Storm of Divine Light

by Ernesto San Giacomo

  Liberon entered the lively room, where drinking, dancing, music, and smoke filled the air. This normal tavern served as the front to mask the Guild below. Dagorat had told him most of the people enjoying themselves on the main floor hadn’t a clue they made merry right above the Thieves’ Guild of Mentiria.

  He strode down the long corridor toward the privies. A haggard old man sat in a chair at the end of the hall. Liberon approached him, held out three copper-jacks and dropped two coins into the wrinkled outstretched hand. Then he tapped them with the third, and kept it. Now the old man stared at him expectantly.

  The game had begun, no chance to turn back. He swallowed hard. “I stole a kiss from a junior miss.”

  With a twinkling eye, the man offered a slow, knowing nod and opened a panel in the wall. Liberon went through and it closed behind him. He huffed a sigh of relief; the first obstacle had been crossed. A long, spiraling staircase led him downward for twenty feet, where he ended up at another door. Pushing it open revealed a slender, rectangular room with another door opposite. However, the other door opened inward and banged into the first, so he had to shut one before opening the other.

  What a curiously poor design. But as he thought about it, the simple ingenuity of the construction became clear. The odd doors made it impossible for a group of town guards to pass through all at once. They’d have to come one at a time. He gave a moment of silent appreciation for the clever arrangement, and then passed into the main room.

  Music and revelry filled his ears. A band played a lively gigue from a stage in the corner. Most folks were content to tap a foot with the beat, but in the middle of the room, several Halflings danced merrily on top of a table. When the band played the final chords of their song, the whole room cheered. The Halflings exchanged hugs and toasted the band. One of the women had red hair, the second he’d seen today. Briefly, he wondered if many of their women were red-headed. Liberon froze as he caught a glimpse of her face. She was the cook from the Sword and Anvil Tavern. What’s she doing here? He spun away from her, hoping she hadn’t recognized him.

  He had to put her out of his mind; he had a job to do. Adjusting his hood, he strode casually up to the bar and settled into a corner seat, the best available for his purposes. The bartender swaggered over to him. “What’ll ya have?”

  “Dark ale,” he responded.

  The bartender approached with a large mug – a generous portion. Liberon pulled out three copper-jacks, two for the drink and one extra for a tip.

  “Thanks, young rogue.”

  Liberon’s chest swelled. So far, so good. He dared not risk a smile and had to resist laughing out loud. Feeling more secure, he glanced around, and knew he’d chosen a good spot. His seat provided a good view of the place and of the entrance, as Dagorat had instructed.

  A wide, wooden plank floor and stone walls made up the large L-shaped room. Heavy wooden beams and columns supported the stone ceiling. Liberon figured the stone must dampen the noise. Rough-looking people with various scars, poor teeth, scraggly hair and unkempt beards filled the place. Only a scant number of revelers had a groomed appearance akin to his own; he hoped their presence prevented him from standing out too much.

  As the musicians checked their tuning, their leader called for attention. “All right, folks! This next tune comes from a certain far-away land, and it’s very popular in their pubs.” He pointed to the Halflings. “The Chicken and the Cow!” The band played the first notes, and the Halflings jumped back onto their table, Lilly included. Good. She’d be too occupied to notice him.

  The rest of the crowd didn’t seem familiar with the tune, but after the first few measures they picked up the rhythm and joined in anyway. Once again, the energy in the room surged. Liberon tapped his foot and scanned the crowd, thankful for the cover. Watching the merriment made him less conspicuous than staring at other patrons.

  Someone brushed by him. A strong scent of spices hit his nose, reminding him of the abbey. He didn’t dare turn to look. From the corner of his eye, he observed the newcomer sit down at a table across the room.

  A beautiful woman sat at the same table, conversing with a number of men. Liberon had difficulty tearing his gaze away from her light green eyes and soft peach complexion. After several long moments, he realized he’d been staring for too long and averted his eyes. He feigned a happy face as the Halflings danced, and bobbed his head to the beat.

