Thieves' Gambit Chapter 25 pleasure@netcom.com XXV. The underground chamber was chill and damp, a welcome contrast to the blazing sun that beat mercilessly down outside on the streets of Reshor. The weather was notoriously fickle near the coast, and when the strong sea winds died down, the heat could become unbearable in a matter of hours. Kelain barely noticed, though the sweat was running freely down his pale, drawn face. Thieves' Hall was lit by a cold magelight that did nothing to dispel the gloom. A spelled glass globe on the ceiling reflected its eerie blue glow off of the faces of everyone present. The gathering there was appropriately grim. Kelain sat cloaked in a corner, his face hooded and cast in shadow. The Guildmaster stood at the head of the table. The others were seated around him, hard and determined expressions on their faces. The tall woman nearest Alun spoke up quietly. "So what are we up against, Guildmaster?" "Our main goal is to get the 'Morph slave away from Vasht. Killing the bastard is secondary, since the Mages' Guild can always finish the job for us. He'll have too much to worry about to strike back at us effectively, even if he does survive our attack." Alun looked everyone squarely in the eye, his gaze passing over the entire gathering. "Looting will be allowed only after we have the Vul. Any items you loot will need to be checked for magic; magic items will need to be cleared with the Mages' Guild before you can keep them. Otherwise, what you pick up is yours. I don't think I have to warn you about traps in a mage's house; you can bet there will be plenty." The tall woman caught and held his gaze chillingly. "I for one am not in this for the loot, Guildmaster. I volunteered because Alea was blood kin to me and I mean to honorably finish the job she started. Tell me what I have to do." The heavyset man in a shaman's bearskin shirt was nodding. He spoke in a heavy, growling voice. "I'm with Yvara. I've seen too many children that Vasht has hurt." He added in a softer tone, "I was a friend to Alea as well." "Thank you, Garrin. Kraegh?" Alun turned to face the next man. "I have Healed those children." The slender, sensitive- looking Human clenched his fists on the table. "I'm with you." Orin piped up loyally. "I'm going too. I'm with Kelain." He indicated the still form in the corner. "But I'll take some loot, too, if there is any." His voice trailed off in embarrassment as all eyes turned to him. "This is a dangerous job." Alun regarded the youth levelly. Raak grunted in assent. "Since you're not a Guildmember, you don't need to risk yourself on it." With the tact and compassion that was his trademark, the Guildmaster refrained from telling Orin that he would probably just get in the way. "I'm going," Orin said stubbornly. "I'm the only one of you who's actually been in there. You guys need me." He cast a pleading glance at the impassive half-elf. "Kelain, tell them. I'm your apprentice, aren't I? Aren't I?" The voice that issued from the cloak-wrapped form tore at them all with its ragged harshness. "He is." Alun sighed and bowed to expediency. As an involved Guildmember, Orin had the right to be included on the expedition. "So be it. Orin, welcome to our Guild. May you prosper under its guidance." The Guildmaster pointed to a piece of parchment with a rough sketch of the interior of a house. "This is the map Orin drew of the inside of the place. Raak, you're to make a distraction in the front while I go in to get Cheltie. Kraegh, you'll be Scrying from just outside of the grounds and staying ready in case someone gets hurt. Garrin, you'll be covering Kraegh and casting your spells from the same position, here." He indicated a point on the map. "Your main job is to neutralize any offensive magic that might be cast at us. Yvara, you'll be covering us with your bow. You and Garrin enter combat only if it can't be avoided; we'll need you where you are. I'm arranging for a few more fighters to be between you and the main battle, so you shouldn't have too much trouble staying out of it." "I'll do my part. Do you think the snake will slither out when we start to dig up his den?" The tall woman showed her teeth in a hard little smile. Alun regarded her seriously. "'Vara, I don't know what he'll do. I do know that if he does show, we're going to have to kill him as quickly as we can. Garrin's going to be putting up some heavy shields, so he'll have trouble casting. But the first spell Vasht gets off could mean that we're all dead." The group nodded collectively, looking grim. More than one hand went to