Without taking his eyes from Poiniard and Mheren, Lithome pressed a hidden
catch in the wall, and a disguised section of the tunnel slid away,
revealing a secret passage. Smiling politely, the rogue gestured towards
it. "Our Lady awaits," he said. "I'll be right behind you."
Mheren hestitated, so Poiniard led the way. This was an entrance to the Guild Hall, and he held no doubts they were being watched by hidden eyes. Trying to break out on their own would only raise every thief in the city against them. If they wanted the Dark Lady's help, the best way to get it would be by obeying Guild protocols.
"You know," said Lithome, from behind them, "I've heard a few reports on you, Poiniard."
"Heh," Poiniard chuckled. "Nothing bad, I hope."
"Well, you pay your dues, at least. Grimsley and Blaylock tell me you've become quite the lock-picker."
"We all get lucky, sometimes."
"That we do," Lithome said. Mheren could almost feel him watching her from behind.
They came to a torchlit room with other narrow tunnels branching off in various directions. "That's far enough," Lithome said. Three burly rogues stood there, watching for signs of trouble and alert for any signal from Lithome. For some reason, they appeared uneasy.
In one of the walls was a door, made seemingly of gold, cunningly wrought, and set with dozens of smooth gemstones. They sparkled in the torchlight with every color of the rainbow. It had no handle, and there were dozens, perhaps scores of keyholes in it, randomly spaced. Poiniard gasped when he saw it.
"So," chuckled Lithome. "You've heard the legend of the Door of Keys."
"I have," answered Poiniard, "since I first joined the Guild." He went closer to examine the fabled door, yet not daring to touch it. "A door, in the heart of the thieves guild, yet in four hundred years, no one has ever been able to defeat more than four of it's locks."
"Five," Lithome corrected. "But I'm still young yet."
Mheren approached the door. "What's behind it?"
Poiniard drew back his hand. "No one knows."
"It dates back to the Magewars," Lithome said.
"Wizards put it here?" Mheren asked.
The rogue nodded. "The thing is veritably alive with magic. We've had wizards of our own look at it, over the years. They've managed to do little more than confirm what we already know about it. The thing is even more impervious to magic than it is to lockpicks. And we do know what's behind it. A vault. Big one. We've confirmed that with tappings and diggings. Waste of time. Whatever chamber it guards is shrouded in spells. The only way in is through this door."
"But no one has any idea what's inside?"
"Nay," Lithome answered. "It seems the last archwizards left it here just to torment us poor thieves. Come, we must not keep the Dark Lady waiting." He went over to a trunk in the corner and removed a pair of black silken hoods. "Now, we need to adhere to an age-old tradition. Nobody gets to see our little hideaway, so you'll both have to wear these."
Mheren glanced at Lithome resentfully, and eyed his three ruffians up and down. "You're not going to touch my sword," she snarled. The guards stiffened.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Lithome said. "You, at least, are a guest of the Dark Lady, and Poiniard is one of our own, so you'll be allowed to keep your swords. But you still need the blindfolds."
"Put mine on first," Poiniard said.
Lithome nodded, and placed the hood over his head, then did the same for Mheren. A rogue then took each of them by the shoulder and turned them around quickly several times. Disoriented, they were led down one of the branching passages. They made several turns, and there was no way Poiniard could have learned his way through that maze even if he'd been trying. The floors were uneven, and several times the blindfolded guests of the Dark Lady stumbled on a raised board, or a depression in the floor. But Lithome's compatriots kept their charges firmly by the arm, and soon they stopped. They heard a door click shut behind them, and Lithome removed their hoods.
They were in a richly appointed subterranean audience hall. The chamber was long, smoky and dimly lit by torches along the walls. Antique gems twinkled in ornamental brass and gold settings on the walls. There hung some of the greatest trophies of Culhaven's guild of thieves- ornaments, tapestries, armor and relics. Ancient stone columns upheld the ceiling.
Lithome led the way across the chamber. At the far end was a dais, on which sat a throne. A woman lounged there. Lithome stopped and bowed before the throne. "Your guests have arrived, my Lady," he said with a bow.
