Thieves' Gambit
Chapters 18 - 20
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XVIII.


     
     "So what makes you think that you want to be a mage?"  The
elderly, white-robed man leaned forward in his carved wooden
chair as he questioned the young Elf sitting in front of him.  
     "I had talents when I was a child.  Wizardsight, moving
small objects, lighting candles, that sort of thing.  They said I
had a great deal of potential, back then."  The sunlight from the
open window reflected off of the uncommonly handsome Elf's long,
blond hair.  "Our family fell on hard times during the 'Morph
Wars, and for many years, I had neither the time nor the gold to
get proper training."  His voice was serious and deeply pitched. 
"The same tragedy blocked my talents and my mind to the point
that I have not been able to use my small powers since I was a
child.   Money's no object now; I'll gladly pay full fee to the
Guild, if you think you can help me."
     The mage concentrated, staring intently at his subject.  "I
see what you're talking about.  That's quite a natural mind-
shield you have there.  Well, maybe we can help you get through
it.  What's your name, son?"
     "Quorl Freewind.  I don't have the money on me, of course,
but I can pay you as soon as I begin my apprenticeship."  A
trickle of sweat was running down the Elf's forehead.  He prayed
it wouldn't spoil his makeup.  
     The man nodded.  "Let me get the Guild book for you to sign. 
I'll be back in a minute."  He turned and left the small office,
shutting the door behind him. 
     Instantly, Kelain was searching with a swift and desperate
efficiency through the desk.  He kept his ears carefully attuned
to the sounds around him, paging quickly through sheet after
sheet of inconsequential records.  
     When he found the log he had been looking for, he almost
choked.  Written in a neat hand, dated two days ago, was an entry
noting the reclamation of three grams of quevas from the Thieves'
Guild.  Not the three pounds of deadly, iridescent dust that
Kelain and Alun had returned.
     Kelain thought about taking the paper, and decided against
it.  Turning Tavane in to the Guild proper would do the object of
his quest no good.  If Tavane and Vasht were subjected to Mages'
Guild justice, chances were good that Cheltie would be destroyed
along with them.   At best, the innocent First Breed 'Morph would
probably be mind-burned to remove any possible, latent trace of
the wild magick talents that so often appeared among her kind. 
The Mages' Guild was nothing if not pragmatic.  He would have to
get Cheltie to safety before he could reveal the extent of the
conspiracy.
     He put the papers back in their original order quickly and
expertly, and returned to his chair.  The old man came back in a
few moments with the blank-leafed book, which he handed to the
young Elf.  Kelain blushed, looking down at his feet.  "I'm
sorry, sir.  I can't write.  You can put a wizardmark on me, if
you want to, but I can't sign my name."
     "Well, I'm a bit out of practice at that, but I suppose I
can oblige you."  He used the tip of his finger to ignite a small
bowl of herbs that was sitting on a shelf, and drew mystic
gestures in the air.  He murmured a few barely audible words, and
Kelain felt an indefinable presence settle over him.  "That's
done.  Now, you, Quorl Freewind, promise to pay the sum of eight
thousand gold aurii over the next year in exchange for your
apprenticeship.  Is that right?"
     "Quorl Freewind promises to pay, sir."  Kelain grinned. 
This was going a lot easier than he thought it would, thanks to
the Guild's apparent habit of foisting off the dull office jobs
on low-ranking journeymen and incompetents.  The 'mark wasn't
even a tight one, and the hedgerow wizard he had in mind
shouldn't have a bit of trouble transferring it to its real
target.  "Thanks for your time.  I'll see you tomorrow, after I
collect my things so that I can move into the Guildhouse."
     The old man smiled amiably at him.  "I'll see you then,
sonny.  Take care of yourself."
     Grinning broadly, Kelain left the offices of the Mages'
Guild.  He had an appointment to keep with a wizard.

XIX.


     
     She found him pruning roses in the garden, behind the
spacious courtyard that led to the main halls of the Mages'
Guild.  The tall, red-robed man bent down to give his daughter a
swift hug.  "Hello, Alea.  How have you been faring?"  He offered
her one of the deep crimson flowers in a casual gesture.  At his
touch, the thorns softened and sank back into the stem.
