by David Combs
“Greetings, friends,” called the nobleman. “You truly have no idea how glad I am to see you. Galen, I don’t suppose you would be gracious enough to come down here, and open these cages for us, would you?”
The thief grinned. “I’ll be right down.” He fashioned his long sword belt into a makeshift rope and climbed down into the pit.
Tyrell smiled at Elenia. “We’ll all be out of here shortly. Then you’ll be safe.”
“I don’t trust your friends,” she whispered harshly. Her eyes locked onto Tyrell’s own. “I think they want you to leave me down here for the monster. If you had to, would you fight them for me?”
Too late, Tyrell felt the touch of magic. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the soft red glow that now came from the girl’s eyes. His mind screamed for him to resist for the sake of his friends, but his body wouldn’t respond. He tried to call out, but his mouth hung open uselessly. As Elenia’s hypnotic spell grew in power over him, Tyrell could think only of driving his dagger into Nestor’s body before he could hurt the girl. With every moment that his eyes lingered on hers, Tyrell became more her prisoner.
“Okay, everybody out,” called Galen as he opened the lock on Kellen’s cell. The haggard nobleman clapped the young thief on the shoulder in weary gratitude. “I’ll go up first, so Nestor can give you a boost, Lord Ambrose.”
Galen pulled himself up the length of his dangling belt, barely noticing the strange look on Tyrell’s face. Without warning, the mage lashed out with his foot, catching the thief solidly under the chin. The rogue managed to launch himself to the far side using the hinged floor section to kick off so that he wouldn’t crash back down to the stone floor below. He raced to drag himself over the edge but no sooner had he began to regain his feet when Tyrell tackled him with a flying leap.
“Kill him, my pet,” snarled the vampiress. She smiled wickedly as Tyrell’s dagger flashed across the young thief’s leg. She threw her head back, and let out a chilling howl of delight as the smell of fresh blood filled her finely tuned senses.
The evil noise was silenced as Nestor punched her hard in her exposed throat. The warrior drew his sword and took a ferocious swing at Elenia. She ducked just in time as his blade showered her with sparks and stone chips from the stone wall. Nestor knew he needed to end this fight quickly so that he could help Galen subdue the mage.
Tyrell struggled to regain control of his actions, feeling a fleeting moment of hope as Nestor attacked the undead woman. Her magic was strong though, and he could not break his compulsion to attack his friend. He swiped at Galen with his long knife, and then backhanded the thief with his open hand. Words of magic came to his lips, and a blast of sparks burst into the thief’s face. Galen cried in pain, blindly lashing out. Only by sheer luck was he able to catch the wizard’s wrist before Tyrell could slam his dagger home into the thief’s chest.
Nestor made a strong lunge at Elenia, but she easily sidestepped and hurled the warrior against the wall. He rebounded from the impact, countering with a wild swing with his weapon. The vampire narrowly avoided decapitation as she twisted herself out of the way. They squared off again, each waiting for the other to attack first.
Galen grappled with the mage but knew he was in trouble. Not only was Tyrell stronger than he was, but the thief had to hold back for fear of hurting his friend. The mage had no such hesitations. Tyrell fought like a berserker, using every trick he had ever learned. Galen felt his breath explode from his body as the wizard’s knee came down hard on his stomach. He lost his grip on Tyrell’s wrist, and the mage raised the dagger high above him to strike.
Nestor feinted high with his blade and kicked at the vampire’s feet. He might as well have kicked a tree trunk. Elenia laughed and punched the barbarian hard enough to knock him to the floor. She grabbed the fallen warrior’s throat and squeezed with superhuman strength when suddenly a piece of splintered wood burst through her chest in a spray of blood. Elenia fell to the ground, writhing and howling in agony. Nestor clutched his throat, gasping for air as he watched the vampire’s skin dry up like parchment, and crumble from her bones.
