Thieves' Honor

by David Combs

  “Now isn’t that hellishly appropriate,” muttered Nestor as the wolf’s cry faded into the night. “Keep alert, lads. I've got a feeling that the action we’ve been waiting for will find us this night.”

  Galen strained to see the trail ahead. “This is ridiculous. If we keep trying to travel through this, we’re either going to find ourselves trapped in a box canyon or tottering off the edge of a cliff. I for one am in favor of neither.”

  “Galen’s right,” said Tyrell. “We’d better find a place to settle in for the night, and hope this fog burns off in the morning.”

  “You were unwise to pursue me to my home.” Kellen’s voice echoed through the fog with a sinister hiss. Nestor jerked Shadow Reaver from its sheath, and the elvensteel blade began to hum softly. The fog distorted the direction of Kellen’s voice, making it impossible for the warrior to determine where the vampire stood.

  “Show yourself, coward,” cried Galen. “Come out and answer for your crimes!”

  “And are you willing to do the same, little thief? How many times over could the magistrate of Tarnath send you to the gallows if he knew the extent of your career history? No, Galen Thale, my account shall not be tallied for many more centuries to come, and certainly not by the likes of you three,” Kellen hissed.

  “Tyrell,” whispered Nestor. “Can you sense his position?”

  Tyrell closed his eyes and then shook his head. “No. At this close range, I’m getting impressions of him from all around us. It’s as if we’re surrounded by his influence.”

  “Actually, you are surrounded by my minions,” purred the vampire. “Call it a parting gift for you. I have grown weary of your persistence. You thwarted my army in Tarnath, and have proven yourselves to be worthy adversaries. Now, face my elite guard.” A dozen shadowy forms suddenly materialized in the fog, but even though they moved closer to the trio, they grew no more substantial.

  Shadow Reaver began to glow as the creatures neared. Galen lunged with his own weapon, but his blade passed harmlessly through the nearest specter. A smoky, wraithlike arm shot out and slapped the thief across the face leaving a frosty handprint emblazoned on his cheek. Galen fell to the ground, a silent scream on his lips as he trembled from the supernatural cold.

  The wispy creatures closed their ranks. Nestor lashed out with Shadow Reaver, tearing through one of the ghostlike minions. The sword whistled through the apparition, yet still, the beast fell back from the blade’s touch. “Any idea what these things are,” yelled the barbarian as he leaped to stand guard over the fallen thief. Shadow Reaver danced back and forth, holding the monsters at bay. Tyrell knelt down beside Galen who only shivered as he stared off blankly into the darkness.

  “Haven’t a clue. Just don’t let them touch you.”

  “I figured that part out already,” grumbled Nestor as he drove the elvensteel blade through another wraith that drifted within his reach. Tyrell’s mind raced. He had studied a number of spells from his magical book that were said to be of particular use against the undead, but there were none that seemed to fit this predicament. Their attackers were little more than living shadow, and even the mighty Shadow Reaver needed something more tangible to strike.

  An idea suddenly struck the mage. If the undead were creatures of darkness and drew their power from the shadows, then why not take it away from them? Tyrell raised his hand to the sky and called forth an explosion of light that blossomed out in all directions from him to pierce the darkest reaches of the surrounding fog. Shadow Reaver swished through the air at that precise instant, biting into a wraith like a woodcutter’s ax into an oak. An unearthly wail of agony tore through the night as the specter was blasted away into smoky wisps.

  “Hit them fast,” groaned Galen from the ground. The young thief struggled to his feet. Nestor, invigorated by the sudden success of Shadow Reaver against the wraiths, went after the creatures in a rage. Galen drew his own blade and lashed out at the nearest beast. Although not nearly as effective as the elvensteel weapon, the thief hacked and slashed his way into the now vulnerable undead.

  Still, the specters pushed forward, despite the fact that the three men were thinning their ranks one after another. Banishment from this plane of existence was far less punishment than what their dark master would inflict upon them for failure. One after one, they attacked with claw and fang. One after one, they were blasted away into nothingness.

