Thieves' Gambit
Chapters 21-22
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XXI.


     
     The tall, lanky youth was waiting for him in the alleyway,
tapping his feet together as he leaned insouciantly against a soot-
streaked wall.  He looked up as the wiry half-elf approached him. 
"What took you?  I was worried."  Orin settled himself more
comfortably on the cobbled stones.  "I got some ear-tickle for
you."
     "I had to bargain with a wizard.  Two of them, as a matter of
fact."  Kelain allowed himself to relax for the first time that
morning, his shoulders slumping in near-exhaustion.  "Mind-
shielding against a Guild mage isn't easy, even when he isn't
paying much attention.  Neither is convincing a hedgerow wizard to
turn traitor on a client.  I didn't exactly want to rush things."
     Orin looked suitably impressed.  "Yeah, that's fair skelly. 
Listen, Vasht isn't going to sell.  I got in pretty easy; he hires
rats all the time.  I told the guard I didn't have anywhere to
sleep and that I'd work for him for a place to stay.  He lets a
whole pack of us sleep in the side house, in exchange for their
keeping an eye on the place and making contacts for him."  
     Orin grimaced.  "It isn't exactly the safest place to sleep,
though.  I found out he isn't just sib.  He likes girls, too - the
younger, the better.  I met one who let him jump her 'cause she
needed the money.  There's some sick in her Pack, and she wanted to
help them get a Healer.  She was still crying when I left."  
     He looked directly at Kelain, his hazel eyes burning with a
queer intensity.  "She was only eight years old.  She may not live
to be nine.  I stopped her from cutting up her own face with a
knife so no one would want to do it to her anymore.  I hate that
motherpricking bastard."
     Kelain nodded grimly.  "If we're very, very lucky, he'll get
in our way when we rescue the girl."  The half-elf never did any
more killing than he had to, but this Vasht was becoming a more and
more tempting target.  "Why won't he sell her?  He's obviously got
plenty to keep him busy."
     Orin looked as if he was tasting thick, sour vomit in the back
of his throat.  "One of the other rats told me.  Cheltie's his
daughter, that's why.  He gets some kind of a kick out of it.  It
sure doesn't keep him from using her.  The gheb'sh bastard is the
worst scum I ever knew.  I hope his godrotted pricker falls off." 
He kicked angrily at the ground, sending a small shower of pebbles
flying across the alley.  "He keeps her in the lab most of the
time, when she isn't in one of his pleasure rooms."
     Kelain was resigned.  "It looks like we're going to have to go
in.  Where's the lab?"
     "I don't know.  In the main mansion, I think."  The words came
through gritted teeth.  "Are we going to kill him?"
     "If it's convenient."  Kelain eyed his student coolly.  "Don't
let your emotions rule you, Orin.  You won't be any good in a
fight, or at anything else in this world, until you learn to
control yourself.  Never forget that whatever else Vasht is, he is
also a powerful mage.  He could stop your heart just by looking at
you, if he didn't decide to save you for something worse." 
     His tone was cold and factual, and it reached Orin as an angry
tirade would never have done.  "When you go back in, don't give
them any reason to mind-probe you, or we could both be dead.  I
want you to scout the inside of the place and draw me a good set of
plans.  See if you can find out where they're keeping Cheltie."  
     Orin swallowed, his skinny throat working convulsively.  "I'll
do my best.  I promised I would."
     Kelain's expression softened.  "Orin, this is going to be
dangerous.  If you don't think you can do it, I'll go in blind or
on the best layout you can give me now.  I don't want you to get
hurt."
     A shadow of his old, cocky grin ghosted across his face.  "I
can do it, Elf-man.  All I have to do is ask the rats.  They'll
tell me what I need to know."
     Kelain clapped a hand on the youth's shoulder, a rare gesture
of encouragement.  "Good.  Now, when you decide to - "  The
assassin froze.  "Get behind me."  The command was quick and curt. 
Kelain positioned his strong, narrow hands near half-hidden shapes
in the folds of his tunic, turning to face the mouth of the alley. 
He stood poised, waiting for an unseen adversary in a timeless,
unmoving silence.
     Orin had no such discipline.  He crouched like a mouse who
scents a cat, scrabbling hurriedly for the ground-down sliver of
steel that he carried wrapped in an oily rag in one of his boots. 
He was still bent over when he heard the footsteps coming rapidly
up the alley.  Orin looked up wildly as he heard the enemy
approach.