Kellen stood close by with the bloody spike of the cell’s table leg in his hand. “Thought you could use some help,” he said. He offered his hand to Nestor, pulling the barbarian to his feet. They turned to see Tyrell on the floor beside Galen. The thief had a hand on the wizard’s shoulder. Nestor and Kellen carefully made their way around the pit, offering their hands to the other two men. Tyrell looked weakly at his friends and hung his head as he turned away.
“What have I done,” he muttered.
Kellen grabbed the wizard’s arms and looked him in the eye. “You have now seen another of the devil’s tricks. Don’t ever fall for it again.”
“I could have killed Galen.”
“But you didn’t,” said the thief. Tyrell looked at his friends, surprised to see no ill will in their expressions. “I won’t lie about how relieved I am that Kellen hadn’t been a second slower, but since he wasn’t…” The thief shrugged his shoulders then clapped the mage on the shoulder.
The wizard nodded. “Let’s finish him,” said Tyrell. His words were softly spoken, but there was a razor’s edge in his tone.
“We’ve all taken a beating tonight, and we found Kellen,” said Nestor. “I think we might be better off to find our way out of here and try again when we are fresh.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Ambrose. “However, there is one little thing that we can accomplish on our way out. Tyrell, do you have with you the list of lairs that I sent you after?”
“Yes, here is a copy.” He handed the piece of paper to Kellen who studied it briefly and then tucked it away.
“I know where one of these is located. It is close by. Follow me.” They proceeded down the hallway, making a few twists and turns as they followed Ambrose. Soon, they emerged onto a balcony that overlooked a grand chamber. Tyrell gasped as he saw the dozens of coffins that lined the floor below them.
“How many does the bastard need,” whispered Nestor.
“They aren’t his. They belong to the victims he has been harvesting for centuries. Most of them are from Tarnath, but some are unfortunate souls that he cursed with undeath over the span of years.” Kellen walked behind the rusty spiral stair that led upwards and rolled out three small kegs towards the men. “Darian brought me here when he first captured me. I think he wanted to gloat before he knocked me around and threw me into that cell. However, I spied these kegs and noticed the familiar pungent smell about them. It made sense to me that he probably kept this stuff close by in the event that he had to quickly destroy evidence of his existence. Tonight, let’s destroy it for him, shall we?”
Kellen pulled the cork from the top of one keg and started to douse the coffins below. Nestor and Galen joined in, and soon the entire chamber reeked of the oil. Kellen put flint and steel to a torch, offering it to Tyrell once it was lit. The mage shook his head, and instead held his hands out over the balcony rail. With a word of magic, fire rained down from his hands onto the coffins. The oil ignited, and the flames spread over the entire room. They all couldn’t help but smile as the flames crawled and danced over the wooden boxes.
Kellen turned away first and started up the spiral stairs. He beckoned for the men to follow him. The heat and thickening smoke gave them little choice. As he climbed into the passage that the stairs led to, Galen shuddered. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the change in temperature from the inferno below, or the thought of how close he had come to being killed by his friend’s hand. It might have been the idea of being burned to death in a little wooden box, or perhaps it was just the gruesome scenes depicted in the mural he noticed on his way out. The way that elven warrior was being tortured while the pair of glowing eyes looked on would send shivers down anyone’s spine, he thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lorelei sat in her apartment that was located on the outskirts of the Nobles’ district. Although it w
as not as richly decorated as his own home, Lord Ambrose had more than provided for the girl. She lounged back in the soft cushions of a great armchair and felt a sense of peace that she had never known before. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, for the hour grew late, but she knew that soon her inevitable visitor would arrive.
For two weeks, ever since the dreadful night that smoke had mysteriously poured from the sewers, he had come to see her. Despite her senses warning her away, Lorelei had been unable to resist his charm. Every time she looked into his eyes, she felt as though she gave a little more of herself to him. She simply couldn’t fight his allure any longer.
She rose and began to pace the floor. She glanced every so often out of the window onto her porch, but there was never anything there but darkness. Then she heard the faint scratch on the pane of glass that always signaled his arrival. She threw open the front door as quickly as she could, just so she could claim to have caught him before he faded back into the night.
