by JD Hart
To Pirate’s frustration, word of an Eastland farmer scaling the keep’s wall the morning before, as well as the boy’s escape from the city stockade that night, had made its way to Lacerus before Pirate could arrive with the news. His master did not like being left uninformed on matters affecting what he oversaw, so the Assassin had many ears to the ground. Long, deep scars the length of Pirate’s back were his reminder of the last time he had failed Lacerus, a mistake he would not repeat. Chipper, Pirate’s ferret bond, trembled in his loose shirt, reflecting his growing angst.
At last, Lacerus broke the silence. “Well, if the boy wanted to get our attention, I can’t think of a better way to do so, can you?”
“No, master,” Pirate replied to the floor. He had given Lacerus every scrap of information he had about the Eastlander, most of which had come from Bandit. He had enough faith in his own interrogation methods to know the boy had left nothing important out. But it was becoming clear that even his master did not possess enough information to discern what was happening. Nothing more could be offered, so he waited. His master would know best how to deal with the situation.
“It is good you brought this news to me,” Lacerus added.
The double-edged statement had just a taste of honey. Nevertheless, Pirate tensed. It was also laced with a reminder of the severe admonishment Pirate had received for not being the first to tell Lacerus about the Eastlander’s unexpected appearance in Cravenrock. Pirate’s informants had been too slow to feed him the information, a failing Pirate would rectify that night.
“Very well, my whelpling,” Lacerus stated without affection. “Bring the Eastlander into your pack if it so delights your guildsmen, but keep a tight leash on him. Give him a few assignments and watch him closely to discover what he is about. If he shows signs of being anything other than what he appears, kill him immediately.”
“Yes, master.” Pirate started to rise.
“And Pirate,” Lacerus continued, forcing Pirate back to his knee.
“Yes, master?”
Lacerus’s voice took on an air of foreboding. “Do not fail to keep me informed on this matter.”
“As you command, master,” Pirate responded through gritted teeth. Yes, the situation would be remedied that night.
Lacerus ran the tip of his ringed forefinger across pursed lips, eyes glowing under his black hood. Pirate had a good gut for thieving, but he sorely lacked a leader’s intuition. The Thieves Guild needed a brilliant guildmaster if it was to move forward without his constant supervision. He was becoming frustrated with the guild’s stagnation under Pirate’s limited foresight, but his ongoing quest for a replacement had produced no one worthy of consideration—that is, until now.
Few could have climbed the city wall without a spell known only by those of the Assassins and Rangers Orders. And though the city stockade was not designed to hold anyone with the proper training, it had taken the boy only a few hours to escape. Yet there was no reason to believe the boy was a young Assassin usurper. Assassins were known for their incessant backstabbing to acquire more power, but they were honor-bound to respect territorial rights, even within the Harmonic Realms. This was Lacerus’s territory. Besides, he had watched the Eastlander’s encounter with Marcantos. The lad did not have a lick of fighting talent in his thin bones. That left only two viable options.
If this Eastlander was someone attempting to infiltrate the Thieves Guild, then, like the Assassin’s saying went, Keep those you don’t know close, and your enemies will reveal themselves. He at least trusted Pirate’s competence enough to take care of the problem if that was the case. But if the boy was as he appeared, then he could be a real gem. Such a boy, with the proper guidance, could be a benefit to his guild. And if the boy was as smart as he was talented, he could someday replace Pirate.
All this, of course, was pure speculation until more was known. Patience was one of Lacerus’s qualities. With Colonel Palastar’s timely demise the previous night, Lacerus would continue to adjust to the changing situation. That was the chaotic way. New fruit was always a possibility.
Just past dusk, while moving half-consciously through an alley separating two tall buildings, Conner was startled when Bandit appeared from a shadow looking like a makeshift scarecrow after a windstorm.
“I told you to stay above street level,” the boy berated him, then waved it off as if all was forgiven.
