Thieves' Gambit
by Tanith Tyrr
pleasure@netcom.com
Chapter 14 


XIV.
     


     The trader's dock was all but deserted at this hour.  The
shadows cast by the half-finished, skeletal hulls of ships wavered
uneasily on the white-capped waters.  A fierce wind from the sea
whipped darkened clouds across the round yellow moon.  
     Kelain shivered and drew his cloak closer to his slender
frame.  If he remembered correctly, the entrance was under the
pier, through a narrow crawlway.  If the place still existed at
all.  It had been eighty years and more since Kelain had run with
the pack, and to Humans, that was twice a life's span.  No one
would remember him.  Kelain could only hope that the signs had not
changed.  
     The stair to the lower docks was broken in places and looked
rotted and worm-eaten.  It had been kept this way for years, mostly
to discourage the casual explorer.  Kelain put his feet to the worn
boards with the delicate grace of a padding cat, ready to shift his
weight if the stair gave way.
     The boards were firm beneath his felt-covered feet, despite
their appearance.  Kelain smiled slightly.  Some things, at least,
hadn't changed.  He made his way swiftly down the dark stairs and
passed under the pier.  
     It was utterly black beneath the massive structure, without
even the pale and uncertain light of the cloud-covered moon. 
Kelain paused for a moment.  He focused his eyes hard on the
darkness, straining to see.
     His vision changed, and shapes came into focus, limned in the
faint iridescent glow of heat-traces.  The heavy wooden pillars
that supported the pier were a soft cold white.  The beach below
him was tinged with faint wisps of violet, its quartzite sands
slowly releasing the heat the sun had baked into them during the
day. 
     Kelain walked directly towards a narrow, wedge-shaped gap
between the cement-filled barrels and blocks of quarried stone.  He
crawled cautiously down the dark passageway.  There was a faint,
violet haze at the end of the short tunnel, and as he drew closer
to it, his keen Elvish ears caught the sound of Human laughter.  He
reached the round door and pushed it open cautiously, pausing and
blinking for a moment to re-adjust his vision.
     The hall was as massive as he had remembered.  It extended
nearly the length of the pier, and it was lavishly if haphazardly
furnished.  Multicolored piles of contrasting carpets and draperies
softened the plain wooden floor and walls in a dozen places. 
Pieces of furniture, beds and chairs and rough-hewn benches, were
arranged randomly in the single, huge room.  They were mostly worn
or broken, although some had been skillfully mended by small,
dexterous hands.  Light and warmth came from the hearth.  The
furnace was made of sheets and pipes of rare and precious iron that
cunningly drew the smoke away from curious eyes, out to the sea.
     As soon as he entered, they stared at him.  Hands went into
boots and tunics in the familiar gesture, groping for the bits of
sharpened steel or wrapped glass that were their weapons.  "Skeah
dru, rats."  Kelain gave the greeting in the gutter cant common to
wharf rats and thieves.  "I'm one of you."
     One of the older girls looked at him with a jaundiced eye. 
"He's too old to run with the pack." she commented.  Kelain had the
uneasy feeling that she was appraising him in careful detail.  Her
face was narrow and foxlike, and her eyes held the sharp gleam of
feral intelligence.
     "I left eighty years ago.  I was a member of the Stormbow
pack, when it was led by Darokin."  Kelain deliberately kept his
hands still and visible.
     A young boy, no more than six, burst out laughing.  "How come
you're not an old man, then?"  He giggled and nudged his neighbor
with a grimy elbow.  "Old man, old man!"
     He was hushed by another boy, probably his pack leader.  "He's
an Elf, Gelli.  That's why he's not old."  Kelain heard the whisper
clearly.  
     "Elf-blood never ran with the pack."  The girl's voice was
sullen.  "What do you want with us, Elf-blood?"  She was good, but
Kelain saw her subtle signal.  Several of the older rats crept out
of the ring of firelight, undoubtedly for one of the hidden tunnels
that let out behind him.
