The Thieves’ Guild

by Jeff Crook

  “It was you who betrayed the Guild to the Knights of Takhisis. Alynthia and I discovered Oros last night in league with the Lord Knight of the City and Arach Jannon,” Cael said.

  Angry mutterings sounded from the gathered Guild captains. Alynthia’s guards shifted uncomfortably.

  Oros, half recovered from his knock on the head, said thickly, “I was only acting under the orders of Mulciber.”

  “There is no Mulciber!” Cael shouted. “If Mulciber were real, would he allow me to impersonate him? Wasn’t he just here pronouncing Captain Alynthia’s doom, and didn’t I just step from his alcove? Shouldn’t he be striking me dead with his magic for my effrontery?” The elf turned dramatically to the dark alcove.

  “Oh mighty Mulciber, if you are indeed real, strike me dead now,” he said, bowing. Nothing happened.

  The Guild captain from Abanasinia strode forward and pressed a dagger against Oros’s throat.

  “Captain Wolfheart, what are you doing?” Oros cried.

  “You would have slain your own wife to protect yourself,” she snarled. “Release that woman!” she barked at the guards.

  Alynthia found herself free. The guards left the room in silence.

  When they had gone, the swarthy captain from Tarsis said, “I still don’t understand. Who, then, is Mulciber?”

  “A creation,” Cael said. “A fiction perpetrated on you by this man. He used Mulciber to lead the Guild while pretending to be one of the Guildmaster’s trusted servants. That way he risked nothing but gained all the benefits of being the leader of the Guild.”

  “How did this come to pass?” the Tarsian asked.

  Alynthia spoke up. “Who besides my husband survived the Night of Black Hammers?”

  “Petrovius, and ‘He we do not name,’ ” Captain Wolfheart said.

  “Petrovius, bless him, wouldn’t doubt you if you told him I was queen of the sea. He couldn’t tell you what he ate for breakfast,” Alynthia said. “He lives in the distant past, and his mind is sound there, but he would repeat anything Oros told him as truth. Why would he have reason to doubt him? Oros saved his life by hiding him. in the dwarven ruins. And why? Because Petrovius knew all the Guild treasures.

  “And as for ‘He we do not name,”’ Alynthia continued. “I doubt Daavyd Nelgard survived the Night of Black Hammers.”

  “Apparently my husband has a long history of betrayal,” she said coldly as she turned to the man who had been her childhood hero, who had shared her marital bed, who had come within a hair’s breadth of becoming her executioner. “He was cast from the Knights of Solamnia for betrayal. He abandoned the crew of the Mary Eileen to save himself. He betrayed the old Guild in exchange for treasures he coveted. When he learned what Solamnic relics the Guild possessed, he plotted to steal them, as well as to gain control of the Guild and reshape it to his own designs.”

  “Lies, all lies!” Oros cried. “I cannot believe—”

  Captain Wolfheart’s dagger pressed deeper into his throat, starting a trickle of blood and silencing his protests.

  “What proof have you?” the captain from Sancrist asked.

  “Only this,” Cael said as he pulled aside his cloak. Beneath it, couched in the cradle of his arm, lay the cat-sized silver dragon Reliquary.

  “Beyond our grasp,” Alynthia said. “Because it was my husband who had it all along. We found it aboard Dark Horizon last night.”

  She took the Reliquary from the elf and handed to her fellow thieves, holding it out so that each might approach and reverently touch it. Oros squirmed under the threat of Captain Wolfheart’s dagger, glaring at the elf.

  “You threw it all away,” the disgraced captain whispered to Cael. “You and I could have done much together.”

  “I think not,” Cael said. “You were more right about me than you know.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Supper is ready!” Claret shouted from the kitchen. She backed through the door, balancing a heavy crockery tureen on a thick pad while carrying a loaf of bread under each arm. Cael followed her with bowls, plates, knives and spoons piled in the crook of his good arm. The other was wrapped in a clean white sling.

  Alynthia slid into one of the chairs and tucked a napkin into the collar of her loose silk blouse. “Smells delicious,” she commented as Claret eased the soup tureen to the table.

  “It should be. It’s an original elven recipe,” the girl said.

  “Elves!” Alynthia scowled. “I’ll bet its full of leaves and twigs.”

  Claret took the bowls and plates from Cael and stacked them beside the soup. “Sit down,” she ordered. “I’m serving.” The elf gratefully sank into a chair.

  “As a matter of fact, elves don’t eat leaves and twigs,” Claret continued. “It has clams and lobster and fresh grouper, eel, squid, and octopus. The tomatoes were difficult to find, but I managed it.”