rest thoughtfully on the hilt of a weapon. A low, gruff voice spoke up. He seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out. "Thank you." Raak growled roughly, his voice harsh and strained. He gazed at each one of them in turn, his eyes more eloquent than his words could be. It was a testimony to the strength of his feelings that he had spoken at all before a group, something he had not even attempted to do in many years. Alun clapped him soundly on the shoulder. "We'll get Cheltie back for you, never fear. And we'll finish the business that our Guildsister started. Are we agreed?" "Aye, Guildmaster." Garrin stood up, his necklace of bear claws rattling ominously as he moved towards the door. "Let's move." They began the long climb up to the sunlight, through a twisted maze of tunnels and chambers. A small group of fighters joined them in the tavern, each of them collecting their payment in silver and copper before they went. Kelain followed them all like a grey, ghostly shadow. "Yvara, you lead the fighters and take Canal Street across. Raak, you and the healers are approaching from the front. Kelain and I are going through the alley." "What about me?" Orin asked, hurrying to keep up with the rest of the group. "Go with the healers, Orin. Take cover with them." Alun brushed the youth off casually, casting a sidelong glance at Kelain. He vowed to keep a careful eye on the grieving half-elf, lest Kelain decide to seek forgetfulness in death. He never noticed when Orin detached himself from the party and began to run with all his might towards the mage's stronghold. They assembled in front of the elegant mansion, as if casually, a few minutes later. The mercenary band on the sidewalk broke out into a carefully planned loud argument, rich with colorful expletives and insults that were calculated to keep the attention of any passers-by while the strike team moved into their places. Garrin looked for and found a suitable sanctuary on the street, behind the cover of a sturdy wagon. Yvara casually climbed inside the high-walled cart, readying her powerful longbow and dumping a goodly supply of arrows beside her from a large kysk-hide bag. The healer-mage positioned himself cautiously by the side of a nearby house, where he could watch the battle and intervene if needed for the wounded. No one but Kelain saw where Alun had gone. He had already crawled up the side of the house and had positioned himself beneath the awning of the covered porch, clinging upside down like a hornet's nest from the roof. Obedient to the Guildmaster's silent signal, Raak strode boldly up to the front door and pounded on it, hard. The massively built half-ogre was wearing a studded leather and chain tunic that left his thickly muscled arms bare. When he bellowed in berserk wrath and lifted his bunched fists for another assault on the wooden surface, he was a truly fearsome sight. Even his own teammates blanched at his genuine rage. The door swung inward, and a trembling child faced the savage half-ogre. He shrieked and scurried backwards on the tiled floor, nearly falling in his haste to escape the awful creature. Raak reached out a huge paw to steady him. "Wait. Not hurt you. Only want woman back." As angry as Raak was, there was nothing in the world that could make him harm a child. "I pay." He rattled a small pouch at his belt. "Want woman back." The boy eyed him warily, still backing away. "Which woman do you want? We got lots." "Fox-woman. Pretty. From Painted Lady." It was almost painful to Raak to get the words out intelligibly, and he stuttered and growled more than he actually spoke. Although the intelligent and sensitive half-ogre was perfectly capable of speaking as well or better than any Human scholar, the severe traumas that he had experienced in his childhood made it difficult for him to talk freely to anyone save a close and trusted associate. But for Cheltie's sake, he did his best. "I dunno. I'll get the boss." The boy turned and began to walk down the long hallway, though not without nervous backward glances. Raak folded his huge arms in front of his chest and settled himself in for a long wait. The Guildmaster heard a faint rustle behind him, and he was instantly alert. He turned to see Kelain crawling into position beside him, his black-gloved hands and feet gripping the smooth awning tenaciously. Alun nodded, a faint light of satisfaction in his eyes. It was a good sign that Kelain had decided to go in with him. Action would be the best thing for Kelain at this point, since it would leave him no time to dwell on his grief. Alun