     Kelain's voice carried a long way in the dim, smoky hall. 
"Please don't make me hurt anyone, chela."  He used the respectful
cant term for a female pack leader.  "I'd rather not have to.  I
swear, I come in peace.  Does no one remember that a halfbreed was
once raised by the pack?"
     Glances were exchanged, and quiet murmurs beyond the
firelight.  The girl looked around the room.  "Anybody know
anything?" she demanded.  No one responded.  "Looks like no one
remembers you, Elf.  How did you find us?"
     Kelain replied, exasperated.  "I told you, I ran with the
pack.  I used to live here."  He had a sudden, chancy inspiration. 
"Look on the wall over there - " He pointed.  "Behind where that
pallet is now.  The Stormbow names are carved there.  You'll find
my name under Darokin's."  If it's still there, he added mentally.
     The girl signaled curtly, and a teenage boy dressed in a cast-
off merchant's tunic went to look.  "My name is Kelain.  All I want
from you is information."
     Her eyes narrowed.  "That's what we sell, Elf."
     She was interrupted by the boy.  "His name's there, just like
he said."  The straw matting was tugged aside to reveal a set of
old and worn carvings.   
     The pack leader shrugged elaborately.  "What do you want to
know?"
     "A rat named Orin.  I need to find him.  Now."  
     The girl sucked air in through her teeth, sharply.  "That's
tricksy, Elf.  How do I know you won't give him the wrong end of
your dagger when you find him?  Why should I give him to you?"
     Kelain smiled thinly.  "Chela, if I wanted to kill him, he
would already be dead.  I want to offer him a job.  A good job,
with a good price on it, if that's of interest to you.  If he's not
available, I'll hire one of you.  But I've dealt with him before,
and I know him.  Help me find him, in the name of the Pack."
     "Say the name of the Pack," she challenged.
     Kelain began to recite.  "The name of the Pack is protection. 
We help the youngest and look out for one another.  The name of the
Pack is survival.  We do what we must to live, and the leader's
word is law.  The name of the Pack is strength.  The one who hurts
any of us will face a hundred knives in the dark."  He finished and
looked at her steadily.  "Now, in the name of the Pack, will you
tell me where to find Orin?"
     She nodded slowly.  "He sleeps in the new hideout, behind the
pastry shop on Healer's Row.  You can find him there, if Yros will
let you in.  He's the man who owns the shop."  The girl cocked her
head at him, her eyes gleaming orange with reflected firelight.  "A
word to the wise, Elf.  Yros feeds us and helps us when we need it. 
Never lift from his shop.  Never beg there.  Yros is a friend of
the Pack."
     "I promise, pack leader."  He inclined his head respectfully
towards her.  "May I?" he asked, walking towards the far wall.  She
nodded, though her eyes followed him carefully.  
     Kelain stopped in front of the wall and ran his long, delicate
fingers gently along the crude carvings.  The names were all there:
Daro, Kelain, Refa, Quen, Meredith, Leslif, and a dozen others. 
The lowest names were obscured by other carvings, but the first six
were clearly legible.  For a brief moment, Kelain looked around the
room with the eyes of long memory and saw other, familiar faces
around the fire.
     Kelain had watched all of his Human packmates die or leave the
Pack as they grew too old to risk being caught by the Guard or by
irate citizens.  Kelain had run with them for nearly three decades
before he looked old enough join the Guild. 
     Most Elvatuar and halfbreed Elves aged normally until puberty,
and then began slowing down.  But Kelain had proved an exception,
and an invaluable asset to his pack.  His size and dexterity made
him well suited for entering windows and grates, and his years of
experience were at least as helpful.  He had even led a pack
briefly, until he discovered that leadership was not his preferred
vocation.  
     Kelain had left the Pack for the Guild the first night they
had accepted him, and he had never looked back.  Until now, he had
never had a reason to.  Although he had won the grudging respect of
the Humans in his pack, he had rarely been liked.  Kelain went into
the Guild determined to make a name for himself and to leave his
old life behind.  He had not returned to the sanctuary beneath the
wharves in nearly a century, and the memories it revived were
painful.  