Bandit ignored Conner’s questioning about what had happened to him, so Conner was resigned to follow his young cohort’s lead. Bandit led Conner to a particularly rundown building in the northwest section of the city, where two rugged, middle-aged men in gray cloaks and hoods pushed a black cloth over his head. Then, with Bandit at his side talking incessantly about the Thieves Guild, the men led him through a maze of underground tunnels. The tunnels were cooler and smelled better than most of the alleys he had passed through earlier that day, though the musty, stale air reminded him of Barrick Morelace’s ancient wine cellar. The memory only served to remind him of Pattria, so he pushed the depressing thoughts away before homesickness set in.
After a quick glance up the alley, Pirate slid deftly down a thick iron pole behind a pile of smelly rubbish. He was behind schedule, so he moved swiftly. His grip tightened, sliding to a halt just above a vat of acid. This was the first of several well-placed traps he would negotiate before arriving at the guild camp twenty paces below the city. Having traversed the route many times, he was hardly conscious of stepping from the railing to his left; leaving the railing to the right would have been fatal.
Pirate soon entered a massive octagonal chamber, once the burial tomb for the early settlers of Cravenrock. An ornately chiseled stone sarcophagus occupied the center of the once-grand crypt long forgotten by those who lived out their wretched lives above. Ransacked skeletal remains littered a hundred dugouts along the walls of the chamber, the rotted remnants of once-fancy silk clothes ornamenting their graying bones. Torches hung on opposite sides of the chamber provided light adequate for the conclave he had called.
He stepped to the head of the sarcophagus, taking his position of leadership before the circle of gray-robed guildsmen, motionless amid the decay. Behind him, hundreds of skulls belonging to less influential city dwellers had been meticulously stacked along the wall, giving him an illusory ominous appearance in the flickering light.
Pirate scanned the room, only half aware of Chipper slipping from his shirt and darting from the chamber in search of a tasty meal. He uttered the ritualistic words: “Has the Scribe of the Guild sealed the room for the conclave?”
“All are present. All is as it should be,” a tall, thin form with a deep feminine voice replied, stepping to Pirate’s right.
“Then let the guild be illuminated,” Pirate commanded.
Robed figures on either side of the chamber pulled the two wood torches from the wall. Simultaneously, they dropped them into buckets of water at their feet. The sounds and smell of hissing steam filled the chamber pitched into total darkness. In unison, the cloaked forms incanted the Night Vision spell, “Ora energi anakafanos.” Glowing eyes, a residual effect of the spell, appeared under the long hoods around their leader. Pirate pushed his hood back; the others mirrored him.
Pirate proceeded with the evening’s business, dispatched with the efficiency expected from a group that preferred thieving over talking and planning. Information about the movements of several expensive items was discussed. Tasks were assigned to follow up on leads. Someone complained that payoffs to the city guard were getting too expensive, but no one suggested how to deal with the problem.
When all was done, the chamber fell silent. Pirate tapped the top of the hollow sarcophagus with a wooden mallet. “I call the guild’s attention to discuss the acceptance of a new recruit into the guild. By now, you are aware of the young Eastlander who climbed the city wall. This young man is here tonight for us to consider his acceptance. What say the guild?”
As expected, Hook spoke first, with his
usual angry tone. “Must I speak of what should be obvious to everyone here? This Eastlander is currently wanted by the city magistrate for escaping the stockade. Nearly every city and keep guardsman knows his face. Furthermore, the entire city guard is in a fury looking for him, making our work all the harder. It is clear the boy is either stupid or prone to rash behavior. We already feel the squeeze from the city guards’ grip. I say it is unwise to allow him into our guild.” Hook’s scowl took in the faces around him.
