Theft, Murder, and Crystals

by Benjamin Duke

  Erice said nothing more. She merely looked at the man, hunched over his spellbooks and supplies, preparing for his magic and sighed. There was far more to life than what he proposed, but she doubted he’d ever understand. Leaving Glimmer was the only option for her, she knew. She would make her way to another city, Meric, perhaps, and find a temple of the sun there. There was nothing left for her here.

  Chapter 38:

  The waves crashed against the beach. He could hear the shrieking of birds overhead and the smell of salt was quite strong. Elias stood, toes in the water, watching as the ocean rolled in. Strange, he thought. There was no ocean anywhere close to Glimmer. In fact, he had only seen the waters once, when on a diplomatic trip to a land thousands of miles from his home. How odd. The water began to tap on his foot, rapidly, striking him as if it were a hand.

  Elias began to sir, realizing that he had been in a dream. A gentle tapping on his foot made him realize that someone else was in his room.

  “Ah!” Elias cried, leaning up. A shadowy figure was sitting across from him. Elias went to reach for his Cimirite necklace, but it was gone.

  “Ease yourself,” the man said. “I’m not here to kill you. That would be quite unprofessional.”

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend who’s looking out for you. My name’s Ossic.”

  “Ossic?” Elias repeated. His heart began to hammer into his chest. The room was pitch black. There was nowhere to run, not when he was lying in bed, completely defenseless.

  “Indeed. Our eyes and ears have seen something quite displeasing. So, I’ve been sent to ensure that you are aware of the ramifications of your decisions.”

  “What are you talking about? We’ve done nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Ossic mocked. “Oh please. Assembling a small army of Stonemar, increasing your patrol sizes and security around your stores. Using the potion maker to lure one of our own into a trap? That doesn’t quite sound like nothing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean, sure, we increased our security, but how is that an act of aggression?” Elias asked. “And the Stonemar? The trap? I don’t know what any of that is supposed to mean.”

  Ossic shifted in the darkness. He stood to his feet and began to pace back and forth. Each footstep thumped rather loudly. It was clear Ossic was not worried about attracting attention.

  “I don’t quite believe you,” Ossic said. “But regardless of your proclaimed innocence, you need to know that there are consequences for what you do.”

  “You keep saying that. What are the consequences, Ossic?” Elias asked. He was afraid, sure, but he also felt agitated at the games the man was playing. Being murdered was one thing but being toyed with was entirely unprofessional.

  Ossic was silent for a moment. His footsteps stopped. He uttered some guttural noise, before falling to the ground with a thump. Elias waited, holding his breath. Was this some kind of trick? Some clever attempt to lure him into a false sense of security? But how would that make any sense?

  “Ossic?” Elias asked. There was no response. Elias sat up a little. He reached over and fumbled for the matches. He lit the candle on the nightstand. The flickering light of the candle illuminated the room. Ossic was laying on the ground, motionless.

  Elias climbed out of the bed and knelt down to inspect the man’s body. He went to check for a pulse but found nothing.

  “Of all the time for a man’s heart to give out,” Elias said, gently kicking the corpse. Fortune had been quite kind to Elias, it appeared. He pondered whether to call for Markov or simply escape the city. Either way, he needed to check the rest of the house to make sure everyone else was still alive…

  Cimir put his hands down, dropping to his knees as he coughed violently. The spell had been cast. If his calculations were correct, most, if not all of the Thieves Guild would be dead. There were complications in the spell, of course. He didn’t have the option to test it, not with the nature and scope of the spell. The worst case scenario was that only half of the Guild remained. Even so, if that were the case, no doubt this would terrify his enemies into submission.

  “I was expecting something flashier,” Markov said. He was leaning against the wall in the small room where the ritual was conducted. “No lights, no sparks, nothing.”

  “Lights and sparks are added to create fear and intimidation,” Cimir said. “I didn’t have time to add any bells or whistles to this ritual.”

  Markov shrugged at that. “Do you want to cast it again? Just to be sure?”

  Cimir glanced at the medallion in his grasp. It was partially crumbled; the spell had extracted all of the magical power the symbol of the Guild represented. “No, I can’t. Not without another medallion.”

  “Putting a lot of eggs in this basket,” Markov replied. “I’ve ordered the watch to triple their presence in the streets today. I wonder how many bodies they will find. They, uh, will leave bodies, right?”

  “Of course,” Cimir said, coughing into his hand. Blood. Of course, there would be no way to cast a spell of this magnitude without burning some of his own life force. He hoped the damage to his body would only be superficial. If not, he would potentially be in for a bigger problem. Magic could not heal his body if it were damaged by burning away his life energy. But that wasn’t for him to worry about now.

  “Are you alright?” Markov asked. “You want me to go get Prestin?”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Cimir said as he tried to stand. His legs weren’t as cooperative as he would have liked, but Markov was quick to grab him and hoist him up.

  “Easy there, I’m sure this whole thing took a lot out of you,” Markov said. “Can you cast any spells?”