     The half-elf decided to leave, and quickly.  "Thank you,
chela.  Perhaps we will meet again."  She nodded again,
acknowledging him.  
     Kelain took a golden coin from his purse and gave it to her. 
It glinted softly in her soot-smudged hand.  "If anyone comes to
buy news of me, consider it already sold."
     She made the coin vanish into the folds of her faded dress. 
"It's sold, vedru."  Brother rat.  "I'll make sure everybody knows
it."  Their eyes followed him as he turned and walked out the door.
     Kelain padded swiftly out from under the pier, taking the
ruined stairs two at a time in his haste.
     The journey to Yros' shop was uneventful, and the tumbler
locks on the back gate took only a few moments of Kelain's time to
defeat.  Since there was nothing of any great value to steal in a
pastry shop, the owner apparently took few precautions.  
     Kelain entered the small, fenced lot cautiously.  A structure
that looked like a large storage shed leaned against the walls of
the shop itself.  However, storage sheds rarely had chimneys that
still trailed wisps of smoke into the crisp, cold night air.  
     Kelain walked over to the shed and opened the door.  Inside,
a dozen pairs of small, bright eyes looked up at him in panic. 
"Skeah dru," he said quickly.  "My name is Kelain, and I'm a
friend.  I'm looking for Orin."
     A tall, lanky figure emerged from behind a pile of tattered
horse blankets, a roughly sharpened length of steel in his hand. 
"Hello, Elf-man.  I didn't recognize you till you started talking. 
You got a different face on."  He yawned, rubbing the sleep from
his dark eyes with a grubby fist.  "You got another job for me?" 
He bent carelessly to tuck his small weapon back 
into his boot.  Behind him, smaller children clustered and peered
out from between his legs.
     "A fair job, with a fair price.  I'll need to speak to you
outside."  
     One of the boys tugged urgently on Orin's tunic.  "Doan go,
chelo.  Maybe he kill you."
     Orin patted the boy's head reassuringly.  "It's all right,
Gren.  I've done deal with him before.  He's skelly."  Warily, the
boy retreated a few steps into the musty darkness of the shed. 
"How'd you find us, Elf-man?"
     "A girl at Shark Wharf told me where you were."  They walked
through the narrow door into the yard, Orin's self-conscious stride
a sharp contrast to Kelain's silent, graceful padding. 
     "They let you in?"  Orin looked at the half-elf with new
respect.
     "I used to live there," Kelain replied shortly.  "I gave them
the Pack oath, and the chela told me where to find you.  Now, I
need your help."
     "What's in it for me this time, Elf-man?"  The canny young
wharf rat settled himself in for a session of serious bargaining.
     "A place in the Guild and personal training for your
apprentice year by the Guild Weapons Master.  That's the deal; no
barter.  Are you interested?"  Kelain kept his voice casual.
     Orin returned him a wary look.  "Of course.  Can you give? 
Last I heard, you got yourself slung out of the Guild."
     Kelain cursed the young rat's cleverness.  Orin had obviously
kept his ears open in the Blood Sport tavern, when Kelain had sent
him in to fetch the ogre.  "I had to leave the Guild because I
can't involve anyone else in what I'm doing.  I'm going back as
soon as the job's over."
     "What if you can't?"  Orin countered.  
     "I can." Kelain spoke confidently.  "But if you think I can't,
I'll give you enough coin to buy you a place instead of sponsoring
you.  Whether I return to the Guild or not, you'll be in."
     Orin continued to look skeptical.  "What about the other part
of the bargain, Elf-man?  I don't think you can call in a favor
from the Weapons Master if you're out of the Guild."
