chest. “Very well,” she sobbed.

“If I were you,” the old man said, “I’d leave the city. I am ship’s cook aboard the Albatross. She sails with tomorrow evening’s tide for Kalaman. My captain is a goodly woman. She’ll take the both of you upon my word.”

“I thank you,” Cael said. “We’ll be there. Can you take a third, a young girl-”

“No!” Alynthia snapped. “Before I go, I must hear all this from his lips. He owes me that much.”

“It is too risky,” Cael said. “We dare not confront him. If we are captured-”

“I must do it,” she said. “With or without your help. I know his habits like no other. Every night after he dines, he spends several hours in his private library. We’ll lie in wait for him there, and question him without his lackeys about. If what you say is true, dear Knodsen, then we can use that information against him to clear our names and regain our places in the Guild.”

“Don’t be a fool, Alynthia. After what we have heard this night, Oros will try to have us and your friend Knodsen here killed at the first opportunity. As long as we live, we are a threat to him,” Cael admonished. “Better he never knows what we have learned about him.”

“I will hear the truth from him, come what may!” Alynthia declared. “If it is true that he intends to betray the Guild, we must stop him.”

Cael opened his mouth to protest, but the old sailor cut him off. “It’s no use arguing with her once she’s made up her mind. I should know,” he said with a laugh, turning to Alynthia. “Once you’ve had your say, my dear, come with all speed to the Merchant Harbor, Where my ship is waiting. Bring your other young friend, if she is also in danger.”

“Dear old Knodsen,” she smiled. “Beyond hope I’ve found you again. Thank you.”

“You can thank me best by sailing away with me,” he said.

“If there is no other way,” Alynthia said, rising, “I promise.” She pushed Cael from the booth. “We will be there.”

The elf pulled a few wet coins from his pocket and tossed them on the table to pay for the brandy and the stew no one had even tasted.

“Come on,” Alynthia said to the elf. “It’s late. We must enter his library before Oros retires for the night.” Together, they bowed once to the old sailor and exited the inn.

Old Knodsen bent over the no longer steaming bowl of stew and shoveled a spoonful into his toothless mouth. He contentedly gummed the meal, chuckling occasionally to himself, while from one of the other tables rose a squat figure cloaked in black, his back bent and bearing a large misshapen hump beneath his filthy robes. Limping grotesquely, he followed Cael and Alynthia through the door and into the dark streets of Palanthas.