  “No, not for a while,” Cimir replied. He began coughing again, more blood came up.

  “Then aren’t you in a bit of a bind?” Markov said, abruptly dropping Cimir and drawing his morningstar.

  “What?” Cimir gasped as he fell onto his back, hitting the ground rather hard. Markov stood over him, spiked club in hand.

  “I’m not quite sure if I want a man with this kind of power running around this city,” Markov said. “Especially when no one else in this damned place can take you down. So, I do apologize.” And with that, Markov raised his club and swung it down hard toward Cimir’s skull.

  Cimir closed his eyes and tried to summon some kind of magic, but his reserves were completely empty. He waited a beat, but realized that he wasn’t dead yet, in fact, nothing had touched him. He opened an eye to see the spiked mace barely an inch away from him. “But then again, I don’t backstab my allies,” Markov said. He sheathed his weapon and walked off. “I should hope you don’t either.”

  Cimir let out a sigh of relief as Markov left the small room, leaving him to his lonesome. Another brutally close brush with death. How much had his life changed since they made their first Cimirite crystal? The adrenaline was still coursing through his body and Cimir could not help but laugh. “What a way to make a point,” he chuckled. The captain could have beaten him to death and Cimir couldn’t have done a thing about it. But instead, he opted to show mercy. Merciful to his friends and cruel to his enemies, Markov was a man that Cimir could certainly respect. His thoughts about killing Elias faded away. If it was Markov’s will that the man be left alive, so be it. But they would need to have a lengthy chat about his role in the operation.

  He began coughing up more blood again, violently convulsing a little. The cold fingers of sleep began to wrap around him. Cimir had much more to do, many more things to take care of, but the exhaustion was too great. He fell into a dark sleep, dreaming many dreams about the lives of those who had taken.

  Captain Markov briskly walked through the crowded streets of the Ivory District. It was the middle of the night, certainly not time for so many men and women to be in a district full of closed shops.

  “Sir!” Grecin said as he trotted up alongside the Captain. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Hell is gonna be full tonight!�
�

  “How many?”

  “A lot. People have been coming up to us in a panic, talking about wraiths or spirits that are here to visit judgement on Glimmer. Right now, we’re at nearly 60 dead.”

  Markov nodded at that and looked past his lieutenant. Gathered in the center of the district were members of the Honored Dead, the local mortician and deathspeaker’s guild. They were kneeling and praying over the body of a rather large man. Markov recognized him as one of the leaders who had met with Elias a few weeks ago.

  “Brethren! Lord Ivan was a good man, who gave much!” the deathspeaker’s shouted loudly. Deathspeaker’s were tasked with sharing the news of a man’s death, as well as speaking his accomplishments and good deeds so that those ferrying his soul away would have mercy on him. As if there would be any mercy for such a man.

  The crowd was sobbing. No doubt many of them were recipients of Ivan’s generosity, not knowing of the cruelty the man commanded beneath the surface.

  Markov watched as the crowd gathered around to give respects to the man. Ivan’s body would be quickly taken to the Ward of the Dead, in case he would return, vengeful and crazed. Among the crowd was a man with a familiar face. Markov stared at the man, taking in his features, trying to recall who it was. Kimpter, he realized. Another leader of the Thieves Guild, the one who had made the dire threat to Markov and Elias’ people.

  “Apparently not everyone got what was coming to them,” Markov mumbled as he unsheathed his morningstar. This was going to be rather satisfying. As he pushed his way through the growing crowd, Kimpter turned and took notice of the captain walking towards him. The thief’s face turned white and he began to panic. He quickly turned and pushed his way through the crowd, shouting for people to part the way for him.

  Markov grinned and sprinted after the man. Kimpter was fast, but Markov was faster, thanks to the Cimirite grafted into the side of his boots. A simple thought and he was moving as if he were the wind. “Come on, Kimpter! Didn’t you want to see your pal laid to rest?” Markov shouted as he chased the man into an alley. Normally, Markov wouldn’t make such a rookie move, chasing a thief into a secluded area, but now? Now he didn’t fear running into sixteen armed men. He doubted there was barely eight men left alive in the guild.

  The alley was a dead end, there nothing but a massive brick wall that was nearly fifteen feet high. Kimpter had rushed to the end of the alley and was furiously searched for something, perhaps a secret passage.

  “Face me,” Markov said as he approached the thief. “Turn around and face me like a man.”

  “You have no idea what you’ve done. You think killing one of my men will scare us off?” Kimpter said. “Remember the blood tax? Well a leader is worth two leaders!”

  “Is this really how you want to spend your last few minutes on this planet? Yelling empty threats?”

  Kimpter was pale and shaking. “My guards will be here soon.”

  “How long?” Markov asked. It was wrong, he knew, to be playing and toying with a man, but then again, these killers had terrorized the watch for his entire life. Men like Kimpter deserved to feel the same fear they bestowed upon others.

  Kimpter’s eyes darted past Markov. He had drawn a feeble dagger, but his hands were shaking desperately. “Any minute now.”

