Thieves' Gambit Chapters 8 - 11 by Tanith Tyrr pleasure@netcom.com VIII. Raak was waiting for him, seated on an oversized chair near his desk. "Where's Cheltie?" He looked at Kelain anxiously. The half-elf gave him a wry grin. "I'm still negotiating. All I managed to do was insult a flunky; the real owner won't be in for a few hours yet. She's at the Painted Lady, for now." "What if someone buys her out? What then? She could be gone the whole night." Real worry showed in Raak's face. Kelain clapped his friend reassuringly on the back, a blow that would have felled most Humans. Luckily, neither of the two men were quite Human. "Relax. I made it clear that I wanted to buy her contract, and I put a deposit down to reserve her for you. They won't lose that kind of money for an evening's profit, as much as they'd like to have me believe that she's not for sale." Raak groaned. It was not a nice noise. "Not for sale? Kelain, what if they won't let me buy her? What will we do then?" He rose and began to pace nervously. Kelain sighed. "I'm sorry I ever said that, Raak. Look, it was obviously a bargaining trick. They also told me that Cheltie was `a favorite of His Lordship's.'" Kelain imitated the girl's sing-song voice almost perfectly, and snorted. "I happen to know that the Lord Mayor doesn't like girls, even furred ones." "And just how did you come by this bit of pertinent information?" Raak eyed him suspiciously. As Kelain had hoped, the half-ogre was distracted. "I was asked to take out a contract on him, once. I like to know as much as possible about a man before I agree to kill him. It seems that the fellow who tried to hire me was actually a rather vindictive ex-lover. He'd tried his best to blackmail His Lordship, and when that didn't succeed, he decided to have him killed." "So what did you do? You obviously didn't kill him." The half-ogre gave him a curious look. Kelain yawned elaborately. "Oh, no. I paid the Mayor a bit of an informative visit after I found out what was really going on." The half-elf's expression was positively angelic. "And you know, the son of a kysk hired me. Offered me quite a bit more gold, too. Now, I already knew that my first client was hardly an upstanding citizen, so I didn't have a single qualm about killing him." Raak shook his head admiringly. "Kelain, you're a bastard. Just the kind of man I want on my side." "I am on your side, Raak. You can count on that." The half- elf's gaze was serious. "If I can help you, I will. I swear it." Raak nodded, accepting the truth of what Kelain said. There were few that the halfbreed Elf had ever called friend, but his loyalty to those few was unshakable. "How is she?" "She's fine, Raak. Try not to worry. I'm going to get her for you tonight, I promise." Kelain moved over to the wide bed and flipped up a corner of a down-filled quilt to reveal a carved wooden chest. "I think I owe you an explanation about what happened last night, Raak." This isn't going to be easy. "Your friend Cheltie was bought out for the evening by a crew of drug runners." Judiciously, Kelain did not mention that she had been intended as part of the shipment. "I picked her up out of the alley they left her in. The couriers wandered into our territory with a fat caravan and a drunken driver, and I decided to lighten their load a bit." Raak's face darkened. "You intercepted a drug shipment?" His voice carried overtones of disbelief. "What in Ashara's name possessed you to do that? Does Alun know?" Kelain favored his friend with a wry grin. "A less charitable fellow would have questioned my motives, if not my sanity. To answer your question, I had no idea that they were runners when I caught them. And yes, the Guildmaster knows." "Why did you take the chest? I would have left it there." The half-ogre's homely, deeply creased brow wrinkled even further in confusion. In answer, Kelain kicked open the chest. "Good enough reason, my friend?" Inside three wizardlocked, glassteel cylinders, the scarlet grains whirled and settled. "Ye gods." Raak stared fixedly at the chest, mentally estimating the volume of its contents. "What are you going to do about it?" Kelain grinned. Only someone who knew him well could have noticed that his usual cockiness was almost entirely absent from his smile. "I'm handing it over to Alun, who's handing it to the Mages' Guild. Our Guild's well rid of it." "There's enough quevas there to addict - " The half-ogre did some rapid calculations. "About sixty thousand people, if those cylinders are all full." "Oh, they're full all right." Kelain stretched a mocking, skeletal grin across his aristocratic features. "We could take the city while she sleeps, eh, Raak? Just a breath of this in the deepest wells...." He let his voice trail off suggestively, and chuckled. Raak looked at Kelain tiredly. "If a man other than you had said that to me, he would be dead now. You and I are both too loyal to the present order to even jest about cutting our own throats." "Having all of this in my hands makes me think, Raak, even if it doesn't tempt me." Absently, the half-elf trailed a delicate, long-fingered