The Thieves’ Guild

by Jeff Crook

  Cael opened one eye to observe her. The knuckles of her hand, clenched round her dagger, were pale and bloodless, her jaw muscles stood out, quivering. Her eyes seemed sunken into her dusky face, giving her a haunted look, and the bluish tinge had returned to her lips. He started to rise to go to her, but the moment of relaxation he’d allowed himself had given his shoulder time to stiffen. Instead, he stumbled as he tried to rise and caught himself painfully and noisily against the library’s mahogany desk. Both thieves froze at the sound, listening for any reaction from below. For the moment, the house remained silent.

  “What are you trying to do, you fool!” Alynthia hissed. She shook her dagger at him like a long admonishing finger.

  “I thought I would search his desk,” Cael responded lamely.

  “Well, try to be more quiet about it. The servants are not the typical spineless, witless peasants so often found in servile positions. Many are retired thieves and adventurers. Our butler is a fiend with a short bow.”

  The elf glared at her for a moment, until she spun on her heel and resumed her worried pacing. Cael turned his attention to the desk.

  First and foremost, the desk was heavy and compact, marvelously compartmentalized. More than likely, it had once been the desk of the captain of a ship, for there was no wasted space either atop or beneath it. Deep wells in the corners held ink bottles and long quills. Other troughs on the desk’s surface originally must have served the purpose of holding navigational compasses and rules to keep them from sliding around in heavy seas. Now they contained an assortment of sugar candies. Cael popped a chewy orange one in his mouth and savored the flavor. Alynthia shot an annoyed look at him at the smacking noises he was making but said nothing.

  Down one side of the desk were an assortment of cubbyholes, where rolled maps detailing every shore and major river of Krynn were still stowed. It was a kender’s delight. Cael turned his attention to the drawers. They were, of course, locked.

  He felt along all the desk’s edges for a release, and, finding none, turned to an examination of the bottom of the desk. There he found a small throwing dagger in a leather sheath tacked to the underside, nicely placed within easy reach of anyone sitting behind the desk. He tucked the dagger into his belt and continued his search.

  He couldn’t find the drawer key anywhere. Probably, Oros kept the key on his person, so Cael settled down to trying to break into the lock instead. It was a simple lock, with a simple enough poison needle trap, which made him extremely suspicious as to what he hadn’t detected. As a rather famous thief once said, “Why even bother putting such a simple lock on a door”—or a desk? He bent closer, trying to spot the real trap, but if there was one, it was beyond him to find out. He stood up, frustrated, glowering at the desk.

  “What’s the matter?” Alynthia asked.

  “Nothing,” the elf said.

  The only other thing of interest on the desk was a fist-sized river stone onto which a simple childish picture had been painted in crude red lines. The picture was of a ship at sea. At the sterncastle wheel stood a large man, while at the prow danced what appeared to be a girl. Cael picked it up and turned it over. There, scrawled in awkward letters, were the words,

  The Mary Eileen

  For Captain Avaril

  on his day of life-gift

  from Alynthia

  Cael smiled, hefting the stone and judging its weight. He was of a mind to use it to bash open the drawers, but then he noticed the scrap of yellow paper atop which the stone had rested. It was a bill of transport from the Carters’ Guild, dated this very day.

  “This is curious,” Cael whispered.

  Alynthia turned. “Leave that alone,” she snapped. “I made it for him when I was nine.”

  “Not this,” Cael said, setting aside the stone. He lifted the bill. “This.”

  “What is it?” Alynthia asked.

  “A bill of transport, for stonecutting tools to be delivered to Dark Horizon tonight at Darkwatch. What use has your husband for stonecutting tools?” he asked.

  Alynthia did not immediately respond. Her face grew thoughtful, and she paused in her pacing. Suddenly, she sheathed her dagger. “None,” she said. “But ‘stonecutting tools’ is an old Guild codeword for treasures. Treasures, mind you, not ordinary loot or the proceeds of everyday Guild business. Oros must be putting Guild treasures aboard his ship.”

