Paul Collins - Swords Of Quentaris

'Now, with just the right amount of wheedling, I might invite you to join me on this adventure. Not as a partner, mind, more a companion.'

'It's my map!' Rad said hotly.

'Possession is —'

'That's not what it means,' Rad interrupted.

Monstered by Tulcia's size and determination, Rad simmered. 'Look, it's probably a lot of old codswallop, you know? Some ancient got bored and decided to play a trick. I bet there are hun-dreds of trick maps waiting to be discovered by some wide-eyed idiot just dying to be conned into some perilous adventure.'

'Is that what you are?' Tulcia raised an eyebrow. 'A wide-eyed idiot just dying —'

'I stole it from a skyship,' Rad said reluctantly.

No way would Tulcia believe that.

But Tulcia's eyes widened in admiration.

'Perhaps you're not such a wastrel after all.' She considered for a moment. 'Was it the ship that was driven off last night?'

Rad nodded, thinking of his narrow escape and the death of the pirate.

'Well, well, well,' Tulcia said, foot tapping, and a smile spread across her freckled face. 'This sheds a whole new light on the matter. No wonder Vindon Nibhelline is after you. But what made you steal a faulty piece of shiny parchment from a skyship? Surely there were more precious things to steal! Gems? Weapons?'

Rad took a deep breath and related how he had visited Gangi and subsequently found the fence murdered, presumably for the map. No way was he going to impart the news that the Thieves' Guild was also after him—or that the City Watch might be, too.

'Then you'll need all the help you can get, won't you?'

'Okay,' Rad said, resigned. 'We'll be partners, but I give the orders. When is my bad luck going to end?' he moaned.

'Keep that up, Raddy, and your bad luck will have only just begun ...'

Preparations for the adventure began in earnest.

A trip to the rift caves was not to be rushed.

Many adventurers spent days gathering sup-

plies, weapons, good-luck amulets and a host of accoutrements to assist in their pilgrimage. On leaving civilisation as they knew it, some adventurers had going-away ceremonies — the more affluent of them even hired a band to see them off.

Rad used the Nibhelline clan as his reason for hiding in the stables — unbeknown to old Stanas

—while Tulcia performed the arduous chore of buying provisions. So far as Rad was concerned, they couldn't leave early enough.

However, Vindon Nibhelline was a dangerous enemy to make. As a member of one of the two main political parties in Quentaris, he not only had friends in high places, but in low places as well.

Had Rad known of the mysterious ways of the highborn, he would not have stayed overlong in the stables. His safety lay in the grounds he knew best, the slate and shingle rooftops.

He was an easy catch for the likes of the Thieves' Guild. Their accomplishments included raiding Lord Chalm's bedchambers while he slept, robbing the Duelphs and placing the

stolen goods in Nibhelline hands to cause civil unrest, and wresting the very eyepiece from the sculpture over the gates to the Cathedral of the Holy Benefactor Mushin.

Rad tossed in his sleep. He had slept on worse floors than the hay-strewn loft, but the straw kept prickling his back, and he found it impossible to keep it from tickling his nose. Down below a horse whinnied and snorted. Another horse further along stamped its hoofs. Something skittered across the slate roof. Rats don't come that big, Rad's drowsy mind told him.

He sat up groggily. This was impossible. How much easier it would have been for Tulcia to have smuggled him next door into the Old Tree Guesthouse. They always had vacant rooms. At worst he could have hidden in the cosy attic.

He looked out through a gaping hole beneath an eave. His befuddled mind told him that something wasn't right. Was someone sneaking across the Old Tree's roof? He rubbed his eyes but the apparition had disappeared.

Rad crawled closer to the hole and peered out.

Nothing moved. Smoke from several chimneys

lingered until the night breeze caught it and carried it off. Maybe he had imagined it. No local would dare try to rob the owner of the Old Tree Guesthouse. Arna was a formidable person to cross. And outsiders would find their throats slit if they dared rob anyone without the Thieves' Guild's consent.

Sudden realisation brought him fully awake.

That meant only one thing!

Before the 'one thing' solidified for him, someone threw a sack over his head. He kicked and scratched, but a sudden blow to the head knocked him senseless. He was suffocating inside the hessian sack, but that wasn't the worst of his problems, his failing mind told him. A cloth of herbs was being rammed against his nose. Almost at once he lost consciousness.

5. Rad on the RunRAD woke to the sound of whispering voices. One of them uttered a password.

Even though dazed, Rad realised that anyone speaking nonsense like 'It's an ill wind that blows from the west', was seeking admission somewhere. A harsh voice replied, 'From the south, dolt!'

'It's the west'.' came a sharp reply. 'Anyway, you know me! It's Le'ard. Now open the door before I kick it down!'

Rad's mind reeled. Only thieves would have ridiculous passwords and then argue about them. He'd been abducted by the Thieves' Guild!

A door opened and Rad's head bumped against the jamb as his abductors entered the establish-ment. Rad uttered a muted yowl, but the numb-ness from the herb pack saved him from the more intense pain that he might otherwise have felt.

He bumped against someone's back as they starting climbing up a flight of winding stairs. He was upside down, he now realised. No wonder his head felt numb with dizziness!

The person carrying him shrugged and Rad rose and fell within the sack. 'Giz us a hand,'

grumbled a muffled voice. 'He's a heavy one.'

Rad felt his neck muscles grind as his head was shoved at an odd angle. His mind screamed out in agony, but he kept his hurt there. Whatever was to come, he might need an element of surprise.

Finally his assailants reached even footing. A balcony, Rad realised, trying desperately to

remember all the twists and turns but finally acknowledging that he would be truly lost in this place.

Another door squeaked open and a rush of voices broke out.

'Up-end him, then!' someone said.

Rad cushioned his head with his hands and rolled as the sack hit the floorboards. Hands grabbed and pulled at it, and Rad let himself fall limply to the ground.

'Our little sparrow plays games,' said a familiar voice. It was the one who had been carrying him.

'Unless you gave him too large a dose of hockshead,' a querulous voice grumbled. 'We've not got all night, Le'ard.'

'Bloodletting always wakes them in a hurry,'

said Le'ard. 'Around the throat does the trick fastest.'

Rad heard the rasp of a sword. The sack was suddenly removed and he was on his back looking up at a yellow light flickering from a candle-wheel that hung from distant rafters. Rad blinked in confusion.

The room erupted into laughter which was cut

short abruptly when a wispy-bearded villain dressed in a black robe slashed the air with his hands. He was the only one seated and the others — six of them — seemingly revered him.

The underlings were a motley crew, each sport-ing gross tattoos, scarred faces and other oddities such as missing ears, livid skin and eyepatches.

'Now little one,' the seated thief began sibilantly. 'You have a treasure that belongs to us.'

Rad willed his heart to stop pounding his ribs.

He swallowed hard and forced his parched mouth to speak. 'It's mine. It's my inheritance.'

Le'ard aimed a kick at him but the master thief coughed almost politely. Le'ard drew back his foot but his glare struck harder than any boot.