     To his relief, he saw the slender half-elf relax.  "Alea.  How
did you find me?"  Kelain hailed the brown-robed woman who was
walking quickly towards them.  Orin sighed and leaned back against
the wall, his knees weak and shaky.
     "Kelain.  I've just come from the Mages' Guild, and they know
what's happening.  They've agreed to let the Thieves' Guild take
care of Vasht, on the condition that you don't talk about it. 
Magrethan heads the Black Robes now, and you won't have to worry
about Tavane any more."  Her expression told him that the solution
that the Mages' Guild had applied to the problem of the erring
sorceress was a final one.
     Kelain stared at her with total astonishment.  "How did you
find out about Cheltie?  And how do you know what the Mages' Guild
is doing?"  He looked at her intently for a few moments, pondering. 
"You're not a hearthwitch, are you?"  Kelain had suspected the
existence of a Mages' Guild liaison for some time, but now, he
thought he knew who it must be.  He wondered why Alun had never
told him.
     "Actually, I am a hearthwitch.  I would never lie about my
Path."  Alea smiled slightly.  "I have learned a few spells in
another School or two, though."  This was tantamount to a
confession of being a Guild mage, since they were the only wizards
who had access to more than one School.  "Look, this isn't exactly
the time to discuss my qualifications.  Quorl's in the area, and
he's planning to ambush you.  I managed to Scry the traces of the
spell he's using while I was tracking you."
     Kelain inhaled quietly.  This was obviously no minor-talent
hearthwitch, if she was able to operate more than one spell at once
while Scrying through another mage's attempts to hide someone. 
Kelain knew just enough about wielding Force Arcane to respect the
difficulties inherent in it.  He wondered briefly what Alea's rank
was in the Mages' Guild.  "How'd you find out about Cheltie?"
     "Alun told me."  Alea looked him squarely in the eye,
obviously prepared for an argument.  "I'm going with you.  You'll
need me to Scry ahead for him, or he'll nail you for sure.  He's
got a heavy stealthing spell on him, plus an active Scrying spell
so he can scan for you.  What he doesn't know is that you'll have
a full mage with you.  All that magick ought to make him pretty
easy to for me to Scry."
     "With that much magick on him, I should be able to Scry him
out myself, unless he's got a psi block on."  He noticed the hurt
look on Alea's face, and added, "Though your help would be more
than welcome, if you're offering it."  He spoke hesitantly.
The smile on her face told him that he was entirely forgiven for
the night before, and he was glad.  He continued on a more rueful
note.  "I caught up with Tanner, and found out that he sold the
bastard a scry-stone.  I don't know who cast the stealthing spell,
though."
     "I'd bet it was Tanner.  How hard did you press him to make
him talk?"
     The half-elf looked thoughtful.  "Pretty hard.  I got him to
transfer a wizardmark - "  
     Kelain explained his deception to Alea, who chuckled.  "So the
poor bastard's bonded and wizardmarked to pay eight thousand aurii
for a magickal apprenticeship that he probably can't use!  I can't
say I approve of deceiving the Mages' Guild, and I'm surprised you
could get Tanner to help you, but I suppose I can't blame you much
in Quorl's case."  Alea sobered. "I don't think he'll live to hear
about it, though.  You're going to have to kill him.  He intends to
join the Thieves' Guild as its Weapons Master or die trying."
     Kelain smiled bitterly.  "Let's hope he dies trying, shall we? 
Let's find a defensible position and something to eat, preferably
in that order; and we'll discuss our plans."
     They moved on through the city, walking slowly enough for Alea
to maintain a simple Scrying spell.  Kelain also walked in a light
trance, using his heightened senses to scan the area around them. 
After a few minutes, Alea stopped and turned to Kelain.  "Looks
like he's left the area.  I'm not reading any trace of him anywhere
close by."
     Kelain nodded, his eyes half-closed.  He could only sense
around him for a short distance, but he had been straining to the
limits of his ability and had found nothing.  "Let's find a tavern,
then.  I'll buy us some dinner."  He shook off the last of the
trance state and opened his eyes, smiling tentatively at Alea. 
"It's the least I can do for you, after all the trouble you've gone
to for my sake."  
     She grinned back at him, and Kelain felt the warmth of that
smile reach his heart.  The afternoon no longer seemed so cold, or
the alleyways as dark.  They walked together companionably, their
arms not quite touching as they moved down the roughly paved
street.  Orin followed closely behind them.