  ***

  The woman stared into the dead, dark eyes of Shadowtooth. She could never read his stony face or glean what thoughts loomed behind his permanently grim expression. Even when he sipped his ale, he appeared disgusted and angry. Sometimes he refused the company of others for days at a time, even shrugging off the business of the Thieves’ Guild. She relished the relative freedom of those occasions.

  “You said someone entered,” Shadowtooth said. “Is it anyone we know?”

  “Never saw him before,” she replied.

  “What’s he look like?” His fingers stroked her hand. “Describe him to me.”

  Her skin crawled at his touch, as if a large spider skittered across her hand. She swallowed her disgust, hiding it behind a stoic face. “He seems young and fresh.”

  “I grow tired of these foreigners. They infest this place twice a year and don’t pay the tribute owed to me,” he said.

  “It’s a common courtesy among the different Guilds, remember? Our members don’t pay anything either when they go abroad.”

  He put his mug down. “It’s a tradition that should end.” Murmurs of agreement came from the others at the table.

  “All of the other Guilds might take sides against us,” she said.

  “Let them.”

  His fingers remained on her hand. She dared not draw away. Her arm still bore scars from the one time she had refused his drunken advances.

  “Why don’t you go see who that young rascal is,” he said. It was not a request.

  “What about the Halflings?”

  “I already know who they are. Go find out about the young one. But be careful he doesn’t get any information from you.”

  ***

  A hand tapped Liberon’s shoulder. Startled, he whirled about to see the beautiful maiden he’d noticed earlier. She had some type of paint on her lips which made them glisten red, and a softer tone accented her cheeks. Her hair reminded him of russet autumn leaves.

  “Are you all alone?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m alone.”

  She stroked his arm. “No one here to dance with you?”

  “I-I don’t know how to dance.”

  Her hand glided over his chest and moved up to his face. She traced around over his ear with a finger. “Buy me a pint and I’ll teach you.”

  Liberon’s gut fluttered. Oh, why didn’t Dagorat tell me anything about women? He signaled to the bartender and ordered ales for himself and his new friend. This time he offered two extra copper-jacks as a tip.

  The bartender brought them a small plate filled with chunks of cheese and bread along with the drinks. “Here’s a tidbit o’food for a cute couple.” He winked at Liberon.

  “What?” Liberon said with a shaky voice. He dragged a sleeve across his sweaty brow.

  The woman picked up her mug and took a sip. “I’m Katrina,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m a mouse.”

  Thankfully, Dagorat had mentioned some of the slang for specialty work. A mouse was someone who stole from homes and businesses without leaving signs of a forced entry. “I’m Scorpion,” Liberon said, feeling a tad more confident because he’d remembered the term. “Done the occasional mouse deed from time to time, but I prefer snipping.” He took out one of the purses and showed it to her, wincing when he realized he’d mistakenly grabbed the very expensive white leather one.

  Katrina narrowed her eyes at the purse. “Scorpion, huh? One more ale and I might let you sting me.” She sipped some ale and licked her lips. Her eyes had a strange yearning in them that eluded his understanding.

&
nbsp; “It’s just a name. I don’t really have a stinger.”

  She gagged, spit out her ale and laughed.

  Liberon blinked. What did I say? People out here had a strange sense of humor. Oh. A stinger. I get it. His cheeks warmed, and he faked a smile. Best let it pass. He supposed he should take a stab at getting some information. The Orb’s theft may very well have been a mouse-type deed. He leaned in close to Katrina and whispered, “I’ve heard some news of an important mouse job done early this morning. Supposedly it took a whole year to plan.”

  Her giggles melted away, leaving steely suspicion in their wake. “Thanks for the ale,” she said in a cold voice. She sauntered back to her table and sat with her gang. They all hunched into a tight circle around Katrina as she spoke. One of them rose up slowly over the shoulder of the man opposite her to stare at Liberon. Then he sank back down into his seat.

  Liberon swallowed hard. The situation had turned for the worse. Perhaps he should leave. While he was calculating the best way to slip out, the band struck up another song. Apparently they’d chosen a popular tune, because many people got up to dance. What a perfect opportunity. He slid down from his seat and merged into the crowd, feeling inane as he moved his body along to the music. Threading his way along the periphery of the mob, he made his way to the nook Dagorat had described as the hidden exit and ran up the dark stairwell to the outside.

