by AC Cobble
Ben and his companions huddled in a small room. It held a table covered in a white cloth. Golden serving dishes sat atop it and above them hung a sparkling crystal chandelier. Painted pictures lined the walls. The table legs and backs of the chairs were inlaid with sparkling gems. Ben briefly speculated whether it was the single wealthiest room he’d ever been in. Then he shook his head a forced himself to concentrate.
The door to the room was left ajar. They hoped the guards would pass them, ignorant to the threat lurking out of sight. If they did somehow suspect something, an errant cough or smudge on the spotless marble floors, the Quiet Men would be ready to jump out and finish them quickly.
Ben held his breath as the sound of the guards grew close. Amelie huddled close to him. She’d stopped breathing too. They knew that with surprise on their side, they could probably defeat however many guards were passing, but it was certain to raise an alarm.
Ben squeezed his eyes shut and felt his hammering heartbeat. Then the sound faded. The guards were passing them. They weren’t slowing or stopping to investigate anything out of place.
When their footsteps passed out of earshot, Rhys moved to open the door. Then he paused. Ben didn’t hear it at first, but going on Rhys’ cue, he waited. There were more footsteps. Softer this time, one or two men. Someone else didn’t hear it. A door cracked open and they heard a startled grunt. Rhys threw open their door and rushed out.
Two men stood in the center of the hallway. They were wrapped in black from head to toe. Swords were on their hips and crossbows hung across their backs. Daggers were strapped everywhere else.
A hand flashed and a blur of steel streaked across the hallway. A Quiet Man flailed backward, slamming against the wall and slumping to the floor. Even in death, he stayed silent. He didn’t betray his fellows.
The hallway burst into violence. Knives fanned out from the figures in the center like dogs shaking off water. Half a dozen Quiet Men fell before anyone got close to their attackers. Neither of the black-clad figures yelled to raise the alarm. Maybe they didn’t think they needed to or maybe they also weren’t welcome in this part of the keep.
They moved impossibly fast, like shadows from a flickering fire. They swirled around the Quiet Men, spinning away from strikes then darting back in to give their own. Blood fogged the air as Quiet Men were butchered.
Rhys charged into the fray, meeting one of the figure’s blades with his own. Silver smoke poured off it, but the black-clad figure didn’t seem intimidated. It spun away, sword sweeping around with tremendous velocity. Stumbling back, Rhys issued a surprised curse. Ben didn’t think the blade caught his friend, but he’d never seen the rogue retreat like that.
Ben and Corinne charged to his defense. Ben lashed out with his mage-wrought blade. The figure ducked it, sliding away from his attack like grease on a hot griddle. Corrine came right behind Ben, chopping down with both of her axes.
The black-clad man surged forward off his knee and caught her with his shoulder. She went flying back and sprawled on the thick carpets. The attacker leapt at her, but Rhys appeared out of nowhere, taking the charge and skewering the man with his longsword. The speed and momentum of the assailant’s movement drove the longsword all the way through his body. He crashed into Rhys, knocking the rogue over as well.
Ben turned to the remaining attacker but Towaal was already on it. She flicked her wrist and tossed a thin dagger at the man. In a blur, the dagger shot forward. The black-clad figure swept its blade to block the throw, moving faster than Ben thought possible, but the dagger moved even faster. It traveled quicker than Ben could follow with his eyes and smacked into the figure. The assassin somersaulted backward with the impact before landing heavily on the carpet, not moving.
A dozen Quiet Men weren’t moving either. Groans elicited from a few others who’d only been wounded. Sander stood down the hallway, staring wild-eyed at his decimated men.
“What was that?” asked Corinne, stunned and forgetting they shouldn’t speak.
Ben figured it didn’t matter. The troop of passing guards had likely gotten far enough away they couldn’t hear the noise over their own clanking armor, but anyone else nearby would have already heard the clash of steel.
“Thin Blades,” mumbled Sander.