He was too skilled for that, however, and the night breeze chilled her skin as she stood alone on the porch. He would not be seen unless he wished to be. She listened intently hoping to catch the clack of his boot heels as he walked, but she had learned that his steps were as soft as the shadows he called home.
A splash of color caught her eye. When she looked down she saw a bouquet of flowers carefully placed on the top stair. Lorelei smiled as she picked up the bundle, and breathed in their fragrance. She strained to see into the darkness one last time, but the porch and stairs were empty.
“They come freshly picked from the gardens of Eferil Durath,” he said from inside her apartment. Lorelei didn’t want to seem too eager, so she nonchalantly spun, her nightdress flaring out around her shapely legs as she re-entered her home. She set the flowers on a table and shut the door. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as a grin found its way to her face.
Galen sat in the chair she had vacated with one leg thrown lazily over the armrest. He flashed the smirk of his that always made her melt. She shivered with anticipation but forced herself to maintain her composure.
“Stealing from the garden of the Lord High Governor himself now, are you? Well, milord,” she said sarcastically, “I do hope that I am worth such a risk.” Galen stood and approached her. He took her hand in his, bringing her fingers to his lips.
“All that, and more,” he said with a wink. “And of course there is indeed more.” With a flourish, he produced a gem-studded platinum bracelet that sparkled in the light of the hearth fire. The surface was carved with images of entwined lovers in eternal embraces. Galen slid the bauble onto the girl’s wrist.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“It pales in comparison.”
Lorelei put her arms around the thief’s neck, kissing him tenderly. “You’ve been playing these little games ever since the three of you rescued Kellen. Don’t you see by now that they are no longer necessary?”
Galen’s face grew sad and thoughtful. He stepped away from her, again taking her hands. “I’ve come closer to dying more times in the past few weeks than I care to think about. I’ve faced dangers that I never believed could exist. I’ve always led a reckless life, but have been thinking a lot lately that maybe it’s time for me to start living a less adventurous lifestyle.” He somberly looked into her eyes. “And I like to think that perhaps I have finally found a reason worth living for.”
Her laughter was not among the responses he expected. “Listen to you. Are you now a bard instead of a thief?”
“Well, both can be scandalous professions.”
“And more accustomed to taking gifts than giving them.” She looked deeply into his blue eyes and smiled. “Galen, you will not be happy unless you are looking over your shoulder for the owner of the coinpurse you’ve just snatched. You would be poorly suited to the lifestyle of an honest man.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I can’t give up my craft. I have to make a living somehow, so I might as well stick to what I am good at. Besides, how else will I keep my lady showered with tokens of my affection?” He laughed. “And, yes, I do just enjoy the thrill of it.”
“Then do what you enjoy doing, and be content with it.” She noticed the smirk on his face, and she raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“There’s something else I hope to enjoy.”
“Well,” she said, “we don’t always get what we want.” She gave him a quick kiss.
“I do,” he said, but he noticed that she was pushing him back towards the armchair.
“What exactly do you hope to gain from me tonight, rogue? I don’t have enough money to even be worth your notice, and you’ve already stolen my heart.” She pushed him gently into the soft cushions. Galen grinned and snuffed out the nearby candle with a quick pinch of his fingers. The room plunged into darkness.
“Then what else do I need?”
***
A coin spun high and fast into the air, then exploded into a rainbow cascade of sparks that fell over the astonished tavern crowd. The audience broke into thunderous applause as Tyrell took a bow. The wizard collected the coins that were thrown onto his table, accepted an offered drink, and finally sat down to rejoin Nestor.
The hardships of the past few weeks combined with each man’s personal sense of honor had forged a strong friendship between the two men. Tyrell felt now as though the times when they had been at each other’s throats were nothing more than a bad dream. He smiled. He could certainly do far worse than to call the massive barbarian his friend.
