Seeds of Virtue, Dark Descent, Book I

CHAPTER 13

  The buildings were marvelous, the architecture beautiful, and the people moving around them dressed with style and class. Even the dealers and traders that stood along the roadside, some working in a stand no larger than a closet, wore elegant robes and dresses. Many of them probably had only a few coins to their names, but they did not let their lack of funds damper their spirits or their attempt to bargain the most gold for the goods they sold. They just put on a smiling face and fancy clothes, doing their best to make a living and fit into the glamour that surrounded them. In that sense, Pelartis truly was an artistic and cultured city, its environment bringing out the artist in everyone, but to Brask, who rode down the avenue hardly noticing the beauty around him, none of it mattered.

  The Knights of the Chipped Blade had been to Pelartis many times over the years and were used to the sights and smells around them. There had been a time when the charm and style of the city had amazed them, but that time was long gone. They had gotten accustomed to the flashy clothing, the shiny buildings, and the foolish pride that painted everyone’s face. This place no longer held any allure. It was just another place to work.

  Brask guided his mount down the street, pushing through the crowd of people. He cared not for their nasty looks or harsh words as he rudely shoved them out of his way. He never even turned toward them. The mercenary leader only kept his eyes on the road, focused on the task in front of him. Every few moments his gaze would drift upwards, to the market or a nearby building, but it wasn’t to admire the structures or search for a good buy. Brask was scanning the crowd and the shadows, looking for anything that may appear threatening. After the battle with the shadow stalkers and detainment by the city guard, it was clear that the assassin knew they were here. He didn’t think a trained killer would be so stupid as to send someone against them in the middle of the street, but it had been a strange journey and he would be prepared for anything the man threw at them.

  “Are they still following?” Brask asked a few minutes later as they slowly made their way toward the back of the city, where Vistalas’s contacts resided.

  After they had left the dungeons, Ristil mentioned that a group of Pillars, also on horseback, had started to follow them and they were making no attempt to hide their intent. Xavdak wanted the group to know that they were being watched. Even after they had split up, the guards split, half following Dex and the other continuing on Brask’s trail. Brask made no attempt to elude them right away but he knew he would have to get rid of them before they arrived at their destination. He did not care if the Pillars knew who they were going to meet. He just did not want them eavesdropping on what was none of their business.

  “Yes,” Ristil answered after quickly glancing over his shoulder. The handful of Pillars following them was not hard to spot for the half-elf. Even on the crowded streets, they stood out like blood on a newly polished blade. Two of the six men were even looking directly at him when he turned.

  “We’ll lose them once we reach the other side of the city,” Vistalas said. “Even the Pillars are reluctant to journey into the slums.”

  Though he called them slums, the poorer areas of Pelartis were still in much better condition than the poorer sections of other cities. Some of the buildings were tall, mimicking the other buildings currently surrounding them, but most were small, being only large enough to accommodate a small family or group. Instead of thick stone and shiny plates of copper or bronze, many of the structures were built of simple brick or wood. Like other cities, those that were unfortunate to build wealth or own a place of business needed somewhere to live and the small hovels and shakes that stood near the back of Pelartis, strategically placed away from where travelers entered the city, were as good a place as any. Another characteristic shared by the slums of Pelartis was that those who were nefarious and wicked usually found the shanty neighborhoods perfect places to hide from authority or practice their unrefined dealings. So naturally, it was where Vistalas was taking them.

  “Lead the way,” Brask said to Vistalas. “Lose them quickly. We haven’t much time.” Four hours sounded like a long time, but the city was large and Vistalas had yet to even notify his contact that he was here. They also had to lose the guards and the Pillars were notorious for their perseverance. He didn’t want to be late meeting the others for they had already lost enough time and he did not want to waste anymore. A growl escaped Brask’s lips just then as he thought about the cause of that wasted time.

  If it had been up to him, Brask would have kicked Druzeel off the quest shortly after the encounter with the shadow stalkers. His lack of knowledge and lackluster survival skills had become blindingly apparent during and after the battle. The stupid kid seemed to lack basic common sense and it was amazing that he hadn’t gotten them all killed. Brask would have thought that someone like Graeak would have taught him better. Instead of focusing on magic, the old man should have shown him some gods damned survival skills. Now he knew why his brother had hated Druzeel so much. He was a sycophant and had probably risen through the ranks of the tower by sucking up to Graeak. Did he even have any true magical talent? Brask had not seen any yet and he was still waiting to be impressed.

