My first story published :) Based more or less loosely on BIOWARE's Baldur's Gate 2: Shadows of Amn, IMHO the best game ever!

I just loved the Shadow Thieves plot, and Gaelan Bayle was my fav character so far ( heh, this is probably quite controversial confession, seeing as he's annoying the hell out of most people... oh well ^^) I can sure imagine there could be much more to him than just standing there like a pole, waiting for CHARNAME's gold, especially if he took some more personal liking to her.

There's no romancing in this chapter, not yet.

Also, I did my best to hunt down mistakes in text, but english is not my native language and I'll be sure grateful if someone could point them to me. :)

Please read and reviev, hope you'll enjoy it!

"I swear by the gods, one more time I catch you ogle my tits and you'll regret your mother didn't dump you into the river."

Rather hastily, Gaelan Bayle put away his spy-glasses.

Just as expected, he found himself looking straight into girl's dark-framed, blue eyes under fiercely furrowed brows. From a close-up. The stare she was giving him could have curdled milk.

Gaelan grinned.

"Hawkeye dear, ain't no reason to get all pissy, or is there?"- he drawled, his grin turning brazen just as Hawkeye's jaw set tighter- "Takin' as I already seen yer tits, an' a lot more times than I actually- Ouch!"

Rogue hissed and recoiled from a blow- earning couple of muterred curses as he did- then touched his side. Hawkeye's piercing gaze didn't waver, she casually rubbed her elbow.

"Stove it. Or next time, it will be blade I stick in you."

Bayle huffed, biting back another crude remark. Instead, he raised spy-glasses back to his eyes, ostentatiously looking in direction opposite from one-time street wench, currently a scout for the Shadow Thieves and his working partner.

In many ways, Hawkeye was a fine lass. Especially if one could overlook her haughty attitude - he generously chosen noblewoman's upbringing to blame - or open disdain she has been showing towards male kind - to which Gaelan sadly and self-admittedly contributed - or the emotional detachment he found downright disturbing.

He couldn't honestly say if he had ever seen the girl laugh.

Or cry, for that matter.

All in all, he had come to knew Hawkeye well enough to understand that when cranky, she was best left alone.

Meaning now.

But then, he thought glancing around, who wasn't cranky?

The strange guild war stuff of late left everyone on the edge and wary, compromising integrity of what even in a high days wasn't exactly trusting bunch. First came the wave of unexplained dissapearances, then whole groups of long-time members switching sides, and no one ever did as much as see the enemy. Gaelan heard the rumours about the other guild's agents coming out of mist at darkest hours of night and dissolving in a thin air when approached.

It was like the Shadow Thieves were presented with a set of new rules they had no idea of and got caught in the game they thought their own.

Then, they found a body dumped carelessly into sewers. One grim discovery lead to another. Soon, they come across entrance to subterrean complex, disguised in an ordinary manhole. Here, in the very heart of their city - and there wasn't many things going on in Athkatla without the Guild knowing, if not participating.

All the while, just a few feet below the ground unnatural malice lurked.

Attempts to infiltrate hidden dungeon failed miserably, as no one sent in have ever returned. So, the jig was called, and here they were.

Rogue groaned inaudibly.

If there was something worse than sitting on the arse and pretending all was nice and dandy, this was it.

Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. It was killing him.

"Oy! Keep yer bloomin' boot away from my nose, will ya?"

Gaelan winced, unsuccesfuly trying to straighten his numb leg. Tingling in the ankle has grown infuriating. He felt as if he shoved it right in the mound full of ants.

"Sorry, sorry."

Halfling pickpocket, invisible on the other side of room, huffed and jostled.

"Don't be sorry, 'll rest me ya keep it t' yerself."

"Ye're smaller than I, Shiona. Can't ye move?"

"Lemme see... Uhm, no way? And don't be pickin' on me just 'cause ye're overgrown an' all. Size ain't matters."

"It does."- said Orm, somewhere to the back- " Tis' wha' wimmin tells me."

Both Shiona and Hawkeye snorted derisively. Then, Hawkeye muttured something nasty about big cocks, tiny brains and men in general. Gaelan had just enough sense not to comment.

Orm, dumb as he was, did not.

"Ye can sure knows somethin' in th' matter, isnnae? What wit' ye bein' whore an' all."

