I did it ^^ Here's second chapter coming. Heh, it turned out a wee bit gory somewhere in the middle, but then, I guess I rated story "M" for a reason.
Hope you enjoy! R&R, I'll be grateful :)
Gaelan felt the blade press and slide against his neck.
Wickedly sharp, it stung where it nicked skin.
He winced, clearing his throat.
"An' by the way, boss, I'm real sorry 'bout the Promenade. I never meant to blast it."
Rogue broke off mid-sentence. As he looked around dimly lit room, his expression changed, growing sheepish with every passing silent second.
"I mean, Gath told us to shoot, so it be his fault, innit? I done only as 'twas ordered, an' then it all just sort of 'appened, an', well..."
Door creaked somewhere in the corridor. He could hear no footsteps, though, not over the music and distant hum of voices coming from the inn's main hall. Blade dropped and fell down, clattering against stone.
Gaelan shifted, leaning to retrieve it, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor.
Half an hour of pitiful attempts, and all the various excuses for Promenade incident he managed to came up with still sounded right as they did at the beginning - which meant, incredibly lame.
Also, sorry pretense of a mirror that used to hang on the wall beside was gone; someone must have swiped it.
Bleedin' bunch o' cloyers, them louts. Some people. They would steal just 'bout anythin'.
He huffed and almost smiled at the irony, then eyed worn towel, thrown carelessly over tub's edge and razor in his hand.
It was going to be quite a challenge, now.
Sure, even as shabby place as Copper Coronet was did employ barber and attendants in their bath-house. The problem was, Gaelan never could bring himself to trust someone so much as to let them hold razor to his throat. With a resignated shrug, he took a swig from the bottle, then laid back and ducked under water. It was still nice and warm, if not exactly clean anymore.
He stayed there, submerged, thinking.
"Hawky?"
"What?"
"Pray tell, how much I'd 'ave to pay ye for stranglin' Vynn?"
"Nothing. I do engage in acts of charity sometimes, too." - she shrugged - "Actually, I think it would make for the most pleasurable experience I had in weeks. I hate that arrogant fool."
They were in the open now, but atmosphere of forced companionship seemed to linger on, trailing behind them much like the stench after goat-herding hirelings.
They had left their post right after it banged.
Shopkeeper's eyes - wide and frightened as he sat under the counter, most of his merchandise sprawled on the floor - nearly popped from sockets when, all of a sudden, the premise filled with armed Shadow Thieves, dropping in through the ceiling's trapdoor.
Any other day, rogue would crack up at poor man's expression when Gath - who appeared to forgot that he was still holding crossbow in his hands - bowed, and in a hushed, soothing tone, apologised for troubles.
At first they had to push their way through panicked crowd, and nearly lost Shiona when she tripped and dissapeared beneath human undertow. Before they reached stairs that ledto one gallery nearest the mark, Gaelan was breathless and bruised, Orm had bloody face, Shiona's ankle was sprained and Hawkeye was cursing over sole that came out loose. All the while, Vynn was shouting for them to hurry, while Gath shouted to be careful, and the only person who neither yelled nor complained was Jasmir, their third scout - which in turn wasn't much of an indicative, as she was mute.
Gallery was empty for a change, stalls abonadoned and shop doors ajar, and they had run as if chased by pack of hell hounds - gravel and shattered glass crunching under boots, their rushed steps not even verging on stealthy as they echoed through oddly deserted alleyway.
Here, as soon as they took positions, quarrel broke anew.
Vynn, second-in-command of their group, stood with arms crossed, his eyes narrowed to angry slits. Usually calm and composed Arcanis Gath paced restlessly along banister.
"Shiona needs to see healer. Orm and Jasmir, too. Others are armed too light and exhausted. No one expected-"
"We should wait."
"I already decided, and I'm sending them back. At least those who are hurt."
"But they're not bleeding to death as we speak, yes? The circumstances have changed!" - younger assassin snorted - "As far as I know, the damned Promenade being blown into bits wasn't included in the plans either!"
Gaelan flinched, then shifted on his feet, eyeing the site of explosion.
