"I guess this is, what you call a cue, isn't it?" Olive asked the actress.'
Jamal nodded grimly. She pulled back the tapestry, and, with swords drawn, the pair burst onto the dais to back up Winterhart.
In the back of the hall, swordsmen of the watch maneuvered right and left on the thieves, and soon steel clashed against steel. There was a burst of light as some thief, equipped with a powerful amulet, teleported from the hall. Three thieves standing behind their fellows aimed wands at the watch. Blasts of eldritch energy issued from the wands, and five swordsmen were knocked back by an invisible rain of blows. A moment later, however, all three wand-armed thieves became pincushions of crossbow bolts-a warning to any other Night Masks that those using magic would be favored targets.
On the dais, those Night Masters not armed with long blades shrank back from the naked steel presented by the two halflings and the actress. The remaining four flanked the Faceless.
Winterhart squared off against the Faceless and one Night Master, Jamal against a second Night Master, and Olive against the remaining two. Winterhart dealt the Faceless an immediate blow to his sword hand with the flat of her blade, and her return sweep parried a blow from the Night Master who stood beside him. Faceless lost his grip on his weapon-the blade spun across the dais. The leader of the Night Masks was forced to retreat to retrieve his weapon.
Jamal remembered immediately why she'd given up adventuring twenty years ago. The thought of a sharpened steel blade slicing through her skin, her flesh, and her innards filled her with a nauseating fear. In his scornful offering of a sword, Kimbel had challenged one of her greatest fears. She wished desperately that she was wearing some kind of armor or carrying a shield, but she knew that in the shape she was in the weight of the armor would be too great and she needed both hands to keep the sword before her steady. The goddess of luck must have been looking out for her, though. The Night Master before her seemed to be neither an aggressive nor skilled fighter. Perhaps he'd drawn a blade only to impress the Faceless. Jamal held her own, parrying the blows the Night Master delivered. She even managed to draw first blood across his arm.
Olive was not feeling so fortunate. One of the two humans attacking her was a burly man, quite skilled with his weapon, while the other human was so tall that she had trouble keeping her sword high enough to parry his blows aimed at her head. She'd only just managed to ward off a stroke that might have decapitated her, but the cost was accepting a smack to the ribs. Her leather jerkin kept the blade from cutting into her, but the force of the blow knocked the air out of her and left her side throbbing. As if that weren't enough, it appeared as if the assassin Kimbel were about to join the two swordsmen in their attacks on the older halfling.
Kimbel placed his hands on the head of the taller Night Master facing Olive. An aura of ball lightning erupted from the thief's head. His hair stood upright from his scalp, and Olive could see the bolts of energy crisscross the flesh left exposed by the mask. The Night Master fell forward, steam pouring from his ears. Olive gaped at Kimbel with astonishment. If she'd told every halfling in Westgate that the Dhostar assassin had helped her, not one of them would believer her. She didn't believe it herself.
Kimbel blew on his hands. With a sly grin, he asked,"Haven't you ever seen a shocking grasp spell before,Mistress Ruskettle?"
The remaining Night Master engaging Olive was dis- tracted just enough by the fall of his fellow for Olive to deal him a critical blow. Kimbel-moved on to give another shocking grasp to the Night Master battling Jamal.
In the meantime, Winterhart dispatched the Night Master before her with professional precision just before the Faceless returned to the fray. Olive turned to a corner where two Night Masters without swords cowered, waiting for the tide to carry them one way or the other. Olive barked an order for them to surrender or fight. To the halfling's delight, they surrendered.
Jamal and Kimbel bullied the remaining three Night Masters into lying with their hands over their heads. Olive looked out across the hall. The superior teamwork of the watch was delivering the victory to them. For years they had fought their enemy in the streets, where the thieves could too easily go to ground. Now, however, the watch's more conventional combat training had the Night Masks pinned, and the thieves were surrendering in droves. Some lay down or played dead with the plan of creeping off once the battle front crossed over them, but these were thwarted by the watch, who dropped heavy nets over them before moving forward. Durgar was in the middle of the room, charging the dais, his glowing mace administering his judgment against those who had disobeyed his command.
Kimbel, Olive, and Jamal stood back and watched as the Faceless attempted a powerful strike against Winterhart, which she parried with a strength beyond any Olive might have credited to a halfling. "Admit your guilt, Victor Dhostar," Winterhart demanded, "and surrender to the watch, or you will pay for your crimes with your life."
The Faceless snarled like a beast, but admitted nothing, and neither did he surrender. He and Winterhart battled on. It soon became apparent which combatant had more skill. Every stab the Faceless delivered to the halfling she matched and bettered.
Olive was just beginning to realize that there was something familiar about Winterhart's parries and attacks when the Faceless's blade caught on the fabric of the young halfling's sleeve and tore it away from her arm.
Olive gasped, and even the Faceless stepped back in surprise. Winterhart's right arm was marked by an azure brand, a tattoo of thorns and cresting waves, with a blue rose at her wrist.
"I knew she had to be a cheap hero," Jamal declared-with a chuckle. Beside the actress, Kimbel muttered some unintelligible spell words.
A shimmer of light rippled across Winterhart's body and the halfling began to transform before their eyes. Her frame grew to human size, her muscles took on the definition of a warrior in training, and her plump cheeks and rounded chin grew more drawn and angular. She became the former defender of Westgate-Alias the Sell-Sword. With the polymorph magic dispelled, the chain-mail armor, boots, and cloak she'd worn upon her transformation into a halfling were now revealed. The scar from Victor's ring still blazed across her cheek.
AHas swung her weapon with an uncustomary fierceness and let out a blood-curdling battle cry as she dashed at the Faceless. Shocked, the Night Mask retreated three steps, stumbled on his long robes, and fell on his back. The swordswoman stepped up to her foe and set her booted foot down on his sword hand, keeping enough pressure on it to prevent him from raising it. With the tip of her blade she pried off the coin mask, which obscured his features.
Victor Dhostar's face appeared at her feet. "I should make you pay for your crimes now, with your blood," Alias said coolly, "but I will give you instead to Durgar for trial. The quick death of a warrior is too good for you."
"Alias, my darling, no!" Victor cried. "It wasn't me! It was Kimbel! He was never enchanted to serve my family. It happened the other way around. All those years ago, he put me under his spell so he could use my family and finally destroy them. I tried to resist, but he was too strong. All I have done has been at his command. He is the true Faceless." "Why did he help us in combat then?" Olive demanded.
"And why," Durgar said, climbing the stairs to the dais, "did he turn over all the Night Masters' books to me and dispel all their magic yesterday?"
Victor glared up at the assassin standing beside Jamal. "You will pay for your treachery!" he screamed. Pointing a ringed finger at the assassin, he snarled, "Kreggarish."
Kimbel grabbed the sides of his enchanted mask, screaming as Mehnan had when he had been branded.