hand over the cut crystal surface of the unbreakable containers. His narrow, hawklike face wore a cynical look. "Reshor has enough unprofitable addicts in its populace already. Addicts do no business and can't be robbed or made to pay for protection. And they tend to compete with Guildmembers when they get desperate. However, the Guild tolerates them because addicts breed dealers, who do pay handsome sums to be allowed to operate in our territory." The assassin gave a short, bitter laugh. "The sellers of mind-fog are the Guild's fat cattle, and addicts their green fodder. Aeonor forbid that we should starve our herds." Kelain looked down at the crystal cylinders with an intense loathing, pulling his hand away abruptly as if it had burned him. "This stuff is filthy, Raak. I've seen men die from want of it, as if it were some wholesome stuff instead of poison." He shuddered. Raak made a rare gesture of sympathy, putting a large, sun- browned hand on the slender half-elf's shoulder. "You still remember Falerna, my friend." Quiet compassion was in his tone. "Aye," Kelain replied bitterly. "Falerna, and Nabor, and Darjac." The names were a litany that Raak suspected were etched indelibly in Kelain's mind. "None of them should have died. They could have gone to the Guildmaster for help. Ashara's name, they could have come to me! I was their teacher....." His voice was tightly controlled, but Raak could hear how close it was to breaking. Kelain was silent for a long moment. He finally let out a long sigh. "It was a waste," he said flatly. "Too much talent gone to waste." He made a cutting gesture with one hand, signifying the end of the discussion. "In a few hours, it'll be dusk. Mavin should be in by then, and I can conclude the negotiations. In the meantime, I've business to do. I trust you'll take my advice and stop worrying about her for now. She's in good hands, I promise. The Painted Lady's known for keeping tight security on their exotics." Closing the small but weighty chest, Kelain tucked it carefully under one arm. "I'll be here. Waiting for you." Raak settled himself solidly behind a burnished oak desk that was built to accommodate his massive frame. Sprawling shelves of books covered the walls behind him, and stacks of parchment meticulously covered with writing in a large but neat hand lay in sheaves on the desk. It was an incongruous setting for the burly, blunt-featured ogre, but it was his preferred domain. Usually, however, his hands did not idle nervously with the elegantly plumed quills and ink-scrawled manuscripts. Usually, his eyes did not stray repeatedly to the eastern window. "I've got enough to keep me busy until you get back. I won't even have time to worry." With feigned enthusiasm, he picked up a sheaf of papers at random and began to peruse them. "Raak." Kelain spoke gently, after a few minutes spent quietly observing his friend. "Eh?" He looked up. He had apparently been absorbed in his manuscript, a pen in one ink-stained hand. Kelain chuckled wryly. "Raak, you're holding that upside down." His only response was to blush deeply as Kelain made a graceful exit. IX. The knife flew with deadly precision towards its target. Her back was turned, her attention focused entirely on the deeply slashed practice pell. The sword and dagger in her hands wove in intricate patterns in the air as she thrust and parried at an invisible opponent. "Khai!" A short, sharp cry split the air as she whirled, her twin blades a blur of motion. Her sword bit into the hurled weapon and sent it clattering in splintered pieces to the tile floor. She looked up at him, grinning. "Hello, Kelain. It's nice to see you, too." Sweating, she tossed an unruly lock of dark hair out of her eyes and smoothed back her braided leather headband. Kelain eyed the fragments of the wooden practice dagger with disapproval. "Use the flat of the blade, Alea." He kept his voice stern, although he was privately pleased at her accomplishment. "If the knife had been steel, you would have spoiled the edge of your sword. As it is, you're going to have to carve another practice dagger." He paused deliberately. "Balance it for throwing, and make it out of bollwood." She winced, but to her credit, she did not complain. "I will, Teacher." She gave him the half-bow his rank required, and sheathed her weapons in a single, economical motion. "Spar with me?" He noted a certain confidence in her voice that had not been there the day before. "As you wish." He strode with an easy grace to the hanging rack and drew out a set of practice weapons. He tossed her two of the flexible, well-oiled lengths of wood. "What would you like to practice against?" "How about your rapier?" She looked at him guilelessly, but Kelain could see the laughter behind her wide brown eyes. She's planning something. "Live steel?" He questioned her with a lift of his eyebrow. "Why not? I trust you." She smiled openly at him, and he was warmed by her confidence. "I'm not nearly good enough to be sure of pulling a blow, so I'll stick to these." She hefted the practice weapons thoughtfully, trying