sent a silent message with his eyes, indicating the hallway ahead. Let's move. He shot forward with a speed and grace that belied his less than streamlined appearance, and the slender half-elf followed. They moved swiftly and in total silence across the burnished boards of the ceiling, the roughened wood affording them a better grip than the cold stone outside. Unerringly, they headed into the heart of the mansion. Orin was running down the long corridors, his heart pounding in his small chest. He banged open doors as he went, searching for the children. He found some in the third room he checked. "Get the drop, vedru. You've got to go quick and quiet. Something's going down." They stared at him in disbelief as he tried unsuccessfully to catch his breath. "Vasht is getting jumped tonight. Do you know where he's got the new fox 'Morph?" They all shook their heads. "So who's taking him out?" one of the older boys wanted to know. He chewed his lip nervously, looking from side to side. Orin didn't recognize them as members of his Pack, but that had never made as much difference to him as it should. He spoke confidently, in the quick, fluid cant slang of the Pack. "Thieves' Guild. Vasht legged the fox 'Morph off them, and they want her back. The robes are here, too. Skaggers are pretty kicked about the drugs he's done deal, and they're coming to put him under." Orin started to retreat from the opulent room. "Leg it, vedru. You don't wanna be here when it goes down. Tell the others, and get the young ones out first." He took off running, looking for the rest of them. He had to warn the children. The youths looked at one another in bewilderment. Finally, the oldest one started to move. "Din'cha hear the man? Let's get outta here!" The others echoed his sentiment, and the small group began to flee. Outside, Raak was waiting impatiently for a reply. The entire team was tensed and combat-ready, taut as a drawn bowstring. Garrin had already begun his chanting in a low, barely audible drone. Slowly but surely, a powerful shield was forming around the stronghold. Another boy came to the door. This one was only slightly less frightened-looking than the first youth. "We don't have a fox 'Morph for sale here. You'll have to go away now." Raak sighed mentally. Frightening children was not his idea of a good time, but the time had come for a slight demonstration of his abilities. His hopes of resolving the issue without violence were rapidly fading. Raak surveyed the doorframe with an educated eye and chose a particular point where the stresses and planes of the material looked most susceptible to buckling. With a roar and a blow of his huge fist, he reduced the stout oak boards to a splintered wreckage. "Give woman! Now!" Raak began to methodically demolish the front of the mansion, striking the walls heavily with his gauntleted fists. The thick plaster powdered and gave easily under the force of his blows. He bellowed incoherently as he shattered and smashed with all of his considerable strength. The boy turned and ran, shouting for help. Within moments, a troop of armed guards was pouring out the door to stop the apparently crazed ogre. Most of them never reached him; Yvara's heavy bow sang its deadly song seven times in the space of a few seconds, and half of them dropped where they stood. Raak pulled his greatstaff from his back, a stout length of wood nearly eight feet long. He faced the remaining band of soldiers with it, grinning fearsomely. Archers appeared at the windows, firing a rain of arrows down at the massive half-ogre. More than one of them found a mark, lodging in the toughened leather of his armor. Raak bellowed and dived for cover as Yvara aimed her bow at the narrow windows. She fired more slowly this time, but with deadly accuracy. Men tumbled to the yard, thick shafts of quathwood buried to the fletching in their chests. "Get the archer!" someone yelled from the roof. Yvara smiled grimly and put another arrow to her bow. She aimed for the shouter and got him, and he fell broken to the earth. Anyone else want to make a brilliant suggestion, asshole? She chose another target at random and let fly. Very shortly, it was going to be difficult for anyone in there to persuade anyone else to show their faces outside, since she was dropping them almost as fast as they could position themselves at the windows. Kraegh was reaching into the building with his mind. Try as he might, he could find no trace of Cheltie. His link to her was tenuous at best, with only Raak's mental pictures of her to go on; and he was having a hard