Towaal knelt beside one of the dead men and turned him over. She quickly rifled through his clothing then lifted a black-stained wooden amulet off his body.
“Dark magic,” she muttered.
“Did that speed them up?” asked Ben.
She nodded.
Sander’s eyes glistened. “Of course. It must be from the cache. Can we use it?”
Towaal met his eyes.
“Your party can have one and my men can have one,” offered the thief.
“This is dark magic. There are consequences to using it,” answered Towaal slowly. “Through magic, you can cause a candle to burn quicker than natural. The faster it burns, the faster it’s gone.”
“One for you and one for us,” repeated Sander.
“You can have both,” answered the mage.
She tossed the amulet to Sander. Another Quiet Man snatched up the second.
The surviving Quiet Men dragged the bodies into a room. Ben glanced around the hallway. The thick red carpets hid some of the blood, but it stained the walls and tables as well. If anyone walked the hall, there was no hiding a fight took place.
“They patrol these halls,” murmured Rhys. “It’s only a matter of time before the alarm sounds.”
Sander draped the amulet around his neck. “We’d better get moving then.”
Ben grimaced. They needed to find the Purple, but this was too much, too risky.
Rhys gestured for their party to come close.
“Alarm is inevitable,” he whispered. “Based on Sander’s estimate at the inn, we have a bell before the next patrol. After seeing what those amulets can do, Sander and his men will stop at nothing to take the rest of the mage’s cache. If they’re able to do that, they will be formidable. The battle with the Coalition’s guards could be dreadful. When it happens, we learn what we can then slip away. Let them be the distraction as they try to escape.”
Ben looked around their small group. Determination filled everyone’s eyes. They’d gotten this far. They would finish it.
Sander was waiting impatiently, seeming to bounce on his heels. “Come on,” he hissed.
They continued onward, deeper into the keep. At each new intersection, they paused, straining to hear if anything was around the corner.
Amelie pulled out her palm-sized mirror and strode up to Sander. He glared at her, but when she closed her eyes and concentrated, an image flickered to life. It was a view of the hallway ahead.
Sander stared at her in shock. He knew Towaal was a mage. He didn’t realize Amelie could harness her will as well. After that, she led the way. Four more hallways and they stopped at another corner. Gestures to be silent quickly passed through the group. They’d found the entrance to the inner sanctum.
For tense heartbeats, Ben could see Sander and Amelie huddled around the mirror. Then, Sander stood up straight. He looked at the other man who wore an amulet. The rest of the Quiet Men clustered near the corner. In a flash, Sander ran around the corner, his man half a step behind him.
“What—” started a surprised voice.
Thuds and crashes followed. Amelie, looking in the mirror, waved them ahead. The party advanced. Six guards were lying dead. Sander and his man were standing in the middle of them, breathing evenly. Ben eyed Towaal and saw her tight lips. He wondered just how quickly Sander’s candle was burning down.
Beyond the bodies, a silver gate barred the entrance to a shallow marble stairwell. Sander reached to the handle but Towaal slapped his hand away.
“I lead now,” she hissed.
He gave her a slight bow and stepped away. The man was arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid.
Towaal briefly examined the gate, hovering her hand over it and squint
ing at the metal. Nothing happened. She placed a hand on the knob and tried to twist. Again, nothing happened.
“Does anyone know how to pick a lock?” she asked.
Two-dozen men stepped forward.
“I could do it myself,” she explained, “but I worry using my power will trigger something further ahead. The lock is mundane. Pick it with no fear of wards.”
A slender man shuffled to the lock. In the space of two breaths, he turned the knob with a click.
“Sometimes a thief comes in handy, I suppose,” mumbled Rhys under his breath.
The marble steps continued to another floor and then opened to a broad landing. The marble, the silver, the crystal, the wealth they’d seen below all vanished. Stone floors, worn smooth from centuries of footsteps, spread out unadorned from wall to wall. There were no tables or chairs.