  When the last of the creatures’ dying wails echoed from the surrounding hills, the three men collapsed to the ground, exhausted. No words were spoken as they gasped for breath. After several long minutes, Tyrell broke the silence. “Kellen’s gone back to his hiding place. He must have thought his minions would finish us off.” The wizard struggled back to his feet. “We’ve got to move fast. If he gets a chance to throw anything else at us, you can rest assured that he’ll do everything he can to make absolutely certain that he finishes us off. Our only hope is to find him tonight before he can conjure up another surprise.”

  “Then quit talking, and start tracking,” muttered Galen. The young thief rubbed at the fading handprint on his face. The painful, beyond-the-grave chill that the monsters had employed seemed burned away by Galen’s fiery rage. A dark scowl passed briefly across the young man’s face that spoke of hatred and anger beyond what Galen Thale had ever known before.

  The men quickly gathered their gear and set out with Tyrell in the lead. The mage ran as fast as the fog would safely allow while he followed the magical pull that he knew led towards Kellen Ambrose. As the trio moved on, Tyrell sensed that Kellen was no longer moving farther away, but was climbing, as if up the side of a cliff.

  Suddenly, a howl broke the stillness of the night.

  Nestor looked over his shoulder, but the fog distorted sound in such a way that none of the men could truly discern which direction the noise had come from. “Let’s keep moving,” said the barbarian. “That sounded close.” He gave his friend a gentle push in the direction they had been going. They started off again, all of them hoping to put some distance between themselves and the wolf.

  Another howl split the eerie night this time undoubtedly from ahead. A third sounded louder than the others directly off to their left. Sweat covered the brows of all three men, as they raced forward. Shadowy forms on four legs loped in and out of the mist-shrouded night. Low growls rumbled close behind as the men sprinted into the unknown night. Then, suddenly, a blank cliff face loomed out of the darkness before them that completely blocked their path.

  “Dammit,” swore Nestor. “We were being herded.” The warrior drew Shadow Reaver, ready for battle, but Tyrell grabbed his arm.

  “I can sense Kellen almost directly above us.”

  “Probably waiting to drop a rock on our heads, if the wolves don’t get us first.” Nestor strained to see into the swirling depths of the thick fog. “They’re out there. I can see shapes running back and forth. They aren’t coming in, but they aren’t going to let us pass either.”

  “Well,” said Galen, “then it would appear that up the wall is our only way out then. Let’s get moving before they decide it’s time to nip at our heels.”

  “Don’t you think that is exactly what Kellen wants us to do,” growled the warrior. “Forget playing by his rules. Let’s stab a few wolves and find a better way in.”

  “Galen’s right, Nestor,” said Tyrell. “Those wolves will come in too large a pack for us to fend off if we try to fight our way out.” He sighed and shook his head. “Start climbing, big man.” He turned and reached for a handhold along the cliff face. Galen, trained as he was for scaling walls, pulled himself up like a spider on a web, quickly passing the wizard. He called out hand and foot holds to his friends as he kept moving steadily upwards. Nestor gritted his teeth, sheathed Shadow Reaver, and pulled himself onto the rock wall. From below, the wolves howled, and Nestor watched a dozen mastiff sized brutes drift out of the fog to stand at the cliff’s base.

  Tyrell shortly found himself on a small ledge
as Galen hauled him up. The wizard paused to wipe his brow and then reached down to grab Nestor’s outstretched hand. The three men rested under the cover of a small outcropping.

  “Well, no rocks have fallen on our heads yet,” said Tyrell.

  “Kellen has probably figured that there are enough between our ears already,” the barbarian snorted. “This is too easy. Kellen wants us up here. I’ve seen what an ordinary pack of wolves can do to a man, and I don’t believe those below qualify as ‘ordinary’. They were sent to hold us here on this rock.”

  “Full of good cheer tonight, aren’t you,” muttered Galen.

  “I’m just wondering how high up this cliff goes. Kellen’s most likely standing up at the top, waiting for us to exhaust ourselves on this climb just so he can kick us off the wall one at a time.”

  “Well, try to land on a wolf when you hit bottom,” snapped Galen.

  “Galen, that’s enough,” said Tyrell. “We don’t have any better options at the moment. The last thing we need is to turn against each other again.” The mage glared at the young thief.