     "I'd be faring better if I had a go-ahead from the Council." 
She spoke directly and bluntly, ignoring the proffered gift. 
"They're taking their time to decide what to do about Vasht, and
while they debate at their leisure, someone I care about is in
danger." 
     Guildmaster Ardath sighed and shook his head.  "These things
take time, Alea.  A war between mages is not a thing to be taken
up lightly.  Think of the welfare of the city, and the Guild. 
How would the city react if innocent folk were caught in mages'
crossfire?  We may be a power in the city, but we still have to
trade with its people for the goods we need to survive.  Or have
you forgotten that we can hardly conjure corn and cloth and
cattle out of thin air?"  
     "Don't quote history lessons to me, Father."  Alea snorted. 
"I know as well as you do why we need to keep peace with the rest
of the city.  But what would it do to the reputation of mages if
more people were to discover the nasty details of that fat toad's
private life?  We in the Guild know he's a renegade, but that's
not necessarily public knowledge.  To the simpleminded, a mage is
a mage."  
     At Ardath's questioning glance, she clarified.  "He's a
pedophile, Father.  He abuses little children and kills them.  He
makes drugs and has wharf rat addicts selling them on the
streets.  We aren't going to be very popular when people find
that out."
     The Guildmaster frowned, looking at her sternly.  "How is
anyone going to find out, if I may ask?"  
     "The Thieves' Guild already knows.  I told them everything." 
She returned his gaze squarely.
     The aging sorcerer looked somewhat relieved.  "We have good
relations with them, in a large part thanks to you.  It will be
easy enough to ask them to remain silent."    
     Alea shook her head grimly.  "Sorry, Father.  Alun can't
enforce a Guild directive on someone who isn't a member.  The
Guild's Weapons Master went renegade to avoid a conflict of
interest with us when he started investigating the situation.  As
long as Tavane still heads the Black Robes, he'll remain outside
of the Guild, where he can talk all he wants."  Not that Kelain
is likely to exchange more than two words with anyone outside of
the Guild,  Alea thought guardedly.  Still, he could if he wanted
to, so I'm not lying.
     "This is a load of kysk shit."  Ardath's complexion darkened
a few shades.  "He's no true renegade.  Alun could easily ask for
his silence, unless you're planning to get in the way."  His tone
was ominous.  
     "I'm planning to do what's best for everyone, Father; if
you'll let me."  She took the rose from his unprotesting hand and
sniffed its fragrance deeply.  "If you can persuade the Council
to let the Thieves' Guild hit Vasht, without reprisal from anyone
in the Mages' Guild who might have been dealing with him, there
won't be anything left to talk about.  Our Guild doesn't get
embarrassed, and their Guild gets its Weapons Master back."   She
smiled up at him through velvet petals.  
     The archmage snorted.  "Very logical, Alea.  But logic cuts
both ways, you know.  If he's renegade, he can't be commanded,
but he also cannot be avenged.  I can handle one renegade
assassin, if he plans to make trouble for our Guild."  There was
an ominous look on his heavily bearded face.
     She snapped back at him instantly and savagely.  "Don't you
dare, Father.  I'd see you in hell before I let you hurt him." 
The rose dropped down to the narrow walkway in a shower of petals
as red as spilled blood. 
     For a moment, they squared off like spitting cats.  Then,
the Guildmaster softened.  "He is the one you care about, then?"
     Alea nodded wearily.  "His name is Kelain.  He's a good man,
and I don't want to see him die.  Let me help him, Father. 
Please."
     Ardath took his daughter's hands in his own.  "I will if I
can, Alea.  You'll have to get the consent of the rest of the
Council, but I'll be backing you."
     "Can you call the meeting now?"  She straightened, her voice
becoming animated.   "There's no time to waste.  Kelain could be
in danger."
     "I'll send the messengers right away."  He looked at his
daughter with a quiet intensity.  "Is he worth risking your life
for, Alea?"