No guards either, which the Quiet Men took it to be a good sign until Towaal silenced them.
“If there are no guards, it’s because they don’t think they need them,” she hissed.
“Maybe all the wealth is below,” argued Sander. “Looks like the council is falling on hard times up here.”
Towaal shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. This isn’t a case where the lord stripped the walls to hawk his wealth and stay in power a few more months. This strikes me as men who are assured of their power, and they don’t need the trappings of wealth to show it.”
She was about to continue but a scream echoed down a hallway. It was a young woman, thought Ben. Sander blanched.
“This,” said Towaal, “is the residence of men who are no longer interested in the pursuit of wealth. They’ve found more interesting games.”
The scream echoed again.
Amelie whispered to Ben, “Should we…”
He nodded to where Towaal was cautiously walking toward the hallway the screams originated from. She was holding a hand out in front of her, peering carefully at the floor, walls, and ceiling.
“Maybe we will,” he responded.
“We came for Rettor. No one else!” barked Sander. “We can’t let ourselves get distracted.”
Rhys held a finger to his lips and glared at Sander.
The leader of the thieves glared back but quieted. He was twitching erratically, seeming like his bones wanted to jump from his skin. Ben was glad Towaal let the thieves keep those amulets. As impressive as the black-clad attackers were, he could see something was obviously not right with Sander.
The group paused. On the archway to a stone hallway, glowing blue runes flared to life. Towaal nodded then drew her dagger. She stepped forward and scratched a line through one of the runes.
Sander started for the hall but she held up a hand, “Let the power drain out first, and where there was one ward, there will be more.”
The hallway was made of large stone blocks and was lit by torches stuck in iron brackets. There was none of the elegance from below. The council lived in simple, austere quarters that served their purpose and nothing else.
They didn’t know where councilman Rettor’s rooms would be so they had to check every door. When they found one that was locked, one of the Quiet Men would scurry forward and pick the lock. Some of the rooms were empty. Others held dust-covered tables and chairs. A few looked lived in, but they didn’t hold anything of interest to the Quiet Men. They passed intersections and forks in the hallway. Always, they tried to steer deeper into the sanctum. The sound of the girl’s screams continued to echo down the hall.
It was difficult to tell in the maze of stone hallways where it might be coming from. The sound bounced confusingly through the dark spaces. Then ahead of them, they heard the creak of a doorknob. Everyone froze. The door opened with the sound of wood scraping across the stone floor.
“He told me he’d do that in the dungeons from now on,” cracked an old man’s voice. “She can scream all she wants down there.”
A younger man replied, “I know, sir. He says it’s too far to walk.”
“It’s keeping me up at night,” grumbled the older voice.
The young man stepped into the hallway then stumbled back, startled at the appearance of two-dozen armed men waiting for him. His back hit the frame of the door and he tried to utter a warning to the man inside.
“Hello,” whispered Sander.
In a blur, the thief surged forward, slamming his short sword into the young man’s chest. The young man didn’t have time to react. He was dead before he realized what was happening.
Inside the room, Ben heard the old man call again, “Who is that? What are you doing?”
Sander stepped inside the room, followed by two Quiet Men and Ben’s companions. The rest of the Quiet Men stood outside, guarding the empty hall.
They were in a sitting room, a large but sparsely furnished one. A fire crackled and snapped in the hearth. In front of it, an ancient man sat on a low couch. He was covered in thick blankets and a cup of steaming mulled wine stood on a table beside him.
“Got some of Rettor’s bag of tricks, did you?” cackled the old man. He seemed unconcerned that they’d just stabbed a man to death in his doorway.
“Where is Rettor?” asked Sander.
“What do you call yourselves, Thin Blades?” asked the old man, ignoring Sander’s question. “There’s certainly been enough of you coming and going, disturbing my rest. I don’t know why Jason still lets Rettor conduct this business here. It’s bad for our image.”