     An odd thought occurred to Kelain.  Why had Alea taken it on
herself to help him?  Neither Alun nor the Mages' Guild would be
likely to appreciate her helping a renegade, at least in their
official capacities.  Kelain wondered if Alun had secretly put 
her up to the task, but he dismissed the idea almost instantly.  If
Alea was actually the Mages' Guild liaison, Alun would have no
authority to order her into the situation.  And Alun would never
order a Guildmember to help him now, lest the Guild be implicated
in what he was doing.  
     Kelain considered asking Alea about it outright, but he
decided against it.  The last thing he wanted to do was to insult
her, especially now that she was smiling at him again.   
     Alea was beautiful when she smiled, which wasn't something
that he had seen her do often.  Her strong-featured face usually
wore a look of seriousness or grim intensity when she was striving
for success in the exercises that Kelain or her other Guild-
assigned teachers would set her.  Even then, he had privately found
her more than attractive in her determination.  He had never dared
say more to her than was proper for a weapons teacher to a student,
but he had always enjoyed the times that she had sought him out for
even a casual conversation.  Kelain was beginning to realize that
he wanted more than just casual conversation from her, and that
there was a chance that she might not reject him entirely if she
knew.  
     Orin spoke up from behind them, distracting the half-elf from
his musings.  "Hey, chelo.  Where are we going to eat?"  He grinned
up at Kelain impudently.  "I'm hungry.  Very hungry, since you're
buying."
     Kelain turned and tried to replace the smile that was forming
on his lips with a stern look.  He didn't quite succeed.  He was
discovering that he liked and admired the boy a lot more than he
was willing to admit, and he was glad that he had decided to adopt
Orin as a student.   The cocky but surprisingly competent young
wharf rat reminded Kelain a great deal of his younger self. "We'll
eat at the Eel Pie, on Jeweler's Row."  
     He named a fairly expensive tavern, and Orin's eyes nearly
bulged out of his head.  "Hope you got the irii, Elf-man."  He was
licking his lips in anticipation.  It had been far too long since
Orin had eaten a square meal, and he intended to take full
advantage of Kelain's generosity.  
     Orin made a fair amount of money from thieving, peddling drugs
and occasional pimping, when he could find a willing and bored
merchant's wife, but the majority of his earnings went to support
the child-pack that he led.  The group that he had chosen to take
responsibility for was made up almost entirely of the youngest of
the wharf rats.  Orin took care of them all as best he could, even
when he had to go hungry to do it.  
     Kelain glared at the impudent youth, who didn't look a bit
cowed.  The prospect of a good meal resting warm and full in his
perpetually empty belly made Orin nearly undauntable.  "The
tavern's worth its price right now for the security.  They've got
guards at the door, and I think wards as well."  
     Alea's nod confirmed it.  "You're right.  No one gets in there
who has violent thoughts without alerting the house wizard.  A
stealth spell would set them right off, too.  I know the mage who
did their wardings."  She stopped walking for a moment.  "Let me
try again to get a fix on him."  She concentrated briefly, her face
going totally slack for a few moments as she focused on her target. 
"No, I'm not getting anything.  Let's go."
     "Good idea," Orin piped up.  "I'm getting hungry."
     Alea gave a mock groan.  "We're doing the Scrying, and he says
that he's the one getting hungry.  Should we leave him outside?" 
The twinkle in her brown eyes as she winked at Kelain made it clear
that she didn't mean a word of it.
     "Don't you dare, Mage-lady.  You'll have to cast a spell on me
to keep me out."  Orin puffed himself up in righteous wrath, and
she grinned wickedly at him and pretended to make mystic gestures. 

     Kelain watched his companions banter playfully back and forth. 
For the first time in his long and solitary life, he felt as if he
was a welcome part of the laughter, rather than its unwelcome
object.  "If you're going to cast a spell on the boy, make it
something useful.  While you're busy casting, Orin and I can eat
dinner.  Right, Orin?"
     Both of them grinned back at him.  Alea replied in a long-
suffering tone.  "Why don't all three of us eat dinner and quit
arguing.  Agreed?"  They all chorused their agreement, and the
dark-haired sorceress smiled.  "Here, I think I see a shortcut. 
This alley ought to lead right onto Jeweler's Row."