  Brask would not have even taken Druzeel along in the first place but Graeak had paid him well to take the kid with him and he wasn’t about to turn down the extra coin. The archmage wanted his star pupil to see the world and experience the road. He had also promised Brask that Druzeel would be an asset on their quest. The mercenary was still waiting to see the benefits. If he had known the ignorant wizard would have been so much trouble he would have rejected the gold. No amount of coin was worth the hassle Druzeel had been, but Brask had given the bumbling old archmage his word and no matter the trouble, no matter the headache, Brask never went back on his word, especially after being paid. He just hoped he could hold himself back from beating Druzeel to a bloody pulp. The young wizard was so infuriating and had almost gotten them all thrown in the dungeons. If that had happened, Brask probably would have killed him. If he hadn’t, the others would have.

  Though he gave his word to take Druzeel with them, to watch over him and keep him safe, he couldn’t guarantee that he could keep the boy safe from the others. Obviously, he did not have to worry about Dex. For some unearthly reason, the man had taken a liking to the young wizard and kept defending him, even against the indefensible. Brask knew it had something to do with Dex’s past so he tolerated his companion’s foolishness, at least for the time being. Jannda was also someone he did not have to worry about. He knew she would follow her friend’s lead but Brask could see the growing irritation on her face. It was only a matter of time before she went off on the boy.

  The others were a different matter. He could rely on Thorstar to stay out of any skirmish that did not directly threaten their lives and Vistalas appeared to want to stay neutral. He only pointed out the obvious and gave the facts, be they for or against Druzeel. Ristil was the real worry. He was growing more and more annoyed with the situation. If anyone struck against budding wizard, it would be him. Brask wasn’t so sure he would stop him if the time came. Druzeel needed a hard knock to head if he were ever to grow up. Whatever happened in the future, at least the source of their frustration was gone for the time being.

  “All right,” Vistalas said, drawing Brask from his thoughts. He looked up to see the pristine towers were gone. The carefully laid stone, handcrafted masonry, and other angelic architecture had all but disappeared. There were still traces of that beauty on the smaller buildings around them but as they moved on, the artistry continued to fade. In another few steps, it was gone completely. Also gone were the elegantly dressed citizens. The crowd had thinned considerably and the only ones around them now were people wearing plain colored breeches and simple shirts and vests.

  “They are still in the crowd,” Ristil said, peering behind him. The guards were still on their trail but they had begun to pull away because the Pillars were still pushing their way through the fad
ing crowd. “If we’re going to act,” the half-elf said, “now is the time.”

  “Let’s go,” Brask said without another thought. He wanted to lose the guards and he wanted to do it fast.

  Vistalas was the first to act. He dug his heels in and his horse bolted into the gloom. Ristil followed next, urging his mount on with nothing but a few words of Elvish. The horse obliged him and was right on Vistalas’s heels within a second. Thorstar and Brask followed next, kicking their horses forward.

  “Stop!” came a loud shout from down the street behind them. The guards quickened their pace, struggling the break through the crowd. Those around them quickly backed away and cleared the road, not wanting to be trampled by the horses, but by the time they had broken free, Brask and the others were over a hundred yards away and showed no signs of slowing.

  “After them!”

  The Pillars quickly gave chase but it was apparent in the first few seconds that their horses were not as fast as the ones the mercenaries were riding. Their mounts were barely armored and their riders wore lighter armor. The Pillars and their horses were weighed down in layers of steel and their steeds were bred for war, not galloping down the streets. Still, the Pillars kept on, keeping their quarry in sight and determined not to lose them.

  “Down the side streets,” Vistalas said, turning his horse to a smaller street filled with carts and other debris.

  “You know where you’re going?” Brask asked.

  “That’s why I’m leading, isn’t it?”

  Truthfully, Vistalas only had vague knowledge of where he was going. It had been a few years since they had been to Pelartis and he didn’t have a solid grasp of the streets or alleyways. When he had visited his contact, he usually met him in a more upscale part of the city. Vistalas had only actually been to his home–what he called a home–twice in all the years he had known him. He was confident he could find it again but with it being night and with guards chasing him, he knew he would have a little harder time finding Drisk than he did last time he was here. He just hoped the thief would remember the gold Vistalas had paid him last time. During every trip to Pelartis, he made sure to visit his variety of contacts to make sure he kept in touch and stayed in good standing. Every thief knew the value of good intelligence and the worth of well-paid associates. Now if only he could lose the men chasing him.

