Jeff Crook - The Thieves’ Guild

The air here had a peculiar reek to it. It was a stable-smell: hay and sawdust, leather and grease, saddle soap. There was, however, no odor of horses. Rather, something more pungent pierced the air, sharper in the nostrils, an ozone smell, and the coppery smell of fear. The two thieves paused for a moment, nodding to one another in silent realization of where they were. This was the Dark Knights’ dragon stable. The place was nothing more than a rumor on the streets of Palanthas, but those rumors spoke of a place where blue dragons were housed, ready to fly to war at a moment’s notice. Rumors also said that wyverns, the small vicious cousins of true dragons, were kept here to fly as couriers to any region of Ansalon.

Warily now, realizing the true extent of their danger, Cael crept up to the edge of the balcony. At first, the room had appeared empty, but as he gazed over the ledge, he saw that the black-robed master of the Thieves’ Guild was standing directly below him, his arms folded across his massive chest. Alynthia slid up beside Cael to view their great leader. Her dark eyes burned as she gazed down at Mulciber.

She recoiled, pulling the elf away from the edge of the balcony. From beneath a darkened arch opposite the chamber where Mulciber stood, two Dark Knights appeared. One wore the black armor of a Knight of the Lily, the other the gray robes of a Thorn Knight. The two stopped just beneath the arch, one resting a gauntleted hand on the pommel of his long sword, the other folding his hands into his robes.

Even from this distance, Alynthia and Cael recognized the Knights. Sir Kinsaid’s eyes gleamed like agates as he stared across the chamber at the dark-robed figure of Mulciber, while Arach Jannon’s narrow visage peered out from the depths of his gray hood.

Alynthia trembled as her fingers dug painfully into the elf’s shoulder. “Will there be a fight?” she whispered in his pointed ear. “Should we help Mulciber?”

From below came Sir Kinsaid’s thundering voice. “It has been a long time since last we met, Avaril,” the Lord Knight said.

Alynthia stiffened at these words, all the illusion draining from her eyes.

“Aye,” came the answer, a deep voice, no longer the harsh, vaguely feminine croak of Mulciber.

“Oros!” Cael hissed. He pried himself from Alynthia’s frozen grasp and crawled to the edge of the balcony, but he feared to draw too near lest the Dark Knights spot him. He backed away until he reached the shadows of the columns, leaving Alynthia huddled on the floor, staring dumbly at her own hands.

As he ghosted among the columns, circling the huge chamber, the conversation continued below.

“The same deal as before, old friend?” asked Sir Arach. “You turn over everyone, and in exchange, you take your pick of the treasures.”

“Aye,” the dark-robed figure answered grimly. “It’s a cycle of nature.”

“Everyone,” the Thorn Knight reaffirmed. “Including the elf and his accomplice.”

Cael crept through the shadowy columns to the edge of the balcony.

The dark-robed figure pulled back his cowl, revealing the ashen face of the Captain of the Eighth Circle of the Guild. He swallowed, then nodded his assent. “What must be must be,” Oros said. “I have never been one to shrink from the hard realities.”

“What will you offer to assure your cooperation?” Sir Kinsaid growled. Possibly, he was as disgusted by the thief’s betrayal as was Cael. “This time I will brook no return of the Guild. This time, it ends.”

Oros opened his robe and swung a heavy bag forward, dropping it with a metallic thud on the floor. Cael crept closer to the edge of the balcony.

“Coins?” the Lord Knight of Palanthas laughed without mirth. “Is that the limit of your imagination? With all the treasures in your hoard, you bring coins. You underestimate me, Captain Oros ,” he ended sarcastically.

“I do apologize, my Lord,” said the black-hooded figure.

An angry Cael looked back along the curve of the balcony and saw Alynthia staring at him, silent tears soaking her mask. As quickly as it had come, now, his anger cooled. He knew his place was beside her. He began to edge away to safety.

At the same time, the staff in his hand began to vibrate. The vibration rose to a barely heard hum and then to an audible buzz.

“What is that noise?” Sir Arach asked sharply.

What indeed? Cael wondered. The buzzing grew steadily louder while he crept back to the columns as rapidly and stealthily as his elven feet could hustle.

“I know that noise,” a voice thundered from beneath his feet. “All my kind know that sound. We hear it in our darkest nightmares. It is the sound of a sword of power!”

Numbing fear swept over the elf. Looking round in horror, he saw Oros stagger back, throwing up his arms as though to ward off a blow. Sir Kinsaid and Sir Arach backed away from something emerging from the archway below Cael. The Thorn Knight scoured the room for the source of the buzzing noise even as the dragon emerged from its stable.

“The elf!” Sir Arach shouted as he caught sight of his quarry, frozen with dragonfear atop the balcony.

The staff leaped in Cael’s hands as the dragon’s head came into view. Great curving ivory horns guarded a noble, evil brow. Azure scales glittering in the magical light of the globes overhead, the creature crept into the arena, its claws scrabbling at the sawdust covered stone floor.

At the movement of the staff, Cael felt the dragonfear drop from him like a cloak. Clutching the head of the. staff in one hand, he ran the other down the length of the staff. Where his hand passed, a gleaming steel blade replaced black wood. The blade was straight and double-edged and gleamed with a green light, as though lit by an inner source.

A deep rumbling shook the castle to its foundations. Every window in the palace above shattered. Throughout its hundreds of rooms and hallways vases tumbled from their pedestals, framed paintings fell from walls, and crockery tumbled from shelves. Those in the chamber were thrown to the floor, but Cael managed to keep his feet. The Knights cried out in fright, and the voice of the blue dragon boiled over the noise.

“Are we under attack?” The terrible voice of the blue dragon rose above the din.

Two guards stumbled through an archway. “My lords, fire in the cellars, a great explosion!”

“My laboratory!” Sir Arach shrieked as he forgot everything else and leaped up and raced from the chamber.

Cael dashed across the balcony and dragged Alynthia to her feet. She stared at him as though she didn’t know him but allowed him to pull her along. They dived between the columns just as a lightning bolt smashed the balcony behind them to rubble. Sir Kinsaid’s powerful voice shouted orders for the roof to be opened, orders for the dragon to hunt them down and kill them.

Cael led them blindly. The explosion had cut off their escape route, so he took the first set of stairs he could find and raced up them, Alynthia in his wake. They entered the main levels of the lord’s palace as chaos swept the corridors. Servants dashed here and there, screaming conflicting directions to either save the palace treasures or fight the fire. Most chose instead to save themselves and ran heedless of the pleading of their fellows through any door or window they could find. It was a simple enough matter for the elf and his companion to blend into this confusion, except for the sword gleaming in his fist. Wherever they ran, whomever they encountered screamed and fled in the opposite direction.

Cael spotted a door leading out into a garden. He turned in that direction, where many servants were pressed into the doorway, trying to escape the palace. With a shout, he charged into them, brandishing his weirdly glowing blade high above his head. In less than a heartbeat, the way was cleared as the servants dispersed, screaming. Cael pulled Alynthia through the door, then shoved her aside as a sword whistled between them and crashed in sparks against the stone floor. Cael parried a second slash with his blade, then reversed the attack with a thrust that sent a guard staggering back, his breath gurgling through the hole in his chest. At a cry from Alynthia, Cael spun, barely knocking aside the attack of a second guard. The guard continued his onslaught with an overhand swing, which Cael caught but seemed unlikely to hold. The guard laughed cruelly as he pressed down. The two blades scraped against each other as the guard tried to overpower the elf, forcing him to his knees.