  “Indeed!” Alynthia said. “Tomatoes this late in the year! You are a marvel.”

  “That’s what I tell everyone, but no one believes me. Gimzig says I’ll make someone a wonderful wife someday.” (This was for Cael.) “Or a first rate thief.” (This was for Alynthia.)

  She sighed when both her companions ignored her hints. “I hope I don’t have to wait too long for either. Oh! The butter!” She dashed back to the kitchen.

  Alynthia tore one of the loaves in half and handed a hunk to the elf. He took it without speaking, bit off a piece, and chewed while his eyes strayed to the window overlooking the bay. Behind him, the bedroom door stood open, and moonlight shining through the window illuminated a pack lying on the bed, and his staff propped next to it.

  “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Alynthia asked softly.

  “No,” he said. He looked at her, his sea-green eyes distant. “No, the Knights of Neraka are still hunting me,” he continued. “Even though they think Arach Jannon and the minotaur fought and killed each other atop the city wall, I am still under the court’s death sentence. Then there’s Mistress Jenna.”

  “The Guild could protect you,” she said, reaching a hand across the table to cover his. “I could protect you.”

  “Not forever,” he said. “Remember, I am an elf. I will outlive you by several centuries. The Guild will not always be friendly to me.” He thoughtfully stroked his bushy red beard, which reminded him of his dwarven friend, Kharzog Hammerfell.

  “There will always be a place within the Eighth Circle for you, as long as I am its master,” Alynthia said.

  “I have… questions, which need answering,” Cael continued. “There are people I have not seen for many years. And I have hurt enough people here.” He gazed at the kitchen door. They heard Claret banging among the pots and dishes. As though prompted by a terrible thought, he rose suddenly from his chair.

  “In fact, I should go now,” he said. He strode quickly to the bedroom and gathered his things.

  “But… what about supper? Claret will be so disappointed,” Alynthia whispered. “Please stay and eat, stay just a little longer, and then you can say goodbye.”

  “I can’t say goodbye, not after what I cost her,” Cael said. He hurried to the door. Alynthia followed and caught him before he could leave.

  “You can’t even say goodbye to me?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Please don’t ask me to.”

  “Very well,” she whispered huskily. “Will you return?”

  “Some day,” he said. “You’ll take care of her in the meantime?”

  Alynthia nodded. He pressed her hand for a moment, then turned and strode away. Alynthia watched him go. As he approached the end of the street, a squat figure appeared from the shadows and joined the elf. The figure turned and waved to Alynthia. She lifted her hand limply in farewell, but the elf never looked back. She closed the door and leaned against it.

  Claret entered from the kitchen with a bowl of butter, glasses, and a jug of wine. She paused, seeing Alynthia at the door.

  “He’s already gone, isn�
�t he?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Alynthia whispered.

  “He’ll be back,” the girl said with perfect assurance. She set the butter and the glasses on the table.

  “A wise woman once told me, ‘Never trust the love of an elf. We grow old, while they remain forever young?” Alynthia returned to the table and poured herself a glass of wine from the jug.

  “Yes, but then again Cael is not of pure elven blood,” Claret said.

  Alynthia pondered this for a moment, then swallowed a sip of her wine. She smiled. “That soup smells delicious. Let’s eat before it gets cold!”

  Chapter Forty

  25 Frostkolt, 38 SC Yule

  Mistress Jenna stepped down from the carriage, accepting the assistance of a black-armored Knight of Neraka. The road on which they had stopped was outside the city proper, high in the mountains west of Palanthas. The night was clear and crisp as the new-fallen snow that blanketed the cemetery beside the road. Nearby, a simple hut leaned beneath a tall outcropping of rock, a warm glow in its only window proclaiming the occupant to be awake, despite the early hour.

  The elder sorceress wore a fine pair of boots on her slender feet, boots enchanted to keep the wearer’s feet warm in even the coldest weather. She also wore her heaviest winter robe, red velvet lined with snow-white ermine. Her companion wore the black armor of a Knight of the Lily, a black cloak lined with fox thrown over his broad shoulders. As they exited the carriage, the horses stomped and blew, their breath coming in great clouds that hung in the night air.

  Across the way, the door of the hut opened, and a man exited, already cringing and fawning, a lantern dangling from his scrawny fist. As he drew near, there was a smell about him that made even the Dark Knight’s nose wrinkle in disgust. The man reeked of his job, even though the ground had been frozen for two months and he hadn’t buried a soul since the first day of the month of Darkember.