“Tokens from your adoring public,” said Nestor. He pointed to the pile of coins that the wizard stuffed into his pouch. “You haven’t already gone through Kellen’s reward, have you?” The barbarian belched and wiped beer from his red mustache with the back of his hand.
When they had returned the nobleman to his home, Kellen had given each man a small pouch of coin and gems in gratitude for rescuing him from the sewer dungeon. Although it was hardly a fortune, it was enough money to keep them comfortable for a little while.
“No, I’ve still got some of that money left. It’s just that I’ve made my living as a performer for so long, it just seems to come naturally whenever I’m around a crowd. Plus it lets me keep in practice.” Tyrell rolled a copper coin across his knuckles then made it vanish only to reappear in his other hand. A sad smile found its way to his face. “Not that I’ll ever get a job performing again, after this whole thief business.”
“Kellen got the charges dropped against all three of us. Less damages, of course.”
“Yes, but people remember accusations. I would be regarded as a thief despite my innocence. Every employer would make sure he had the silver counted at the end of the dinner. Crowds don’t applaud when they have one hand on their money pouches.”
“So give up the theatrics, and practice real magic. And, don’t tell me you can’t do it. I know what I saw in that stinking hole, Tyrell. I may not know much about your art, but you damn well have the ability. I still haven’t grown back all of the hair from that bloody fireball you tossed down there.”
“That’s precisely why I can’t risk it. You don’t realize the danger involved, my friend. I could never forgive myself if I lost control of the power, and ended up blasting some innocent bystander to ashes. I know my place, Nestor. I’m an amateur, and I will remain so.”
Nestor snorted. He could clearly picture the blossom of flame that had saved his life in the sewer. The wizard had sworn that such a feat was a fluke occurrence caused by the panic and stress of the situation. The warrior also remembered Tyrell’s face at that moment, though. All he had seen was a mask of cool control. The mage insisted that he couldn’t harness such powerful magic, but Nestor didn’t believe that any ‘amateur’ could unleash such an inferno. If his friend could only overcome his doubts, he thought to himself, would there be any limits to the power that Tyrell could wield?
“Am I interrupting anything?” Galen’s voice startled Nestor so much that the barbari
an choked on his drink. “What’s the matter with him,” he asked Tyrell. “The beer here isn’t that strong.”
“Pull up a seat, lad,” Nestor sputtered. “You’re just in time for your own funeral.”
“I couldn’t help but notice the number of patrons you accidentally bumped into on your way over to the table,” commented Tyrell. He pointed to Galen’s thickened, and slightly jingling, middle. “Either that or you’ve been eating too well. I’d say the next round is yours.”
“Actually, I need to hang on to a little bit extra right now. I’m on my way to Lord Merkalan’s, which should atone for my terrible deeds,” the thief said sarcastically. “I plan to repay him for the damages my little misadventure caused in his home.”
“What a generous gesture, cutpurse,” said Nestor. A barmaid brought over a fresh pitcher then placed an empty mug before the thief. Nestor filled the glass, then pushed it towards his young accomplice. “Magister must have finally caught up with you, and delivered the order, didn’t he?”
Galen scowled then nodded. “Yeah, he got me this morning. I tried to duck down an alley, but one of his guards spotted me too quickly.”
“You’re slipping, lad,” said the barbarian. “One too many late nights with your lady fair if I’m guessing right.” The big man laughed and drained his cup in one gulp.
“Do you have enough to cover all of the damage,” asked Tyrell.
“I was just barely able to cover the church’s broken crystal,” said Nestor as he refilled his mug. “Plus I didn’t destroy an entire wing of a mansion.”
“Honestly, I don’t know if I can cover it all or not,” he said as he rose from his seat. He patted his jingling waist. “Maybe I’ll just have to add a few extra pounds along the way, just to be safe.” He took another drink and winced. “Gods above, how do you drink this? Does the barkeep have to hold the pitcher under the horses, or do they fill them up on their own?”