  He sucked in huge gulps of fresh air, grateful to escape. A stack of barrels blocked his way; he edged his way around them to emerge in an alley off Maple Street.

  “What’s wrong?” came a voice from the shadows.

  Liberon’s pounding heart nearly stopped as he spun to find the source. Then he peered into the dark and relaxed. “Thank The One, it’s you,” he said to Dagorat. “Trouble.”

  “Get ready,” Dagorat told Cyril. The mage raised his staff.

  Three brutes came crashing through the barrels and stalked toward Liberon. “Nam kusom!” Cyril cried as he pointed his staff at the trio. A flash of light struck them. Their bodies gave violent jerks, then collapsed. For a moment, all was still.

  The door that didn’t resemble a door swung open and Katrina crept out. She stopped short at the sight of the three unconscious men and tried to get back inside. Liberon pointed. “Get her!”

  Cyril uttered the same spell and she, too, collapsed to the ground.

  Dagorat ran up to the pile of men and examined them. He gaped up at Liberon. “What did you do? These blokes are Guild Enforcers.” He pried a large cloth bag from one of their fists. “They were going to bind and gag you, stuff you into this bag, and drop you in the river.” Then he knelt near Katrina. “Who’s this?”

  Drop him in the river? By The One, what had he gotten himself into? “A mouse named Katrina. She put them onto me. I think she knows something.”

  “Let’s put her in this bag and carry her home. Leave the others, they’ll be fine.”

  “Oh! You mean they’re still alive?” Liberon said.

  “You take me for some common murderer? They’re just sleeping,” Cyril said in an angry voice.

  Liberon breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his brow. At least there were no deaths on his conscience.

  ***

  Using Dagorat’s knowledge of Mentiria’s back alleys and streets, they went back to the house without incident. After removing Katrina from the sack, they tied her to a chair in the consultation room. Dagorat fetched some fresh biscuits, and the group sat down to discuss what Liberon had learned.

  Haltingly, the young monk recounted the evening. A blush rose to his face when he came to the part about Katrina, and he glossed over their flirtation. He described the men she’d been sitting with, and ended with his flight from the place. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, staring at his feet. “Now look where we’re at. I didn’t accomplish anything useful.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. She may yet tell us something important.” Cyril opened a window. “Stuffy in here.”

  “There’s one more thing I saw,” Liberon said. “There were Halflings dancing around.”

  “I’m not surprised. They are known for their merriment,” Cyril said.

  “One of them was the cook from the Sword and Anvil.”

  Dagorat choked on his biscuit, and Cyril’s eyebrows rose high before he said, “You mean Miss Lilly?”

  “Yes, she was dancing with other Halflings in there.”

  Cyril scrunched his nose, like he’d eaten a burnt Silberian egg. He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe she would consort with such rabble.”

  “Thanks, Cyril,” Dagorat said.

  “You know how I meant that.”

  He snorted and looked away. No, Cyril didn’t mean anything by it, but the remark still stung. A fine way to talk about people just trying to get by. Funny how even his best friend thought rogues were so lowly.

  “I must admit, I don’t like the idea of holding this girl captive,” Cyril said.

  “Don’t be fooled. She’s not a girl, she’s a mouse. Given the chance, she’d steal your teeth while you slept.”

  “What did you say her name was?” Cyril asked Liberon.

  “Katrina.” He paused. “Well, that’s what she told me, anyway.”

  Dagorat dashed upstairs and came back with three large green kerchiefs from Cyril’s stash of party clothes. He folded one into a triangle and tied it around the lower half of his face, then gave the other two to his companions. No sense taking chances.

  Liberon took the cloth and shook his head. “What did you tell me before, Cyril? I’d feel like a real rogue before this day was over.”