  They turned down a side street and down another, moving as fast as they dared. There weren’t many lights in this area of the city. All it took was a stray animal or large piece of trash and they would be sprawled on the ground. If that happened, the chase would be over and since Vistalas was only slightly aware of where he was, he had to be sure to avoid dead ends.

  No matter where they went, what street or alley they turned down, the sounds of the guards always seemed to be right behind them. Though the sounds of hooves faded ever so slightly as time passed, they were always just a few heartbeats away. One slip or stumble, and the guards would have them. After ten minutes of rushing down streets, almost running over a few surprised citizens and smashing through a couple mounds of trash or some other type of debris that they could not identify, they still had not shaken their pursuers.

  “Sure are persistent!” Ristil cursed. They knew it would not be easy to allude the Pillars but they thought they would be free of them by know. It seemed they would either have to fight or let the guards in on what they were doing. Vistalas wasn’t about to do either one.

  “I’d hoped to not have to use this,” the thief said, reaching into his saddlebags. He shuffled through the bag for a few moments then pulled out a scroll. Behind him, Brask and the others started to slow.

  “Keep going!” Vistalas said as he unrolled the scroll. He guided his mount with his knees as he read. A novice rider would have already fallen off the saddle by now, but Vistalas had been well trained to ride without the use of his hands. He finished the spell written on the wrinkled parchment without so much as a stumble.

  When he finished, the scroll crumbled as the spell was released. Wisps of what looked to be smoke started to rise from Vistalas’s body as well as the others. They were alarmed at first but quickly calmed themselves as they saw that their fellow Knight was not reacting to the strange vapor. The horses were not as calm and started to skid, but their riders were able to keep them under control as the smoke continued to build.

  Suddenly, the strands of vapor gathered together and shot forward, forming what looked like ghost images of the entire party and their horses. They even let off the same sound and made the same tracks in the ground as the mercenaries they were imitating.

  “Slow and move to an alley,” Vistalas said, quickly slowing his mount and aiming it towards a dark alley. The others did as they were told and followed their companion as the phantom riders continued down the street, leaving a visible trail behind them. Just as it looked like they would crash into the buildings at the end of the street, the phantoms turned left and disappeared down another avenue. The sounds of the horses could still be heard as they moved throughout the slums.

  “How long have you had that?” Ristil asked with a smirk.

  “Quiet!” Brask snapped. Though they were hidden in the darkness of the alley, they could still be heard and the Pillars were still following them. Sure enough, less than fifteen seconds after they entered the alleyway, the Pillars thundered by, without so much as a glance at the darkness to their side. They saw only the trail in front of them and the sounds of the phantom mercenaries. When the commotion of their pursuers finally faded, Brask poked his head out to make sure the way was clear. When he was confident that they had finally lost them, he led his horse out into the street.

  “Useful,” he said, glancing in Vistalas’s direction.

  “And expensive,” the thief answered. “I had hoped to save that for a more dire situation.”

  “What would you call that?” Ristil said with raised eyebrows.

  “Necessary,” Brask answered before an argument could arise. “Can you still lead us to your contact?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you trust him?”

  “As much as I would trust any thief,” Vistalas answered truthfully.

  Brask only nodded in acknowledgment. He knew to be prepared for anything once they met Vistalas’s contact, probably even beforehand for if they were going to this man’s home, he would surely have sentries on watch. Thieves could only be trusted to do one thing and that was look out for themselves and their own pockets. He trusted no one, ever, which was why he was still alive. The others knew to prepare as he had and looked to be thinking along the same lines.

  “How long will the spell last?” Ristil asked as the party started down the street. They kept their ears open for the sounds of the Pillars.

  “Thirty or so minutes,” Vistalas replied. “I made sure to send the phantoms away from us, to the other side of the city. We should be well away from here by the time the guards realize they’ve been tricked.”

