As for the figure, not even his keen elven eyes could be certain of the shape within the darkened alcove, which refused to come forward into the light. He saw only suggestive shadows, ebon drapes perhaps, or something couched in black robes. The voice itself seemed to leap from empty air. His neck hairs rose in the unusual sensation of fear.
“It is, my lord Mulciber,” Alynthia answered.
“Where is his staff?” the voice asked.
“Lost in the sewers,” Alynthia said. “Or so he says.”
“A shame. We are told it has great powers,” the voice of Mulciber said.
“It is only a staff,” Cael said defiantly.
“Why does he speak to us, as though he were one with us and our equal? Why is he not gagged?” Mulciber demanded.
“I thought…” Alynthia began, hesitating. “I thought you might expect to question him, my lord.”
“You think too much, Alynthia Krath-Mal,” the voice growled.
“It was I who ordered him brought before us unbound, Lord Mulciber,” Captain Oros interjected.
There was a pause, then the voice answered. “Very well. It is of no consequence. What then does the elf have to say for himself? Where is the treasure he stole from us?”
“Sold,” Cael answered.
“To whom? And at what price?”
“I forget his name, but the price was three hundred steel coins.”
A gasp escaped the gathered leaders of the Guild.
“We know the name of the alchemist, my lord,” Alynthia said. “The spice will be recovered this evening, before either Mistress Jenna or Sir Arach Jannon’s agents locate it. The price was four hundred steel coins.”
Mulciber ignored her. “A pittance! The dragonflower spice was worth ten times as much. Where, then, is this pittance?”
“Lost in the sewers,” Cael answered. “More’s the pity.”
“We pity all that has been lost in the sewers,” Mulciber snarled. “Does this elf know the punishment for unlicensed theft?”
“I do,” Cael said. “It is a true thief who knows his punishment.”
“Either he is bold or a fool. The punishment is death,” Mulciber proclaimed. The other Guild captains nodded in agreement. Cael’s chin sank to his breast, his long coppery hair fell about his face in apparent defeat, but he was desperately flexing his wiry arms, trying to loosen the cords binding them. They were tight, but if he had another few moments, he might free one hand. On the floor between his feet he had noticed numerous notches in the stone and a deep, brown stain. There might be hope.
A door behind him creaked open, then boomed shut. Heavy clopping footsteps approached from behind, as he continued to flex his arms, twisting ever so slightly, imperceptible, he trusted, in the gloom. The cords loosened a bit, then some more.
He glanced up and saw Alynthia stooped beside the chair of Captain Oros. With one hand shielding her lips she was whispering in his ear, while he in turn gazed thoughtfully at the doomed elf, chin propped on one massive fist. The clopping footsteps drew nearer, and Cael heard a chuffing snort, followed by the whistling swish of a blade. Cael tensed, awaiting the blow, which seemed to be falling in slow motion.
Oros shook his head and waved Alynthia back to her seat. She returned to it, obviously annoyed, but she held her tongue.
“Kolav! Stay your blade a moment,” Oros suddenly ordered. The footsteps paused, but grumbling sounds indicated that the executioner was not pleased.
“What is this, Captain?” Mulciber asked. “Do you dare interrupt my order?”
Oros answered, “Never would I question your orders, my lord, but an offer has been made for this elf’s life.”
“One here would purchase him as slave?” Mulciber asked. The Guild captains looked from one to the other.
“Not as slave, Lord Mulciber,” Oros said. “Captain Alynthia has lost two thieves of her Circle. Brem of Northern Ergoth was slain in the sewers last night, and Markom died in the house of Gaeord uth Wotan, by the hand of this very elf. Our numbers are still low, and we can ill afford to replace these two experienced thieves with apprentices. The elf has proven his talent. Captain Alynthia thinks he should be sentenced to take their place.”
There was a pause during which the gathered captains of the Thieves’ Guild discussed the proposition in agitated whispers. Finally, the Guild captain from Abanasinia shook her head disapprovingly and spoke aloud for the first time. Long, raven locks rippled about her sun-darkened face. “He is freelance, Captain Oros. Freelancers are notoriously independent and can rarely learn to conform to the ways of the Guild. Better to slay him and be done with it. I have a promising young pickpocket in my Circle, if Captain Alynthia has need of replacements.”
“Aye, better to kill him now,” growled a voice in Cael’s ear. The breath was hot, and stank of raw meat and stale beer. Cael fought the heaving of his belly while continuing to work free of his bindings.
“He is talented, Captain Wolfheart,” Oros argued. “He entered by stealth and agility the house of Gaeord uth Wotan. How many here could do such a thing? Not even Captain Alynthia, the greatest among you, dared such a feat, preferring instead to slip away during Master Gaeord’s party, to which we were both invited guests.”
“That is all good and well, Captain Oros,” said the Guild captain from Sancrist. “But-”
Alynthia interrupted him, her voice rising to drown all arguments. “I am as opposed to this in principle as the rest of you,” she almost shouted. “But even I must admit that he slyly filched the spice box from my bodice while fighting off my capable lookouts. He then escaped us, and very nearly escaped us again last night in the sewers. I would like to try and break him into the Guild but will gladly kill him myself if I fail that challenge.”
The captain from Sancrist angrily pounded the arm of his chair. He was a huge man, a head taller than any other Guild Captain. “You are only trying to excuse your failure at Gaeord’s by exaggerating the talents of this elf.”
“Would you care to prove those accusations?” Alynthia asked as she toyed with her poniard.
The man started and gaped. “I… of course, not Captain Alynthia,” he stuttered. The man’s face paled, and he suddenly seemed more interested in the state of his manicure than the fate of the elf. The other captains once more huddled in whispers.
At that moment, one loop binding Cael’s arms finally slipped off. He tore free one hand and dragged loose the other bindings. The Guild captains saw him and leaped to their feet, blades flashing from hidden sheaths. Alynthia, looking betrayed, pulled her sword, while Captain Oros merely gazed in mixed amusement and admiration.
Spinning around, Cael ran headlong into the mountainous chest of a huge creature. He staggered back and gazed up into the face of a nightmare. Though its head was like that of a bull, its eyes burned with both the fury of an animal and the intelligence of a man. Twin horns curved from its head, dark as mahogany, polished to needle points. Massive muscles swelled beneath reddish-brown fur, as laughter boomed from its thick-corded throat It wore leather armor, barbarically studded with copper rivets and decorated with bits of semiprecious stone and bone ornaments. It stood several feet taller than the elf and in one hand held a massive tulwar, a curved sword so large the elf probably couldn’t have hoped to lift it The minotaur wielded it as though it were a toy sword.
Its other hand shot out and caught Cael by the throat before he could recover from his astonishment. Slowly, the minotaur’s fingers tightened around his windpipe. Cael grasped at the hand, tore at its fingers, but it would be easier to pry loose the roots of a mighty oak. Black spots burst before his eyes.
Alynthia and the other captains of thieves sat back down nervously in their chairs. Muted laughter issued from the shadowed alcove.
“Cael Ironstaff, meet Kolav Ru-Marn of Kothas, my bodyguard, and Executioner of Justice,” Captain Oros laughed from his chair. “Try not to kill him, Kolav.”