Though he really hated to admit it, Vynn had the point. They were not done yet.
As for the Promenade, it looked as bad as one could imagine.
Gate was gone, reduced to smouldering pile of rabble, not even as much as two bricks left to hold together, and there was huge chunk of the wall missing, and another one looking about to collapse. Water gushed from ruined fountain; the statue that once decorated it stood headless, wingless, with its marble arms untouched by the explosion and still raised in what now looked like accusation. Remnants of several wagons burned steadily where the calishyte caravan was.
Briefly, rogue wondered what had become of rich man and his concubines.
Sure enough, it's been mere minutes after the blast, but people already gathered around, both common folk and nobles milling and gawking, crying for water-cart to be brought, cordon of city guards trying to hold the crowd in reins.
It was not needed, as far as he could tell. There was something else that kept them well away.
He frowned.
There was an empty space, ring of earth littered with shards of marble, a nobody's land that not a single person dared to stomp so far. And then, right in the middle of it, was a wall of thick bluish-black vapour, neither smoke nor mist, reeking of ozone and rusted metal.
It hung immobile, undisturbed by a breeze, covering the place where the dungeon entrance was. Sickly light flickered through it now and then.
The silence was eerie.
No sound ever came from behind magic curtain. No one stepped out of it.
No, it wasn't over.
"Smells o' rat, eh?"
Hawkeye's forehead creased with worry. She wasn't looking at him.
"Indeed. An ugly, nasty rotting rat at that."
Gath came to squat on his heels beside them, sighing.
He looked quite distressed, but then, though occasionally charged with leadership over some bigger actions, it was widely known that senior assassin considered company of two a crowd.
Managing group of half of a dozen bickering thieves must have been trying on him.
"It takes awhile for spells like this one to dissolve."- he murmured, running hand through his pale hair - "He might be lying dead there, just as well."
"Or, just as well, he might not." - Hawkeye said, scowling as per usual.
There was wind blowing steadily now, and people shouted, passing along buckets of water, clouds of steam rising into air where it was thrown over burning debris.
Gaelan cleared his throat; Arcanis stirred, looking at him wearily.
"Yes?"
"It can be not th' best idea, now, but I be thinkin'-"
"Gods."- Hawkeye snorted - "I loathe it when you say that."
Rogue bit on his lip, and then, despite everything, grinned.
It was a very bad idea, of course.
He should have known better.
"Bayle, you are pushing it." - Hawkeye hissed - "I'm warning you."
"Heh, so admit it. Ye care 'bout me, afterall?"
"I do, you bastard! I dread to think whom I might get as replacement partner, have your ugly mug happened to splatter on the pavement!"
Even suspended precariously from the line of bunting as he was, rogue had no other choice but smile. Weakly, but still.
It was the closest thing to a compliment Hawkeye was able to give.
"Focus, you!" - Gath called from balcony across the street - "You can pat each other's back or hug or whatever after we're done."
Gaelan twisted and caught a glimpse of girl's finger flicking in rude dwarven gesture.
Vynn, already down on the site, was nowhere to be seen. Worrying as it was, rogue had other, more important things to be concerned with.
First of all, he was definitely pushing it.
All too aware of the drop below, Gaelan was only little over halfway between two buildings, and his strenght was wearing off. It has been good long time since he last crawled the rope. Too long time, surely enough, which he refused to admit - right before it was too late. Now, his strained arms hurt, muscles burned and tingled and shook, and his grip was loosening with every passing second.
He could hear Hawkeye as she called him again, her voice somewhat anxious. Rope bounced.
"I'm grand, aye? Not a bother on me!"
Breath hissing through his gritted teeth, he kicked the air and forced himself forward.
This left him with several more yards to go, plus numbed wrist and still nothing but his own cockiness to blame.
Not that it was the first time Gaelan put himself in situation like this; actually, it was something kind of chronic. But then, Lady Luck favored those who took risks and seemed to smile kindly at him so far.
It was always nine times out of ten, as the saying had it.
He could hear his pulse as it thudded loudly in his ears, blood humming with adrenaline as he laborously struggled to hold on to the rope.