time locating her. Briefly, he touched the presences of Kelain and his Guildmaster, and the healer shuddered at the naked torment he saw in the soul of the half-elf. He closed his eyes and kept Scrying for the girl. If an enemy were to approach, he would know. He had always Seen things better without his eyes. Inside, two assassins moved stealthily across the high-walled ceiling. People were running frantically through the corridors directly beneath them, but no one noticed the two dark shapes above. When the assassins reached their goal, a door at the end of a dark hallway, they dropped lightly to the floor. Alun tested the door cautiously. Is it trapped? Kelain signaled to his Guildmaster in the silent, intricate hand code of thieves. Alun shook his head, concentrating on the door. He tapped it with the end of his sword. When nothing happened, he tried the handle. It was locked. He pulled a thin tool from his belt pouch and inserted it into the lock, probing expertly while Kelain stood watch. There was a satisfying click, and the gold- plated knob turned easily in the Guildmaster's hand. Stay. I'm going in. Alun signed his intentions to Kelain, and the other thief nodded. The Guildmaster slipped into the room. He was not a weak man, but his stomach was turned by what he saw. It was not just the heavy sensuality of the room, or the lurid tapestries on the walls; although those were a sight to sicken all but the most depraved. The violent rape of young children by deformed monsters seemed to be the most popular subject of the graphic murals, although other equally vile subjects competed for space in the disgusting artworks. What sickened Alun the most was the women. Ranging in age from perhaps three to no more than twelve, most of them were sprawled about the room in a drugged slumber. Lying around them, with clear evidence of their recent use, were the most obscene toys Alun had ever seen, obviously designed to cause pain more than pleasure. Several of the children awakened as the door swung open. They moaned and groped blindly at each other, and at the men who had entered their chamber. Their faces revealed only dumb desire as they writhed in a parody of joy. There was no spark of humanity or intelligence left in any of them. Alun searched for Cheltie among them, not wanting to find her. She was lying on a couch in the back of the room, a scarlet drapery tangled in her long limbs. Her tawny-furred head lay limply on the pillow. Rather than waste time wakening her, Alun gathered her up in the cloth and carried her from the room with a sinking heart. As learned as he was in the lore of assassins, he knew of no drug that could cause the effects that he was seeing in the women. If Cheltie had been mind-burned by sorcery, as these pitiful children had undoubtedly been, she might well be beyond any healing that Alun would know how to seek. Kelain was waiting for him at the door. They began to run, Alun carrying the unconscious girl in his arms. They were met by guards at the junction. Kelain's rapier was out and flickering before he realized that they were children, and probably wharf rats from their shabby garb. "Skeah dru!" he yelled in desperation. "We're Pack-friends. Don't make me hurt you!" They kept coming, and Kelain retreated a step. Then he saw the drugged emptiness in their eyes, and he knew that he was going to have to kill. He lifted his sword, preparing to run the first one through. Behind him, Alun was busy. He had dropped the girl and was pouring the contents of three vials together on the tiled floor. A thick, noxious gas began to boil and steam its way into the room. Kelain recognized it instantly and breathed a sigh of relief. He and Alun were safely immune to the effects of Miner's Gas, and it would put everyone else in the room into a deep but harmless sleep. "Let's move!" Alun commanded as he scooped up the girl. Kelain obeyed with alacrity, preceding his Guildmaster down the gas-choked hallway. The wharf rats were coughing and struggling to stay on their feet, and the pair passed by them with ease. They headed for the door at a dead run. Orin was still inside when the gas began to leak inside the mansion. He reached the wharf rat's quarters and ducked inside, only to find them empty. He cursed and spun on his heel, heading for the door. He never made it there. "What have we here?" A dry, sandpapery voice scraped over his raw nerves like a file. The bloated, sluglike mage crept closer to the young boy, a horrible parody of a smile on his face. "You're a rat, aren't you?" Orin thought fast, and swept the