From behind the door, a man's voice sounded, tentatively, "Go away. I want no trouble here."
"Stay inside and you'll have none," Cale hissed.
The chandler said nothing more. Cale stared into Riven's face. The assassin had discarded his scarlet cloak and had a hard look in his eye.
"What in the Nine Hells are you into, Cale?"
Despite his desire to open Riven's throat, Cale heard the sincerity in the assassin's voice. He calmed himself and lowered his blade.
"I'm not into anything, Riven. You're not either, it seems." He released his grip on Riven's shirt, turned his back to the assassin, and pointed down the block to the half-drow and his comrade. "There."
Riven stared for a time, straining to see them in the light cast by the fire.
"The short one is that half-elf prig who bumped you," said Riven.
Cale nodded. "And the other is the wizard who torched the Stag—who tried to torch us." He turned to face Riven. "I've never seen either of them prior to tonight. You?"
Riven shook his head, but didn't look sure.
Cale went on, "This was a hit. On you, on me, maybe both of us. The half-drow walked out as I walked in, probably to signal the wizard that we were inside." Cale indicated the burning Stag. "Then that."
Riven shook his head and spat. "Friggin' amateurs. Steel, speed, and stealth for a hit. Never spells. And sure as Hells never fire. How can you confirm a kill with a burned body?"
Cale made no comment. He knew well the assassin's code, but he also knew well the efficacy of spells for either combat or assassination. Since Riven had not learned that lesson, perhaps he wore the symbol of Mask but could not cast spells. Somehow, that thought gave Cale comfort.
Riven started to head up the street.
"Let's go," the assassin said. "I'll take the wizard. Alive, if possible. If not...."
"Then not," Cale said. "I've got the half-drow. We'll take him alive."
Using the shadows and keeping low, both moved forward. As they did, Cale spared a glance behind them.
Spectators had already begun to gather around the burning inn. Passing carts and pedestrians stopped to stare. A few shopkeepers along the street had emerged from the rooms above their shops to watch the blaze from second story balconies. Soon the Scepters and dutypriests would arrive to contain the blaze. That would leave Cale and Riven only a little time to put down the wizard and capture the half-drow before the street would be too crowded.
For the moment, the half-drow and wizard seemed content to observe their work from the shadows of the alley. Cale figured they were watching to see if either he or Riven had survived the blast. They would know that soon enough.
"Wizard's got a spell on him," Cale said softly. "See the way the shadows swirl around him?"
"I see it." Riven reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of throwing daggers. "I recognize him too, now that I see him more closely. Vraggen's his name—a shadow adept in the Network. I heard he was dead."
A shadow adept. Cale had heard of such mages. They seemed more common since the return of the city of Shade.
"Why would the Network want to hit us?" Cale asked.
"They wouldn't. Vraggen's a Cyricist."
Cale nodded. The Banites were driving the Cyricists out of the Zhentarim. Vraggen must have gone rogue, though that still didn't explain why he had targeted Riven and Cale.
"Payback for Gauston?" asked Cale.
Perhaps Cyric had sent his followers to put down Riven and Cale in the same way that Mask had used Riven and Cale to put down a Cyricist priest several months before.
Riven shrugged and said, "Maybe." He stared up the street. "No way to get all the way up before they see us. We open with missiles, then finish it in close."
"Good."
Cale had a pair of throwing daggers, but also had a spell he thought would work better. He pulled forth his holy symbol.
Moving more slowly, and using as cover building eaves, barrels, posts, and the flickering shadows cast by the fire, they continued to close. Gawkers jogged past them, shouting and pointing. No one spotted them. They kept their eyes on their targets.
When they got to within a long toss of Riven's daggers, Cale signaled a halt. Any closer and they'd risk being seen. Both scooted in behind some water barrels. Cale's keen ears caught the tail end of a heated exchange between the half-drow and Vraggen.
"... was reckless!" said the wizard. "I told you not to underestimate those two."
The half-drow waved a green-gloved hand dismissively and said, "I wanted to see his face and hear his voice. He suspected nothing. Nor did Riven."
"It was foolish and unnecessary."
The half-drow chuckled—a menacing sound with no mirth in it—and pointed a finger at the wizard's chest.
"I'll not argue with this, Vraggen. If you want to have a discussion with me, you come and look me in the eyes yourself."
Cale didn't know what that last meant, but he had confirmation that both he and Riven had been the target of the fireball.
"One may have escaped," continued Vraggen.
"Perhaps," acknowledged the half-drow with an enigmatic smile. "Watch, and we'll soon know."
That ended their discussion. They turned and watched the street near the Stag. Firelight lit their faces. Cale saw that the wizard wore a brass cloak pin in the shape of a jawless skull within a sunburst—the symbol of Cyric.
"See the pin?" Cale asked softly.
Riven spat. He saw it.
"Ready?" the assassin whispered.
"Ready."
Cale began his prayer to Mask. Riven stood to throw. The moment he rose, the half-drow looked directly at them and grinned. His expression showed no surprise. He had known the whole time, Cale realized.
Riven didn't notice, or didn't care. He threw anyway, one dagger, another, then leaped over the barrels and charged for the wizard.
Riven's first dagger pierced the wizard's throat, his second the wizard's chest, but both passed through him as though he was a ghost. The blades stuck in the wall of the building behind, quivering from the force of the throws. The wizard, or the image of the wizard, stared contemptuously at the onrushing assassin and began to cast.
In the midst of his prayer, Cale felt an itch behind his eyes, a splinter in his mind. He blinked and shook his head.
What the—?
A voice sounded in his brain. He recognized it immediately as that of the half-drow.
This is bigger than you, Cale. I'd stay incidental if I were you.
He saw the half-drow watching him, a feral grin on his face, a blade in his hand.
Cale gritted his teeth. Despite the uncomfortable feeling occasioned by the half-drow's presence in his head, he maintained his concentration and completed his spell. He mentally selected a location just behind the half-drow. There, a glowing long sword of magical force took shape and hovered in the air, poised to strike. At Cale's mental command, the blade slashed crosswise at the unsuspecting half-drow as though wielded by an invisible warrior. The blade sheared through the half-drow's silken pants, cut deep into his thigh, and erased his self-satisfied grin. Blood peppered the alley.
Uttering a surprised gasp of pain, the half-drow clutched at his slashed thigh and staggered. The magical blade continued to attack without Cale's further mental command, following up with another slash. Despite his wound, the half-drow whirled and managed to avoid a second blow. It took him only an instant to recover himself and parry the magical blade's next slash. The voice in Cale's head burned with genuine vitriol, though the subject matter was absurd.
These were new pants, Cale! For that, I'll tear off your head and eat it raw.