Paul Crilley - Night of Long Shadows

And the festival of Long Shadows was the one time during the year when the Shadow’s influence waxed strong enough that his worshipers dared to leave their hidden sanctuaries to take advantage of their god’s expanded influence.

And take advantage they did.

Cutter slowed as two orcs emerged from an alley ahead of him and lumbered across the street. Humans and dwarves scattered out of their path, staring after them in fear. Orcs were common enough in the city, but during Long Shadows they seemed to lose their thin veneer of civilization and regress to the primitive creatures they were before leaving Droaam. It was a dangerous time for the people of Sharn. No one knew what the orcs were going to do next.

A group of goblins emerged from a building, laughing and shouting at the top of their lungs. They passed some kind of vessel between them, something that pumped out thick, greasy smoke whenever they put it to their lips.

Cutter turned off the street. He didn’t have time to get caught up in anything tonight. Tiel wanted his money back at the tavern as soon as Cutter could get his hands on it. He was surprised Elian had been able to remember where it was after all their persuasion.

He stepped aboard a lift at the northern edge of Dragoneyes, the once silvery disc turned black and tarnished, its waist-high railing green with mold. Nobody bothered cleaning the lifts in the lower wards. It was a battle that couldn’t be won.

The lift rose quickly through the rain. Cutter watched as Lower Menthis expanded below him, the bright, chaotic lights of Firelight clashing with the ordered lines of everbright lanterns that marked the residential districts of Center Bridge and Forgelight Towers.

He looked to the west of Center Bridge, where the district of Downstairs lay. Rowen would be there, probably getting ready for her appointment. Cutter gripped the railing and squinted through the rain, almost as if he could see her if he willed it hard enough. They’d had another fight before he left earlier that night. About the same thing they always fought over-money. Or rather, getting enough money for them to get away from Sharn, to start somewhere fresh.

The lift rose through a circular hole and came to a jerky halt level with the street of Middle Menthis. Cutter disembarked and walked until he found Fountain Boulevard. Then he searched for the house with the petrified worgs standing guard. Cutter stood and examined them. They looked fake to him, crudely carved creatures that resembled massive wolves. He wondered how much the elf had paid for them.

Cutter took a quartz crystal from his pocket and held it over the lock on the gate. The elf had given it to him, saying Cutter needed it to disarm the magical traps he’d placed throughout the grounds. The lock clicked quietly and the gates swung inward. Cutter waited a moment, surveying the garden and the gravel path that led to the three-story house. What if the elf had lied about the stone disarming the traps? Nothing moved, but that didn’t mean anything.

Only one way to find out. Cutter stepped into the garden and walked up the path to the front door. The house lay in darkness, which made sense since the owner had been tied up in a back room of a tavern since the early afternoon.

Cutter opened the door and stepped into the hall. Cold fire lamps flared to life, revealing a corridor carpeted with imported Sarlonan rugs, some of the most expensive hand-woven carpets in the marketplace. Someone had told Cutter that each rug was woven by three generations of women, the youngest generation learning the craft from her elders as they worked side by side. Each rug took as long as five years to produce.

Paintings of famous battles adorned the walls. Cutter glanced at them. Elian was obviously an enthusiast for the War. Cutter bet he wasn’t involved in any of the fighting.

The elf said the gold was hidden beneath a floorboard in his study on the second floor. Cutter checked the rooms on the ground level just to make sure no surprises were lurking unseen, then climbed the wide staircase. The study was at the far end of the corridor, through a set of ornately carved double doors. Cutter pushed them open.

A huge darkwood desk dominated the room beyond. It sat in the middle of a deep red and green carpet, the colors forming a picture of a grassland plain on fire. Cutter shook his head in bemusement. How rich was this guy? Or rather, how rich had he been? His luck must have turned sour if he was borrowing money from Tiel. A single everbright lantern stood on the desk, its stand designed to look like a dragon clutching the sun. A hemisphere of metal surrounded the globe, so that the light could be turned in different directions.

The elf had explained that the loose floorboard was underneath the desk chair. Cutter rounded the desk and crouched.

Then he paused at what his new line of sight revealed.

A hobgoblin sat on a chair in the opposite corner of the room. The huge creature watched him calmly, its features cast in shadow by the position of the lamp’s shutter. Cutter slowly stood and turned the metal cup so it directed the light away from his eyes and up at the ceiling, until he could see the hobgoblin clearly. Its skin was a dull green, its eyes and protruding teeth a sickly yellow.

“Evening,” said Cutter.

The hobgoblin leaned forward, the wooden chair creaking beneath his weight. “I’m glad you didn’t say ‘good evening,’ because I’m afraid it isn’t going to be so good for you.”

“Is that right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Cutter dropped his arms to his sides and shrugged. His cloak dropped to the floor. He rested his hands on the carved pommels of his curved Khutai knives.

“Am I going to need these?”

“More than likely.”

“What if I said I’m here because your boss told me how to get in? That he owes money to certain people and I’m here to collect?”

“I’d say I never said he was my boss.”

This made Cutter pause. “Ah. He owes you money as well?”

“A substantial amount.”

“Then we have a problem.” Cutter drew his knives and reversed them so they lay flush against the underside of his forearms, the points just reaching his elbows.

“Are those Khutai knives?” asked the hobgoblin curiously.

“They are.”

“May I ask how you came by them?”

“I traveled with a clan of Valenar elves for some years.”

The hobgoblin’s eye ridges rose in surprise. “They accepted you?”

“After a while.”

“And they presented you with the knives?”

“They did.”

“I’m impressed.”

Cutter inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Yes, you seem like quite an interesting human. I would have liked to talk some more. Unfortunately-”

Cutter saw the hobgoblin’s eyes flicker, no more than that.

Cutter dropped to the floor and spun, flicking the blades out and slashing through the air as he did so. He saw a pair of massive legs before him, covered in thick leather armor, and the blades bit through and sliced gouges into the flesh. His attacker roared in pain.

Cutter went with his momentum and rolled to the side. He bumped against the wall and rose into a crouch, the knives held defensively before him.

It was another hobgoblin. He clutched at his thighs, blood seeping between his huge fingers. He looked at Cutter and snarled. Then his hand went to the mace hanging from his belt.

Cutter didn’t wait. He pushed himself away from the wall and ran straight at the hobgoblin. He knew he had to end this quickly. He’d never be able to slay two of them on his own. He held one arm low and raised the other high.

The creature saw him coming and used both hands to grab the arm aiming for his throat. Cutter thrust hard with the low knife and felt it hit the leather cuirass. He felt an instant of resistance, then the point pushed through and penetrated skin. Cutter angled the blade upward and pushed with all his strength. The hobgoblin screamed. It released one hand and scrabbled for Cutter’s throat. Cutter tried to duck out of reach, but the hobgoblin managed to get a grip. Cutter pushed the knife up as hard as he could. Another bellow of rage and pain, but the hobgoblin kept hold of his throat.