  “You show up at our establishment, attack us and then, on top of all of it, you kill two of our own,” Markov said, taking a few steps towards Kimpter. “But your real mistake was not killing all of us. You aren’t messing with the watch. You aren’t messing with some small business who can be bullied into protection money. You’re playing against the Cimirite Empire. And guess what? You lost.”

  With that, Markov rushed Kimpter, his chainmail ignoring the stab of the dagger. With a swift swing, he cracked the man in the jaw with the spiked club, dropping him to the ground. “And we’ve got our own blood tax. Kill one of ours and we kill all of you,” Markov said.

  Kimpter tried to speak out of his fractured jaw, perhaps he was asking for mercy. Markov didn’t know, and he certainly didn’t care. With a few more swings, the Thieves Guild no longer had a leader.

  “Sir!” Grecin shouted from the entrance of the alley. “We just identified two living members, a few blocks from here. Body count is about 70 right now.”

  “Capture them and bring them in for questioning,” Markov said, wiping the blood off of his mace. “And hang this man’s body in the Fountain District, for all to see.”

  “Yes, sir!” Grecin said. He saluted Markov. “And sir? It’s about fucking time we did this.”

  Chapter 39

  The shadows were safe, at least, that is what Minick had always believed. Move in the shadows, strike unseen. A poison arrow fired from cover, while wearing a mask, ensured no one knew of his dark deeds. Now, someone had shined a light into the cave where he and his fellow thieves had been hiding. Most of them were dead. Most, but not all.

  Minick watched as his cadre of men organized themselves, deep in the lowest level of the Ward of the Dead. Swords, knives, poison tipped arrows and armor covered in a special oil that made it easier to slip between tight spaces. All of these crates had been painstakingly gathered, so that when a time for war was declared, they would have what they needed to fight.

  What Minick really needed was more men and women. But there were none to be found. The sorcerer Cimir had killed more than half of the Thieves Guild with the snap of his fingers. They had been 300 strong, but only 70 remained. Of the seventy, twenty had fled the city, stating that they joined the Thieves Guild for profit, not to die at the hands of some crazed wizard.

  Now, Minick, the eighth in command, a man who had been given the position of Treasurer because he was deemed to honest to be a proper thief, was calling the shots. That is, if anyone would listen to him. With the rapid change in the guild structure, there was little reason to believe that his words would hold any special power. Most of the rule-abiding guild members were dead.

  He watched as the remaining members loaded up on arms and arrows. Most were skilled with archery and short blades. He could not help but shake his head. War was not the way to go.

  “If I may call to your attention?” Minick shouted to the crowd. Most of the thieves were gathered around coffins and crypts that had been filled not with bodies, but armaments and potions. They were on the 50th level of the Ward, so deep beneath the earth that it would be half a day’s journey to reach the surface. No one would surprise them down here.

  One of the thieves, Sanderalli looked up at him. “We’ve got a lot more to worry about than our coffers right now, Treasure Monkey.”

  “Please, if you would all just stop for a moment and listen to me,” Minick shouted again. The rest ignored him and continued arming themselves. Discussions about where to strike and what targets to go after were quickly shared by one another.

  “He’ll just do it again!” Minick cried at the top of his lungs. This caused everyone to stop and glance at him. “Listen. Cimir, the sorcerer, is clearly behind this. He created those crystals that power our potions, he has some loophole, some method of still casting spells. If he killed a hundred and thirty of us, he can do it again. So, attacking won’t work.”

  “We’re not leaving this city,” Graham the Gouger shouted. “Glimmer is rightfully ours and I’ll be damned if we give it over to some magic wielding bastard!”

  “Are we idiots? Are we so deluded that we think we have a choice?” Minick replied. “Our leaders have picked a fight that cannot be won. We forgot about what is most important and, in the process, we lost nearly everything.”

  “And what is so important?” shouted a thief Minick didn’t recognize.

  “Working from the shadows. Staying silent. Keeping hidden. We survived this long because we keep our heads down and work to enrich our own guild. Our leaders were cocky. They were idiotic.”

  “Lord Kimpter was a god among men!”

  “And now they’re using your god as a scarecrow in the Fountain District!�
�� Minick replied. “You are all forgetting why we are here. Forget pride. Forget winning some war. We are here to make money and gather our power.”

  There was a murmur from the crowd at this point. Minick felt confident enough to press the issue. “We aren’t in any state to fight back. So, we must disappear again. We must vanish. Then, when the heat has died down, when they have forgotten who we are, and they sleep without an eye on the window, we strike again.”

  “Our safehouses have been destroyed! Contacts are gone and those we once blackmailed no longer fear us!” Imma the Liar cried. “Even our coffers will be looted and sacked by the city watch. This is no time to hide. They think we are on the run, so we have time to strike. Let us arm up and fight back!”

  The crowd cheered at that.

  “He’s going to use his magic on us again and again and again,” Minick warned. “By fighting, we are condemning ourselves.”