  Confident in his spell, Vistalas led the group back to the main avenue. After gaining his bearings and taking a moment to remember where he was, he started toward where his contact resided. Eventually, they left the main road that split the slums in two and traveled down narrower avenues. The buildings just continued to get worse the further in they moved, though they were still a far cry from the structures that made up the slums of Atlurul. The beggars and downtrodden in their home city would kill for dwellings such as these. Many of these actually had solid roofs.

  They turned down another road. This route was littered with trash and other discarded debris. The buildings were made from what looked like rotted wood and broken bits of stone, but they appeared solid enough. Many of them were small but there were a few larger structures off to the sides. A pack of stray dogs walked down the side of the street, looking for scraps of food. Their sickly bodies told the group that they had not found what they were searching for in many days. As the pack came closer, Thorstar reached into one of his saddlebags
and took out couple of strips of dried meat. It wasn’t much but it would be enough to sustain the gaunt animals for another few hours. He threw the meat to the ground. The dogs devoured it hungrily and looked to Thorstar for more but the big man only shook his head and turned back to the road. The dogs watched him go, sadness in their eyes.

  “That was a waste,” Ristil said, looking back at Thorstar. As usually, the big man said nothing. He just fixed his half-elf companion with a stern stare.

  “It’s his food to waste,” Vistalas replied, a smirk on his face. “You know Thorstar has a soft spot for canines.” Thorstar did indeed love dogs and always took the time to give a little extra food or provide some affection whenever he encountered a homeless stray.

  “If he wants to waste it,” Ristil said, “give it to me. Those mutts will most likely be dead in a few days anyway.”

  “So might you,” Vistalas commented with a smile, catching his friend’s eyes. The ranger only rolled his eyes in response, but he couldn’t help but smile at Vistalas’s jest a few moments after.

  Brask said nothing. He just scanned the shadows and examined the large building at the end of the road that appeared to be their destination. It looked to be a warehouse of some kind, though Brask could not imagine anyone wanting to keep valuable merchandise inside. The structure looked likely to tip over with a strong gust of wind. Holes dotted the outside walls and the wood protecting the structure was gray and showed signs of extreme rot. With a good yank, Brask had little doubt he could rip the planks off himself. That is if they didn’t completely crumble in his hands.

  “Is that it?” he asked as they came within a hundred yards.

  “Yes,” Vistalas answered. “It doesn’t look like much but remember, things aren’t always what they seem.”

  Ristil was about to make a sarcastic comment, saying something about buildings like this being just large coffins, when he spotted movement off to the side. The motion made the words disappear from his throat and his hand slowly slid down to the hilt of his scimitar. Whatever or whoever it was kept to the shadows and was following their movement along the road. He looked to the other side of the street and spotted a second figure, carefully creeping through the darkness, watching them. The assassin they were here to capture immediately sprung to mind but when he spotted two more figures on the roofline above them, he knew they were just sentries for the man they were coming to see. They were just observing and were making no threatening movements.

  “Movement in the dark,” he said to the others. Vistalas had already seen them but Thorstar and Brask were just noticing, but their presence came as no surprise.

  The Knights said nothing and continued down the street, keeping their hands on their reins. Eventually, they reached the warehouse, coming to a stop in front of a set of large wooden doors. They looked anything but rotten and they were braced with two thick bars of steel, set with black studs. It would take more than a simple pull to get through those, Brask thought to himself.

  Just as they came to a stop, there was a low grinding noise and the doors slowly opened, pushed by two men that were dressed in dark gray cloaks and leather armor. Shortswords sat on their hips and a handful of daggers could be seen through the folds of their clothing. Their faces were hidden within the darkness of their hoods but the two men are not what interested the group. What interested them was the short, stocky man that was walking out to greet them, hands spread out in a signal of peace.

  “Vistalas!” the man said in a jovial voice. “How wonderful to see you.”

  “Drisk,” Vistalas replied with a nod.

  Drisk Solidhilt stood just under five feet. If he had been any shorter, he could have been mistaken for a tall dwarf. Even then, the resemblance to the mountain folk would have ended there for Drisk’s face was clean-shaven, as was his head. Both looked to be as hard as stone and as rough as rock, as did the man’s arms for they were well muscled and thick. The man appeared to be better suited for fighting than thievery but his clothing matched his apparent profession. He wore a dark gray cloak, black studded leather, and had almost a dozen daggers strapped to his arms, legs, waist, and thighs. A shortsword sat on his hip but his weapon of choice seemed to be the dagger.