The Dark Lady was a slim woman, clad all in black embroidered silk, even her soft boots and gloves. A veil covered her face, except for her eyes. She wore no open weapons or jewelry, but her dark eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Brother," she said, using the traditional term for a fellow thief. Lithome bowed a second time, and withdrew.
"Hail, Poiniard, my brave filcher," the Lady continued. She recognized him as one of her own. Her piercing eyes lingered for a moment on his sword. "It is not often I get to speak with a mere Journeyman."
"I am honored," Poinaird stammered, bowing as best as he was able. It was obvious the Dark Lady held little interest in him.
"And you," she said, turning her dark eyes to Mheren. "Why do you come to me?"
"We are pursued, my Lady," Mheren said, her voice and body language subtly different. She spoke deferentially, more like a courtier than a swordswoman. "We'd hoped you would help us out of the city."
"Perhaps I can, my dear." The Dark Lady nodded and leaned back in her throne. Her eyes twinkled, like she was smiling beneath her veil. But they were the eyes of a huntress. "After all, it wouldn't be the first time." She tapped a gloved finger against the arm of her chair. "An interesting thing happened tonight, in another quarter of the city. An inn burned."
Poiniard felt his heart sink, and Mheren simply nodded.
"Some interesting travelers stay at the Dancing Bear," the Dark Lady continued. "A gnome, a dwarf, a large half-orc out of the wilds. Quite an odd, intriguing mix, wouldn't you say? There was also an elf, who no one could really get a good look at, and a man who looked suspiciously like one of those druids from the Middle Kingdoms."
"Those were my companions, my Lady," Mheren said. She kept her voice level, as a lesser noblewoman addressing the greater, but Poiniard saw the concern in her eyes.
The Dark Lady saw it too, and smiled again at the admission. "Now that I recall, there was a swordswoman there too, reportedly." The Dark Lady narrowed her eyes. "Tell me your name, girl."
"My name is Mheren, m'Lady."
The guild leader nodded. "Alas," she said, "the Inn of the Dancing Bear has burned to the ground. It will be morning before we can discern the fates of those involved. As soon as I learn more, I will inform you."
"Thank you, M'Lady," said Mheren, her voice barely a whisper. "Can you help us?"
"My chief rival has lost something, apparently very dear to him. He is scouring the city for these adventurers who stole from him." She shook her head. "Your friends have stirred up quite a hornet's nest tonight. My enemies are out for blood." She laughed. "I am glad it is not me they are hunting tonight."
Poiniard's mind raced to grapple with what he was hearing. Mheren denied nothing the Dark Lady had said. Did that mean the trolls were not after him and Wyrding, but Mheren? What had she and Brandt stolen?
"Freelancing is not something I tolerate," the Dark Lady said sternly. "But whatever these amateurs stole, it meant a great deal to my enemies. Poiniard was right to bring you to me. I am willing to overlook things, even help. Provided certain- concessions are made."
Mheren looked up, and the two women eyed one another carefully for a long moment.
"You came here seeking the tunnels," the guild leader said at last, "but I tell you the tunnels leading out of the city are not safe. My enemy has found a way into them. I'm going to send some of my own out to clear them."
"I'll help!" Poiniard blurted out. He didn't know what had come over him.
The Dark Lady smiled. "No, I'm sure the mighty Lithome can handle those duties quite capably. It would be best that you remain here, hidden and under my protection.
"Thank you," Mheren said, adding a curtsy. "May the Four smile on your generosity."
"But there is no reason you should not enjoy my hospitality, Mheren, and I would be remiss if I did not offer you every comfort. Our benefactor is holding a ball. It would please me if you'd attend. Enjoy the revelry. I'll see you are outfitted, provide you with an escort."
Mheren seemed reluctant to accept. Poiniard guessed she would prefer to fight her way out through the tunnels, but something had passed between the two women that he couldn't put his finger on. Both of them held some secret.
The Dark Lady raised a hand, and the curtains behind the dais stirred. A man entered.
Poiniard nearly choked when he saw who it was. Every thief in the Guild knew the Dark Lady had three lieutenants she trusted, and Lithome, who served as something of a captain of the guards, was the least of them.