  They donned their masks and moved around behind Katrina, out of her line of sight. “Wake her up,” Dagorat told Cyril. The mage put his hand on her head and muttered softly. When he took his hand away, she stirred. As her consciousness returned, she opened her eyes and struggled against her bonds. Then they circled around into her field of vision. Dagorat removed her gag and leaned in.

  Defiant green eyes glared at him. “Well, stop staring and get on with it.”

  Impressed, Dagorat smiled behind his mask. “So, when you’re asked about an important mouse deed, the first thing you do is run to the Enforcers.”

  “No!”

  “Lying doesn’t suit you.” He took out Frostbite and brought it close to her face.

  “If you already have all the answers, why ask me?” Her eyes fixed upon the blade. “I never wanted the Enforcers involved. When I went to report to Shadowtooth, they were already talking about Scorpion.”

  The dirk halted its progress. “Shadowtooth?” Dagorat glanced at Cyril, biting back a chuckle, once again thankful for his mask. “You mean there’s a rogue who intentionally chose the name Shadowtooth?” What name came in second?

  “Sounds as ridiculous as The Black Pudding,” Liberon mumbled. Katrina’s eyes twitched toward him.

  “Never mind all that. Why did you go report to him?” Cyril asked.

  Silence. She bit her lip. Dagorat brought Frostbite up to her left eyeball. With gritted teeth she flinched away, then let out a breath and glared up at him. “He was celebrating earlier. Said he pulled off a job he’d planned for almost a year. Called it the ultimate mouse deed. Sounded something like what your friend here asked me about.” Her gaze fixed on Liberon. “Your mask doesn’t hide your clothes, Scorpion. I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “The Enforcers were going after you, whether I said anything or not.”

  Almost a year? This Shadowtooth had to be the thief, then. “Go on.” Dagorat tapped the flat of the blade on her cheek. “What were they saying about Scorpion?”

  Katrina shook her head and eyed Liberon. “Shadowtooth told them you were from Farmstead Abbey. Then I told them about your questions. And then you ran off, so they went after you.” She shifted her attention between the three. “I suppose you want to get him, but it’s no use now. Knowing Shadowtooth, he’s long gone. He may be a son of an orc-whore, but he’s good at disappearing.”

  “Caravans ar
en’t running. He’s not run far at all,” Liberon said confidently.

  Damn fool! Dagorat had to stop himself from yelling at the monk. He glared at him instead. “We’re done with her.” The mage repeated his spell and Katrina fell unconscious again.

  “Learn to keep quiet,” Dagorat snarled at Liberon. “We can’t release her now, thanks to you.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You mentioned the caravan. If we let her go, she’ll run right to Shadowtooth and tell him the caravans are being watched. Now that Shadowtooth has dropped out of sight, it’ll be near impossible to find the Orb here in the city. So we’ll have to be on that next caravan. It’ll be risky enough, so I don’t especially want the thief searching for us.”

  “I don’t understand,” Liberon said. “If she thinks he’s a…well, not a nice person…why did she run to him?”

  “She’s afraid of him. Also afraid of what’ll happen if she turns on him. If he’s got people reporting to him, then he’s pretty high up in the Guild. Thieves might squabble among themselves, but nobody ever goes against the Guild leaders.” He raised his shoulders and flipped a palm upward. “What are we going to do with her?”

  “I don’t know.” Cyril shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “By Korak’s well-worn staff. We can’t keep her, nor can we release her. Like holding an orc by the ears.”

  CHAPTER 8

  IN HOT PURSUIT OF A MOUSE

  THE THREE PACED AROUND KATRINA, each pensive and silent. Every so often Dagorat stopped and stared at Liberon, and shook his head. “Nobnoggin.” The young monk shifted his gaze away and fidgeted with a button.

  Some minutes later, Liberon halted with eyes wide. The other two froze in anticipation. Then the monk scowled. “Nah.” He buried his own idea with a dismissive hand gesture. They all released disappointed sighs and continued to pace.

  Dagorat disliked holding Katrina captive; he hated her for getting involved in the first place. But her mischievous face and agile figure prevented him from hating her for too long. He scowled at Liberon. “By Korak’s itchy balls. Why did you have to mention the caravan?”