their balance. Kelain nodded. "Well enough." He caught and held her gaze firmly. "Is it a new spell, then? One that only works on metal?" Alea was one of the few mageborn in the Guild, having come from an old and powerful family of hearthwitches. Her talents were thought to be relatively minor, since she had chosen to learn the sword instead of her clan's magic. Still, they could be turned to a considerable advantage in combat. Kelain had taken over her training almost entirely, since he was the only weapons teacher in the Guild who was also mage-gifted. She grinned impishly and shook her head. "No; we can practice spells later. But I do have something to show you." She brought the slender lengths of wood into a guarding position. "Spar with me?" The rapier whispered out of its black leather sheath like a serpent uncoiling. Kelain saluted her briefly with it and attacked. She parried his first feints easily, her mock sword and dagger whirling in tight circles around her in a defensive pattern. Her compact, powerfully built form was poetry in motion as she danced with him, weaving intricate and deadly patterns in the air. Kelain fought expertly and coolly, assessing her stance and motions automatically as he thrust and feinted. His concentration was intense and total, since he was fully aware that any miscalculation on his part might result in an injury to his student. Her pattern's good, but I think I see an opening - there. He sidestepped and struck forward confidently, intending to thrust the rapier a hair's breadth past her thigh. Instead, his blade met a stout length of wood. Her dagger whipped around in a lightning strike down at the rapier, and the impact bent the well-tempered blade nearly double. Kelain could feel the backlash in the handle as he hastily pulled his weapon away and attempted to dodge several swift and well-timed blows. One of them scored lightly on his side before he could ready his sword. "Hold." Kelain nodded at her, and she pointed her weapons towards the floor. He tapped his shoulder in the gesture that acknowledged a successful hit. "Good. Very good. Have you been practicing that move?" Alea shook her head. "Only on the pell. If you'd had a worse blade, I might have disarmed you, I think." The half-elf looked at her wryly. "I think you're right. I also think you took advantage of the fact that most of my attention would be taken up in making sure I didn't hurt you." Alea tapped her shoulder deliberately, a rueful expression on her heart-shaped face. "You've got me. But I couldn't think of any other way to beat you." The hints of a smile were tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Didn't you teach me yourself to use every trick, trap or advantage I could find?" "True. But I think I will use practice weapons against you in our next bout. Then you may try again to disarm me." "It'll be next to impossible with practice weapons. They aren't flexible enough." Alea groaned. Inwardly, Kelain chuckled. "We shall see." He allowed himself to smile at her, a rare concession. "You did well, Alea." Her face lit up like a dozen candles, transforming her normally attractive features into something truly special. "Thank you, Kelain. I appreciate your telling me that." For a moment, he couldn't look away from her. There was something in her eyes that seemed to invite him to move closer, and he wanted to lose himself in their depths. Kelain almost took a step towards her, and a cold fist closed around his heart. She doesn't want a halfbreed assassin. Don't disgrace yourself in front of your student. He turned and clasped his hands behind his back. "You're welcome, Alea." His voice and manner were perfectly correct. "Your next lesson is scheduled two days from now. Until then, practice what you have learned." Alea nodded, looking slightly forlorn. "I'll see you then, Kelain." The half-elf left the room without further comment. When she was sure that he was gone, she spoke aloud. "Gee, Kelain, maybe we could have dinner together sometime. It's a hot day; why don't we go down to the tavern after the lesson and cool off with a couple of mugs of ale. So what are you doing tonight? Damn it, it can't be that hard to ask him!" She slashed angrily at the leather- covered bars of the practice pell. Alea launched into a furious attack routine on the wooden bars, snapping and spinning the rattan swords with dizzying speed. By the time she was done, one of the blades and two of the practice bars were broken. She contemplated the damage ruefully. "He'll probably want bollwood replacements for these too, the bastard. Thank the gods I'm more than just a simple hearthwitch, or I'd be carving wood for the next week." Carefully making sure that there was no one in the hall to see her, Alea fitted the shattered ends back together and murmured a hasty High Magick spell of Repatterning. The pieces seamed together as if they had never been broken. Muttering rudely to herself, Alea left the spacious practice hall for the tavern below. X. Downstairs, they were betting on one of the events that gave the Guild-run tavern its name. Kelain