  “My apologies, Nestor,” said the younger man. “I just want this whole ordeal over with. Gods above, I just want my old life back.”

  Nestor put his hand on Galen’s shoulder. “It ends tonight. One way or another. I swear, on my honor, that we finish it tonight.”

  Galen’s face broke into a weary grin. “You know they say that there is no honor among thieves.”

  “We are so much more than thieves. We’re brothers and close enough now to die for one another. There is no greater honor than that.”

  “Together, then,” said Tyrell as he clapped his friends on their backs. “Let’s finish the climb.”

  The three men gathered themselves and resumed their ascent. The fog not only made visibility terrible, but made the rock face slippery and wet. Tyrell’s foot shot from his perch as he reached for a handhold, barely catching himself from plummeting into the open abyss below them. Galen moved easily up the stone face, while Nestor trailed behind, his focus on finding the next handhold that would bring him ever closer to burying Shadow Reaver in Kellen’s breast.

  The three men climbed on for what seemed an endless time, and eventually reached another ledge. Nestor looked to the moon. “We’ve only been climbing for about an hour. Does this damnable rock have no top? Much more of this and none of us shall have the strength to lift a sword, let alone run it through a squirming vampire.”

  “I’m more curious as to why Kellen hasn’t thrown anything else at us,” said Tyrell. “Wear us out on the cliff face, and let gravity finish us off,” he said as he peered over the edge. The mage couldn’t even see the ground through the thick curtain of fog.

  “He wants to finish us off personally, I think,” said Galen. “We’ve beaten his henchthings too many times now.” The thief shrugged his shoulders. “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”

  “Or maybe his thirst for revenge is equal to ours,” considered Tyrell. “We’ve thinned his ranks, wrecked his plans to conquer Tarnath, and chased him wounded back to this place. He’s justifiably annoyed with us, don’t you imagine?”

  “Happy to be the thorn in his side,” replied the thief.

  “And the kick to his arse,” said Nestor. The three men shared a quiet chuckle and moved again to the cliff wall. Above them, the cloud cover broke and the silver moonlight showed them the remaining 500 feet of the cliff face. At the top of the climb, the rocks grew even more jagged, like teeth gaping towards the heavens. Nestled in these crags, the trio saw their ultimate destination. Silvery stone walls of an ancient fortress loomed into the night sky above them. The heroes looked in awe upon Cliffside Keep, a onetime refuge for elven kings in times of trouble.

  It was now home to Kellen Ambrose.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Quite a piece of work,” said Nestor as he looked upon the keep. “It certainly looks like a hell of a difficult place to attack.”

  “Just as Drayton said it would be,” whispered Galen. “Well, we are no army. Getting into places where I’m not wanted is my specialty.” The thief began to reach for the next handhold when Tyrell grabbed his arm.

  “Listen, Galen, Drayton also said that this place would be covered with traps and crawling with guards. We need to keep that in mind.” Galen stared at the rock face before him, his brows knitted in quiet fury.

  “It’s only another obstacle to getting even with that son of a bitch.”

  “We know you’re hurting, lad,” added Nestor, “but we’d like to make certain that we all live long enough to grant justice where it’s due.” Galen nodded slowly, reaching again for the rock.

  “I won’t let you down,” he replied. Nestor and Tyrell exchanged a quick worried glance and moved back to the cliff face.

  The fog rolled back in like a white blanket, heavier than before. The three climbers did all they could to stay within sight of one another, but so dense was the cloud that each man was shrouded in his own isolated pocket. Every distorted echo sounded like the precursor to an ambush to catch the men at their most vulnerable. Tyrell waited for the impending roar of a rock fall crushing down from above. Nestor whipped his head back and forth expecting some new ghastly servant to materialize beside him and throw him off the mountain. He felt little reassurance from the elvensteel blade on his back, for how could he hope to draw it and fight while hanging from the side of the cliff?

  Galen, however, silently welcomed any attack that might come. The young thief sought only to vent his boiling rage on something. If it lived and breathed, he would kill it. If it were already dead, then he would send it back to the grave. If Kellen dared show his face, then so much the better, he thought to himself with a grim smile.