Lightfoot was quick to respond. “As I hear it, this Eastlander went toe-to-toe with Marcantos Evinfaire in a fight, albeit a very short one.” He allowed the chuckling to die down before continuing with a hardy smile. “And the entire city guard couldn’t catch him. I mark that as smart, not stupid. Besides, even if we were frightened of the city guard, having them frantically scouring the city for this boy means there are lots of things left unprotected.” The broad smile filled his thin face, enthusiasm building as he asked, “How many of you can scale the city wall with your bare hands?” The chamber remained silent. “Yes, well, I happened to be in the market when it happened, and to be honest, I wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Anyone who can do that has my vote.”
After a moment of silence, Longfingers, a lanky, long-haired woman on Pirate’s left, added, “No one outside this room will know he was accepted into the guild, so I don’t see any risk in giving the boy a chance. I say aye.”
With that, Pirate put the Eastlander’s acceptance to the vote. With only Hook dissenting, Pirate brought the voting to conclusion. “Let the Scribe of the Guild make the mark that the vote has been counted. The boy has been accepted as an apprentice. May the gracious Mistress of Good Fortune smile on all we do.” He pulled his hood forward to conceal his face, then turned to Hench, a husky man near the door. “Let the apprentice be seen by all so he may be revealed.”
A strong hand on Conner’s shoulder pulled him to a stop, and the cloth was unceremoniously yanked from his head. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he noted he was standing in the middle of an underground antechamber with several entrances. A collection of stone busts stared at him from nooks in every wall, bearing names Conner could not make out in the chamber’s lighting. Dust and cobwebs covered every surface. The only furnishings were several rotten tables and chairs along the far wall, where Bandit, Conner, and the two rugged men waited in silence. Motion from under one table drew his attention where a ferret chewed on the bloody remains of a rat. The morbid scene made his cramping stomach lurch, so he glanced away to fight off the desire to heave.
Bandit smiled at Conner, unaffected by the gruesome sight. “Just be rememberin’ what I be tellin’ you and everything will be fine,” Bandit whispered reassuringly, though Bandit seemed more nervous than Conner.
While he waited, Conner went over everything Bandit had told him about the Thieves Guild, relieved to find something to distract him from the ferret’s gruesome noises. The guild was a secretive organization of thieves spanning the known world. As with other guilds, each region had its own group, led by a guildmaster. Pirate was the nickname of the Cravenrock clan’s guildmaster. Each guild member was also given a nickname in case someone was captured and tortured by the city guard. Apprentices were voted into the guild by its members during a conclave, then given a series of tests to prove their potential.
According to Bandit, if Conner completed his apprenticeship, he would be asked to become a member. All he had to do was decline. Then, he could leave to finish his trek, with coin and supplies in hand. If he was not successful, ... Conner did not want to consider leaving the city without food, supplies, extra clothes, or coin. He hated to admit it, but he needed this to work. The plan was simple. And given Conner’s current streak of luck, that was not a good thing.
With each passing minute, Bandit grew progressively more restless, which did little to bolster his own confidence. Unable to remain silent any longer, he leaned close to Bandit. “What is wrong? Does it normally take this long?”
Before Bandit could reply, a large hooded man appeared, then signaled for them to follow. Bandit and Conner left the two burly men behind and proceeded down a long, narrow corridor with a low arching ceiling that forced Conner to bend. At the other end, he stepped through an archway into pitch-blackness. A circle of glowing eyes scrutinized him.
A voice at the far end of the circle announced, “You have been accepted as an apprentice into the guild. What say you?”
As he had rehearsed, Conner responded, attempting to sound assertive. “I am ready for my tests.” Moments passed, the circle of glowing eyes on him.
“Silence speaks of the guild’s acceptance. From this time forward, you will be called Vault. You will be given three tests to demonstrate your skills and spirit. Let the Scribe of the Guild so make the mark.”
The circle of glowing eyes floated to the far side of the chamber and winked out; that is, all but one pair that continued to stare for several moments. The imposing eyes glided closer. “Leave us, Bandit.”
Bandit paused, then leaning close to Conner, whispered, “I’ll be waitin’ in the antechamber.”
“Now!” raged the voice with glowing eyes.
Bandit vanished back through the archway.
