"Cadish," Argetham, a fellow soldier at Carthak's prison, barked. "Your watch tonight."
Cadish, a young lieutenant, nodded.   He was taller than Argetham, and more muscular.  "When are they going to have negotiations?" he asked, referring to the prisoner Lindhall Reed, now a political prisoner.
One of the professors at their own university. However, being a Tortallan by birth, he was a potential threat. Particularly since he was in close contact with the king and recently fled Arram Draper.
However, Cadish saw nothing dangerous in the man. He was kindly, and the two would oftenmmake small-talk. Cadish was not very fond of the Gift (unlimited power worried and disturbed him), but he was beginning to enjoy his talks with Lindhall.
"Negotiations?" Argetham laughed. "As far as I've heard, there won't be any negotiations... unless it's with the executioner."

"What's the news?" Lindhall asked, seeing Cadish walk down the hall and take a seat on a wooden stool slightly outside the mage's cell.
"I haven't heard much. Not many people on guard, today," Cadish answered in a round-about manner, not wishing to tell Lindhall that his execution date had been set.
"Why's that?"
Cadish knew very well that all the soldiers that could be spared were preparing and training for imminent war with Tortall, but Cadish also knew very well that such information was confidential.
"Not sure. Probably just to give a rest. We go on rotation."
"Oh." It was clear that Lindhall wasn't pleased with this answer. "Forgive me for saying this, but-" Cadish heard a foreign word - a word of power. He didn't even have time to react before he was slammed unconscious against the wall.

When Cadish awoke, he was bleeding at the lip and the back of the head where he had hit the enforcement wall. Argetham was looking at him with amusement. "Perhaps you will get your negotiations for the
day after all," he said, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. "The Guard Master wants to talk to you." The man was seemingly tickled pink by something. He leaned into the young man, helping him up. "My advice," he whispered in his ear. "Is to pack your things before you talk to him... that way you can escape as quickly as possible... Before we're sent to kill you."
Cadish narrowed his eyes and walked away, leaving Argetham alone in the corridor.

The young, lanky thief lay on the floor of his cell, his hat tipped over his face.  Shemlon had once been the Arch Rogue of this city, the top dog.  He had been caught and now, one year later, Shem was quite sure that he had been entirely replaced, if not forgotten.

Shemlon had noticed the guards in his hall run off. "Jailbreak?" he muttered to himself, amused and interested. "I would hate to be that prisoner..." he remembered the other times he had managed to get as far as escaping the confines of his cell with his picks... only to be thrown brutally back in. He had vowed each time never to try it again... and be released in natural time.
And yet now, the opportunity seemed too good. The guards were distracted, and certainly no one would notice a skinny thief disappear in the commotion. Pulling out his picks, which had never been confiscated, he set to work. Three minutes later, he was strolling the halls idly, with his hands in his pockets.
"Eerie," he said to himself, noting the silence. Apparently the guards were all in the courtyard. He pried a barred window open and slipped out relatively easily.
As soon as he pulled out of the opening, he stopped dead. Cadish, the head guard of the watch was slumped against the wall there, with packed bags, looking quite glum. He gave a morose sigh, and Shemlon was certain that he hadn't been noticed. 

Closing the barred window quietly, Shemlon strolled up to him with an air that would convince anyone that he owned the very wall Cadish was leaning against.
"So," he said, casually. "What brings you here?" He was interested to know why Cadish, one so high in rank, would be leaving the fortress.
"Nothing anymore. I'm leaving in a bit," Cadish said with a sigh.
"Leaving? Say... aren't you a head dog there?" he said, pointing to the prison as though he didn't already know.
"Yes... I was. But, no matter. I ought to be lucky I am not *in*
there as a prisoner."
"What'd'y'do?" Shem asked, hiding his smile, appearing to be the "crying shoulder".
"My charge escaped... and not just any charge, Lindhall Reed."
'He got out! Who'd have thought it!' he thought with a satisfied grin. "That's simply terrible." Shemlon said, with a smile.
Cadish didn't notice the smile, but sighed again.
"Hey, you're a tough kid. Smart, too... to be head at a place like that. No doubt you can find a place to work."
"Not anywhere here. They'll have heard the news. No one wants an irresponsible failure."
Shem thought for a minute. He could use a ticket out of this place. This man seemed just the one. "What about Tortall?"
"Tortall?"
"Yeah. Nice place. I hear they've got a knack for picking up oddballs like yourself. After all, their champion's a woman."
Cadish snorted. "That doesn't sound like the type of place I'd consider."
"Beggars can't be choosers. Believe me," Shem said sincerely. "Besides, there's a ship over there with its coat of arms. It'd probably take to sophisticated men such as ourselves back to its port."
Another sigh from Cadish. "I don't have any money."
Shemlon sighed as well. So much for a ticket. However, this boy had potential, he thought to himself. Perhaps he could earn a follower in the process of establishing his own thieves' court. "Stowaways, then," he said, giving a toothy grin.
Cadish didn't seem taken with the idea. He shook his head in protest. "I might not have money, but that doesn't make me a thief."
"Pity," Shemlon muttered. "Thieving can be a downright respectable occupation, you know..."
"If I still had my job, I could clap you in irons."
"If you still had your job, I wouldn't be talking to you... or offering you an escape."
Cadish thought for a moment. He did have a point.
"Very well," he said, begrudgingly. "But as soon as we get to Tortall, and as soon as I get reinstated in a rank of honour, you'll have the justice system to account to."
Shemlon gave a toothy grin. "IF we get to Tortall in one piece, and IF you make it there without me slitting your throat, you won't dream of treachery."
Cadish narrowed his eyes, though not in a position to question the rogue. "Very well. Your secret is safe with me... but only because I am a man of honour."
Shem snorted. "Honour is highly overrated. We'll see how much honour you have when begging to support yourself and keep food in your belly," he said morosely. "It's times like that that you consider that maybe thievery might be a bit more reasonable than abiding by the law and paying for it with your life."
Cadish blinked, not knowing what to say. He had never had those problems, and it had always been easy to ignore those who had and simply label them as outlaws.
"Fine." He said, throwing his hands up in retreat. "We'll get on the ship. Head to Tortall. Never see each other again. What do I care," he said, picking up his bags.
Shemlon shrugged. "It's your choice. After all, I was only extending my hand of good-will to you."
"Only after you saw I didn't have money."
"True, but beggars can't be choosers."
"No... only thieves can."
"Ex-ac-et-all-y," Shemlon said comically, leading the way to the ship.
He noticed and open porthole. "My lord, your baggage, please," he said, motioning to Cadish's bags. Cadish looked at him incredulously.
"I'm not going to pilfer  them, Mithros' sake... I'm going to STOW them!" Shemlon said, sensing Cadish' hesitation. He handed them over and Shemlon stuffed them through, then squeezed himself in.
Cadish looked around akwardly. This was his last chance. He could try to earn an honest living... get away from this thief... and... He noticed the party of prisoners moving towards the ship. So this was their ship...
He helplessly realised that he was only moments away from being spotted and reported.
Shemlon's hand reached out of the porthole. Cadish took it and found himself jerked through the hole and pulled into a smelly room full of barrels and crates of goods.
Shemlon pulled himself on top of a pile of crates and sat about it luxuriously. "Welcome, milord, to your quarters. Enjoy the trip, compliments of Shemlon the Slick."