Six yards to go. Four. Two.
Arcanis was leaning over banister, ready to help.
"Steady, lad. You're almost there."
One yard.
Rogue cursed. He was clinging on his fingertips now, and felt them slipping, one by one.
Index.
Median.
"Gotcha."
Assassin's outstreched hand brushed past his sleeve.
He had just enough time to see Gath's eyes widen and hear Hawkeye shout something and then, it was only handful of air he was clutching.
Gaelan despised just about anything that had to do with fish.
When presented with choice in the matter, he went out of his way to avoid lower docks that bustled with vendors offering their cold, slippery catch with its pale, slit bellies and glazed eyes. Even smell of highly praised chowder his sister liked to cook made him sick, and when wafting from her kitchen, it was perfect indicative Lizzie didn't want him at dinner.
Yet, quite ironically, it was fishmonger's stall with its ordinary blue-and-white striped marquee that saved him.
Falling rogue bounced off strung fabric, trashing timber frame into splinters and landing - much more mercifuly than he would dared to hope - among piles of fish gut and kelp and baskets crawling with ocean's bounty, eye to eye with the ugliest, toothy creature he'd ever seen.
Nine times out of ten. So true, so far.
Still, impact left him breathless and dazed, and at first, he just laid there, panting. His knee doesn't felt right, somewhat wobbly as he scrambled to his feet, shaking out seaweed and prawns that strayed under tunic's collar. He looked up, but there was no sign of Gath or Hawkeye.
Crouched low, Gaelan ducked out from behind the ruined stall - and backed away just as fast.
Wall of magic mist hung just few steps from where he fell, much closer than he had anticipated, and was dissolving steadily right before his eyes. Squinting as he peered through fading vapour, he realised four things at once.
The battle was over.
In a gaping crater, dead thieves lay.
Charred and broken, the bodies - over dozen of them - looked grotesquely, surreal, the very ground beneath tinged with scarlet, air heavy with stench of blood and magic and burned grease.
The sight did not fazed him as it perhaps should. Rogue saw his fair share of corpses - blue from cold and with their bellies inflated fom starving too long, or beaten beyond recognition and left to bleed out in the streets, or fallen in the fight - dead bodies were just dead, all the same.
It was something else that made his skin crawl.
Strangers, the very same who climbed out of the dungeon, stood there, very much alive - large tattooed man holding sword in his hand; an elven woman clad in short chainmail; a sooty-faced urchin with mop of whitish hair - they both seemed to struggle just to keep growling warrior in place. Huddling behind stall's remains, Gaelan noticed another girl - pale and dark-blonde - fluttering on the edge of group, and slim fellow whom he thought vaguely familiar.
They looked a miserable bunch altogether, dirty and battered and haggard. Yet, they lived - and so did wizard, the one that hunt was called for.
Irenicus.
Clad in eerie, sickly light that writhed and slithered around him, the bastard mage looked unscathed.
And he had Vynn.
Gaelan felt bile raising in the back of his throat.
Down on his knees, his face an awful mess of skin that bubbled and flaked, leaving only bared raw muscle, assassin wheezed and pawed around, gloved fingers twitching as they dug and scratched among cobblestones.
Web of reddish glow that seemed to cling to his cowering form flickered; his shoulders shuddered violently when he touched his stomach, and then, there was strange sloshy sound, reminder of overripe fruit falling on the floor.
Girl - the blonde one - shrieked, covering her eyes.
"No! No, please, don't-"
Mage's voice was quiet as he spoke, devoid of emotion.
"But why, Imoen? It is never too late to learn. Don't you like what you see?" - fast as snake, Irenicus inclined to the side, grabbing cowering man by the scruff of his neck.
The sound that tore out of Vynn's throat was the blood-curdling scream, cut short by fit of wet, rattling cough as he spasmed and jerked, mage's hand holding him firmly in the air, his intensines spilling out in the likeness of gruesome ribbons.
"It is alright, child. That's what people have inside. This here, it is called colon. That over there, caecum. And this? This is shit." - Irenicus continued matter-of-factly - "I am positive you will understand, eventually. The other one will, too."
