by Jeff Crook
The door creaked open as the elderly thief came running up.
“What’s wrong with you?” Alynthia asked, staring around to make sure no one had seen the odd incident.
“There was a glyph of warding on that door, as sure as I am standing here,” Mancred answered. “I waited here to warn you. I could not dispel it.”
The three thieves entered Cael’s bedroom and cautiously shut the door behind them. They found things just as they had been left. Even the bed was still lying on its side. Mancred continued to scratch his balding pate in puzzlement. “I can’t understand why the glyph didn’t strike him when he opened the door,” he said.
“It was never a good lock,” Cael said. “I’ve opened it that way many times.”
“But this time you should have been stunned by the magical glyph. It was placed there for that purpose,” Mancred answered.
“By who?” Cael asked as he righted his bed and pushed it back against the wall. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled his tattered shirt over his head, tossing it into a corner.
“By the Dark Knights. They set a trap for you, Blood Eyes,” Alynthia said with a laugh.
Several weeks had passed, but the crimson stain to the whites of the elf’s eyes had only begun to fade in the past few days, allowing him to see things without having to peer through a red haze.
Though she laughed at him, Alynthia could not help but admire how finely muscled was his upper body. His sides still bore the scars of the behir’s claws, though Varia’s healing magic had helped speed his recovery.
Cael glanced around the room, choosing a tunic from his available clothes, and slipped it over his head.
“May I see your staff?” Mancred asked suddenly.
Cael handed it over with obvious reluctance. “I only want to examine it for a moment,” the old thief said. He took it nearer the window to get a better light to see by.
Alynthia insisted, “A staff is no weapon for a thief.”
“It serves me well,” Cael said, refraining from any further explanation.
After a moment, Mancred handed it back, shaking his head. “It seems ordinary enough,” he said, “but I sense it has unusual powers.” He nodded to Alynthia, who did her best to look unimpressed.
“Anyway, the guards of the city know me as a cripple,” Cael continued as he turned back to the Guild Captain. “I cannot suddenly appear on the streets healed of my injury.”
“What injury?”
“I was trampled by the horse of a Solamnic Knight,” Cael said, displaying his twisted ankle. He immediately straightened it, and then wiggled it around to show its flexibility. “Of course, it healed some years ago, but the Dark Knights like the story. It makes them think I am sympathetic to them.”
“They don’t think so anymore. Isn’t it obvious that they have orders to arrest you?” Alynthia argued.
Cael shrugged and pulled his wet, torn boots from his feet. “Hand me those brown boots from the wardrobe,” he said.
“Who did you offend? It must have been someone very powerful,” Alynthia said thoughtfully as she retrieved his boots. Then, realizing what she was doing, she threw the boots on the floor just out of Cael’s reach. “Get your own boots!” she snarled.
Chapter Twenty
Alynthia knelt by the window, peering out, while Cael slipped into a black cloak and hood and drew a mask over the lower half of his face. Glancing back at him, she shook her head. “Even with the mask, anyone can tell you are an elf,” she whispered.
“I cannot change who I am,” he answered, his voice muffled by the mask.
“A shame. Well, it will have to do,” she said, returning her attention to the window. Outside, the full moon stood poised on the peaks of the mountains to the east of Palanthas. By its light, Cael folded a small black cloth bag and tucked it into the pouch at his belt. The bag, which they had found upon entering the room a little more than an hour ago, contained the soft black outer garments, masks, and capes that he and Alynthia now wore. It also contained, two broad-bladed poniards, equally suited to close fighting or throwing.
Thieves of the Second Circle of the Guild, in whose territory the building stood, had placed the bag here in preparation of the evening’s work. It was the nature of the new Guild not to allow one hand to know what the other was doing, so those who left the parcel of clothing did so without knowing the reason and without questioning it. The command came from above and was authorized by the seal of Mulciber.
The room’s only window commanded a crossing of two alleyways, one running east to west, the other northeast to southwest. It was partially boarded over, allowing a good view of all that passed without, while concealing those within. The moon shining down the east alley revealed anyone approaching from that direction.
