Four Daggers - Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

  Reynold was still subdued, clearly nervous around Lina.  It was a stark contrast to the man's colorful finery and his earlier flippant attitude.  Case noticed the spellblade wore a rapier at his side rather than something more easily concealed like a dirk or stiletto.  Longer but narrower, the rapier was better employed in dueling; it was flexible but light, capable of devastating slashes and stabs in riposte.  Fights that thieves found themselves in were rarely so refined and well mannered .  Case privately wondered if it reminded Reynold of using a wand, or if the flamboyant motion of flourishes appealed to him more.

  The staircase below the trapdoor quickly descended into pitch black darkness.  He knew from experience that waiting for his eyes to adjust would not matter: true darkness surrounded them as surely as a blindfold.  At the bottom, he paused and turned to his left, certain his new comrades were doing the same.  The barest sound of rustling betrayed that they were not alone.

  "I greet you Charon," they each spoke, barely a whisper, before holding out two coins.  "To pay for my passage."

  Though too dark to see, they could each feel bony fingers taking the coins from the palm of their hands, Old Charon collecting his toll.  A short moment later, a long thin reed was pressed into each hand.  No more was said.

  The exchange with Charon was another security measure; an aged, blind thief, Charon collected coins and hid the reeds that guided thieves through the dark maze.  He was also quite at home in the darkness and more than capable of shanking a few intruders before escaping within the Labyrinth.

  They set out, each only marginally aware of his fellows, and only by the sound of their reeds dragging along the side.  As always, Case held his eyes closed for a moment, then opened them.  In the darkness, he could see no difference.  Well familiar with the path, Case let his reed drag along the ground, lost in his own musings.

  Case's own blade was a short, straight blade that ended in a chisel point.  It had heft without being heavy, and was practical for all sorts of activities an enterprising scoundrel might find himself engaged in, from opening crates to cutting through chain mail.  Case had found it early in his carrier aboard a merchant trader.  The captain had just come back from parts unknown and had carelessly left the blade out in the open in his cabin while negotiating tariffs with the port master.

  It was no longer on display when the captain returned.  The blade marked Case's first big score; the blade, not quite a short sword, not quite a dagger, was forged from some sort of jet black metal he'd never been able to identify.  The guild appraiser hadn't been able to identify it either, and was less certain as to its value.  Case had decided to keep it  in the end, to his good fortune - the blade never dulled, never chipped, and had served him well over the years.

  The first bump against his stick jolted Case from his reverie.  Instinctively, he reached out to the wall, and felt for the carving.  Empty room.  He turned onto the new path.  Although many of the veterans now knew the safe path down to the footstep, persistent rumors that the safe path changed periodically kept every thief honest.  It was the one place none of them dared to take a shortcut - the Labyrinth was merciless.

  Lizard Rock was surrounded by a dense network of branching caves.  Long ago, the Labyrinth and the Thieves' Way had been created, in part to maintain the Guild's secrecy, and in part to test and train new recruits.  Its many meandering paths were littered with traps, pits, and dead ends.  In the total absence of light, a man could easily get lost within - if a trap didn't kill him first.

  Where the wall met the ground, small bumps had been carved to draw a thief's attention through the reed.  Carved upon the wall was a three dimensional symbol of what the path or room contained - spike filled pits, bear traps, spring-loaded blades, poisoned spears, and so forth - or if the proper path continued within.  The cleverness lay in the manner of carving; even a torch would not reveal its presence.  Each symbol looked the same as any other random bit of cave wall; their meaning and presence was revealed by touch, not sight.

  Not that any thief dared bring light into the Labyrinth.  A strict prohibition forbade bringing light into the maze; rumors abounded of dreadful beasts that would be drawn to the light.  Occasionally, when the apprentices went out to clear and reset traps, lanterns and torches could be found.  No corpses had ever been found alongside them.  It was as clear a warning as any apprentice would receive: a thief who broke the Guild's rules ceased to exist.  A thief lived in the shadow, by his wits and his skill.  A thief who wasn't careful was a reminder to others.  A thief welcomed the embrace of shadows.

  Even more mysterious than the denizens of the maze, however, was Lina.  He'd barely caught a glimpse of her blade earlier; the only detail that stuck in his mind was that it had been dark - so dark that it seemed to swallow the light around it, obscuring the blade in a cloud of darkness.  He hadn't even been able to tell the shape of the blade, not with any degree of certainty or detail, and would have chalked it up to being caught off guard - but then he had caught sight of the wielder.