     In answer, Kelain gave him a frightening smile.  Few men would
describe the slim half-elf as physically imposing at a casual look,
until he chose to be.  His black-clad form was limned in the silver
moonlight, his tightly muscled arms bared to the night air.  Kelain
looked as slender and graceful and deadly as a cold-forged dagger. 
Involuntarily, Orin shivered.  "Ratling, I am the Guild Weapons
Master.  I will train you, if you help me."
     His eyes brightened, and he licked his lips nervously. 
"That's a good deal, Elf-man.  What do I have to do?"
     "Do you know a mage named Vasht?"  Kelain assumed a more
relaxed pose, leaning casually against the larger building.
     "Yeah.  Worked for him, once.  Not for long; the bastard's a
damn nevvy pervo.  I heard about it just in time, and I skipped out
before he could get around to a closer look at his new toy."
     "Do you think you could get around him again if you had to go
back?"  
     Orin thought for a moment.  "I dunno, Elf-man.  But I guess
I'd try my best."
     Kelain nodded grimly.  "You'll have to, for this job."
     "What do you want with him?  If you want him dead, I'd be glad
to help."  Orin turned and stared at the rough stone wall as if he
were seeing through it, an odd expression on his boyish face.  "He
likes children, the younger the better.  I hear he snuffs some
after he's through.  He usually leaves rats alone if they say no,
because he uses us a lot for other things.  But the Pack knows he
gives gold if you say yes."  He shuddered again.  "He gives us
other things, too.  Drugs, sometimes; when he makes us deal for
him.  I didn't tell you before, but I think he's gotta be the main
source."
     "That's what I thought.  He's been running quevas, and I think
that one of the Orders of the Mages' Guild is in on it." 
     The boy's eyes goggled.  "Elf-man, are you on drugs?  No one's
that crazy."  Kelain lifted an expressive eyebrow, and Orin
relented.  "Well, maybe Vasht's that crazy.  But I can't believe
that a whole Guild is involved.  Especially the Mages' Guild."
     "Just the Black Robes.  And I'm not even sure of that yet." 
He waved a slender, long-fingered hand in a dismissing gesture. 
"In any case, it's not the drugs I'm after.  Vasht has a 'Morph
slave named Cheltie that I want back.  I'll buy her from him if I
can, but if he won't sell, I'll have to take her.  She's a Vul, and
probably First Breed."  Kelain looked at the boy sharply.  "None of
this is to be repeated."
     Orin grinned easily.  "Elf-man, do I look stupid?  I wouldn't
jump our deal."  He sobered again. "It's dangerous stuff we're
playing with here.  Quevas, Guild mages, First Breed.  Jobs don't
get any tougher than this."
     "The price is more than fair."  Kelain's voice was tight.  
     "I didn't say it wasn't.  I just wanted to be sure you knew
what we were getting into."  The young wharf rat's smile was
infectious.  "So when do we start?"
     "Right now.  Can you take me to where Vasht lives?"
"Sure.  He lives down on Wharf and Lamprey, in a big mansion.  This
way."  They moved through the shadows together, the lanky youth
leading them.
     Kelain watched him carefully as they walked down the city
streets.  "Orin."  His tone was commanding, and the boy stopped and
turned.  "Where is your center?"
     Orin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "What are you
talking about, Elf-man?"
     "Your center.  Your kari.  Where is your physical balance
centered at?"  Kelain folded his arms, looking at the boy
impassively.
     "I don't know what you mean."  Orin shook his head in
puzzlement.  "Hey, I thought you were in a hurry.  Don't you want
to get going?"
     "Not until you learn to walk properly.  You'll never get past
the patrols as you are."
     Orin looked hurt.  "I'm not so bad at sneaking around.  I've
never been caught yet."
     "You've never tried to hide from the Ironclaw Guild before. 
Or didn't you know that they patrol there?"  Kelain's voice was
flat and final. "Now, WHERE IS YOUR CENTER?" 
     Uncharacteristically, he was almost shouting.  As Orin looked
at him blankly, Kelain charged with a sharp cry.  His hand stopped
about a foot away from Orin's midsection, and the surprised youth
fell back and landed hard on the cobbled stones.