Ben peered around the room. There was a door that presumably led to the man’s bedchamber, a writing desk covered in slips of parchment, half a dozen quills, and jars of ink. On a clothing stand hung a heavy black robe with a steel grey disc displayed prominently. The sigil of the council, thought Ben.
Rhys edged around the room, peering through the open doorway and walking to the other side of the old man. The man’s head turned, his rheumy eyes focusing on Rhys’ sword. When they first walked in, the man looked like he was on death’s doorstep or maybe a pace or two beyond it. Now, his focus was sharp. Underneath his blankets, he sat up straighter.
Sander repeated, “Where is Rettor?”
“Boy,” the old man started, returning his gaze to Sander. He broke into a coughing fit. He paused to push aside his thick blankets and reached for his mulled wine.
Sander stared at him.
After drinking his wine, the old man continued, “You are not Thin Blades, are you? Stupid of me to think even Rettor would be bold enough to let his pets kill my Arnold and not expect retaliation.”
Sander shook his head. “No, but we are here for Rettor. Tell us where he is, old man, and we will leave you in peace.”
The old man snorted, obviously disbelieving Sander had any intention of letting him live in peace. “If you want to try and kill me, get on with it,” grumbled the old man. His gaze did not waver from Sander’s.
“You won’t help us, will you?” snarled the thief.
The old man took another sip of his mulled wine and didn’t respond.
Sander lifted a finger. Ben expected the leader of the Quiet Men to attack, but instead, the other amulet wearer shot forward like a bolt of lightning. He moved so fast it was difficult for Ben to follow.
He wasn’t quick enough.
A billow of black smoke and ash burst up from the floor and enveloped the thief. In a heartbeat, he was completely obscured. Ben gasped as his body was hurled across the room to slam against the stone wall with a sickening crunch.
“Anyone else?” asked the old man.
Sander stood there twitching, unsure what to do.
“I’ll try,” remarked Rhys dryly. He strode confidently forward.
The smoke swirled up but the rogue blew through it. His longsword plunged into the chest of the old man. He slid it deep. Big, startled eyes stared at Rhys. The old man coughed once. Then his eyes slid shut.
“What was that?” demanded one of the Quiet Men. He was looking at his dead companion, who was lying crushed at the bottom of the wall. A b
road red streak showed where his crumpled body had slid down to rest.
“He placed protective wards around the couch,” explained Towaal. “As soon as they were breached, the smoke came up. He thought he was safe behind the wards.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be alerting us about wards?” complained Sander.
Towaal shrugged.
“How did you get through?” Corinne whispered to Rhys.
“The old man’s will had faded,” answered the rogue. “In the past, he might have been a powerful mage. He wasn’t any longer.”
Towaal nodded. “Something happened to the man to hamper his will. That defense was only so effective because he’d laid it in advance. He wasn’t strong anymore. He couldn’t maintain it.”
Ben shuddered. Strong or weak, he didn’t want to have to deal with a smoke attack like that.
Rhys had moved to the man’s writing table and was fingering through the documents there. “He was a council member,” he remarked. “There are directives here about troop movements. Plans for an offensive against the Alliance, I think. This could explain the men in tents outside.”
Towaal grimaced. “We don’t have time.”
“Wait,” objected Amelie.
“The dead men below,” reminded Towaal. “Any minute, we’ll hear the alarm bells ring.”
“Let’s go,” growled Sander.
Ben’s thoughts raced. There were seven members of the council, including Lord Jason, and they’d stumbled across only one so far. They didn’t have time to check every one of these doors.
“Let’s find the screaming girl,” he suggested.
“We’re not here to play hero,” snapped Sander.
“There’s a councilman with her,” responded Ben. “Who else would be defying that old mage we just killed? There may be hundreds of doorways in these halls. We can’t try them all. We have to find a way to do this quicker.”
Sander squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.