  “Please come in,” the short thief said, motioning toward the interior of the building. His dark eyes flashed with interest. “Whatever brought you here would best be discussed in the privacy of my home. Never know who may be listening.”

  Vistalas and the others urged their horses forward and they moved inside the building. Drisk followed behind them. Once they had passed the threshold, the two thieves pulled the heavy doors shut and locked them tight. Thorstar’s head snapped towards the entrance as the locks clicked in place. He sneered in disapproval. Drisk took notice.

  “Something wrong?” the thief asked.

  “He does not like enclosed spaces,” Ristil said, eyeing the short man dangerously. “Especially ones with a barred exit.”

  “This is for all our protection,” Drisk said with a smile. “We saw the Pillars chasing after you. It wouldn’t do to have them knocking down the doors. Trust me and please, make yourselves at home.”

  The Knights were less than convinced, but turned toward the interior of the building, and were surprised to see what lay in front of them. Though the outside looked haggard and flimsy, the inside was solid enough. The bottom half of the building was made of large stone bricks. In certain places, the walls were braced with thin columns of steel, which added strength and support to the foundation. The other half was built of a dark wood that looked strong and thick. Windows dotted the walls in certain places and thick pillars of wood stood throughout the building, holding up a ceiling that was sturdy enough to hold thousands of pounds of snow and rain. It was still a warehouse, with dozens of boxes and crates stacked almost to the second level, but it was also a home of sorts, with furniture, desks, closets, and other items common to any household. The second level, composed of a wooden balcony, held over a dozen small rooms, each filled with beds, chests, and low burning torches. The outside facade was the perfect disguise for no one would think the building a gathering place for a group of thieves.

  “You’ve done well for yourself,” Vistalas said as he dismounted. The others followed suit and their horses were led to a small makeshift stable near the back of the warehouse.

  “True,” Drisk answered, “but we have a long way to go if we are really going to compete with the other guilds. We are almost a hundred strong but every day our numbers grow and soon we will be a true power in the city.”

  “A hundred?” Ristil said in confusion, looking at his surroundings. He saw less than a dozen others and the building looked too small to accommodate so many. “Where are the others?” He truly didn’t care where all the other thieves were. He just wanted to keep track of the potential enemies surrounding him.

  “Oh,” Drisk said with a smile, “here and there. It is night and we work best under the cover of darkness.”

  Drisk led them to the back of the warehouse, to a small area consisting of two couches and a handful of chairs surrounding a large round table. The other thieves went about other activities, seemingly ignoring the party but every one of the Knights knew that their eyes would be on them and their leader. They were also within earshot of the group, listening to every word. Drisk paid them no attention and motioned for his guests to take a seat. Brask, Ristil, and Vistalas obliged him but Thorstar remained standing, right behind Brask. He still looked uncomfortable and his eyes constantly searched the room. He also watched the other thieves very carefully.

  “Does he ever relax?” Drisk asked, looking at Thorstar.

  “No,” Brask simply said, his voice free of emotion. Drisk waited a few moments to see if Brask was going to elaborate. When he remained silent, the stocky thief continued the conversation.

  “So you must be Brask,” Drisk said. “That would make you Ristil and the unsettled warrior there Thorstar. Vistalas has mentioned you in passing. I
thought you had two more companions, a halfling and another warrior. Jannda and Dex if my mind serves me right. Are they in Pelartis with you?”

  “Here and there,” Brask replied, still without a hint of feeling. “You’re memory is impressive,” he added.

  “It has served me well,” Drisk answered, looking directly at Brask.

  “It is not your memory that brought us here today,” Vistalas said, “but the hundred of eyes you have around the city.”

  “So it is information you seek,” the guide leader asked, a smirk slowly showing on his face. Though Vistalas was speaking, Drisk never took his eyes from Brask, who he knew to be the leader of the mercenary band. “Information can be pricey.”

  In response to his words, Vistalas took out a sack and threw it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud and the coins inside jingled from the impact. The sack made Drisk tear his gaze from Brask and he looked at the sack.

  “The usual price,” Vistalas said, referring to the cost he usually paid Drisk when he came to see him.

  “It has been some time since you last visited me,” Drisk said, finally looking at the mercenary thief. “Prices have gone up and for what you want, it may be a little more than usual.”