“Make yourself ready. It is almost time,” said Alynthia.
“It’s hours yet, surely. The night is still young,” Cael said.
“When the moon clears the eastern peaks, we go. That is the order.”
“But wouldn’t it be better to wait until the night is old and Jenna is deep into her sleep?” the elf asked.
“Mistress Jenna seals her house against all intrusion before retiring for the night, so we propose to enter while she is awake and before her wards are set.”
“Sounds tricky,” Cael said.
“It is. You will do nothing except under my direct order, do you understand me?”
“Aye, Captain sir,” Cael answered.
They waited in silence while the moon rose behind the distant mountains. The city around them was quiet, for here, so close to the Shoikan Grove, most of the buildings were abandoned and empty. Despite the hundreds of years that had passed since the grove first appeared, these buildings remained in good repair. Rather than allow any section of Palanthas the Beautiful, City of Seven Circles, to fall into disrepair, the city paid handsomely to maintain these buildings, hiring laborers willing to brave the proximity of the magical grove in exchange for the princely sums such work commanded. A few hardy souls still lived in this neighborhood, mostly mages and folk of similar occupation, people seeking quiet and solitude away from the hubbub of the city. This situation was made all the more strange because the grove stood quite near the very center of the city, within shouting distance of some of the busiest quarters in town. For the most part, though, only the wind whistled down these alleys, and shadows played in the courtyards.
Finally, Alynthia whispered, “It is time.”
Together they slipped through the window and into the alley beyond. Keeping to the shadows, Alynthia led them along a narrow path. They passed with no more sound than two cloud shadows racing along the ground. In moments, they halted beside a blank wall, and ‘Alynthia placed her black-gloved hand against Cael’s lips, enjoining him to silence. They waited again, huddling in the shadows.
A rope of black-dyed silk dropped down and dangled between them, brushing their shoulders. Alynthia steadied it with her hand and looked up, signaling to those on the roof. She pointed at Cael’s staff and lifted her eyebrows as though to say, “How do you expect to climb a wall carrying a staff in your hands?”
In answer, he placed his staff against the wall and whispered, “Conceal.” A reddish glow enveloped the dark wood, but the staff did not otherwise change. A puzzled expression crossed his face. “Conceal,” he whispered again. The staffs crimson glow faded, then vanished.
Alynthia pulled him close and hissed into his ear, “What are you doing?”
Cael stared at the wall for a moment. “It must be protected against magical intrusion,” he whispered.
“Of course it is! Now climb, before we are seen!”
Cael shrugged, still staring in bafflement at the wall. He turned away from Alynthia for a moment, and when he turned back, the staff was no larger than a cane. He slipped it under his belt.
Alynthia shook her head as though she disapproved but motioned impatiently for him to climb. He grasped the rope and started up, Alynthia following
close behind.
He reached the roofs edge, three stories above the alley, and found a masked thief steadying the rope. Another extended a black-gloved hand and helped him up the last few feet. When Alynthia appeared below, each lent a hand in lifting her to the roof and setting her on her feet. At a quick sign, they vanished into the darkness, finding ready places of concealment. Alynthia drew up the rope and left it coiled at the roofs edge.
The roof of Mistress Jenna’s house was flat, unlike most of the roofs of the surrounding buildings. A short wall enclosed it, providing a sort of battlement, if it were needed. Cael scanned the roof and with his elven sight saw by the glow of their bodies’ heat no less than a dozen thieves covering every possible route of escape and keeping a careful, inconspicuous watch over the city below. Not far away, the trees of the Shoikan Grove rose above the rooftops as though keeping their own watch over the thieves. The trees’ shadows, looming so near, made everyone more tense and wary.
Near the center of the roof, four thieves huddled in a small group. Alynthia nudged Cael. He dropped into a crouch, running with a swift, light gait. Alynthia followed him.
Three of the four thieves turned. The fourth was busy at some task of obvious delicacy, judging by his level of concentration. He was carefully pouring something onto the roof. Acrid smoke rose up around his face, swirling up from where the liquid bubbled and hissed on the roofs surface.