floor with a bow. "Yes, and your most loyal servant, sir. Your chatelaine accepted me yesterday. Is there anything I can do for you?" He winked broadly at the corpulent mage, knowing that there was no chance that Vasht would take him up on his implied offer with an angry Guild launching an assault at his front door. Vasht smiled again. The tip of his tongue snaked out to lick his grossly swollen lips, looking more than anything like a maggot burrowing into spoiled meat. "I wish I could take you with me, my pet, but I can't. After I kill the stupid half-elf that caused me all this trouble, I'm going to have to go on a long, long trip." He reached out with a damp, flabby hand and caressed the boy's flank intimately. Orin tried not to shudder. "And I haven't even tried you yet. Well, all does not go as we wish it." He tittered, and even Orin could see the depth of the depraved insanity in his small, piggish eyes. "Ta ta, my pretty pet. If you see the half- elf, bring him to me. Alive, if possible, though it really doesn't matter much. I'd enjoy strangling him myself in a length of his own intestines. I'll even let you watch, if you can find him for me." Orin tried to hide his fear and revulsion, but his knees were visibly shaking. "As you wish, my Lord." The mage turned to leave, waddling with difficulty along the narrow corridors. Orin collapsed against the wall and slid slowly down towards the floor until his rump was resting squarely on the rug beneath him. After staring at the safe and comforting wall for awhile, he became belatedly aware that he was sitting on something, and he moved over. The something moved with him. Still half in shock, he reached into one of his back pockets and pulled out the folded mass of material. He shook it out and looked at it. Realization dawned on him slowly, and he thought that he had a plan. Orin carefully tucked the mask into a fold of his tunic. Chelo, I will make you proud of me. The cocky youth grinned, mentally savoring his triumph in deceiving the perverted mage. He took off running in a random direction down the hall. The battle was going well outside. Not a single spellcaster had been sighted so far, and the guards of the stronghold were no match for the highly skilled strike team. Yvara's unerring accuracy with the longbow drove shaft after shaft into any defender foolish enough to make a good showing on the battlefield, as well as into any archers who tried to fire down on the team. Not one of the defenders had been able to reach her or the two mages through the determined mercenary band. The fighting seemed to be slowing, which was a good thing. Yvara had nearly run out of arrows. She had gotten off more than five dozen shots, nearly every one of them fatal. The archer paused for a moment and wiped her brow, surveying the scene. A mercenary woman who was a particular friend of hers, Clankin' Kath du'Zak, was fighting well today. She had earned her amusing sobriquet by choosing to remain in her cumbersome brigantine armor even away from the battlefield. She claimed that she was actually comfortable in the stuff. It was rumored that she wore it in and out of bed, regardless of whether or not she was currently sharing that bed with someone. No one wanted to repeat that particular rumor to her face, however. Yvara smiled and saluted her privately from behind the wagon. Kath was dazzling a hapless guard with a series of fierce combination blows to the body and head. The carefully polished sword she wielded gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun, a sharp contrast to the dull and battered weapons of most of the other mercenaries. Yvara watched with the admiration of one professional for another as the woman cut down her opponent with an ease born of long practice. Inside the mansion, Orin hid behind a set of gilded mirrors and donned the mask. It was not a perfect fit, and he didn't know how to properly hide his own mouse-brown hair beneath the straight black fall of the wig. Still, the effect was not bad. He was of a similar size and build to the wiry half-elf, and could now easily pass for Kelain at a distance. He set out running down the hall to show himself to the guards. He saw a few in one of the rooms, conferring seriously with one another. "Hey, here I am! I'm Kelain the half-elf. Catch me if you can!" Orin scurried off quickly behind a corner and took the mask off, wadding it into his pants. He whipped off his tunic and threw it behind him, nearly sitting on it in his haste. When the guards ran past, they saw a slender, shirtless youth whom they hardly paid