  “And how is it you know what we want?” Ristil asked in suspicion. He did not like this man and wanted nothing more than to be out of his presence.

  “I never said I did,” Drisk answered, “but for all of you to come here, and risk the wrath of the guards, it must be important. You also appear to be in something of a rush. I don’t blame you for I have been under the scrutinizing eye of the Pillars a time or two and do not enjoy their gaze. As every good thief knows, information such as what you want carries a much higher price.”

  The first showing of emotion finally broke across Brask’s face. He narrowed his eyes in loathing but the look quickly disappeared. He had dealt with men like Drisk before and knew what to expect.

  “Pay him,” he said.

  Without pause, as if expecting as much from his contact, Vistalas produced another bag of gold and tossed it onto the table. Drisk leaned forward and grabbed the first bag. He reached for the second but just before he grabbed it, Brask quickly leaned forward and pulled it out of his reach.

  “You’ll get this,” Brask said, “after we hear what you have to say. If it is useful, only then will you earn your coin.”

  “Very well,” Drisk answered with an uncaring tone. “What is it you seek?”

  Brask narrowed his eyes at the man once more. For some reason, Drisk’s behavior seemed odd to the mercenary leader. He seemed very relaxed for having four hired mercenaries sitting just a few feet away, and he was quick to accept Brask’s previous proposal. He knew at least half a dozen other thieves that would have continued to bargain for the coin, at least half of it, but Drisk had accepted without a word. What also irked Brask’s suspicion was the guild leader’s excellent memory. It had been almost two years since he and the Knights had visited Pelartis but the man remembered all their names without fail. He could not believe that Vistalas had spent more than a few seconds speaking of the others. The fact that he remembered them was odd but not unheard of. What really bothered Brask was that he had asked about Dex and Jannda. Why did he care about where they were? His only concern should have been the men before him and the bags full of coin.

  “We are looking for an assassin,” Brask finally said, pushing his misgivings to the side. Though he still distrusted Drisk, he wanted to hear what he had to say before taking any action.

  “Pelartis is full of them,” Drisk answered. “You want me to find one from the hundreds inhabiting this city?”

  “This one should be hard to miss.”

  Brask described the assassin to Drisk just as Druzeel had described the assassin to him. He missed not a single detail, making sure to be thorough as to give Drisk as much information as possible. If what the guild leader had to say proved fruitful, he could forgive the man for his odd behavior. He purposefully left out why they were looking for the assassin and who had hired them. The only thing he told the guild leader was the thief’s description. The rest was inconsequential to this conversation.

  As Brask spoke, both Ristil and Vistalas watched Drisk carefully, studying his face and body language to see if what Brask said was making him uncomfortable or if he found it appealing. Unfortunately, they saw nothing, but that was what bothered them. A normal thief, someone inquisitive and curious, would have at least tilted their head in interest or they would have at least acted as if they were, but Drisk sat as still as stone, like he was trying to not be interested. Both men asked themselves if Drisk was even acting. It was as if he had already heard or knew what the assassin looked like.

  “Interesting,” Drisk said after Brask had finished the assassin’s description. He leaned back and calmly placed his hands in his lap. “So why are you so interested in finding this person?”

  “Information can be pricey,” Brask said, visibly annoyed at the question. “That is also none of your business. You are being paid to provide information leading us to this individual, not to ask questions you have no business asking. Now, can you give us something we can use or should I take my bag of gold elsewhere?”

  “If I knew why you were searching for the man, I may be able to better help you find him,” Drisk said, with a little too much awareness in his voice. “If he stole something, he may go to a specific merchant to sell it. If he killed someone, he may be looking for certain people to hide him. If he did something other than the two things I mentioned, he may do something else entirely.”

  “He’s a thief and assassin,” Brask said, growing a little angry. “They all kill and steal, but this one needs no one to hide him and no merchant to sell to. All you need to be concerned with is telling us if anyone matching the description I gave you has been seen and what he has been doing.”

  “There’s no reason to get upset,” Drisk said.

  “Answer my questions and alleviate my anger,” Brask said. “You are being paid to answer, not to ask.”