  “I think we know why,” Cael said, grimly reminded of the Guild captain’s treachery.

  “I wonder which treasures,” Alynthia mused.

  “Perhaps we should go see,” the elf offered with a smile.

  “Perhaps we should. Perhaps that’s where he is now.”

  Alynthia hurried to the window and tore aside the loose strip of curtain that Cael had used to tie the shutters. A cold gust of wind from the approaching storm blew the shutters open with a loud bang. Alynthia leaped though, the elf closely following her.

  Behind them, a moment later, the library door swung open. Oros uth Jakar stood there, glowering. Behind him stood an elderly man in his nightshirt, a short bow clenched in his fist. Oros glanced quickly around the room, eyeing first the open window, then spotting the missing bill of transport. The breeze blowing through the window stirred his hair, but it also seemed to stoke the fires of anger burning in his eyes. At the same time, it snuffed out the yellow candle on the desk and sent sparks crackling up the chimney.

  Oros turned to his butler. “Wake Kolav,” he growled. The man nodded and hurried away.

  Behind him, a distant flash of lightning briefly illuminated a short, hunchbacked figure lurking at the window. As though sensing eyes upon him, Oros spun. The next lightning flash came soon after and showed the window empty, the shutters flapping in the rising wind.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  For the second time this night, a pier stretched before them, walled on either side by the hulls of ships, while overhead swayed naked masts. Ropes sang, lashed by wind and spray. A single lantern at the far end of the pier provided an eerie, wavering illumination; all the other lanterns along the pier had failed to survive the first gusts of the storm. By the light of that one distant lantern, the two thieves saw that the crates that were once piled beside Dark Horizon had been loaded. The ship now rode the rising swells, lashed securely to the pier by stout ropes.

  Cael and Alynthia crept warily along the pier. The night seemed short. Though storm clouds now hid and further darkened the sky, both felt that morning was nigh. With it would come unwelcome activity and watchful eyes. They hurried while trying to appear leisurely. As they neared the ship, Alynthia could no longer contain herself. She rushed along the pier, leaped up, and caught the ship’s railing, timing her leap to meet the descent of a swell She pulled herself onto the deck, then peered over the rail at the elf.

  “I can’t do that, Alynthia,” Cael said. “My shoulder.”

  She nodded once, then stooped to look for something. A moment later, a rope ladder uncurled down the side of the hull. Cael caught it. After passing his staff up to Alynthia, he pulled himself by one arm up the heavily swaying side of the ship.

  They picked their way across the heaving middeck as the first heavy drops of rain splattered around them. The ship was battened down against the storm, showing that the night watch was aboard somewhere. Alynthia led the way among coiled ropes and stowed rigging to the sterncastle, where a narrow ornate door signified the entrance to the captain’s cabin. She paused before it and drew her dagger. Cael looked around to make sure no one had spotted them. It seemed the watchman was safely below decks. Alynthia opened the door and slipped into the cabin. The small, orderly chamber was dark, lit in somber gold by lightning flashes through the horn-paned starboard windows. She quickly lit a whale oil lamp fastened to the wall above the bed. Cael stepped inside and closed the door as a storm wave lifted the ship, sending him staggering painfully into the wall.

  On the floor beside the bed stood several large sea chests, one made of rich teak bound with s
ilver and iron, the other two of thick leather with bronze fittings. Alynthia nodded at Cael. He looked at her wearily, then moved to the door to keep watch.

  Alynthia knelt by the largest of the three chests and fingered its heavy lock, then took from a pouch at her belt a leather wallet of lockpicking tools. She unrolled it on the floor and chose a braided wire and an octagonal probe. While the deck lurched beneath her, she worked the tools into the lock, prying, probing, turning. Her lips compressed in concentration, all else fading from her notice. Not even the growing roar of the storm intruded upon her. She listened closely for the satisfying click that would announce success.

  Her skill told at last, and the lock parted. She tore it free and cast it aside, and with a victorious glance at the elf, opened the chest’s hinged lid.