     Something uncomfortable nagged at the edge of Kelain's
thoughts.  "Alea, do another Scrying before we go in there.  I
don't like the looks of that alley."  Narrow and high-walled, the
alley was bordered on two sides by flat-roofed buildings.  More
importantly, it had no convenient exits or easily defensible
positions.  If they were being followed, it would be a poor place
to have to confront an enemy.
     Alea stood and concentrated.  "Nothing.  In fact, there's no
one at all in the immediate area that I can read.  Let's go.  The
sooner we get into that tavern, the sooner we can all relax for
awhile."  
     Kelain stretched out with his senses, but he could feel
nothing but a vague unease.  "You're right.  Let's move."
     They started walking with Kelain in the lead, Alea following
closely behind him.  They were halfway down the alley before she
saw him.  "Get down!" Alea yelled.  Kelain felt something slam into
him hard from behind, and he fell.  The sharp whine of a heavy
crossbow bolt ripped through the air above his head.  He heard a
sickening thunk as the shaft struck home.  
     A strident curse sounded from above.  "Interfering bitch." 
The Elf was clearly visible now on the rooftop, struggling with a
massive crossbow braced on a folding tripod.  He was doing his best
to drag it and climb down the side of the building at the same
time.  Kelain ignored him, whirling instantly to look at Alea.
     The force of the bolt had literally thrown her across the
alleyway.  She was slumped against the opposite wall, the arrow
buried almost to its fletching in her chest.  A horrible, leaden
fear settled in the pit of Kelain's stomach like an iron ball.
     He knelt beside her.  Incredibly, she was still conscious. 
"Should have known.....full invisibility spell and a psi block. 
Tanner must have lied.  I'm sorry, Kelain."  Above them, the blond
Elf muttered and moved down the side of the building, the heavy bow
strapped hastily to his back.
     Helplessly, he watched her die.  The bolt was a hollow shaft
of metal, nearly an inch across.  There was no chance that it had
missed her heart; Kelain was too skilled an assassin not to have
marked that.  Blood was pooling slowly between her breasts, turning
her brown robes to scarlet.  "Why, Alea?  Why did you help me?" 
Pain and confusion were mirrored in his eyes.  
     Alea turned to him, reaching out weakly.  She caught one of
his black-gloved hands in her own, pressing it to the side of her
face with all of her remaining strength.  "I always wanted to get
to know you better, Kelain.  You never gave me the chance."  She
tried to smile.  "I wanted to make sure that I had enough
time....enough time..."  She closed her eyes.
     "Alea!"  He cried out her name in an anguished shriek.
     She blinked and looked at him.  "You've got to kill him,
Kelain.  I can Scry him now."  She pointed back the way they had
came, to a tall building on the left of the alley.  "He's up there. 
On the roof."  The words came out stained with blood, a thin
crimson trickle running down the side of her mouth.  "You've got to
get out of here before he reloads.  Go; I'll be all right."
     He did not correct her.  "Alea, I'm sorry."  An eternity of
pain and regret was echoed in his voice.   He felt her hand fall
limply out of his, landing in the spreading stain of blood on her
lap.  Kelain touched her face, searching desperately for the words
to say.
     As before, he was too late.  Her eyes closed for the last
time, and her head slumped forward.  Kelain shut his own eyes in
sympathy, his shoulders bowed under the weight of his grief.  
     "Kelain?"  The voice was hesitant.  Kelain turned, staring
uncomprehendingly at Orin.  "Kelain, we've got to get out of here." 
He spoke awkwardly.  "I'm sorry about the lady, but we can't just
stay here."
     The half-elf stood, his fists clenched at his sides.  His
tense, tautly muscled body was a hard knot of pain.  "Go, Orin. 
This is my fight."  His face was drawn with grief.  "Go to my
Guild.  Tell them that the waiting is over.  Tell Alun what
happened."
     "But I thought you were - "
     Kelain shook his head, looking infinitely weary.  "No more. 
The Mage's Guild is no longer an issue, and Alun will know what to
do."  He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out the first
thing he could find that he knew Alun would recognize, a small,
flexible bundle that resembled an odd kind of cloth.  "If I don't
make it back, show this to the Guildmaster and he'll believe that
you were my student.  But for Ashara's sake, don't put it on."
     Orin nodded, stowing the object away in a deep pocket.  He
cast a quick, nervous glance towards the building that Alea had
pointed out.  "Thanks, Kelain.  Thanks for everything.  I hope you
don't die."  His voice nearly cracked on the last word.  The boy
turned and ran down the alley without a backward look.