     She returned a fierce glare.  "If you knew him, you wouldn't
have to ask.  He's a good and honorable man, and he deserves
better treatment than he gets from the rest of the world."
     That triggered something in Ardath's memory.  "He's the
Guild's half-elf?"  There was surprise but no animosity in his
voice.
     "Yes.  What of it?  You married a hearthwitch."  Alea looked
defensive.
     "Daughter, you don't make easy choices, do you?"  Ardath
sighed softly.  "You have my blessing, for whatever that's worth;
but you should know that it may cause problems later."  
     She gave a short, bitter laugh.  "You mean if we have
children?  That's hardly likely.  I'm just another student, as
far as he's concerned.  He doesn't even notice me, not unless I
do something wrong on the practice field."  
     Her pain would have been evident even to the ungifted, and
the sensitive mage winced even as he reached out to envelop her
in a warm hug.  His robes smelled faintly of spice and roses. 
"Then he doesn't know what he's missing, dear heart.  Are you
sure you want to help him?"
     She nodded, dashing her the back of her hand quickly across
her eyes.  "I'm sure," she said firmly.  "Even if he never thinks
of me as anything more than a friend, he deserves a better chance
than he's got right now.   Will you help me give it to him?"
     "I'll help you, Alea.  I promise."  He held her to him
tightly for a long moment before letting her go.  "I'll convince
the Council."
     She hugged him back, hard.  "Thank you, Father.  Thank you
so much."
     The red-robed sorcerer reached around his neck and
unfastened a silvery cord.  "Take this with you."  He placed a
graven stone amulet around his daughter's neck.  "It should help
protect you."
     She gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.  "You know I can
protect myself, Father; but thank you anyway."  
     He looked abashed.  "I know, but it never hurts to have a
little something extra.  Shall we go to Council?"
     "That's an excellent idea, Father."  She smiled and took his
arm.  
     They walked down the garden path together, toward the high
stone walls of the Mages' Guild.  Behind them, tattered petals of
crimson blew away in the chill autumn wind.

XX.


     
     The tall, wiry thief kept his senses alert as he scaled the
rough stone wall to the window.   He peered carefully at it,
reaching out tentatively with his mind before he touched it with
his gloved hands.  Kelain swore quietly.  "Kysk dung.  He's set a
Warding."  
     He settled himself in to concentrate on the bespelled
window, clinging like a shadow to the cold, lumpy surface of the
wall.  He couldn't sense more than a faint tickle of energy, even
when he opened himself to it deliberately.  I'm in luck.  It's a
lesser Warding, not meant to keep out the mageborn.  Anything
more powerful than this, and I'd be looking for another way in. 
     Apparently, its owner was more worried about simple thieves
than other mages.  Any reasonably competent wizard could take
this one down, and a Guild mage could do it without even trying.
     Kelain did not deceive himself about his limited magickal
abilities, but he thought that this spell might be within his
means.  The dexterous half-elf settled himself into a comfortable
position below the window, supporting himself on a narrow jut of
stone.  He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a
small, stoppered vial of gleaming blue dust, the residue of a 
lightning-shattered gem.  I hope to hell this works, Kelain
thought ruefully.  This stuff's expensive.
     Carefully, he drew a tiny sigil in the dust of the
windowsill and filled it in with a pinch of the precious,
crystalline powder.  He used a small, flattened rod of bronze to
spread the dust evenly in the figure.   Murmuring a quiet
incantation, Kelain passed his open palm above the wizardmark. 
The sigil glowed into life and began to move.  Spiralling lines
writhed and drew themselves before his eyes, mirroring the
Patterns of the locking spell.
     He focused his magesight on the window, checking the sigil
for accuracy.  He could see the redly glowing shafts of light
that barred his way, and their exact duplicate in shimmering
sapphire just below.  Good.  I've gotten into the Pattern.
     Kelain concentrated intently on the shifting lines of the
sigil, forcing them under his control.  Fiercely, he willed them
to dissolve.   Melt, damn you.   