     "Hey!  What did you do that for?"  Orin pulled himself up
indignantly, brushing futilely at his begrimed trousers.
     "To show you that you have no balance.  If your center was
where it should be, you wouldn't have fallen."
     Astonishment was beginning to creep across Orin's features. 
"You never touched me, Elf-man, but you knocked me on my ass.  Are
you a wizard?"
     Kelain shook his head.  "I know some hedgerow tricks, but what
I just did has nothing to do with wizardry.  The art of the
assassin is more than just lockpicking and swift slaying.  You must
master yourself before you can hope to master others, and knowing
your center is just the beginning."   Ignoring the boy's confused
look, he pointed to a space in front of him.  "Stand here.  Mirror
everything I do."  Obediently, Orin stepped in
front of him.  "Flex your knees.  Now breathe in, deeply.  Feel
your center."
     Orin struggled valiantly to follow, copying the half-elf's
graceful, flowing motions as best he could.  Finally, he stopped
and looked Kelain squarely in the eye.  "Look, I can move and I can
breathe, but I still don't understand this center thing.  What does
this wizard skag have to do with skedoing, anyway?"
     Kelain sighed deeply.  "I told you, this isn't magick.  Anyone
can learn centering.  Let me show you."  His voice took on an
intense, hypnotic quality.  "Close your eyes.  Breathe in
deeply....one, two, three, four.  Let it out....one, two, three,
four.  Very good.  Just relax."  Slowly, but with immense strength,
Kelain brought his hands together in front of his chest.  A faint
glow seemed to surround them, but it might have been only a
reflection of the moonlight on his pale skin.  He reached out with
his left hand and lightly touched Orin's forehead.
     The boy jumped as if stung.  "Ow!  Hey, what did you hit me
for?  I feel - "  He shook his head rapidly, as if to clear it.  "I
feel strong.  Real strong.  What did you do to me?"
Kelain wiped a tiny bead of sweat from his brow.  "I gave you your
center.  Tell me, where do you feel the most strong?  Where does
that feeling of being strong come from?"
     Orin considered for a moment.  "Right here, I think."  He
pointed to a spot in the middle of his stomach, just below the
diaphragm.  "Are you sure you're not a wizard, Elf-man?"
     "I'm sure," Kelain said dryly.  "Now, let's run through that
exercise again.  Flex your knees.  Turn.  Now, feel your center."
     The youth assumed his position in front of Kelain, and again
began to copy his complex motions.  This time, there was a definite
improvement.  "Hey, Elf-man, I feel it!  I feel balanced.  I feel
like I ought to be moving lower to the ground.  Is that right?"
     Kelain permitted himself to smile briefly at his pupil. 
"That's right.  Now, walk down that alley, and don't let me see
you.  Hug the wall."
     Orin began to walk, slowly at first and then with more
confidence.  His tall, lanky form seemed to melt and flow with a
new grace.  Kelain could still see him as he slunk from one patch
of darkness to another, but Kelain doubted that a casual observer
would be able to spot the boy.  
     Moving like a black cloud over the moon, the wiry half-elf
glided quietly over to join him.  "Good.  Remember this lesson and
it will serve you well.  Now, let's go visit a mage."  
     The smile on the boy's face was radiant.  "Thanks, Elf-man,"
he whispered.  The wonder and gratitude on Orin's face made Kelain
feel surprisingly good, and he smiled back silently at his student.
     They reached Wharf Street in less than half an hour, with Orin
practicing his newfound skills on the way.  Kelain's sharp eyes
marked the street signs as they approached.  "Here's where the
Ironclaw patrols begin," Kelain said quietly.  "No more practice
time.  If we're caught, I want you to run while I distract the
guards.  Meet me at the alley we stopped in, if that happens."
     "And if you're not there?"