  Time again lost its meaning as the climb through the foggy haze continued. The top of the cliff had again become lost in the clouds, and they found no more ledges to take rests upon. The instead wedged themselves into crevices of rock when weariness demanded a pause.

  “Galen, I don’t suppose you can see how close we are now,” asked Tyrell during one such interlude.

  The young thief strained to see above him, but only saw darkness and swirling fog. “Nothing yet. Surely, we have to be getting close by now though. Feels like we’ve been at this for ages.”

  The mage looked around him, surveying the rocky outcroppings that surrounded him. Cold, hard, and thoroughly uninviting was the quick assessment he reached. He sighed. All I want is this nightmare to end, he thought to himself. A wave of despair flowed over him. What if we haven’t got the strength or the ability, when we get there, he wondered. This whole adventure feels so hopeless.

  A dark shadow appeared from the corner of his vision, vanishing as he tried to focus on the shape, but reappearing as he looked away. “Come, dear one,” whispered a sweet voice into Tyrell’s mind. “Together we shall end your doubt and anguish.” The wizard shook his head to clear the voice from his thoughts, but he found himself edging closer to the siren song of the shadowy form. He tried to call out to warn the others, but his voice caught in his throat. “Closer,” beckoned the shadow, and Tyrell could do nothing but obey.

  Nestor sensed Tyrell moving above him and resumed his climb, as rapidly as he dared. Loose stone from above rained down in his face, and he bit back a growl. Skillfully, he scaled the rock wall, until he saw the soles of boots just above him. “Have a care what you kick down the slope,” he called up. He pulled himself up enough to see Galen looking down at him.

  “Where’s Tyrell,” asked the thief.

  “I thought you were him. I didn’t pass him on the way up.”

  “Well, you must have. He hasn’t come past me either. Tyrell!” The thief’s voice echoed into the night sky. “Gods above, he didn’t fall, did he?”

  “I imagine that he would have had the courtesy to at least scream if he were plummeting to his death.” The warrior felt a shiver run down his spine. “Be ready, lad. I've got a feeling something is ab-.�
�� Nestor’s words were cut off as the rock beside him exploded outward and a giant fanged head burst forth. The diamond-shaped head of a monstrous mountain serpent bucked into both men, grabbing Nestor from the wall and forcing Galen to scramble for a handhold to keep from falling to his death, as he slid down the rocky slope.

  ***

  Tyrell crept around the rock spur, watching the shadow recede into the opening of a small cave. A terrible carrion stench assailed him as he edged closer to the opening. Go back for the others, he screamed to himself, but silently he continued on. “Come to me, dear one,” called the soothing voice to him again. Helpless to resist, Tyrell entered the cave.

  Although unable to resist the pull of the sweet voice, Tyrell had spent years disciplining his mind to attune to magic of all types. He found the tendrils of the beckoning call itself and could see the lines of magic that extended from the deeper shadows to himself. The mage stood his ground, reaching his focus out towards the call. The source of the dark magic felt his resistance and redoubled the effort sending waves of pulsing magic blasting away at the wizard’s mental barriers. Tyrell gritted his teeth and reached out with his mind. A snarl crept over his face as he broke the magical bond through the sheer force of his will. The magical fingers retreated into the darkness once more, and Tyrell’s will was his own once again. He started to turn and run back to the entrance when a cold, rotten breeze blew from behind him/

  “Going so soon, darling?’ It was the same honey-sweet voice that had called him to this place. Whispery and menacing, yet seductive and soothing, the feminine voice made him halt once again. He whirled and saw the coalescing figure of an ethereal elven woman step from the depths of the cave. “I so seldom get company. The tyrant of the keep likes to have his guest for dinner all too literally.” She threw her head back and laughed a cruel twisted laugh. Her silvery gold hair floated around her pale face. Eyes of pure blackness bore into him with malice born of centuries of an unearthly hunger. Her pale lips parted to show rows of razor-sharp fangs. Though she was surely breathtaking in life, Tyrell stood in terrified awe of the deadly creature before him. Tyrell wondered if his friends would reach him in time even if he screamed for them.