“Acid,” Alynthia said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Magical. All ordinary attempts to cut through this roof have failed, because of the wards placed on it by Mistress Jenna.”
“What if she is below? Won’t she notice the acid eating through her ceiling?” Cael asked.
“She uses the top floor for storage. Living quarters are on the second floor, shop on the first floor, laboratory in the basement. If we are lucky…” She ended with a shrug.
“Won’t the acid eat through the next floor as well?”
“Mancred is being very careful to only use enough to dissolve a hole through the roof, aren’t you Mancred?” Alynthia whispered.
The thief grunted in answer, not allowing a spoken response to break his concentration.
Meanwhile, the other three thieves busied themselves assembling a sturdy metal tripod, from the apex of which hung a small pulley. While one oiled the pulley and tested it for noise, another carefully uncoiled a thin black rope and threaded it through the pulley’s wheels.
“What am I supposed to do?” Cael asked Alynthia.
“Stay close to me and keep quiet,” she answered through pursed lips. “Mancred, how much longer?”
The thief grunted again, then sat back on his heels and carefully stoppered the bottle of acid before slipping it into a pouch. “A hundred slow heartbeats,” the old thief estimated. “A hundred and twenty, perhaps.” He coughed quietly, perhaps from the acid’s fumes.
As the thieves of Cael’s Inner Circle finished assembling the tripod, Mancred leaned over the hole eaten into the roof by his magical acid. A few last wisps of smoke arose from it and were shredded by the southerly wind. Without looking up, he extended one gloved hand. Varia quickly slapped a small gardening shovel into his hand. With this tool, the elder thief began to excavate, carefully removing scoops of sizzling, still-smoking debris from the hole and setting them aside, knocking gelatinous strands from the shovel with the heel of his palm. After the fourth such excavation, a thin beam of yellow light lanced up from below.
“The tripod!” Alynthia hissed. The thieves responded by placing the tripod over the hole, then covering it with a wrap of black cloth. This cloth effectively blocked the light from hole, preventing anyone from observing it from below on the street. This done, Mancred quickly dredged out a breach large enough for a man to fit through.
At a motion from Alynthia, Varia grasped the pulley rope. Ijus wrapped a loop around his waist and swung out beneath the tripod. She quickly lowered him through the hole. Hoag followed, then the old thief Mancred, who quietly grumbled of his aching joints as he slid down the rope. Next, Alynthia dropped through the hole, guiding her fall with one hand on the rope, and landing with no more sound than a cat.
Finally, Cael ducked beneath the tripod and grasped the rope. He looked into Varia’s cobalt blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight over the top of her mask. “Don’t worry. I won’t drop you,” she whispered. “Be careful not to touch the sides, or the acid will burn you.”
With a nod, Cael swung out on the rope. While he dangled by one hand, he kept a tight grip on his staff with the other. Slowly, Varia lowered him through the hole.
He dropped the last few feet, landing without sound beside Alynthia. Quickly, he crouched against the wall, while their rope vanished up through the hole as noiselessly as smoke. Looking up, he saw Varia’s hooded, masked face peering down at them. She signaled with a thumb’s up. Alynthia nodded, then pointed down the hall. Ijus eased forward.
The hall was ordinary enough. Cael had half-expected to find it lined with all sorts of impossible traps both magical and mundane, but as far as he could tell the passage was empty. A few torches burning in iron sconces provided a thin, smoky yellow light. Nondescript doors stood open at either end of the hallway, revealing dark rooms beyond. Between the thieves and the door to their right, there opened a staircase where a little light shone from below. Ijus paused here and peered quickly around the corner. He signaled that all was clear.
Just to their left stood a large locked iron door, the last barrier to their mission. Alynthia made a motion as though opening a scroll, at which Mancred moved around her and approached the door.
The elderly thief studied the door for a moment. It was of iron plainly wrought and stoutly riveted with reinforcing bands of blued steel. Its lock, also of blue steel, looked impressively strong. At first glance, the door’s metal appeared unadorned, but after a moment’s study, strange patterns showed themselves in the grain. It was writing, but in a language unknown to any of them.