  “Are we all here now?” the gravedigger fawned. “This way, m’lord and lady, this way. Hurry, we must. The sun is near to rising. A fine Yule morn, it’ll be. You’ll see it with the new light of the day.” The Dark Knight waved the man on, dropping in behind him. Mistress Jenna walked at his side.

  “This had better not be a fool’s errand, Kinsaid,” she whispered.

  The Lord Knight of Palanthas merely scowled and continued on his way. Their path led among the gravestones. Though the gravedigger had his lamp, the starlight reflecting on the snow provided plenty of light to see by. The gravedigger stopped beside a headstone not unlike the thirty or so others around it.

  “This is the dwarf section,” the gravedigger whispered. “Many dwarves buried here, many generations of bones. Shhh, the sun! She comes!”

  As though the thought of Nature’s orb frightened the man who bought his bread with the coins of the dead, he slunk behind the headstone, trembling.

  “Found it, I did,” he hissed. “Yester morn. Even up here, we get news from the city, though few enough come this way, and those as do ain’t likely to return.” He cackled, much amused by his own cleverness. Jenna’s dark glance put a damper on his mirth. He continued, “So I knowed it was important, knowed who to call.”

  Jenna turned to face the rising sun. The eastern sky had begun to gray. Far away across the deep bowl-shaped valley in which Palanthas lay, the sun crawled up behind the snow-capped Vingaard Mountains. She waited patiently, thankful for her boots, and wondered when was the last time she had watched a sunrise. She looked at the Dark Knight, and by his eternal scowl, she wondered if Sir Kinsaid ever had.

  Finally, the sun appeared between two distant peaks, a watery orange globe promising little warmth. At its appearance, all eyes turned to the tall gravestone. Even in this light, they could see in inscription carved in the granite, though only Jenna could interpret the Dwarvish runes. They read:

  Kharzog Hammerfell

  Last of the Hammerfells of Palanthas

  Faithful Friend

  Slain in Battle

  23 Fluergreen, 38 S. C.

  Above this, in Elvish script that looked newly carved, were the words:

  Even thirty generations is not too long to wait, old friend.

  Set into the solid granite between the Elvish and the Dwarvish script was an oval stone as large as a goose’s egg. Even in the dim light, its beauty was unmistakable. Translucent as the finest porcelain, gleaming with rainbows of color more glorious than mother of pearl, it was an opal beyond dreams of dwarven avarice.

  The first rays of the newly risen sun struck the Founderstone, and a glowing, pinkish light welled forth. With a brilliant flash, a light like a star erupted from the stone. Shimmering cascades of sparks fell about the waterchers’ feet and spilled across the snow. A gasp of awe and wonder escaped the three visitors, spellbound by the sight. A quiet music filled the air, like water leaping over stones.

  “We thought the Founderstone beyond the reach of any thief,” Sir Kinsaid whispered as he gazed at it. “When it disappeared three days ago, we believed it was gone forever—only to find it here, decorating the grave of some forgotten dwarf.”

  “Not just any dwarf,” Jenna said, an unwanted smile on her face. “Obviously not forgotten.”

  “Thorn Knights tried to remove it yesterday, after we were alerted to its discovery,” Sir Kinsaid continued.

  “A fine reward it should fetch!” the gravedigger interjected hopefully.

  “As you can see, they failed. They say it is affixed with sovereign glue. We hoped you might be able to free it,” the Dark Knight said. “There would be a reward.”

  Jenna thoughtfully fingered the items and belongings in her pockets, eyeing the beautiful stone as its light flowed about her feet. In one pocket, her hand closed around a vial of universal solvent, the only known counteragent to magical sovereign glue.

  Thinking it over, she shook her head. “It is beyond my power,” Mistress Jenna said with a shrug. Sir Kinsaid turned away. Without a word of thanks, he stalked away, his cloak brushing the snow from the top of a nearby tombstone.

  Jenna watched him go, then returned her gaze to the Founderstone. “I can think of no better place for it, l’phae Tanthalas lu’ro,” she whispered.

  Palanthas. Jewel of Ansalon, City of Seven Circles, heart of the old Solamnic empire. For three thousand years she has shone as a beacon to the world. Even now, ruled by the Knights of Neraka, she glitters in the night.

  Yet at the core of the gleaming city lies a dark center: the Thieves’ Guild. Though the Dark Knights ruthlessly crushed the guild beneath an iron heel, a stronger, darker guild has arisen. Now it’s intent on recovering its lost treasures and power.

  And nothing will stand in its way.