Blonde girl, the one called Imoen, sobbed.
"And yet, how he clings to life. Just like this friend of yours did."
Vynn writhed and wheezed, kicking at glistening pile under his feet - and still couldn't bring himself to die. As much as Gaelan disliked him, it was ghastly fate he wouldn't wish no one.
His fingers brushed along dagger's hilt. He could end it.
Mage's back was turned to him, and for whatever were his reasons - attention focused solely on people to the front. It was the only right thing to do, to sneak there and put steel in sick fuck's side. Kill the bastard, and then show Vynn some mercy - by ending his life as well.
He'd rather someone ended him, was he on assassin's place, but he didn't move an inch, pressing palm against his mouth until it hurt, suffocating with nastiest feeling this would have been going to far.
There was no way he could move.
Out of many things Gaelan thought he was - a gambler, a dodger, a daring thief - he was no hero.
He almost missed the moment when arrow hissed, burying itself in dying assassin's neck.
Vynn's whimpering ceased at once, his body twitched weakly and stilled as he slumped to the ground.
Irenicus cocked his head, without doubt staring at the same person Gaelan and all others were staring.
The other girl - an elf or a half-elf - the one with whitish hair. She crouched beside large warrior, immobile, short bow in her raised hands.
"Ah, such a mercy." - Irenicus's voice tinged with dry amusement - "Enjoyed killing this fool, did you, child?"
Still clutched around bow's shaft, girl's fingers trembled.
"No."
"Stop it! Stop! - Imoen cried suddenly - "You aren't going to torment us again, and no one else, not anymore! Go to hell!"
She lounged forward, hurling something that looked like handful of firecrackers, straight into mage's face.
Gaelan gasped - and just then, glowing and pulsing with bluish light, outlines of several dimension doors that were opening all around the site appeared.
Cowlies.
It looked day was indeed written entirely in red ink - but, of course, it was only matter of time before bloody wizards decided to intervene. Such a powerful energy surge couldn't go unnoticed in Athkatla, and Cowled Wizards were very strict about unsanctioned using of magic - unless when one decided on placing a generous donation in order's coffers, which was rather polite name on common palm-greasing.
Having crawl under fallen marquee, rogue stayed there, flat on the ground while magic missiles hissed and crackled in the air- be it nine times of ten or no, he surely pushed his luck enough for one afternoon. He didn't know how long the skirmish took, or why the mad mage so suddenly surrendered - or, why in Nine Hells would he demand girl to be imprisoned as well. She was crying.
"It was him! I did nothing wrong!"
"You too were involved in illegal magic casting, young lady. You must go with us."
"No, please! I don't want to go, I don't! Somebody help me!"
He stayed low, nose buried in a pile of kelp as grey-robed figures were taking her away and when strangers broke into argument, and when his ears rung with hoarse - but undoubtly female - shriek.
"Imoooeeeeeeeen!"
Actually, he haven't done as much as flinch even as some cityguard trotted by, stomping right on his hand.
Gaelan resurfaced, snorting and spitting.
"I swear on that goodie Helm, it was nothin' but a plain bolt I shot. I never bought a single thing from th' gnome peddlar." - he inhaled sharply as he rushed on another improvised explanation - "Err, actually, sure as gold ain't even be knowin' no gnome, cross me heart an' hope to die if I be lyin'-"
"Bayle, are you high or what?" - cool, sobering voice interrupted - "What is this nonsense you are blabbering about?"
"Ye gods!" - Gaelan sat upright at instant, splashing more water and knocking few small items out of the tub's edge - "Couldn't ye at least cough or grunt or somethin', just so I know ye're there? I nearly jumped offa me skin!"
"Indeed. Let me guess... Guilty conscience, have you? You well should."
"Huh, do I?"
Hawkeye leaned from behind the wooden screen and sauntered into the room, unduly swaying her hips - a habit she has failed to get rid of so far.
Gaelan frowned.
As he noticed straight away, she was dressed in her second set of leathers and fully geared; bracers, armoured pads on her shoulders, scimitar strapped at her belt. Hilts of several daggers tucked in her boots gleamed.