watched as a matched pair of pit wyrms fought viciously on one of the side stages, their fury contained by faintly glowing, translucent walls of magickal energy. Three wizards concentrated nearby, one to direct each wyrm and one to hold the wards that prevented them from escaping. Although the handlers retained enough control over the wyrms to direct their fighting strategies, nothing could entirely damp their ferocity. Kelain knew that there would probably be a fourth mage nearby to drop a sleep spell on the valuable beasts after the fight was over, so that they could be put safely back in their kennels. If there was no fourth mage, the handler of the losing animal would have to drop control and cast the spell himself, which was a riskier proposition. Kelain paused for a moment to assess the fight with a professional eye. The smaller wyrm was a meld of brilliantly blued metallic scales and emerald feathers. His beak had the rich, pale-amber sheen of burnished gold, and his spurs were the dull grey of living steel. In the past, one of the wyrms' progenitor species had been made to fight with razors tied onto their natural spurs. These products of genetic engineering were hatched with bones of mages' metal and bright scythes of living steel projecting from their clawed feet. How they could fly was a mystery only mages understood. When Kelain was still an apprentice, he had cleaned the stages after such fights and had once had to dispose of the body of a loser. He had managed to lift the body of the dead wyrm only with great difficulty, although it was a small armful for even the slight half-elf. It was rare but not unheard of for the valuable wyrms to be killed in a fight, although a mage always stood ready with a sleep spell once a clear victor had been established and bets paid. Only sometimes, the wyrms were faster. The larger wyrm in the circle was not as brilliantly colored, with scales and feathers of a muted orange-brown. He was slower to react, though more powerfully built than his opponent. Thick cords of muscle were readily visible in his smooth, whiplike tail, and his wingspan might have been equivalent to the height of a tall Human. A few bleeding scratches showed clearly down his back, dripping a greenish ichor. He reared and cawed his defiance in a classic challenge stance, his massive wings held ready. Unwisely, the smaller beast dived in to attack. There was a muffled curse from the blue's handler as both of the larger wyrm's wings lashed forward to slam into his opponent. Dazed, the younger animal failed to dodge the powerful crack of the orange's thick, scaly tail. He was thrown hard against the invisible energy wall, only a few feet from one startled patron's face. "Sleep'em, Terell!" yelled the blue's handler, as the victorious wyrm unsheathed his spurs to their full, impressive length and began to stalk towards his fallen opponent. There was a tangible ripple in the air as the spell went off, and the orange fell heavily where it stood. Groans, cheers, and other noises arose from the surrounding tables. Money changed hands, the largest share of it going to fee the mages who owned the wyrms. Kelain turned away from the spectacle of the handlers and their beasts, searching for Alun in the crowd. The Guildmaster was sitting unobtrusively at a table near the hearth. Flames the color of new butter danced up and down the yellow quathwood logs. Kelain slid gracefully into the seat next to him, setting the chest down under the table and resting a seemingly casual foot on it. "Are we to meet the mages here or in the Guild proper?" Kelain asked quietly. They both knew that he was not referring to the beast-handlers in the corner, who were mageborn but not talented enough to be full Guildmembers. Hedgerow wizards, hearthwitches and minorly gifted Talents who hired out their abilities to the highest bidder were common enough, but Guild mages were the true masters of Force Arcane. Much as the Thieves' Guild of Reshor held a monopoly on the city's vices, the Mages' Guild jealously guarded the secrets of their School and shared their spellbooks of High Magick only with sworn members of their Guild. "The envoy should be here shortly," Alun replied, picking up an earthen pot of ale from the table. The sides of the clay cup were cool and sweating, and Kelain found himself tempted by the rich, tangy odor of the dark brew. He caught the eye of one of the serving slaves and nodded meaningfully, indicating the pot in front of the Guildmaster. The slight, redheaded girl hurried over immediately, grabbing a rough ceramic mug from her tray. She placed it swiftly in front of Kelain and scurried away just as fast, not stopping to ask for payment. Only a few folk recognized Alun as the Guildmaster, which was the way he generally preferred it. But Kelain was more than distinctive. Kelain motioned the girl back to the table. Trembling and wide-eyed, the slave performed a hasty obeisance. "C'n I get you summat more, Master?" She could not have been older than fourteen of fifteen, but her body was the legal property of the tavern, and had undoubtedly