attention to. Vasht kept enough of that sort around the place that another one was hardly remarkable. He stifled a chuckle and scooped up his tunic. Carrying it over his arm, he made his way to the next gathering of guards. The outside strike team had no more opponents left standing. Yvara had effectively dealt with the archers, and the potent combination of a half-ogre backed by a mercenary band had proved its effectiveness. Raak threw down his staff and resumed his assault on the walls, slamming into them with his metal-shod fists. He punched and kicked at the structurally weakest areas of the house, bringing boards and plaster raining down on himself as he methodically destroyed the mage's stronghold. Raak's main thought was to draw attention away from what Kelain and Alun were doing, but he did discover that he was deriving an inordinate amount of satisfaction from the violent destruction. He only wished that it were the head of the filthy creature inside that he were smashing to a pulp. The walls were cracking and threatening to fall, and he had to force himself to stop. They're still in there, Raak reminded himself forcefully. He stepped back. There was an explosion of plaster from the half-blocked doorway, and for a moment, Raak was afraid that he had miscalculated and caused the structure to collapse too soon. Two massive forms covered thickly in white dust burst out of the door and hurled themselves at Raak in a choking cloud. When the white swirl cleared, the team could see the half-ogre locked in combat with a massive Urs and an obvious Specialist 'Morph, an ugly and muscular cross between a great cat and a wolf. They tore at him mercilessly and with demonic swiftness as he bellowed and tried to grapple with them. Heads up. Yvara nocked an arrow to her bow and fired, following it with another for good measure. One of them stuck in the bear-thing's shoulder, and it snarled and batted at it with a paw. The other arrow missed altogether as the cat-wolf hissed and dodged like liquid lightning. Kath moved in on the pair and sliced into the creature from behind. She struck it a solid blow, but it turned swiftly and clawed her before she could raise her shield. The brave warrior woman was flung like a broken doll across the yard to land in a crumpled heap. Yvara could spare no time to wonder whether Kath was dead or alive, and she aimed another arrow at the creature. This time the shaft found its mark, and the cat-wolf squalled and bit at the arrow in its flank. It took out its wrath on the mercenaries, charging for them suddenly and seizing one of them in its wickedly clawed hands. Although the 'Morph walked on two legs, there was nothing even remotely human about the fanged maw that opened to bite off the man's face. The man died screaming, and the thing tossed his corpse aside. Yvara brought another arrow up to line. The watching shaman increased the tempo of his chant and added a new line. He asked Ursa to aid him in controlling the mind of the bear 'Morph. When he reached out tentatively with his shaman's powers, he got only an angry rebuff. The creature was not intelligent, but there was too much magic and too much Human blood in it for it to obey a shaman's Calling. Raak battled with a desperate savagery for his life and for the life of the woman he loved. The normally kind and gentle half- ogre fought without quarter, growling and bellowing as fiercely as the creature he grappled with. He was bleeding from deep gashes in his side and chest, but he never noticed. However, the shaman did. Garrin sighed and interrupted his chant. He sent a rapid mental query to the empath across the road. Any spellcasters in there? Kraegh answered distractedly. Only Vasht, and he's headed for the back door. I think he's decided it's checkout time. Garrin made his decision. Hold the shields for me. I'm going in. He shifted the complex burden of the woven energies over to the healer, ignoring the cry of protest in his mind. Shit. I'm not going to be able to hold this up for long! Then, Kraegh could spare no time for recriminations as the full weight of the magickal shields settled on him. He could only sit and concentrate on maintaining them with all his might. Garrin clutched his amulet and began to make his prayer in the harsh, growling speech that was the speech of the great bears that lived before men and elves ever came to Terath. "Ursa, grant me strength beyond my strength. Grant me flesh beyond my flesh. Grant me Spirit beyond my spirit. I am the bear." As he spoke the last words, his body swelled and changed, and Garrin Bearthane