  She was wearing a light leather jerkin and linens, all dyed black; that much he could tell with certainty.  Over the jerkin, she wore a chain shirt, one made of the same mysterious dark metal as her blade.  It too exhibited the same tendency to absorb rather than reflect light, making it difficult for his eyes to focus on it.  Surrounded by a haze of darkness, it was as if she wore a cloak made of shadows, and his eyes seemed to drift away of their own accord.  Yet, when he focused his whole will on seeing her, there was no trace of darkness, as if his own eyes were remonstrating him, "See? I told you there was nothing to see there."

  There was no telling how long they walked on in that silent darkness.  One lost all sense of time and even direction in true darkness.  The sound of rushing water echoing far beneath told Case that they had reached the chasm, and so were near Lizard Rock.  A faint scent of salt water in the air confirmed it.  Originally no more than a smuggler's cove, Lizard Rock soon grew, expanding into a network of caves to provide sanctuary for rogues, thieves, pirates, and right scoundrels of all kinds.  Now it was a fortified town in its own right, with proper docks, and the central base of operations for the Thieves' Guild.

  However, there were no lizards at all for miles, nor any lizard-like rock, both along the coast and within the caves.  Spinning tall tales and spreading rumors about the origins of the name was a favorite past time in the taverns and on the docks.  It was a point of prestige if one's creation began to circulate and enjoyed popularity.

  There was, however, a deep underground chasm protecting Lizard Rock from all comers.  It was the final test.  A narrow land bridge crossing a deep chasm in perfect darkness.  The sound of an underground river rushing far below was the only hint of danger.  The reeds told them how narrow the path was, if they were in any danger of stepping off the bridge into the abyss.  It was incumbent on the thief to be prepared.  To control one's fear.  To maintain one's calm if insects buzzed about unexpectedly.  To remain focused on crossing.

  Invariably, a new recruit or apprentice, having survived to this point, gave in to temptation.  While crossing, they wondered how deep in fact the chasm was.  They would stop, retrieve some small object from their pocket, and toss it over the side.  And then they would lose their balance.  Or they would forget which way they were facing and walk off the bridge.  Or they would lose their reed, or they would become startled, caught off guard by a bug or bat.  Neither trinket nor recruit made a sound in the deep darkness; only the dead knew how deep the chasm went, having paid for the knowledge.

  Case wondered if his companions had crossed yet, assumed they must have.  He hadn't bumped into anyone when the wall ended and the open maw of the chasm began.  He began to cross slowly, wary of bumping into another in front of him.  He held the reed against the side of the bridge to keep aware of where he stepped.  Veteran or neophyte, the labyrinth spared no one who was careless.

  On the other side, the path turned sharply to one side and ended abruptly in a wooden door.  Faint light shone from behind its edges.  Beyond it, Case knew, was the final gate to Lizard Rock.  And just before it, a lit corridor with concealed crossbowmen ready to take down blinded intruders.  He stepped through, closing the door behind him, and walked forward as best as he could manage with hands up and squinting tightly against the sudden light.

  And then he was past, blinking madly beside a Reynold shaped (and colored) blur and a Lina-like shadow.

Four Daggers - Chapter 1

~Chapter 1~

  Case sat alone at his table, nursing the same mug of ale for the past hour.  He'd arrived with some dock workers, but if anyone had found his decision to sit alone odd, they kept it to themselves.  Likely no one had even noticed; Case had a quiet way about him and seemed to just blend into the background wherever he went.  Although he'd only just started working with them, no one could quite seem to remember when he first showed up; it seemed like he'd always been a part of the crews.  He was the sort who always reminded you of someone else you knew, but for the color of his hair or the shabbiness of his clothing.  Nondescript and familiar, he was just like any number of people in all the cities of the kingdom you saw all the time.

  But there was no one quite like Case.

  A bit on the tall side and well muscled, Case had indeed grew up working the docks.  It was hard work for low pay and long hours in the constant stench of sweat and fish and harbor trash.  As a young man, Case had realized two things - day in and day out, lifting cargo and herding livestock worth more than his life to the harbor master, such work would consume him and leave behind nothing but the stench of sweat and garbage in the worn out husk of a man.