been made available to its guests. Slavery in Reshor was a harsh reality. The half-elf smiled reassuringly at her. "You forgot your coin." He tossed a copper irii piece to the slender girl, who caught it reflexively and stared down at it. In her worn, dirty hands, it shone as brightly as her long auburn hair. She looked at the coin disbelievingly. "Thank you, sir," she said in a small voice, and scampered off hurriedly towards another patron's table. Alun grinned broadly. "I think the girl was afraid of you," he remarked, with a slight emphasis on the last word. "Indeed," said Kelain, his Elvish features completely impassive. "She didn't seem to notice you at all." The Guildmaster chuckled. "I'll give over swift service in a tavern to avoid a knife in my back, thank you. I prefer not to be recognized." He took another pull at his ale pot. "What tales have the kitchen slaves been spreading about you, Kelain?" "The usual. That I'm a monster who eats babies from their cradles and tortures maidens for my amusement." He sighed deeply, and Alun could hear the true regret beneath his light-hearted words. "I suppose I should expect women to fear me, with death as my profession." The half-elf lifted his ale pot in a cynical toast. The Guildmaster felt a swift, surprising surge of anger. "Not death, Kelain. Justice. We never accept contract on an honest citizen. Have some respect for yourself, man!" Kelain regarded his Guildmaster soberly. "Have you forgotten? I am no man." He drained his pot in another deep draught and signaled the slave to bring another. The girl hurried over, dripping tray in hand, ignoring the loud protests from the table she had been about to serve. She placed a mug in front of him and left with a quick, frightened curtsy. "Look at her." Kelain gestured towards the redheaded girl's rapidly disappearing back. "She's afraid that I might want to use her for more than tavern service. The very thought of it frightens her." His voice was bitter with self-hatred. "Do you want to?" Alun's gaze was piercing. Kelain shook his head. "Then don't trouble yourself over a slavegirl's fancy. There's women here who'd be glad enough for your attention. They'd boast of it afterward." Again, the tall half-elf shook his head. "Slaves, Alun. Slaves who have no choice in the matter, or women who must earn their coin with the only skills they have. The thought of forcing myself on a woman who does not choose me freely makes me sick." His slim hand tightened inadvertently on the earthenware mug. The Guildmaster shrugged. "As you will." Kelain suspected that Alun did not truly understand his revulsion, but said nothing. "Why does it trouble you so tonight? I've always been sure that someday you would find a woman to share your time with. Raak seems to have found a companion, and I must say that I think you better- favored than he." A sharp sound from the clay pot in Kelain's hand caught Alun's attention. It had apparently developed a large crack down the middle, as the fragile cups sometimes did under accidental stress. Expressionless, the half-elf began to mop up the dregs of spilled ale on the table. Alun paused, and continued in a quieter tone. "I see. They seem happy together?" "They are happy together, Guildmaster. I am glad for them." He finished getting the last of the ale off the table with the thick linen cloth just as another serving slave, a slim lad, replaced the pot and napkin. Like the girl, he hurried off without a word. Alun turned a penetrating gaze on the young half-elf. Although Kelain was physically older than the Human Guildmaster, his mere century of age marked him as a youth by Elven standards. The canny and insightful Human had been a mentor and father figure to Kelain more than once in his troubled past. "Glad for them and sorry for yourself, Kelain? I sympathize with you deeply, but you should know that your loneliness is self-imposed. You're as silent as your friend Raak around most folk, so few have ever gotten a chance to look behind the professional assassin and see the man. Those of us who have gotten to know you like and respect you, Kelain. Keep that in mind." The Guildmaster gave him a small, wry smile. "I always prescribe action before self-pity. I suggest you try talking to more people and see what happens before you start moping all over the Guild because your best friend's taken a lover and you have none." There was a sour look on Kelain's face when the Guildmaster had finished speaking. "I suppose you're right, Alun, but you can't understand what it's like to be looked at with fear and loathing day after day. You can blend into any crowd; you'd sooner be taken for a shopkeeper than an assassin. But I'm a marked man anywhere I go." An idle hand stroked the fine, delicately upswept curves of his ears, then moved thoughtfully down to the thin lines of his neatly trimmed beard. "When I go in disguise, I am accepted as merely another Elf, or Human, or 'Morph for that matter. People talk freely to me and drink with me. But the acceptance of a false face means nothing. This is who I am. This is how I wish to be