     Kelain looked down at the still form that had been a living,
laughing woman a few moments before.  He had seen the transition
between life and death a hundred times, but he had never stopped
wondering at how fragile life seemed, and how easy it was to end it
forever.  And he had never known how much he cared, until it was
too late.   
     Kelain took off running down the dusty road.  His emerald eyes
were blurred with tears, and he shook them away angrily as he ran. 
He never saw the faint blue glow that filled the alleyway behind
him.
XXII.


     
     The building was a tall one.  It was a thick, two-story
structure of wood and poured cement, an insulae that might have
housed ten or more families.  Somewhere on the roof, his enemy
waited.
     Kelain yanked the thin leather gloves off of his narrow, long-
fingered hands and dropped them on the ground as he ran.  He
reached into a pouch and pulled out a second pair, sliding them
onto his hands as quickly as he could.  
     Kelain ran up to the stone base of the massive building, and
kept going, straight up the wall.  He moved on all fours with
blinding speed over the rough, porous surface of the building,
using his momentum to propel him.  When he reached the sanctuary of
a wide window, he stopped and clung beneath the ledge for a moment
to reach into his backpack.  He drew out a coil of woven grey rope
and fastened it securely to one of the thick wooden braces under
the window.  
     His hands shot out and grasped the top of the ledge like a
pair of striking cobras.  The end of the rope was between his
clenched teeth as he pulled himself up in a single, fluid motion. 
He began to move almost horizontally across the wall.   
Kelain repeated the procedure at the next window, fastening the
other end of the rope to the support beam beneath it.  He swung his
feet over to rest on the taut length of cord and balanced himself
on it like a tightrope walker, swaying slightly.  He walked a few
steps, bouncing up and down deliberately to test its strength.  The
half-elf leaped lightly in the air and came down with his knees
flexed, catching himself easily on the taut line.  Satisfied, he
put his hands to the wall and began to climb.
     He stopped just below the summit and listened.  Muttered
curses and the scrape of metal on stone came from the far side of
the roof.  The assassin shot over the side of the building like a
silent and deadly missile, hurling a small dagger whose tip
glistened darkly with smeared venom.  It struck solidly and held in
his enemy's chest.
     Quorl snarled, his coldly handsome face distorted with rage. 
He snapped the lever on the massive, tripod-mounted crossbow and
discharged the bolt directly at Kelain.  The half-elf had a split
second to realize that the bow's cocking mechanism had been only
halfway wound.  
     He moved his mind into a state of timeless, effortless calm. 
The thick, hollow-shafted arrow was coming towards him, wobbling
slightly in its flight.  With the grace of a dancer, he moved 
under its path and deflected its momentum with a classic rishi
block, swinging his elbow up sharply.  He plucked the bolt neatly
from the air and hurled it with deadly accuracy back at Quorl.  
     The blond Elf ducked and cursed, but the bolt struck him
squarely in the shoulder.  He came up armed, flinging a pair of
knives at Kelain with lightning speed.  The whirling blades gleamed
silver in the sunlight as they flew towards their target.   He
should be drugged, or dead, the half-elf thought with desperation. 
Unless he's immune, or better armored than he looks.  Kelain dodged
to the left, the twin daggers missing him by inches.  Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Quorl's hand move, and he ducked again.
     He wasn't quite fast enough.  Six inches of steel flashed past
his guard to sink deeply into his body just below the collarbone. 
Kelain felt his left arm go numb.  The third knife had penetrated
to about half its length, more than enough to introduce any toxin
on the blade into his system.  The half-elf was immune to most of
the commonly used assassin's poisons, but he did not deceive
himself into thinking that Quorl would not be aware of that fact.
     Deliberately, Kelain swayed on his feet as he pulled the knife
out.  Hot, sticky blood rushed down his arm.  He smelled the
strong, tarry residue on the blade over the coppery scent of his
own blood.  Vemris root.  The name of the plant flashed abruptly
through his head as he recognized the poison.  Thank the gods.
     Quorl drew a short sword and rushed towards the groggy-looking
half-elf, his running steps light and graceful.  Kelain whipped out
his rapier at the last possible moment and countered Quorl's blow,
steel ringing sharply on steel as their blades clashed and
deflected.  