Disdainful scowl at her face was nothing short of usual, but the fluffy thing wrapped around her head made rogue blink.
Once. Twice.
"Err... Hawky, is this a towel ye's wearin'?"
Girl's eyes narrowed as she regarded him up and down - the kind of lingering look that, had it come from any other woman, rogue might have found flattering.
Coming from Hawkeye, it was - at best - measuring.
"Yes, it is towel." - she replied, her voice silk-covered steel - "And just so we are clear, I refuse to take offence. Not from you, seeing as you sit in a barrel, bare-arsed."
"Point taken." - Gaelan nodded - "An' now, takin' we're already done exchangin' pleasantries: what are ye doin' here, anyway?"
Hawkeye sat on the tub's edge.
"You have never reported back to the guildhall after the Promenade events. I must admit that I was quite concerned with your sudden disappearance. So was the boss."
She leaned over, plunging her hand in a soapy water.
Rogue stirred uncomfortably.
He probably imagined fingers brushing lightly across his hip; more so that when Hawkeye held her palm up, they were curled around razor's handle. There was a strange glint to her eyes as she moved closer - breathing liqorice in his face, blade still in her hand - and for one funny moment, he thought she was either going to stab him or kiss him.
On an impulse, not waiting for her to decide whichever to do, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against girl's lips.
They were warm, salty-sweet.
Back when she worked in the streets, he fucked Hawkeye - paid her for that - but he never kissed her before.
Whores dont't kiss.
Hawkeye let out surprised gasp, holding still for what was no more than a split second - then jerked away, razor slipping from her hand and bouncing off the floor with loud clang.
"You are one irreformable case of idiocy."
Gaelan regarded her curiously. It was an unusually soft-spoken thing for girl to say. She stood now with her back turned, but from the hard, stiff set of her shoulders, he could tell she was fuming.
"There's smoke comin' out yer ears, Hawky." - he grinned - "Does it mean ye didn't like it?"
"I care not for your silly antics. And seeing as you obviously must have fallen on your head-"
"Not exactly, but I does had me fair share of fallin' today, sure enough."
"Yes, and the fact you are still alive just proves that you have more luck than wits! - she snarled - "What in the Nine Hells made you crawl this bloody rope?"
"Well-"
"Don't you ever dare to do that to me again."
"Oh, wait." - rogue cocked his head - "Ye really worried 'bout me, did ye not?"
Hawkeye recoiled and thrown towel into his face.
"I told you already, and I hate to repeat myself, you know." - she replied in tone that could freeze the water - "And just so you don't get any ideas, I'm not here for the pleasure of your company, which despite what you may be thinking, is rather dubious. Boss is looking for you, so better get dressed, fast. You are going to have guests."
Gaelan blinked.
"What, now?"
"You never reported back; I would have told you earlier, have you not insisted on playing daft. Oh, and I hope you are not far down this bottle?"
"Nay. And this is healin' potion."
"Of course, that explain the reason why you reek of whiskey. How come I never guessed so myself?"
"They be nasty stuff, them medicaments" - he shrugged - "I only added a little somethin' stronger to kill the taste."
"I wouldn't mind something stronger myself, dear lad."- said smooth, distinctive male voice - "But not mixed, if you please."
Gaelan stiffled a curse and threw Hawkeye accusing glare - at which she responded with quite a smug smirk - when two men, equally slim, one just slightly taller than other - walked into room, floor barely creaking under their feet.
Mask, this day has no end, he thought. It was just like him - first being stuck in blasted tower, then landing with his nose in a pile of fish guts, and now, this. Receiving visit from Spymaster and Silhouette of Burglars while naked and sitting in a barrel.
Things couldn't have got any more awkward.
Left with no other choice, Gaelan reached behind and raised his dagger in salute, grinning furiously all the while.
"Master, sir." - he said, bowing - "Er, sorry. Wasn't expectin to see ye's, sure as gold."
Judging from their expressions, Oryal Forestal and Renal Bloodscalp found the situation about as humorous.