     With excruciating slowness, the complex patterns of the
sigil collapsed into a shapeless heap of dull, dark brown powder. 
Kelain looked up in triumph, and the crimson lines of light 
across the window blurred and faded in his magesight.  Got you,
you bastard. 
     By the time he was finished, beads of sweat were forming on
his brow.  He wiped them away and reached for the window, easing
it open with skilled hands.  Inside was the wizard's workroom. 
     Kelain flipped himself over the windowsill with an easy
grace and landed on padded feet.  It was dark enough for him to
use the special vision he had inherited from his Elvish parent,
and he scanned the room carefully for unusual heat-traces.  
     The room was a cool, uniform brown in his sight, revealing
nothing.  Still, magickal traps did not always use the kinds of
energies that could cause a temperature change.  Cautiously,
Kelain removed his gloves and extended his long and sensitive
fingers towards the middle of the room, scanning the area for
magickal auras.
     The effort left him exhausted.  Damn.  That Warding must
have been tougher than I thought.  He pressed his hands to his
temples, trying to ease their throbbing ache.  Well, I just won't
take any risks.  Resigned, Kelain donned his climbing gloves and
scaled the oak-paneled wall to traverse the ceiling.  It's slower
going, but at least it's probably safe.  Few folk expect visitors
this way.
     Pressing and contorting his body to brace himself between
wall and ceiling, the assassin made his way down the stairwell to
the wizard's shop.  He stopped when he heard a strident voice. 
"You damn fraud.  You promised me I'd see some results when I
used your potion."
     There was a long and drawn-out sigh.  "Yevard, what you
bought from me was supposed to increase your virility.  It did. 
It's no fault of mine if you had no one to use it on.  If you
wanted a love potion, you should have gone looking for one of
those instead."  
     Kelain made a mental note of some of the creative curses
that were being shouted at the long-suffering wizard.  "You know
as well as I do that those aren't legal in the city."  
     The assassin chuckled silently from his perch, picturing the
potential havoc that such brews could cause if they were casually
available.  The Mages' Guild made it a point to enforce bans on
any magick that might cause harm, since they felt very strongly
about maintaining the good reputation of mages and magecraft. 
None of them had forgotten the ancient days when magick was
feared and hated, and mageborn slain in the streets.
     The merchant's voice became crafty.  "Of course, if you were
willing to sell me one, I'd make it worth your while.  I've heard
you sometimes handle things like this."  Kelain could hear the
clink of heavy coins being poured on a table, and he reflexively
crept closer until he was almost directly above their heads. 
     The skinny, brown-robed wizard eyed the coins distrustfully. 
"You know what could happen to me if the Guild finds out.  Why
don't you take this gold and go buy yourself a slave?  They're a
lot less trouble."
     More coins joined the pile on the hardwood table.  The
pudgy, oily-looking man pushed the glittering heap towards the
wizard.  "I don't want a slave.  I want her, and I'm prepared to
pay for it."  His voice was petulant.  "Name your price, Tanner. 
I'll pay it."
     "Fifty gold, full weight."  The wizard licked his lips
nervously.
     The merchant coughed ostentatiously and wiped his thick,
liver-hued lips on the sleeve of his tunic.  "Fifty aurii could
buy me a new shop on Jeweler's Row, wizard.  It's too much."
     "Then take your gold and go!"  Tanner hissed sharply.  "It's
also just enough to buy me out of trouble with the Mages' Guild
if I'm caught.  I won't do it for less."
     "All right, all right."  The merchant's tone was
conciliatory.  "Fifty gold it is.  Twenty now -"  He deftly
counted out two tall stacks of coins and passed them to the
wizard, scooping the rest of the heavy golden octagonals back
into the spacious leather carrying-pouch he wore at his waist. 
"And thirty on delivery.  Agreed?"
     The coins rapidly disappeared into a fold of the wizard's
robe.  "Agreed.  Tell no one about this, or I'll reverse the
effects of the virility potion I gave you, and I'll make it
permanent." 
     The merchant's normally florid complexion turned a shade
paler.  "I'll keep my mouth closed, wizard.  You just deliver me
the goods."