     Kelain grinned, showing even, white teeth.  "If I'm not there,
I'll be dead and the deal's off.  Good enough?"  Orin nodded. 
"Heads up.  We start now."
     The art of skedoing, or walking unseen, was practiced by
thieves and wharf rats everywhere.  Kelain was obviously a master
of that art, and Orin watched admiringly as the half-elf seemed to
vanish behind the slender branches of a tree or a narrow fence, his
body moving and contorting as fluidly as an acrobat's as he melted
into the shadows.  The tall youth did his best to copy his teacher,
bending himself as best he could around corners and pressing his
thinly clad form tightly against the cold stone walls as they moved
closer to their goal.
     A hand pressed down on his shoulder, and he shivered with more
than the cold.  He crouched and turned to see Kelain putting a
finger over his mouth and pointing ahead of them.  Orin strained to
see through the darkness, but he saw nothing.  He kept silent and
waited.
     Three figures were moving down the dimly lit street in the
distance.  They carried no torches, but they moved with the
assurance of the fully sighted.  "Ironclaw," Kelain whispered
directly into Orin's ear.  The name sent another shiver down his
spine.
     Every citizen of Reshor knew that the Ironclaw Guild was a
clan of Specialist 'Morphs, mage-bred and sorcerously enhanced for
their fearsome combat abilities.  Although First Breed were 
hunted without respite in most cities, this group had come to the
Reshor Council after the 'Morph Wars and begged sanctuary in return
for their services in guarding the city.  The Council members had
accepted.  Predictably, the Council had put them to patrolling the
wealthier sections of the city, where their own homes and children
were.  The Ironclaws did their job with frightening efficiency, and
even Kelain's own Guild tended to avoid the Wharf Street district
when they wanted to transact their brand of business.
     Orin froze, suddenly realizing that the figures were moving
steadily and purposefully towards them.  "Relax.  Begin the
breathing exercise I taught you."  Kelain's voice was barely
audible as he reached into one of his pouches and tossed a few
pinches of an odd-smelling powder in the air.  Orin got a good
whiff of the stuff, which had a sharp, chemical tang that seemed to
dissipate almost immediately in the chill night air.
     We're about to be torn apart by a gang of combat-bred 'Morphs,
and he wants to do drugs?  Orin looked at Kelain in disbelief, but
his instincts told him to trust his teacher.  He started to breathe
slowly and regularly, four counts to a breath.
     "Give up your thoughts.  There is no mind, only Center." 
Kelain's bare whisper was insidiously hypnotic in his ear.  Orin 
found that his thoughts were beginning to slow as he continued
breathing regularly.  In and out.  In and out.  He focused his
attention as best he could on his center, blocking out all other
thoughts.
     The three massive 'Morphs passed by them, looking from left to
right as they walked casually down the middle of the street.   The
leader of the patrol was a massive Urs, his bearlike, shaggy body
bulging with an impressive musculature.  His oddly vivid blue eyes
held the sharp gleam of intelligence, belying his bestial
appearance.  The patrol second was an almost equally large wolf
'Morph who sported a bandolier of daggers down the front of his
leather jerkin.  The thing that followed behind, nostrils distended
and twitching, had scales as well as scabby pale fur.  Orin didn't
get a good look at it, since it tended to slink through the shadows
as much as it could, but its round pink eyes glowed like smoldering
coals in the darkness as it passed.  
     Kelain waited a full five minutes before he nodded at Orin to
indicate that he could start breathing normally.  "What was that
thing?"  Orin whispered, still cowed.
     "Lizard-rat, probably."  Kelain's voice was casual.  "Some
mage made a fair lot of them just before the Wars, and a few
survived.  They're for scouting and surveillance.  They've got an
incredible sense of smell, even if they're not too bright."
     Orin, never a slow learner, looked pensively at Kelain.  "So
that's what the dust was for."
     The half-elf nodded. "Tarva powder.  Numbs the nose right
away.  Neither of us is going to be able to smell anything for
awhile."  Kelain quirked up the side of his mouth in a small, wry
smile.  "Which is more of a blessing that anything else in this
city."