Conner gritted his teeth and fought against shifting into a defensive stance. He could feel the eyes inspecting, weighing, measuring every aspect of him, noting his features, storing away each of his many flaws. Hunger and lack of sleep, along with bruises and aching muscles, made him edgy. He already did not like this man, so he struggled to maintain a calm expression.
“It seems you have made a name for yourself with your ability to climb walls.” The eyes floated to his left, still appraising him. “But you should know it will take a lot more than a simple skill to be accepted as a member of this guild. The tests you will be given will be hard and risky, purposely so. Before each test, you will be instructed in how to invoke a new spell critical to the success of the mission. Each test you complete, you will get paid. If you cannot cast the spell by your next assignment, you will be released. If you fail any of the tests, you will be released. Then you can deal with the city guard on your own. Is this clear?”
“Yes, guildmaster.” Conner stated in a submissive voice, attempting to mask his growing irritation.
Pirate continued undaunted. “Excellent. You will be afforded bedding in a room near this chamber, away from any entrances to the city above. Morning and evening meals will be delivered, but don’t get used to being served. It will end when the hornet’s nest you stirred above dies away. Until you are called to receive your first assignment, I suggest you rest. It appears you need it.” He paused long enough to complete his walk around Conner, the physical examination done. Conner could sense Pirate’s scornful expression as he faced him. “I do not know what is going on between you and Bandit. But just so there is no misunderstanding, do not assume for a moment you can break our agreement without there being ... consequences ... for either of you. You will not be given a second chance.” The glowing eyes gazed at the man Conner sensed approaching from behind. “Hench will escort you out.”
Conner let the massive hand on his shoulder direct him back through the archway and toward the antechamber where Bandit hopefully waited. He could feel his blood beginning to boil. He was angry at Bandit for having gotten him into this. He was angry at Pirate for being such a pompous, demeaning ass. He was angry at himself for being so stupid that he’d let his principles force him down the path to this situation. But most of all, he was angry at the very Cosmos for leaving him without coin, food, or supplies to complete his trek, forcing him to take such desperate measures. He wanted to step out into the night, shake his fist at the sky, and scream his frustration for the injustice of it all. What could the Cosmos possibly want from him?
Pirate watched the Eastlander vanish down the corridor. Something was going on between him and Bandit; he would bet his next job’s profits on it. He cons
idered questioning Bandit again, but the boy could be stubborn even when put to the interrogation. He would watch them closely. And if he did not like what he saw? He ran fingers absently over a human skull, tracing the jagged edge of a fissure the width of an Anarchic war ax running diagonally across the crown. He lifted Chipper and slipped the contented ferret inside his shirt, the edges of his lips twisting upward. He was sure the city guard would pay well to have them returned, all tied up with pretty bows like a Freedom Day present.
The Final Test
For several days, the nagging in the back of Conner’s head was growing ever more relentless. The cramped quarters provided by the guildmaster were stifling and confining. Sleep came in fits. He was reaching a point of desperation, ready to take on nearly any risk to be done with his promise to Bandit. So when he suggested to Pirate doing three tests in three nights, the guildmaster thought him insane. But even the haughty Pirate had to concede some credit when Vault completed his first two heists without complications. That should have been Conner’s warning that something would go dreadfully awry with his third and last burglary.
The information bought from the guild’s informants appeared reliable about their target. So the planning for the final heist went as the previous two. Vault, Bandit, and Stick were to retrieve a magical scroll with unknown powers from a magus traveling through the region to the southern Realm of Elvenstein. The trio had only one night to appropriate the scroll. Vault was to scale the backside of the elegant inn where the magus had acquired a room, giving his two accomplices access via a knotted rope. Then, Bandit was to break into the magus’s sitting room, where the scroll was hidden, all while Vault stood guard over the magus in his sleeping chamber and Stick guarded the getaway route below. It all sounded a little too easy for Conner’s liking, but he had no grounds to argue with the more experienced guildsmen who had devised the plan.