     "I'll need a lock of her hair, or an article of her clothing
to make it binding.  Bring one of these things to me, and I will
brew the potion."  The frail-looking wizard thrust a bony,
admonishing finger at his client.  "But you'd best see to it that
she drinks it.  If you waste it, I'll not make you another."
     Yevard's fat face twisted itself into a sneer.  "Sympathetic
magick?  I hope it's worth what I'm paying, wizard."
     From his perch, Kelain grinned ruefully.  It was true that
sympathetic magick was considered little better than granny-woman
witchery by most practicing mages, but it was a lot easier to
learn and considerably more accessible than High Magick.  It
could also be fairly effective, although its use was limited by
the fact that material components were needed to cast it.  Kelain
had often regretted that limitation, although his small
repertoire of Low Magick spells had proven highly useful in the
past.  
     "You are an ignorant clod of dung, merchant."  His voice was
as cold and biting as the teeth of a glacial wind.  "If I used
even a lesser Patterning to accomplish the task, the Guild would
know what I was doing in a moment.  If you want your potion,
you'll leave its making up to me."
     A variety of expressions chased themselves across the man's
face, none of them pleasant.  He gritted his teeth.  "Very well. 
But if it doesn't work, you'll be hearing from me."
     "Oh, I don't doubt it.  But if you're thinking about
exposing me to the Guild, remember that I won't be the only one
facing a fine."  Tanner spoke calmly, turning his back to the
heavyset man. "Good day to you."
     "Good day, wizard."  He spat out the benediction like a
curse.  "I'll be back tomorrow."  With that, he slammed his way
out of the small shop.
     Tanner winced as the oaken door banged heavily against its
frame. "Fat, odious pig."  The wizard muttered clearly.
     Kelain couldn't resist.  He skillfully pitched his voice to
resemble that of the departed merchant, whining and petulant. 
"Who are you calling a pig?"
     Tanner whirled to face the door, seeking the source of the
voice.  "Yevard?  Where the hell are you?"
     "I'm behind you, wizard."  Kelain returned to his normally
deep tones.  "Don't move.  Don't even think about casting.  I
could have a dagger through the back of your neck before you
could finish a spell."  There was a calm and implacable quality
to his voice that convinced the wizard that he should obey.
     Tanner froze.  "Who are you?"
     The words seemed to echo from all corners of the room. 
"Just a customer.  I need a job done."
     "That's a hell of a way to ask, whoever you are."  The
wizard snarled, craning his neck to peer around the room.  "Why
didn't you just knock on the door?"
     "Because the job's illegal, Tanner."  Invisibly, Kelain
smiled.  He couldn't have gotten a better set-up if he had
designed it himself.  "Still, I see that doesn't seem to bother
you much, if the price is right."
     He sighed in resignation.  "What is it you want?"
     "I need a wizardmark transferred."  
     Tanner glared into the empty air.  "Well, I can't transfer
it if I don't know the target.  And I certainly can't take it off
you if I can't see you."
     "Very well."  Kelain swooped down from the ceiling like a
great black bat, landing in a graceful crouch on the earthen
floor.  The wizard started, but controlled himself quickly.  "You
do know the target.  You're looking at him."
     "You're not Quorl Freewind."  He spoke with certainty.  "Why
do you want to go about wearing his face?"
     Kelain considered various replies, and settled on an honest
one.  "To make trouble for him.  Why else?"  The blond Elf
grinned.  "The 'mark on me was set in his name.  A transfer
shouldn't be too difficult."
     Tanner scowled.  "You're asking me to betray a client.  If
it was ever found out that I did such a thing, I'd never do
business in the city again.  Not to mention the Guild penalty. 
I'd be facing an awfully heavy fine."
     "If the Guild ever found out that you sell illegal potions
to foolish merchants, you would certainly do no more business in
this city."  His voice was quietly menacing.  "I know the true
Guild penalties, even if the fat one did not.  Are you so sure
you can bribe your way out of them?" 