"I can surely tell you that no self-respecting woman, whore or not, would ever touch you with as much as an end of broomstick. Unless when intending to shove it right where the sun never shines. Oh, and I almost forgot: go fuck yourself, Orm."

Shiona actually giggled.

Orm lapsed in tongue-tied silence.

Hawkeye smirked, obviously intending to continue.

Gaelan felt corners of his mouth twitch, then realised how very much Orm's boorish remark resembled his own and scowled instead.

"Quit bickering."- said Arcanis Gath, uncomfortably close to his ear- "Focus. Now."

Rogue nodded. It was first time since morning the senior assassin spoke, but it has proven to be enough. Hawkeye shut up without as much as a slant glance. She just shifted to her knees, chewing on end of her braid.

Someone swore. Flies buzzed sleepily.

Sighs and grunts coming at regular intervals from every corner of the room ranged from bored to irritated to impatient to dangerously bored, irritated, and impatient.

It was a wee bit risky business, to force two assassins - who liked solitary jobs and disliked each other- an enforcer thug about as bright and subtle as a bucket of coal, a chirpy cutpurse and three sharp-shooter scouts, one of them being apparently too close her moonblood for comfort - into company for any prolonged time.

To have them huddled together in a musty, dingy store-room with slits for windows -reminescent of tower's past purpose - all in unusually hot spring day and in given circumstances, was ever so worse.

After few hours, tension was almost tangible.

If not for Gath's silent, commanding presence, there would be flying fists and blackened eyes and teeth knocked out, sure as gold.

Gaelan rubbed his forehead, and looked on the street below.

Waukeen's Promenade was busy like always, constant stream of travellers pouring in through city gates, guards shouting, people milling on the main square and in narrow alleyways and among shopping stalls piled high with wares brought from every corner of Faerun. He could hear city-crier, voice already hoarse; calls of street peddlers, selling anything from cheap jewellery to hot butter shortbreads to fake charms and love-potions; fruit vendors praising their oranges and grapes. Once or twice, he thought he caught a glympse of cloaked figure as it melted into tenement's shadow, then another one dropping off the roof, just to disappear behind potter's stall. Seagulls hovered high above, shrieking, almost invisible against sky's faded-blue backdrop.

Rogue sighed, the sound that was all in one bored, irritated and impatient. He longed for the streets and being part of the crowd.

"Something's up. See? Over there."

Hawkeye leaned closer to him, stray wisp of her dark hair tickling his neck. She smelled of liquorice and sweat. Mostly sweat. Gaelan felt his own tunic, drenched and sticky under armoured leather jacket, then eagerly looked in pointed direction.

Brief rush of excitment died down at once.

"Nay, they be no our lads."- he shook his head- "But somethin' ratty goin' on in that new circus place. Whatever it is, seems big. Whole bunch o' soldiermen under their tent."

"I never been to the circus."- Hawkeye said suddenly, eyes squinted and a few shades lighter in glaring sun- "My mother, she used to say it was good for keeping serfs happy, but nothing else."

"Give 'em bread an' plays, bet that's what yer ma said, aye? Heard that sayin', too."- Gaelan shifted awkwardly. As a rule, Hawkeye have not talked about her more distant past- "I never been to th' circus, either."

He smiled as he continued.

"But once when I was a kid, I managed t' get me arse soundly kicked for tryin'. Swear, couldn't sit up for three days! The beastmaster caught me sneakin' 'round the cages after closing time an' then, well."

Hawkeye raised one eyebrow.

"Ah yes, I wager he must have mistaken you for a runaway monkey."

Rogue's grin turned wry. He shrugged.

"Know what, Hawky, sometimes I think I could really like ye. Were ye not such a mean, mean bitch."

"Same goes to you, but at least I'm a pretty bitch."

"Coo! I be thinkin' meself quite a looker, too, so we're even."

"We are most certainly not. Sadly, whoever told you so was either blind or a liar. Ever so sorry, friend."

"Me, too."- Shiona chimed in -"An' if I hear ya sayin' the 'c' word again, I gonna kick you. Just a friendly warnin', Bayle, is all."

With yet another shrug, Gaelan turned away.