     "Why did you make me breathe like that?"  Orin wanted to know.
     "Think about it, Orin.  Smell and sight aren't the only senses
they could have used."
     Orin's brow wrinkled briefly.  "I don't get it, Elf-man."
     "Half the Ironclaw Guild is First Breed.  I'd bet that at
least one of them was wizardsighted, and a still mind is harder to
sense."  Kelain stood and stretched, easing the knots of tension in
his hard, wiry body.  "Which way?"
     Orin looked around and pointed.  "Down there, over by Lamprey
Street.  His place is the three-level merchanthouse with the
courtyard."  The two thieves strode into the shadows, side by side. 
They walked silently and companionably forward, with Kelain taking
the lead when the shadows grew narrower.  
     "There."  Orin's voice was a whisper as he pointed unerringly
towards one of the elaborate mansions that lined the block.  "That
one's it."  Expensive and fashionable, spelled glowglobes were
fastened to several posts near the awning that covered the entrance
to the mansion.  They spilled an eerie blue light onto the smoothly
paved street.
     Kelain flashed Orin the ghost of a smile.  "Stay here and
watch.  You might learn something."  He glided away smoothly, his
feet seeming to move without touching the ground.  The slender
half-elf disappeared swiftly around the side of the house.  He
reappeared as a blot of inky darkness inching its way up the wall. 
Orin whistled softly through his teeth in amazement and admiration
as Kelain climbed easily up to a barred window and appeared to
vanish.  
     Orin looked carefully, straining his eyes to catch the least
hint of movement.  He finally realized that the iron bars of the
window were casting a rather strange shadow, and when he looked 
more closely, he could just barely make out what had to be a tall
man wrapped in a black cloak clinging just below the projecting
ledge.
     The figure started to move, crawling slowly over to the other
window.  To an observer, Kelain might have appeared to be the
shadow of a tree branch moving in the wind.  In fact, Orin was not
entirely sure that he had not lost sight of his mentor altogether. 
Kelain settled himself next to yet another window, and again clung
invisibly beneath it for a few moments.  He repeated this process
with all of the windows that were visible from the street before
Orin lost sight of him altogether.
     About twenty minutes later, Orin felt a light tap on his
shoulder.  He gasped and spun around, his heart pounding fiercely
in his small chest.  Kelain stood there, grinning.  "You scared
me!"  Orin hissed reproachfully, trying to slow his rapid
heartbeat.
     "You shouldn't have been surprised."  Kelain's voice was stern
but not harsh.  "Keep your eyes and ears open and your other senses
alert, and you won't be.  Next time I surprise you, it'll be more
than a tap you feel."
     Orin groaned.  "I haven't got any other senses.  I'm not
wizardsighted!"
     Kelain only chuckled.  "I keep telling you, it isn't wizardry. 
Learn to reach out with your center, and you can always feel
someone sneaking up behind you."  He grinned at his pupil.  "But
that lesson can wait for another day.  Tonight, go to Vasht.  Learn
what you can about Cheltie.  Tomorrow at the third bell, meet me in
the alleyway."
     Orin nodded.  "It's a deal, Elf-man."  He stuck out his hand.
     Kelain winced.  "I'm adding another condition to the deal,
ratling."
     "What's that?"  Orin looked at him warily.
     He smiled wryly.  "Don't call me Elf-man.  You can call me
Kelain, or Teacher.  Understand?"
     "Got it, Teach."  There was an infectious twinkle in his eye
and a cocky grin on his boyish face.  "Uh, Kelain."
     Kelain tried to glare at the impertinent youth, but somehow,
he could only manage a mildly reproachful look.  He grasped Orin's
hand briefly.  "Tomorrow in the alley."
     "You got it, Teacher.  I'll see you there."
     Orin started walking boldly towards the house.  By the time he
thought to look over his shoulder, Kelain was long gone.