known." Alun knew that Kelain could probably pass as a full Elf if not for his long fall of fine, straight black hair and the beard he had inherited from his Human parent. On the few occasions that Kelain had needed to disguise himself as an Elvatuar, he simply shaved his face and changed his hair color. Kelain habitually wore a beard to flaunt his halfbreed status, not because he was proud of it, but because he refused to hide what he was. Despite his profession, Kelain was a fiercely honest man who preferred to be open in his dealings with others. The Guildmaster took another sip of the dark, tangy ale. "I can respect that. And your deadly reputation has been an asset to the Guild for years. You only need appear to quiet a brawl or convince a merchant to pay our tithes. When you're in the tavern, there's never any trouble." Alun gestured expansively with the mug in his hand. "You've gained us a great deal of revenue with the contracts you've carried out, and you've always been scrupulous about your clients. You're much in demand, my friend. I must say that your reputation has done the Guild a great deal of good." Kelain snorted. "It has done me as much harm as good, Guildmaster, if I cannot drink in our own tavern without sending women screaming before me." He took a long drink from the pot in front of him. "I'm beginning to wish you'd find another legend to figurehead the Guild." Alun was honestly surprised. "Truly? I thought you content as you were. You're the Weapons Master of the Guild, and you have the respect of everyone in your profession for your talents. The recruits compete to be allowed into your classes. You've all the city's wealthiest begging to hire you for their causes, and you can pick the contracts that suit you and name your fee in gold. I thought you had found all you wanted in the Guild." Slowly, the half-elf shook his head. "Not everything, Alun. Not by far." His emerald eyes, inhumanly bright and clear, were pensive as he gazed into his mug. Alun looked up in time to see the robed envoy approaching their table. "We'll talk later, my friend. For now, we've business to do." Kelain nodded, his alien eyes still reflected in the dark cup. His Human friend and Guildmaster could only wonder what they saw there that he could not. XI. The black-robed figure seated itself across from the pair. One pale, long-nailed hand came out of a voluminous sleeve to lift the heavy hood. The woman smiled politely, showing teeth that were only slightly too sharp. "Greetings, Guildmaster. I am here in the name of my Guild. My name is Tavane." Kelain looked up from his drink, affecting a neutral expression. He twitched his fingers on the cool, slick surface of the pot with seeming casualness. His message to his Guildmaster, in the silent code of thieves: Black Robe. Why? Alun glanced down once, with equal casualness, and spoke. "Your Order is representing the Guild in this matter?" Tavane smiled again, somewhat less politely. "I am the head of my Order. It was deemed wiser by our Guild that we deal with you directly. The other Orders know little of the drug." Kelain set down the mug and put a hand to his chin, scratching idly at his neatly trimmed beard. His fingers danced with more precision than any outsider could guess as he chased a nonexistent itch across his face. What will they do with it? Who made it? Have they caught him? "I assume you will destroy the drug, then?" Alun questioned delicately. Silently, with deft fingers: Not our problem. Leave it alone. "It will be reclaimed to Guild-sanctioned use by our Order, Guildmaster." She emphasized his title, a subtle reminder that his domain was quite separate from hers. "May I have it?" Her lips were full and red, and they formed the request sweetly and reasonably. However, Alun did not doubt her power to obliterate them all in a conflagration of black magefire, if she chose to be unreasonable. He reminded himself that it was he who had called this meeting, and forced himself to smile. "Of course. That is why I requested your presence, Guildlady." He turned to the half-elf. "Kelain?" "Of course," Kelain echoed smoothly, his foot firmly on the chest. The appearance of the black-robed envoy had triggered in him a feeling of increasing uneasiness, and some pieces of the puzzle were starting to slide together in his agile mind. He decided to risk a rash question. "What do you know of a man named Vasht?" he asked, leaning forward over the table. If she was startled, it never showed in her expression. "Nothing. Should I? I hardly find this relevant to the business at hand. Guildmaster - " Again, she emphasized the title. "May I have the chest?" Her voice held the chill of an ice serpent's breath. Kelain smiled, deftly bending beneath the covered table to retrieve the chest. He ignored Alun's wrathful gaze. "You know how to open it?" he asked, again leaning subtly forward and holding her gaze. His slim fingers played meaningfully across the ivory knobs and catches on the front, but this time there was no hidden message for Alun. She stared stonily at him. "I am certain that the resources of my