assumed his heart's form. Nearly two thousand pounds of fighting grizzly bear stood in the place of the stocky shaman. It uttered a bull bellow and flung itself at the abomination. Raak was almost bowled over by the force of the charge. Garrin reared up to his full height, thirteen imposing feet from his powerfully clawed hind feet to the end of his fanged muzzle. He slammed his entire weight down on the bear 'Morph. The stunned creature let go of Raak immediately to face his new opponent. The half-ogre ducked to grab his staff and headed straight for the cat- wolf. The vicious 'Morph was rampaging amongst the mercenaries, and it had put at least one more fighter out of the battle. To the mercenaries' credit, they had held their lines, preventing the thing from getting past them to the mages. Raak swung his staff solidly at the thing and managed to barely graze its shoulder. Gods, can that thing dodge a blow it can't see? It turned on him with blinding speed and raked him from gut to thigh. He tried to strike at it again, but it easily ducked under the swinging length of wood and sprang on him. That was a fatal mistake. Raak's deadly arms closed around the thing's body and did not let go. The half-ogre grabbed and squeezed. It raked him with its claws and gashed him badly, but still he hung on, locking his arms and legs inexorably around the creature. Raak grunted with the force of his exertion, and he heard a rib crack. It let out a mew of pure anguish, and Raak knew that he had won. He squeezed still harder, and he heard another satisfying snap. The creature began to suffocate. Yvara didn't dare fire. The thing was too damn fast to waste her last, precious arrows on, and now the half-ogre was on top of it. She sighed in resignation and kept her bow at the ready, just in case. Raak's iron grip was slipping on fur that was wet with blood. Most of the blood was his own, and he could feel himself weakening. The creature thrashed with new life as his opponent's grip slackened. A sword thrust neatly past one of Raak's massive biceps to bury itself in the cat-wolf's right eye. "I never thought I'd be fighting 'Morphs again," a woman's voice gasped out. The mercenary woman stumbled and almost fell across the body of the cat-thing as she tried to lean on her sword and failed. The results were less than aesthetic. Raak wearily untangled himself from the creature and helped the woman up. The half-ogre felt faintly sick at the sight of the bloody, corpse-strewn battlefield, and at the memory of his own unleashed violence. He could only hope that it was all worth it. Alun and Kelain emerged from the shattered door, carrying their burden between them. Raak's face lit up in an incredible expression of joy. He ran to them. "We're pulling out! Let's go!" Alun handed the unconscious girl to Raak and started bellowing orders to the team. "Kraegh! Get the worst wounded, and let's get out of here! Move out!" If a bear could look guilty, this one did. The huge form of the grizzly bear shrank into itself until it became a short, heavyset man wearing a shaggy and bloodstained shirt, standing over the mangled body of his foe. I've got the shields, Kraegh. The shaman resumed his burden, falling back into the rhythm of his protective chant. About time, Bearthane. Kraegh heaved a mental sigh of relief as he dropped his forced control of the complex magical energies and began the task he was best suited for. Raak felt his wounds beginning to close as he moved towards the healer. Several fallen mercenaries began to sit up painfully and blink, their consciousness restored. "The bodies of our own - bring 'em along, or destroy them. We don't want them left here. Remember who's coming along behind us." Alun gave the grim orders to the leader of the mercenary band, who had suffered three losses. It was no real secret that the Thieves' Guild was behind the strike, but it would be better if there was no official proof of it left on the scene. There were necromancers among the Black Robes, and for them, death didn't interfere with a man's ability to answer questions. Quite the contrary. Alun gave the empath a few nervous minutes to work. "Now! Let's move!" The team gathered itself together and began limping for home, the dead and unconscious supported by the survivors. A slender hand touched Alun's arm. "Orin. Where is he?" Kelain's face was drawn with worry. "I never saw him." Kraegh concentrated, furrowing his brow. "The boy? I'll try to find him." Orin was running down the hall and laughing silently. As soon as he had distracted just one more set of