     "Not so badly wounded after all, halfbreed?"  Quorl smiled,
wisps of blond hair blowing around his perfectly proportioned face
as he duelled.  The front of his silken tunic was ripped where the
bolt and dagger had struck him, exposing the tightly woven metal
links that lay beneath.  The armor was as supple as a layer of
cloth, and as unrevealing.  It was undoubtedly worth a small
fortune, and might have taken a master craftsman years of his life
to create.  Kelain wondered briefly who he'd killed to get it.  "Or
are you?  You don't seem to be using that arm very much -"  He made
a lightning jab at the wounded half-elf's unprotected left side.  
     Kelain ducked, letting his arm swing freely.  He wasn't sure
of the extent of the damage that had been done, but he knew that he
didn't want to use the affected limb unless he had to.  He kept
fighting, switching to a mostly defensive style of combat. 
     Quorl was beating him backwards, closer and closer to the edge
of the building.  "Did I kill your friend, halfbreed?"  There was
a false sympathy in his tone.  "Or perhaps she was your lover.  She
must have died pretty hard with an arrow in her guts."  
     Kelain tightened his lips, fighting not to explode in a
killing frenzy.  The mocking words cut him more deeply than the
Elf's dagger, but he had to keep control if he wanted to win this
fight.  Alea, I will live to avenge you.
     The tall Elf fought on coolly, unwounded.  His skilled,
lightning-quick thrusts and parries were designed to break down
Kelain's guard and weary him for the final blow.  Kelain avoided
him by dodging backwards frantically, stepping away from the
gleaming arc of Quorl's blade.  The Elf advanced eagerly, pressing
his advantage.
     Finally, Kelain stepped too far, and his feet met only air
beneath them.  He fell backward over the edge without a sound.
Quorl walked casually over to the edge of the tall building,
preparing to gloat over the sight of his victim's body broken on
the street below.  At last, Quorl Freewind would assume his well-
deserved place as the Guild Weapons Master.
     The uncommonly handsome, arrogant Elf was a master thief and
assassin.  He had publically refused to join the Thieves' Guild in
the past when it had been made clear to him that he would have to
join as an apprentice, to be tested after six months for the rank
of journeyman if the Guildmaster thought he merited it.  Quorl had
been forced to curtail his activities in Reshor, the wealthiest
port city in Heth Amon, because of the deadly efficiency of the
Thieves' Guild in dealing with renegades.  But now, he would join
the Guild with his rightful rank - as Weapons Master, according to
the ancient law of thieves.  
     Quorl bent to peer down at the street below, a smugly
satisfied grin on his face.  It occurred to him only too late that
he had never heard the body land.
     Kelain was standing on a tightrope strung between two
convenient window ledges, the tip of his light rapier nearly level
with his shoulder as he prepared to hurl it upwards.  His gloved
hand gripped the middle of the blade tightly.  The assassin leaped
powerfully off of the taut rope, the force of his throw propelling
him nearly to the top of the building.
     The rapier entered Quorl's throat, its wicked point emerging
from the back of his neck stained black with blood.  His mouth
froze open in an endless, silent scream as he toppled over the
edge.
     Kelain caught the rope in the crook of his right arm and with
both legs as he came down, clinging to it tightly.  Quorl did not. 
The blond Elf fell to the hard stones of the street below, for once
in his life with a complete lack of grace.  
     Kelain slashed the rope and dropped down to the cobbled
street, next to the body of his enemy.  Methodically, he dragged
the corpse behind an abandoned storage crate and began to loot. 
The mail shirt was scratched and stained with blood, and the
precious steel weapons were scattered across the roof of the
building, but he would collect them all.  Time enough to complete
his task, and to recall the unbearable agony that waited for him in
the alley behind.  
     The weary half-elf strode down the silent alleyway, his face
gaunt and hollow with grief.  His eyes blazed with a lambent fire. 
As always, Kelain had succeeded with a clever trick.  He 
had neatly outmaneuvered his opponent, and he had won.  But he had
lost the most important battle of all.  
     This time, Death had not been cheated.  No clever trick, no
complex trap, no brilliant fighting maneuver could bring Alea back
to him.  There was no way he could save her, nothing he could do.
     He stopped halfway down the alley.  Her body was gone. 
Somehow, that did not surprise him.  The scavengers of the city,
both animal and human, had always done their work swiftly.  "So I
have nothing to mourn."  His words were harsh, from a throat
scraped raw with pain.  "I have been cheated...."  His voice broke,
and Kelain put his head in his hands and wept.