Order will be sufficient to the task." She picked up the chest and tucked it into one billowing sleeve, where it appeared to completely vanish. "Thank you for your courtesy, Guildmaster." Pointedly ignoring Kelain, she turned and walked from the tavern, casting her folded black hood back over her face as she went out the door. "What in the nine Hells were you trying to do?" Alun exploded quietly. "Mages' Guild business is none of our business! You had no right to question her. Were you trying to scry her mind with witchery?" His voice was utterly incredulous. "Didn't you hear her say she headed the Black Robes? Your skill at magecraft is admirable for a thief, but it hardly makes you a match for a well- trained hedgerow wizard, let alone the head of an Order!" Unbelievably, Kelain laughed. "I swear I used no magic, Alun. Did you notice her Price?" The Price was a mages' term for the physical changes that tended to afflict Humans who used Force Arcane too heavily and too long. The Price varied from slight impairment or enhancement of some sense to total genetic mutation. It was whispered that in the depths of the Mages' Guildhouse, monsters lived. Alun nodded reluctantly. "Photophobic. Sun-sensitive skin and eyes. Possibly vampirism, latent or otherwise. It's the most common Price for black-robes." "Her eyes, Alun. Her pupils changed visibly each time I did or said something she reacted to. She could shield her mind, but not her eyes. She reacted to Vasht's name as well as when I tapped the correct opening sequence on the chest." Alun had not risen to his position as master of the deadliest Guild in Reshor by being slow on the uptake. "If you're right, she's involved in this business. The only question is, is her Guild involved." Alun stared at the wiry half-elf for a long moment. "If you are right, that is. She might have reacted poorly to being questioned, which could explain the eyes. If you're wrong, you've managed to offend the Black Robes for nothing." "I'm sure about this one, Alun. I've had other suspicions, but this confirms them. I think the Black Robes are definitely up to something." "But not necessarily the rest of their Guild." Alun looked thoughtful. "Is that possible? I thought the Orders had been unified under Guild law." Kelain shrugged. "Who did you originally contact at their Guild?" he asked. "I'd bet gold that it was a Black Robe." Suspicion was beginning to grow in the Guildmaster's eyes. "I'd not bet against you, my friend. Not even a copper bit." The two men exchanged long, worried glances. "Dissent in the Mages' Guild is bad business, Kelain. I don't think we want to get involved." "We're already involved." Kelain stated coolly. "They know who returned the drugs. If mages are involved, they could easily know who found them and why. And there's Cheltie." A frown furrowed the man's brow. "True. How deeply is she involved in this business?" "Well, she wasn't a courier." Alun looked momentarily relieved. "She was cargo." The Guildmaster's features tightened again. "She was supposed to be handed over to a mage named Vasht as part of the deal. I don't know if Vasht is a Guild mage, but if he is, I would wager a fair sum on the color of his robes. In any case, he's deeply involved in the drug trade on the wharves." Alun groaned, very quietly. "If Raak wasn't in love with her, I swear I'd deliver her to this Vasht myself, if it would keep our Guild out of this mess. Tavane never mentioned her, though; so perhaps she's been forgotten." Kelain nodded in acknowledgement. "If we're lucky, the deal might have been just for the evening. I hope so, for Raak's sake. He's planning to buy her out and give her a job here at the Blood Sport." Alun groaned again, somewhat less quietly. "You're bloody kidding. If she's in dispute with another Guild, we can't flaunt her in our tavern." "True enough. She'll have to get a place elsewhere after she's bought out." Kelain sipped lightly from his clay mug. The Guildmaster's stare was chilling. "If she lives, Kelain. Don't count on it." Kelain shrugged, elaborately casual. "I would say that Raak will do everything in his power to ensure that, Guildmaster." Alun did not let up on the intensity of his gaze. "And you. Will you endanger the Guild for your friend's sake?" Again, Kelain shrugged. "I'll do as I think best for all concerned, Guildmaster. As you taught me." Their eyes locked and held for a long moment. "The Guild first, Kelain. Remember that." Alun sighed heavily, looking ten years older. "I took Raak into the Guild when he was an orphaned boy, and raised him to be a respected Guildmember. I'm the only father he knows, and I think you know how I feel for him. But I am a father to all the Guild as well, and my responsibility is to protect us all. Merciful gods help me if I have to choose." He massaged his deeply creased forehead with a strong, brown hand, leaning his elbow on the worn tabletop. Kelain looked sober. "Alun, I believe you won't have to. Raak can keep Cheltie out of harm's way while I smooth things over with whoever originally bought her, if she's been sold at all. Enough