One mercenary stepped forward, intending to drive Lucius back another step or two, and his sword swung low. Lucius met the blow with the edge of his blade and pushed it up and to the side, leaving the man wide open. With his other hand he stretched forward, only releasing the power he had held when it was inches from the man's face.
A jet of fire exploded from his palm and smashed into the mercenary's skull and a bright flash lit the hall for the briefest of moments. The man was dead before he hit the floor, and the remaining mercenaries all took a step back in fear as they turned toward the source of the fire.
Caradoc, no less mystified, nevertheless saw his advantage. He thrust forward, disembowelling one of the men he faced, then raced for the door, crying for Lucius to follow him. The mercenaries did not take long to recover and as one turned to chase after Caradoc, the last two rounding on Lucius.
These men had fought together before, Lucius could see, as they worked in almost perfect unison, standing side-by-side as they kept their enemy off balance with repeated blows. The winding energies in his mind's eye separated for an instant, and Lucius drew one of them out, imagining its silver coiled force emanating from his heart to travel down his sword arm. He felt new strength coursing through him and, almost imperceptibly, his blade began to hum as it vibrated in tune with the magic.
Shouting a dreadful battle cry, Lucius stepped up to his attackers and stabbed with all the power he could muster, amplified by otherworldly energy. The mercenary tried to parry the blow, but Lucius' sword was irresistible as it sped forward to spear its point through his eye. The man screamed as Lucius yanked his blade free, then pushed him into his friend.
The bulk of the dying man checked the final mercenary's advance, giving Lucius time to release the last of the energies he had prepared. The shadows of the hall flared, spreading darkness in their wake. The mercenary cried out as he realised he was blinded while Lucius, following his memory of where the front door had been, carefully picked his way across the body strewn marble. When fresh air hit his face, he reached out to find the door frame, then propelled his way outside.
Seeming serene after the chaos of the hall, the front lawn was quiet, and it took Lucius a second to realise what had changed. One of the front gates lay open and, as Lucius dashed towards them, he spotted the body of another armoured mercenary lying still on the grass, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back.
Grasping the open gate for support as he tried to catch his breath, Lucius saw Caradoc fighting a little further down the street. Evidently he had caught up with the money lender and his remaining guard. Brink was huddled up against a wall, abject terror on his face as he watched the two men fight over him, Caradoc had been wounded, and he clasped his thigh with a bloodied hand as he held his sword out in front of him, trying to keep the mercenary at bay.
Lucius cast an anxious look down both ends of the street, knowing that an open fight here could bring a patrol running with all speed. Violence was simply not tolerated in this part of Turnitia. Trying to control his breathing, Lucius gripped his sword firmly and started to pad up behind the mercenary.
As he closed the distance, he caught Caradoc's eye, who quickly saw his way out. Holding up a hand and dropping his sword, he smiled at the mercenary sweetly.
"My man, I surrender," he announced.
The mercenary took a step towards him, though whether it was to take Caradoc into custody or murder him in cold blood would remain a mystery, as Lucius' sword entered the back of his neck and drove downwards, killing him instantly.
Such was the force of the blow, pushing the sword half its length down into the man's body, Lucius had some trouble removing it. In the end, he had to position the guard on his side, then use both hands while putting a foot on the man's shoulder to pull it free. As he did so, Caradoc sheathed his sword and drew a knife, holding it at the money lender's throat.
"We're not unreasonable men, Brink," Lucius heard him say with a quiet, dreadful menace. "You pay on time, every time, and you'll see we take care of you."
He patted Brink on the shoulder as he smiled, though his knife never wavered from the man's neck.
"But if we ever hear you have declared for those tosspots in the Guild, we will pay you another visit," he continued. "We'll kill your family, we'll kill more of your very expensive guards and maybe, just maybe, we'll kill you too — after we have seen how many times we can wrap your guts around that grand house of yours. Do you understand me, Brink?"
The money lender was beyond words now, such was his raw fear, but he shakily nodded his head.
"That'll do him?" Lucius asked, anxious that a patrol would turn up at any time.
"That'll do him," Caradoc confirmed, as he pulled a scarf from his tunic and began wrapping it around his injured leg. "Well done lad, we'll have words when we get back to the guildhouse. Now, let's go before we catch the attention of the guard. Split up and make your own way back, usual drill."
Lucius hesitated, eyeing Caradoc's leg. Blood was oozing from what looked like a deep stab wound.
Caradoc waved him on. "Don't you worry about me, I've had worse than this. Now, be off with you!"
Jogging away, Lucius kept the shadows. He cast one last look back at the gates of Brink's place, watching as the money lender dragged himself, sobbing, back to his home. Lights were beginning to flicker on inside the house, and Lucius could hear sounds of activity as more mercenaries scoured the gardens and searched rooms for other intruders.
For a brief moment, he saw a figure silhouetted in one of the first floor windows, arms crossed as it stared down into the gardens. There was something familiar about the figure that tugged at Lucius' mind but, after just a few seconds, it turned and left his view.
CHAPTER 5
News of the evening's events had already reached the guildhouse by the time Lucius made his way into the common room. As he walked in, a ragged cheer went up from the gathered thieves, and a mug of ale was pressed into his hands. He smiled sheepishly and looked around for the others he had fought alongside. Picking out three, he dared to hope their losses had been much lighter than he had first feared. Each was surrounded by a small gaggle of their comrades, being pounded with questions and asked to recount, yet again, their exploits.
Lucius soon had his own audience, but he elaborated little on what he had seen, unsure of how free he should be with his speech, even here in the guildhouse. When he told them he had seen Hawk fall, and there had been at least one other death, a groan swept over all assembled. He felt the atmosphere of the common room become mixed, elation entwined with mourning for the loss of a respected talent. Mugs and glasses were raised, and he joined in with the toast to fallen comrades. Someone remarked that it was a better death than one might find in the Citadel, a fate all thieves strove to avoid. Ambrose, though, pointed out that no money lender was worth the life of a good thief, and this was greeted with murmurs of agreement.
Louder cheers were raised when Caradoc entered, limping while supporting the weight of another thief. Both smiled at the welcome, collapsed heavily into the two chairs brought to them, then accepted drinks. Caradoc waved a hand at the man he had helped to the guildhouse.