guards from Kelain's trail, he would go. He had already seen to it that all the rats had found their way out, and now it was his turn. His teacher was going to be so proud of him. He looked over his shoulder to see the guards still in pursuit. He'd been running in the mask a long time, and he was starting to get more than a little nervous. There didn't seem to be anywhere to duck in this corridor. As soon as he found some cover, any cover, he would take off the mask and shirt and - Orin stopped running. Vasht stood before him, his heavily brocaded robes draped unattractively around his bloated frame. "What have we here," the mage whispered delightedly. He raised a thick, meaty hand, and the boy found that he could no longer breathe. His eyes bulged out of his skull as he tried to fight the rising pressure in his chest and the overwhelming weight on his mind. "This isn't the halfbreed. It's his student. Well, you'll just have to do for the pleasures I had in mind. This is going to be fun." The guards came up behind him, running. "Lord, we have caught him for you. Here he is." One of them spoke up unctuously. Vasht could read in his small, cramped mind that he hoped for a reward. The mage tittered. "You fool. This isn't even the right one. Didn't you know that? Still, I suppose you deserve something for your pleasure. You can have all of the boys and girls in my private rooms. You can even kill them, if you'd like. I'm tired of them. I've got something new to play with." His attention remained fixed on the guard for a moment longer. Orin struggled, and made the supreme effort of his life. He reached for the bit of ground-down steel in his boot. Not a dagger, really; he had never been able to afford one. There were a lot of things Orin had never been able to do, and now he regretted every single one of them. Orin never considered himself to be a particularly brave boy, but he would have been startled to realize that he had more courage than most men would have shown in his place. While Vasht was bantering with the guard, he summoned the energies of his center as Kelain had taught him. With the desperate strength of will, he broke free of the enchantment and launched himself at his target. Teacher, be proud of me. The knife bit deeply into the mage's chest, and he screamed in surprise and anger and unleashed a levinbolt that filled the corridor with a blinding light. When the smoke had cleared, a small body lay crumpled at the mage's feet. Vasht gazed down at the blasted corpse, dissatisfied. His wound was already closing, and he paid little attention to it. "It won't be nearly as much fun with him, now," he pouted. "No reward for you, Onger. I'll just play with you instead." He made a fist in the air and held it. The guard cried out in wretched agony as his internal organs were slowly crushed by an unseen hand. "I haven't much more time for this, really." He turned to go, releasing the mortally wounded guard. Blood was seeping with an alarming rapidity out of the man's mouth, staining his shirt a dull red. He was breathing in great hoarse gasps, whimpering and writhing in agony. Vasht savored the sight for just another delicious moment before he began to whisper the words. The emanations of spilled blood and pain could only aid him in his efforts to teleport himself to a place where no one could follow, whether vengeful assassin or Guild mage. Kraegh broke off his Scrying, his face ashen. "He's in there, but he's dead. There's nothing we can do for him." Kelain whirled to face him, his face white and staring. "He can't be dead. I'm going in after him." He started to run towards the crumbling mansion. Alun grabbed his arm. "Kelain, you can't do that. I'm ordering you back to the Guild." Kraegh added, "Vasht is still in there, and the shield's down. It would be suicide to go back now." He snarled an obscenity in gutter cant at both of them and broke away from his Guildmaster. "I'm going, damn you all. I have to get his body. I owe him that much, at least. I can't let them have him." He ran for the mansion. Alun sprinted for him, but it was Raak who got there first. The half-ogre intercepted him with a body block and slammed a heavy punch into Kelain's jaw. As he reeled, dazed, Alun yelled for the healers. "Sleep him! Both of you!" Garrin and Kraegh immediately turned the shared power of their concentration on the stunned half-elf. Even in his weakened state, he fought them and cursed. He finally slumped, and Alun caught him as gently as he could. The Guildmaster shook his head sadly and helped Garrin carry his wounded friend home.