  However, he also realized he was beneath their notice.  All of them - the harbor master, the merchants, the servants, the nobles, even the older workers - did not deign to notice him, so long as the work got done.  Or appeared to be getting done.  And so the young Case learned how to avoid notice, how to creep along quietly, learned the lay out of ships, where people like to hide their valuables, and where captains hid their more exotic cargo.  He learned the art of taking things without others noticing, of hiding things on his body or where they may be safely retrieved later.  He learned to be a shadow where none existed.

  Case was a masterful thief.  He'd long since left his dockside academy and had enough riches to live quite well.  But he never strayed far from the docks, wherever he went; it kept him humble and he was afraid of losing his touch.  Just another anonymous shadow in a bad part of town where things went missing and purse strings cut.

  He took a long, satisfying drink.  It wasn't like him to get lost in nostalgia.  But a job had come along, one that would make him as rich as a minor noble.  It was hard not to think of how far he'd come.  Then too, the client had asked for him by name, along with three others.

  Name recognition.  He wasn't sure he liked it.  It felt like a pair of eyes watching him, watching him closely, and following him about.  It was unsettling.  He paid his dues to the Guild, never stood out, never made big waves with his jobs, and never caused trouble.  Perhaps, he thought wryly, that is what makes a thief stand out.

  His eyes roamed about the tavern, casually taking in the evening crowd, yet searching, noting every detail he saw like a wolf resting in the shade of its den - not hunting, but ready to take down any prey it saw.  He'd heard of two of the others, after a fashion, and had arrived early in hopes of scouting out his "coworkers" before meeting with the client's representative.  He saw nothing.  Not surprising of course; in this line of work, those with names and reputations were skilled and careful, or they were dead.  Case finished his ale and headed towards the rooms; it was time to meet the client.

  As it happened, the cheap dockside tavern locals called "The One-Eyed Pelican" had connections to the local thieves guild.  Specifically, it served as a secret entrance, allowing clients (or their representatives) to meet with and hire talent, as well as allowing the less talented to escape when things went poorly.  At a certain door, Case turned the knob.

  Locked.

  He waited two counts, then began turning the knob in a peculiar combination of twists.  Finally, he pulled the lnob outward; with a click, the door opened of its own accord.  A single, disgruntled looking man sat by a lit fireplace, a bowl of stew on the table in front of him.  "Room's occupied, beat it," growled the occupant.

  "One room's the same as any other," replied Case calmly, closing the door behind him.

  The guild lookout snorted.  "True enough, you pass.  Usually don't get two comin' in t'gether, but the master sent word."  Case whirled, half dropping into a crouch; he hadn't seen anyone come in with him, hadn't seen anyone else in the hallway outside at all, but one of the tavern regulars was standing there behind him, grinning broadly.

  "Oh don't worry mate, just a little bit of magick is all," he said, winking at Case.  "Good on our friend there for seeing through it though!"

  "Cram it Reynold.  You can remember spells, then you can remember the combination and come in yourself next time.  And it's my job to see through your silly tricks."

  Looking past Reynold's maddening grin, Case was startled.  He had seen the man in the tavern earlier.  He was certain of it.  But Reynold was dressed in clean linens, wore a jeweled earring and a fashionable purple half cape over one shoulder.  He did not look at all like any of the tavern regulars, should not only have stood out clearly as an outsider, but also been robbed blind.  But Case knew beyond a doubt that he had seen the man and, whats more, paid him no mind as simply another tavern regular.

  And then suddenly a jet black blade appeared at Reynold's throat.  "And what of my silly tricks?"

  Startled, the lookout swore.  "Balls of the Blood God, Lina! If I could see through your tricks, I'd be making a fortune working for the mages!"

  Lina laughed sweetly.  "If you could see through my tricks, you'd be dead."  Despite the playful banter, Case could see that she had everyone on edge.  Reynold had turned pale and the grin Case would have sworn was a permanent fixture was nowhere to be seen.  The blade disappeared, sheathed as the unknown wielder stepped out of a shadow.

  A shadow which Case was certain had not hidden an assassin a moment ago.

  A shadow which was certainly too small to hide even a child, much less an adult.

  As the lookout quickly moved aside the bed to open the trapdoor, Case considered his fellow thieves.  He wasn't even sure if he'd seen Lina in the main room.  Missed them both.

  As if reading his mind, the lookout muttered to Case as they descended, "G'luck."

  You'll be needing it."