Mancred nodded to himself and removed a scroll from the pouch where he stored the acid. He indicated to Alynthia, but without touching the door, three places where the ‘writing’ seemed the most intricate. He motioned everyone except the lookout at the stairs to draw near, indicating with the scroll an imaginary circle on the floor. Alynthia grabbed Cael’s hand and pulled him within the circle.
Satisfied of their positions, Mancred turned back to the door and opened his scroll. Hoag moved closer to peer over the old man’s shoulder, and Cael stole the opportunity to slip a hand around Alynthia’s waist. At a venomous glance from her dark eyes he quickly withdrew it and met her stare with an innocent smile. She looked away, but the twitching of her eyelid revealed her continuing annoyance.
Mancred began to read from the scroll in a voice no louder than a whisper. The air about them began to hum, not so much a sound as a buzzing feeling inside their skulls. A tremendous pressure closed over their ears and stole their breath, as though they had just been covered with deep water. Just as quickly the pressure disappeared, and the old thief let his scroll roll up with a snap.
“I have given us protection within an area of magical silence, so we can—”
A brief hiss cut him off. They started, fearing discovery, but saw only Ijus at the stairs motioning wildly. He pointed at his ear, and at them, then back at his ear.
Puzzled, Alynthia stepped outside the imaginary circle, motioning for Mancred to open his scroll. He did so, and she pointed at her ear, then at the scroll. The thief by the stairs nodded in agreement. Mancred frowned, staring at Cael’s staff.
Using the language of hand signals, Alynthia asked the old thief, “What is wrong?”
“His staff disrupted the spell,” Mancred silently responded. Alynthia turned on the elf, who had not been able to follow the conversation. Her eyes flashed anger. She stabbed a finger thrice through the air, violently pointing first at Cael’s staff, then at him, then at a spot on the floor outside the circle of silence. With a confused shrug, he stepped to th
e place she indicated.
Mancred tugged at Alynthia’s sleeve and signed, “However, the staff might remove the glyphs guarding the door, as it did the door of his dwelling.”
“Can you remove them with your scrolls?” she asked the old thief.
“Yes,” came the answer with a quick nod.
“Better to take the sure path than the unknown,” she answered.
With a final glare at Cael and his staff, Alynthia moved once more beside Mancred, who with a weary glance at the elf opened his scroll and set to work. Unfortunately, his scroll, penned by mighty wizards five hundred years before, had only one spell of silence upon it, and once cast it was erased forever from the parchment.
Now whispering, now breathing sibilant chants, the thief cast spell after spell from the ancient scroll, unweaving the threads of Mistress Jenna’s protective wards. As each magical ward was broken, it expired with a release of red or blue or green light in the shape of a magical rune or sigil, which dissipated in the air like pipe smoke. Some of these signs, being similar to Elvish letters, Cael was able to interpret. One was of fire, another of ice, a third the zigzagged symbol of Had the thief not broken these wards, anyone attempting to open the door or even to touch it without first speaking the proper passwords would have been burned to ash, frozen, or blasted to smithereens before he glimpsed the wonders beyond that iron portal.
Finally, with a weary nod, Mancred indicated that all magical protections had been removed. A glance at the door showed that the mysterious patterns in the grain of its metal had vanished. The old thief stepped back, his work completed. He collapsed against the wall and mopped his sweating forehead with a black rag.
At a motion from Alynthia, and a warning finger across her mask-hidden lips enjoining silence, Hoag slipped up to the door and crouched before it. From a pouch at his belt, he removed a thick leather wallet. He placed it on the floor between his knees and opened it, then expertly eyed the massive blue steel lock. After a few moments, he chose a thin rod as long as his middle finger. He inserted it into the lock, gave it a deft twist, and a tiny silver needle appeared at the center of one of the lock’s many rivets. A droplet of amber fluid glistened on its tip. Hoag carefully removed this deadly metal fang and flicked it aside, perhaps in the hope that Mistress Jenna might step on it in the dark with bare feet.