  As the two spoke, Thorstar heard the noise behind him come to a stop. He turned his head and noticed the thieves had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at him and the others. They obviously did not like Brask’s tone. Hands were slowing starting to slide toward sword hilts. Thorstar just remained still but tensed his body in case they were foolish enough to act. Ristil and Vistalas quickly noticed his movements and the thieves beyond. They both placed their hands on their weapons. Brask kept his eyes locked on the guild’s leader.

  “A person you described was indeed in Pelartis,” Drisk said, leaning forward. He spoke a bit quicker now, sounding as if he wanted to get the entire conversation over with. “He arrived a few days before you. Sadly, he has already left, earlier today.”

  Brask leaned forward ever so slightly, staring at Drisk in a gaze so cold that it could freeze fire. To his credit, the thief held steady, but then Brask stood and looked down upon the man, hardening his gaze and taking on a look that promised murder. Any patience that Brask held quickly fled his body and his hand slowly curled into fists. He continued to stare at Drisk, looking for signs of deceit. Under his angry glare, he didn’t have to wait long. The slightest twitch on the corners of Drisk’s mouth, a slight tick of the eye, and a small sneer was all Brask needed to confirm his suspicions.

  “You’re lying,” he spat, his teeth clenching.

  “Excuse me.” Drisk suddenly wore a look of anger himself. All the hands in the room dropped a little closer to their weapons.

  “Everything you have said has been meant for one thing,” Brask explained angrily, “for you to stall us and learn about what we know of the assassin. You gave yourself away the moment you asked about the other members of our group. That question was obviously meant to gauge our numbers, an obvious display of your ulterior motives.”

  “I don’t–” Drisk began, but Brask cut him off.

  “I swear, I’ll gut you right h
ere,” the man said, rage coursing through him. “How much has the assassin paid you to learn about us?”

  Drisk stared at Brask, obviously trying to decide what to say. He held little doubts that the large man in front of him would not carry through with his threat, so he sat in silence for a few seconds. With a sigh, he looked down at the bag of gold in his lap. He tossed it onto the table then looked up at Brask, a wicked smile on his face.

  “A good deal more than you.” His eyes suddenly shifted to the thieves standing around the room. “Kill them!”

  In an instant, the thieves had their swords out and ready, but since Brask and the others had been expecting treachery, they acted a few seconds faster. Their weapons were ready before Drisk had finished his last sentence.

  Luckily, it was late in the night and most of the guild’s thieves were out scouring the city for victims. Instead of facing hundreds of opponents, the four Knights found themselves facing only a dozen, including Drisk. It was still twelve to four and the battle would be hard, but if every member had been here, the group never would have stood a chance.

  Brask let loose a growl as he threw himself toward Drisk, his axe raised high overhead to chop the treacherous thief in two. The small man was much faster than he looked. He jumped back, flipping over the couch behind him and landing lightly on his feet. That movement did not stop Brask from finishing his swing down on the piece of furniture. His anger fueled his attack and the mighty axe cut the couch in two. The blade slammed into the ground, sending sparks flying from the stone beneath. Drisk’s smug look suddenly disappeared when he saw the power his opponent held. He hadn’t expected such strength from one such as Brask.

  “He told me not to harm you,” Drisk said, wiping out a dagger and his sword. “He said to hold and delay you as long as I could, so I could learn what you know and the skills you possess, but I think at this point, your death is much more preferable.”

  Brask said nothing. He just turned his burning eyes from the ground to the object of his hatred. Drisk met his gaze and actually took a step back for those flaming orbs of hatred cut through him and made his heart hammer in his chest. This was no simple mercenary. This was a demon in human form.

  Behind Brask, Thorstar tore Blood Edge from his back and wiped around, facing the four thieves that were creeping towards him, looking weary of their opponent’s long reach and obvious superior strength. They approached slowly and with caution, none of them wanting to be the first to engage. The large warrior was not nearly as subtle. His raised his weapon and charged.

  On the side of the small area, Vistalas and Ristil moved toward Drisk, determined to slice the man to ribbons, but the five remaining thieves quickly moved to intercept. Instead of moving forward, the two men turned around and slowly backed away from each other, splitting the group of thieves in two. Three of the gray clad men moved with Vistalas while the other two shadowed the half-elf. Each thief moved with great care, never taking their eyes of their opponent.

  “Only two?” Ristil said with irritation. “I’m worth more than just two. Oh well. You’ll die just the same.”