gold, and he'll forget a 'Morph concubine." The stocky man shook his head, looking infinitely weary. "I don't know if I can let you take that risk. You could endanger the Guild just by trying to find him. We can't risk incurring the enmity of the Black Robes." "I'll go renegade, then." Kelain spoke up instantly. Noting the look on the Guildmaster's face, he added, "Not in truth, but if I am caught, you will have already disowned me from the Guild and you take no blame. The risk will be mine alone." "There are mages involved. This can be no deception." Alun's tone was deadly serious. "You're willing to be a renegade, fair game to your Guild brothers and sisters for the duration of your task?" Slowly, Kelain nodded. "I swore to help him, Alun. I must." "I respect your loyalty, Kelain. But you'll be a tempting target to those seeking advancement. You may have to kill some of them. Students. Are you prepared for that?" Alun regarded the half-elf assassin levelly. Kelain snorted. "If I'm not good enough by now to evade an overambitious apprentice without harming him or her, then I deserve a knife in the back. As for the more skilled - " Faster than a Human eye could follow, a slim poignard appeared in his hand, balanced neatly on the tip of one finger. He gave it a casual flip, and it reversed effortlessly in the air and smacked down hilt-first in his palm. Just as swiftly, the dagger disappeared into his tunic, with barely a crease to show where it was hidden. "They'd best be the ones to worry." Kelain gave his Guildmaster a grim smile. "I'll try not to deplete the ranks too sadly, but if they're foolish enough to try me, they'll die." He downed the last of his ale in a single swallow and faced the Guildmaster. "When shall I be thrown out of the Guild?" "Very shortly, since you've already begun your rather awkward course of inquiry." Alun put his empty ale pot down, a grim look on his face. "But first, something you might have missed. The Guild representative - you noticed her Price?" Kelain nodded. "Think about it. The Price gets steeper the longer you pay it. How long would the head of an Order have been practicing? A century or more? How old did she look? Perhaps a quarter-century at the most?" The slim half-elf raised a delicately arched eyebrow. "What are you saying?" "I don't think that was a living woman we were talking to. Not anymore. Robes who pay that Price usually end up among the Unliving sooner or later." Alun favored his protege with a small, wry smile. "Lich, or queen vampire at the very least, if she heads her Order. I hope you know what you're up against." Alun sighed regretfully. "A Guildmaster has to do many things for the good of his Guild. Few of these duties are pleasant, despite the assumptions of the envious. What has kept me alive and Guildmaster these many years is the fact that a thief skilled enough to kill me and take my place is generally also wise enough to know that he doesn't want to. I do the best I can by my Guild, and I think most of them know it. I hope they do." He looked at Kelain sadly. "There are few duties which I could count more unpleasant than this. Walk with the gods, Kelain. Come back to us when you can." Kelain nodded. "Thank you, Alun. I will." They sat in silence for a few moments, waiting for the crowd to shift nearer their table. When Alun judged that the moment was right, he stood. "If you persist in your folly, you will be outcast from this Guild!" His normally calm face was a mask of rage. "Swear to me that you'll leave it alone, or you'll leave the protection of the Guild!" His gaze was as cold and deadly as only an assassin's can be. Kelain had to remind himself that his friend was only acting. He forced himself to rise and give Alun a cruelly mocking bow. "As you wish, Guildmaster. I go." With the grace of a dancer, or a trained fighter, he slipped from the booth and exited the tavern to astonished stares. From a shadowed corner of the tavern, a slim shape clad in indigo leaned forward into the firelight. The pure yellow flames that danced over the quathwood logs on the main hearth limned his long, pale hair and delicate features in a golden light. He looked like an angel, or a young god. His jerkin was the deep blue of the night sky over a calm sea, and his tunic of the palest violet silk. He was unmistakably an Elf, his tall, pointed ears adorned proudly with rings of silver. A chilling smile crept across his inhumanly perfect features as he listened to the Guildmaster speak. Alun slammed a heavy fist down on the worn tabletop, and the sound of breaking wood echoed through the tavern. "Kelain no longer stands under the protection of the Guild. Ashara have mercy on him. For I surely shall not." The Guildmaster spun on his heel and left the ruined table to the astonished serving slaves. He strode angrily toward the stairs that led to the hidden, underground sanctum of the Guild. The Elf's smile grew wider and colder, and he stood. Tossing a tarnished copper bit to the frightened serving slave, Quorl the assassin slipped back into the shadows as he followed Kelain out of the tavern.