Crowd on the Promenade thickened considerably. There were some definite troubles in the circus tent, taking as by now it was surrounded by armed soldiers. Near the north gate, argument between newly arrived calishyte caravan's overseer and city guard ensued. Judging from the both men's wild gesticulation, neither was going to step back. Under marquee and accompanied by harem girls, fat master of said caravan enjoyed his waterpipe, clearly unabashed by all the fuss. Rogue's attention shifted briefly from fully loaded wagons of merchandise to man's concubines - dusky-skinned, graceful and dressed in rich silk robes.

Smug lucky bastard.

Air was hot, undisturbed by as much as slightest breeze.

Inside of the warehouse didn't provide neither shade nor relief from unbearable heat, and after several hours reeked as bad as thieves huddled on the floor did - of sweat, piss and stale breaths, and spilled watered wine.

Gaelan pawed around in search of flask, but it wasn't there. Someone snatched it, of course. Mouth dry as parchment, he could feel saltiness of blood where his lip cracked.

Someone sniffed close by.

"Cheer up, Shiona."- rogue dug in his pocket and handed her ruffled packet of fruit drops.

"Uh-huh, sure. Whatever. Thanks."

Halfling girl, squatting on her heels to the left looked like red-faced, weary-eyed shadow of her usual merry self. Even her curls hung limp and flat like laundry. She took offered sweets without as much as nod, her gaze focused on something far away.

Lenses in his spy-glasses turned cloudy with condensation.

He wiped them with a sleeve and tried to suck at remaining fruit drops, but they tasted off, cloying.

Suddenly, skin on his bare arms crawled and raised into goose-bumps even though the temperature didn't drop by a single degree.

Gaelan crouched, grabbing his crossbow just as strange surge of power rippled through the afternoon stillness, the thing so long brewing made real. The very ground was starting to shake.

Whoah.

"Whoah."- Hawkeye said, eerily echoing his thoughts - "The jig's up."

He nodded.

It was going to be bad.

For one awfully long moment, rogue wondered if the tower containing warehouse they occupied will last through the quake. Several feet below, people scattered in all directions, running like panicked sheep.

Air warped, shimmering with ghost of colours. Gaelan breathed in sharply metallic, ozone scent which was the smell of forbidden magic.

He could see cloaked figures of Guild's assassins now as they moved, half-hidden behind the pillars and among marketstalls, closing in. Carefully, ever so slowly.

"Steady, lads. Wait for a sign."- Arcanis Gath murmured -"Steady..."

For once quiet, focused, their fingers on triggers, the marksmen waited.

Wrought iron lid covering the entrance to dungeon lifted with what Gaelan could only imagine as jarring, rusty sound. He shuddered involountarily.

A hand appeared, scratching at the pavement.

His grip on crossbow tightened, palms sticky and sleek with sweat.

"Steady..."

Lid toppled over and fell to the side. Something - or rather someone, large man in armour, was laborously crawling out of the manhole. Then another one, a woman. And there were others coming behind her, three of them.

Neither was the mage they were hunting for, nor one of their own.

Just some strangers.

What in the Nine Hells were they all doing down there, Gaelan had no idea. Not that it mattered, though. He was under strict orders. Whoever they were, they had the simple misfortune of being in a wrong place, and in a very wrong time indeed.

Life's a real bitch sometimes. Sorry, mates.

Hooded figure stepped from behind the pillar, flashing brilliant red scarf.

The sign.

"Shoot!"

The line of sight was clear so far. Frowning a little, rogue aimed at armoured man, then deftly released the trigger.

"No, stop! Lads, cease fire! CEASE FIRE! HE'S OVER THERE!"

It was just split second too late.

All that Gaelan could do was to helplessly stare.

A portal opened several yards away from the dungeon's gaping entrance, away from huddling strangers and crouched assassins. Cockooned by unholy light, a man's powerful outline was gathering substance as it loomed up from dimension door.

Air crackled with static.

Bolt whooshed, cutting distance in no time, then - suddenly, impossibly - slowed down, swerved, and crashed against a rock boulder.

Ear-splitting explosion tore through the air, its raw force knocking everybody on the floor.

Down on his knees, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Gaelan Bayle watched the western side of Waukeen's Promenade disappear in a roaring fountain of stones, sand and dust.

It was only much later he admitted what his first stunned thought was.

Ahh, by Mask. Blimey. I'm so done. I blasted the bleedin' Promenade.