  A cloud of hissing yellow gas boiled into her face. She coughed once and reeled away, toppling onto the floor.

  Hearing the warning hiss, Cael had torn open the door before he even saw the danger. A violent wind swirled through the chamber, dashing out the lamp, as the sickly yellow gas rose up wraithlike and was dispersed by the wind. The elf lunged to Alynthia’s side and lifted her under one arm.

  Cael dragged her onto the rain-lashed deck. He rolled her over, pressed two fingers to her neck. A weak pulse struggled there but one which grew stronger with each breath of clean sea air. A flash of lightning revealed her eyelids flickering as she fought to regain consciousness.

  Probably only her natural quickness had saved her life, Cael guessed. Oros had set a deadly trap on that chest. Finally satisfied that she would recover, he returned to the door. By the storm’s glare, he saw that the chest was still open. He lurched into the room, reached a hand into the chest, and stumbled back to the deck clutching something metal and gleaming.

  He collapsed beside Alynthia and examined the object. It was a dragon, not much larger than a cat, expertly wrought in gleaming silver. The figure reared on its hind legs, wings spread, head thrown back to scream at the sky. Tiny sapphire eyes burned beneath hooded lids, talons of carved yellow ivory clawed at the air. In the belly of the creature, he noticed, there was a latched and hinged door. Cael opened it gingerly.

  A flash of lightning illuminated a grinning brown skull seated on black velvet in the hollow belly of the artifact. Beside the skull lay a Solamnic rose, red as the day it was cut.

  “That’s it,” Alynthia lifted her head to say.

  “What is it?” Cael asked, suppressing for the moment his delight at seeing her alive and alert.

  “The Reliquary,” she said as she pawed weakly at the treasure.

  “What is it? Why is this so special?” Cael asked.

  “It is our greatest achievement, our greatest theft, said to be stolen from the gods themselves during the Age of Might.” She sighed, falling back weakly against the rain slick deck. “The bones are the bones of—”

  “Alynthia!” a voice roared behind them.

  Cael spun, clutching the Reliquary beneath his robe.

  Oros uth Jakar stood before them, legs braced against the surging of the ship. The storm increased suddenly, sheets of rain pounding from prow to stern. Looming behind the Guild captain, the huge, monstrous form of the minotaur, Kolav Ru-Marn, leaned against the larboard rail. He shook his heavy horned head, water spraying from his ears and thick reddish-brown fur.

  “Alynthia, what have you done?” Oros cried furiously.

  “What have you done, my husband?” she gasped.

  “Your treachery is revealed, Captain,” the elf snarled.

  The color faded from the Guildmaster’s face. His eyes shifted from the elf to his wife. She glared at him, contempt burning in her dark eyes. The strength seemed to drain from his limbs, his head sank, and Oros turned away.

  “Kill them,” he said heavily to the minotaur. “Kill them both.” He staggered to the rail and leaned against it.

  “I’ve been longing for this day,” Kolav growled, as he drew his massive gleaming tulwar, the giant curved blade of the minotaur-wrought sword screaming from its sheath. Long used to battle at sea, Kolav moved with ease across the storm-tossed deck of the ship, his steps thundering louder than the storm itself.

  The elf remained half in a crouch, for it was the only way he could be sure of his footing. He pulled his staff close against his body and, running his free left hand down its length, revealed his magic blade.

  Kolav roared with laughter. “Magic blades will do you little good. I am the finest sword in all of Krynn.”

  “I tell you again that, no, I am the finest,” Cael countered, but he knew his boast was hollow. The wound in his shoulder had stiffened his right arm to the point where he could barely move it. He could fight left-handed—he’d been trained thoroughly by his shalifi—but against the mighty minotaur he stood little chance in his present condition.

  The beast shook his huge bull’s head, water spraying from his ears and fur and streaming from his gleaming black horns. Cael gripped the silver dragon closer against his body and rose onto one knee, his sword held on guard.

  Alynthia cried out, “Oros, don’t do this.”

  Oros uth Jakar merely shook his head, never even turning to glance at his doomed wife.

