Dark! he cursed inwardly. Who in the Nine Hells are these men?
"Hang on!" Cale shouted. "Spell!"
At that instant, a searing bolt of lightning shot upward from the ground and exploded into the building. The force of the blast shattered bricks, showering Cale's exposed skin with a hundred stinging chips of stone. The rope swung across the face of the building like a pendulum. He gritted his teeth and held on. Jak held on too, he saw, but barely. Clinging to the rope with only his hands, the halfling's feet dangled loosely over empty air. He looked stunned.
We can't take another one of those, Cale thought. He looked down through the smoky air and saw the crowd of crossbowmen preparing another volley. In the midst of them stood a gray-robed mage, fingers even now weaving another blast. Without a second thought, Cale plucked another of his precious missile globes-one of only three left-and hurled it downward.
"Eat this!" he shouted.
Too late the mage and crossbowmen scrambled for cover. With a deafening roar, the globe exploded into a blazing inferno that left the men mere piles of charred meat and exposed bone. Though thirty feet up, the blast of superheated air still curled Cale's eyebrows and warmed his boots. That globe had been his most powerful.
Free from the threat of crossbows, he and Jak quickly scaled the rest of the wall. When they reached the top, Cale raced over to the trapdoor that provided access to the roof from the warehouse below and stuck his dagger in the latch.
"There are still more of those bastards," he explained to Jak. "They'll try to reach the roof to cut off our escape. We've got a minute or two at best."
Swaying on his feet, Jak nodded absently.
Cale hurried over and gently gripped the little man by the shoulders. "Are you all right? Did the lightning bolt catch you?"
Jak returned Cale's concerned gaze with green eyes only now beginning to unglaze. "Yes… partially. I'll be all right though."
Stubborn as always, the halfling squirmed out of Cale's grip and shook his head as though to clear it. Afterward, he withdrew his holy symbol-a platinum snuff box he had stolen from some mage-and mouthed the words of a healing spell. Immediately he looked better. Recovered, the little man blinked and looked around the roof as though seeing it for the first time.
"Trickster's toes, Cale," the halfling cursed. "Mages and Drasek Riven? What's going on here?"
Before Cale could answer, the latch on the trapdoor began to rattle. Without a word, he and Jak raced to the eastern edge of the roof. Eight feet of empty space stood between them and the safety of the adjacent rooftop.
"Can you make it?" Cale asked the halfling.
Jak shot a glance back at the trapdoor just as a body slammed into it with a loud thump. The dagger held, but it would not do so for long. "I'll make it," he promised.
They backed up to get running room, then sprinted forward and leaped into open space. Cale made it easily, Jak barely.
Hitting the rooftop in a run, Cale pulled his last dagger and headed for the trapdoor in this roof. Before he reached it, it flew open and a blond head poked through, facing away from him. Without hesitation, Cale rushed forward, grabbed the man by the hair, and lifted him through the opening. The surprised man squawked in protest and awkwardly swung his long sword.
"Dark! Hey… wha-"
The man's protests ended in a groan when Cale buried the dagger in his back, all the way to the hilt. Holding him aloft like some macabre marionette, Cale let him bleed and spasm away the last seconds of his life. From the warehouse below, he heard the shouts of still more men. He disdainfully flung the corpse to the side and reached for the trapdoor. As he did, he caught sight of Jak.
The little man stared at him, ashen faced, eyes aghast. Cale's gaze went to the corpse, then back to Jak. He pointed at the body with his bloody dagger. "It's either this or we don't get out of here alive."
Jak nodded, but his eyes remained haunted.
He's never seen this side of me, Cale realized. Little man, I hope we live long enough for you to decide later if we're still friends.
Shouts and the heavy tread of boots on stairs pulled him back to himself. He grabbed the trapdoor, threw a missile globe down into the warehouse, and slammed the door shut. The explosion shook the building. Smoke poured from the cracks around the trapdoor. He could hear the screams of burning men even through the wood and brick.
Without looking at Jak, he bent down and rifled the corpse. He quickly found what he sought. "Dark," he softly cursed.
From the inner lining of the corpse's cloak he removed a small token. Shaped as a black triangle with a yellow circle inset and a "Z" superimposed over the whole, the badge told him all he needed to know.
"Zhentarim," he breathed. No wonder there had been so many men. An immense organization comprised of warriors, mages, and the fell priests of the mad god Cyric, the Zhentarim sought to dominate trade and politics throughout the lands of Faerun. Their methods ranged from legal trade agreements to assassinations.
Jak's intake of breath was as sharp as a razor. "Zhents! Gods Cale, what's going on here?"
Cale stared down at the badge in his palm while his mind worked to make the connections-Thayvians, Zhents, Riven, the Night Knives. But it was too much, and now was not the time.
"I don't know," Cale replied at last. "We'll have to figure it out later. We need to get out of here fast." What he did know was that the Zhentarim rarely left survivors. They were thorough. Very thorough. Already, more armed men had probably secured the block. Getting out would be difficult.
"We'll get no help from the Watch," he said to Jak. "The Zhents will have bought them off. So we stick to the roofs until we clear this block. When we hit Rauncel's Ride we go street level and make a run for uptown. You capable of that?"
Jak, holding a dagger in one fist and his holy symbol snuffbox in the other, nodded. "I'm capable, but…"
"But what?"
Jak shook his head. "Nothing."
They started to head off, but Jak abruptly stopped. "Wait, Cale. I… I've got a better way." The halfling sounded strangely reticent. "There's an abandoned cordwainer's shop off Stevedore's Way. The alley beside it has a secret passage that leads into the sewer system. We're at low tide, so the sewers should be passable. We can get out that way."
Cale paused, thinking, weighing the options. Both were long shots, but Stevedore's Way was closer. "Are you certain it's secure? If the Zhents catch us in the sewers…" He left the result unspoken.
Jak hesitated only an instant. "I'm sure," he said at last. "The Zhents don't know about it."
"All right," Cale acceded with a nod. "Let's go then."
They raced headlong across the rooftops, heedless now of anything but escape. Moving from building to building, they leaped an endless succession of alleys, the voids beneath their feet promising death for any misstep, all the while harried by the shouts of men below and behind. At last, winded and sweating even in the cold, they descended the face of a warehouse and stood in the shadows of Stevedore's Way.
"There," Jak whispered. The halfling's stubby finger indicated a narrow alley ten paces ahead.
Two black-cloaked men stood near the mouth of the alley with blades drawn. Their wary stance and alert gaze proclaimed them Zhentarim. Cale silently slipped his long sword from its scabbard. Darkness would provide cover enough to mask his approach. The Zhents would be dead before they ever saw him. "Stay here," he hissed to Jak. "I'll take care of them."
Jak gripped him gently by the forearm. "Wait, Cale. Wait." The halfling's voice sounded strained. "No more… no more blood tonight, all right? I'll use a spell to immobilize them."
The halfling's pleading gaze dredged up enough of the reborn Erevis to dilute the now predominate old Cale. The butler gave a reluctant nod. Jak blew out a soft sigh and patted him on the arm.