  The two thieves just stared at Ristil for a few moments, studying his weapons and looking over his armor. The ranger knew they were looking for weakness and developing a strategy, and he was doing the same thing, scanning their armor and closely watching the shortsword and dagger in each of their hands. Each man wore simple leathers and a dark gray cloak, and that seemed to be it. They looked too simple to be hiding some type of magical trinket or powerful artifact. Ristil had his share of magic and could have used a handful of items to end this fight quickly, but he wasn’t about to waste something valuable on these simpletons. This would be a straight fight, blade to blade, skill to skill. He was actually looking forward to this.

  Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the two thieves acted, but just as they were coming forward, Ristil exploded into action. He had been watching them carefully, waiting for just the slightest indication they were about to act. When he saw the tension begin in their shoulders and arms, he took the upper hand. The sudden movement achieved his goal for the two thieves quickly halted, caught by surprise.

  His scimitar flashed in the torch light, flying toward the throat of the man on the right while his dagger streamed for the other thief’s stomach. To their credit, the two thieves managed to throw themselves to the side to avoid being killed outright, but Ristil still caught them.

  The one on the right took a cut to the shoulder. The magical blade easily sliced through his armor, parting the flesh beneath and spraying blood. He let out a grunt of pain but quickly steadied himself. The one on the left was caught on the hip, the dagger almost slicing through his belt. It cut through his armor instead, just barely nicking his hip bone. He also seethed in pain and twisted away, bringing his weapons to bear. Ristil stepped back from the attack, a cruel smile on his face.

  “Had enough?” he asked in a mocking tone. The two men just launched themselves at him. “Guess not.”

  The next couple of minutes were an exchange of vicious attacks and close parries. The sound of steel on steel filled the air and the grunting of two very frustrated thieves was soon very common. They were fighting hard and using everything they learned to get at Ristil, but the ranger was just too good, too well trained and managed to knock away every strike. Unfortunately for him, he spent all that time on the defensive, also fighting hard to block the four blades trying to kill him.

  Ristil was surprised at the skills of the thieves. They were not so simple after all for their attacks were well timed and coordinated, preventing him from making attacks of his own. The two men worked well together, playing off each other’s moves and fighting styles, but they were getting irritated and it was only a matter of time before one of them made a mistake.

  The man on the right lunged forward, driving both weapons toward Ristil’s face. The ranger twisted and knocked the weapons to the side. His companion saw his opening and came forward, but he moved a little too fast, coming just slightly ahead of his blade. By the time he reached his target, he was a little too close and had to adjust his attack downward, causing a delay. Ristil saw the mistake and immediately took advantage.

  While still holding the other thief at bay, Ristil turned sideways and the man’s blade squeaked by him, just barely scraping the front of his armor. As he stumbled past, Ristil brought his knee up right into the man’s gut. There was a blast of air and the man gasped for breath, almost tipping over. The only thing holding him up was his opponent’s knee, but that soon disappeared but he managed to stay on his feet. Ristil turned back to the other thief and twisted his hands, causing the man’s weapons to slide down his own and toward the floor, causing him to be off balance. The ranger then twisted the other away and threw his leg into the man’s back, throwing him forward, right at his companion. The two men collapsed in a heap, cursing as they hit the floor.

  Ristil spun away, bringing his weapons in front of him. The unwinded thief quickly rolled away from his companion and got to his feet. The other one was still struggling to catch his breath. He was soon on his knees, trying to stand. Ristil wasted no time and charged.

  The thief standing raised his sword and dagger to block the blades coming at his chest. Ristil had indeed started his attack by aiming his sword and dagger at the man’s heart, but at the last moment, he dropped his scimitar low and ran it across the front of the man’s leg. The thief shouted in surprise and pain and dropped his guard. Just as the blood was starting to run down his leg, his companion finally found his feet and started to raise his blades for an attack, but he never finished the action.

  Using his forward momentum, Ristil spun and threw out his arms. As he turned, his blades flashed in hunger. He thrust his scimitar into the chest of the thief whom he had wounded in the leg and buried his dagger in the other who had just now found his feet. Both men let out gasps of surprise, unable to comprehend that they were dead. Then they collapsed, covering the floor in blood. Ristil
spun back around and looked down at the men. He said not a word, raised his head, and went to join another battle.