  Kolav leaped at Cael, horns flashing. The elf managed to roll aside. Kolav lunged after him, stepping over the prone form of the female captain of thieves. With a cry, Alynthia rose up and sank her dagger into the monster’s thigh.

  Kolav bellowed in pain and turned. Cael’s blade flashed before his black snout, then raked down, shearing though leather armor and reddish fur to shave the belly of the brute. Another inch and his bowels would have run across the deck. The elf swore and barely ducked the minotaur’s return swipe.

  Now the minotaur roared in rage and came leaping after him. Cael parried with every ounce of strength, striking aside the minotaur’s heavy curved blade at the last instant, time and time again. Each movement weakened him, while the minotaur seemed to grow stronger, seeing his opponent stumble and stagger under the rain of blows.

  The battle raged around the mainmast fore and aft Kolav’s sword took chip after chip from the mast’s hard timber as Cael used it as both shield and foil. Brute strength battled unrivaled training in the sword and its tactics, but even the elf could do nothing more than forestall his doom.

  The minotaur began to limp more acutely from the wound in his leg. His attacks grew more savage. His tulwar flashed and stabbed relentlessly. The minotaur handled it as easily as a fencing foil. His leg wound, though, stopped him from lunging. The elf took advantage of this, staying just out of reach, and by attacking the minotaur on the side of his wound. Alynthia’s thrust had bought him that little advantage. He only hoped he had the strength left to capitalize on it.

  The storm mounted in fury. The ship began to slam against the pier. Again and again, just when the minotaur seemed to have cornered the elf, the ship lurched, forcing him to pause and allowing the elf to dodge. Finally, Kolav could bear no more injury to his pride. With a bellowing roar, he rushed across the deck, timing his charge to a mounting wave. In his weariness, Cael didn’t move in time. The ship’s deck rose up behind the beast. His charge became more of an onrushing fall, and Cael staggered back against the rail, unable to avoid the inevitable collision.

  With a triple report the ship’s moorings broke. The ship righted itself suddenly, sending the minotaur sprawling and flipping Cael backward over the rail and onto the pier. Alynthia had crawled across the slick deck and was poised to follow, but her husband caught her by the wrist and dragged her back.

  Kolav regained his footing and vaulted after the elf. Cael was nowhere to be seen. The minotaur peered between the dock and the ship but saw nothing other than broken bits of wood. All along the pier now men shouted from the decks of ships, while sailors worked to secure moorings, and ropes snapped and went writhing into the air like aroused serpents. And at the shore end of the pier, a cloaked figure was running, a gleaming sword in his fist The minotaur bel
lowed a battle cry and limped after him.

  Captain Oros glared at his wife, but she returned his gaze with a black accusing stare.

  “Now you will have to kill me yourself, my husband,” she spat.

  “No, I won’t. The Guild will do it for me,” he returned. He dragged her across the deck to his cabin door. The contents of the room had been tossed about when the ship’s moorings broke. The sea chest lay open on its side. “You are a traitor to the Guild and you will suffer the punishment you richly deserve,” he snarled as he heaved her inside.

  She fell on the floor. Pain twisted her face, but anger fought for control. She jerked the empty chest upright. “It is not I who betrayed the Guild!" she cried. “Cael has the Reliquary as proof!”

  Oros staggered back, clutching at the door. He slammed it shut, locked it quickly, then rushed forward shouting orders to the frightened, sleepy-eyed crew of the Dark Horizon as they stumbled from their forecastle quarters, at last aroused by the commotion.

  The storm was tearing the ship and the pier apart.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Leaning into the wind against the lashing rain, Cael scuttled across the wide empty cobbles between two towering warehouses. His cloak rippled out behind him, and lightning streaked across the sky, arcing explosively over rooftops, spires, and trees.

  He crossed Fishmonger’s Street and paused at the entrance to Palisade Lane, looking back. The constant lightning flashes showed him the jerky progress of his limping pursuer. Cael was weary down to his bones, but a grim determination drove him onward.