     Wisely, Tanner never revealed to his clients what could
actually happen to him if he was caught selling Guild-proscribed
magick.   The penalty for a citizen who used such goods was
usually a heavy fine levied by the Merchant's Council, but the
price for a mage who sold them was often much more severe.  If
this was not his first offense, he risked having his powers
forcibly burned from his mind by a conclave of Guild mages.  From
what Kelain had heard, this was definitely not his first offense.
     Kelain saw the wizard's hand twitch in the sleeve of his
robe in a small but familiar motion.  Faster than Tanner's eyes
could follow, he whipped out a long knife and split the soft
cloth down the middle to reveal the wizard's skinny, naked arm. 
"Don't."  It was all he said, but it was enough.
     The man blanched.  "All right, damn you.  I'll do your dirty
work.  For a fair price, of course."
     "Of course," Kelain agreed smoothly.  "You get to keep the
fifty gold you're getting from the merchant, and I'll add another
ten of my own for good will."
     "Ten gold?  You must be kidding.  This job's worth a lot
more than the potion."  
     The half-elf's stare was chilling.  "It's a fair offer,
Tanner.  Take it or don't."  Ten gold was actually a very
generous amount, especially considering that the assassin could
easily have offered nothing more than the wizard's life.
     Tanner coughed and eyed his perfectly split sleeve uneasily. 
"Very well.  I accept."
     Kelain counted out ten of the golden coins from his pouch
and held them in one slim, long-fingered hand for a moment.  "I
need some information on Quorl.  What kind of spells did you sell
him?"
     Tanner's expression was sullen.  "A scry-stone.  He wanted a
stealthing spell, but I don't do those."
     Meaning you can't, Kelain thought.  Nothing else would stop
this nasty little skagger from selling something at a profit. 
"Do you know anyone else who does?"
     "No."  The wizard shook his head.  "Did you think we
advertised, even amongst ourselves?"  His tone was faintly
sarcastic.
     "I suppose not.  Can you destroy the scry-stone, or alter
what it shows?"  Kelain was fairly certain that he could not, but
he had to ask.  
     "Not unless it's in my hands.  I made it a long time ago as
a stock item, and it's not attuned to me."
     The handsome Elf nodded and handed him the stack of coins. 
"All right.  Get on with the transferring, and don't bother with
a showy ritual.  I'm in something of a hurry.  And don't - " 
Kelain paused briefly.  He smiled at the wizard with the look of
a hungry thraii.  "Don't try anything you might regret.  I know
what an Unpatterning spell looks like, and if I see or hear a
single word or gesture that doesn't look familiar, I'm going to
kill you.  Is that clear?" 
     The wizard snorted and muttered something rude under his
breath. "Clear enough."  He began the complex series of words and
gestures that would remove the invisible binding on Kelain's
aura.  The assassin watched him intently as he completed the
spell.
     "Now transfer it to Quorl."  Kelain ordered.  "Remember,
I'll be watching."  He grinned ferally.  "And I'm wizardsighted,
so don't try to put a 'mark anywhere it doesn't belong."
     Tanner did not bother to reply.  He concentrated and flung
his hands outward, directing the wizardmark towards its intended
target.  "It's done.  Now will you go away?"  His tone was barely
polite.
     "Gladly, Lord Wizard.  It has been most profitable doing
business with you."  Kelain bowed mockingly and backed out the
door.  "Remember, if you betray me to Quorl, I can always return
the favor and betray you to the Guild.  But since you have been
cooperative, I'll not seek to harm you.  I trust you will grant
me the same courtesy."
     "If I never see you again, I will be more than content." 
The door slammed shut in his face, and Kelain's keen Elvish ears
could barely hear the wizard's muffled cursing behind it.
     Kelain smiled, baring his teeth.  This business was likely
to prove profitable indeed, if he moved quickly enough.  
     It took him about twenty minutes and a few judicious
inquiries to locate Yevard at a street vendor's stall in the Cash
Row district.  The richly dressed merchant was far too busy
stuffing his face with a greasy meatroll to notice the half-elf's
deft fingers unbuckling and removing his heavy pouch.