"Megwen," the Dark Lady said, introducing the newcomer, "How fortunate you arrived when you did."
It was the first time Poiniard had seen Megwen, and the man reminded him of a younger version of Bhenyamin, although he bore little physical resemblance to the murdered street wizard. It was something in his mannerisms, a touch of magic, or perhaps a barely-concealed hint of ambition or madness. Poiniard shivered, and Wyrding suddenly felt very heavy at his side.
"We have a guest," the Dark Lady said from behind her veil. "It would please me if you would escort the Lady Mheren to the ball."
"It would please me greatly, mistress," Megwen said. He smiled and took Mheren by the arm.
Mheren kept all expression from her face. Poiniard wondered what she thought of the man. Megwen appeared confident and well-dressed. He wore around his neck the silver medallion of the College of Wizards. That probably meant he had been trained and groomed by Nostinaard, the one called the Old Spider, the lord and master of every wizard in the city. Few people felt comfortable around magic-users, even in Culhaven, where practicing arcane magic was not forbidden. But Mheren was unusual. Perhaps her relationship with Brandt had tempered the natural suspicions.
"Poiniard, this should be a most pleasant opportunity for you, too."
Mheren hestitated, so Poiniard led the way. This was an entrance to the Guild Hall, and he held no doubts they were being watched by hidden eyes. Trying to break out on their own would only raise every thief in the city against them. If they wanted the Dark Lady's help, the best way to get it would be by obeying Guild protocols.
"You know," said Lithome, from behind them, "I've heard a few reports on you, Poiniard."
"Heh," Poiniard chuckled. "Nothing bad, I hope."
"Well, you pay your dues, at least. Grimsley and Blaylock tell me you've become quite the lock-picker."
"We all get lucky, sometimes."
"That we do," Lithome said. Mheren could almost feel him watching her from behind.
They came to a torchlit room with other narrow tunnels branching off in various directions. "That's far enough," Lithome said. Three burly rogues stood there, watching for signs of trouble and alert for any signal from Lithome. For some reason, they appeared uneasy.
In one of the walls was a door, made seemingly of gold, cunningly wrought, and set with dozens of smooth gemstones. They sparkled in the torchlight with every color of the rainbow. It had no handle, and there were dozens, perhaps scores of keyholes in it, randomly spaced. Poiniard gasped when he saw it.
"So," chuckled Lithome. "You've heard the legend of the Door of Keys."
"I have," answered Poiniard, "since I first joined the Guild." He went closer to examine the fabled door, yet not daring to touch it. "A door, in the heart of the thieves guild, yet in four hundred years, no one has ever been able to defeat more than four of it's locks."
"Five," Lithome corrected. "But I'm still young yet."
Mheren approached the door. "What's behind it?"
Poiniard drew back his hand. "No one knows."
"It dates back to the Magewars," Lithome said.
"Wizards put it here?" Mheren asked.
The rogue nodded. "The thing is veritably alive with magic. We've had wizards of our own look at it, over the years. They've managed to do little more than confirm what we already know about it. The thing is even more impervious to magic than it is to lockpicks. And we do know what's behind it. A vault. Big one. We've confirmed that with tappings and diggings. Waste of time. Whatever chamber it guards is shrouded in spells. The only way in is through this door."
"But no one has any idea what's inside?"
"Nay," Lithome answered. "It seems the last archwizards left it here just to torment us poor thieves. Come, we must not keep the Dark Lady waiting." He went over to a trunk in the corner and removed a pair of black silken hoods. "Now, we need to adhere to an age-old tradition. Nobody gets to see our little hideaway, so you'll both have to wear these."
Mheren glanced at Lithome resentfully, and eyed his three ruffians up and down. "You're not going to touch my sword," she snarled. The guards stiffened.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Lithome said. "You, at least, are a guest of the Dark Lady, and Poiniard is one of our own, so you'll be allowed to keep your swords. But you still need the blindfolds."
"Put mine on first," Poiniard said.
Lithome nodded, and placed the hood over his head, then did the same for Mheren. A rogue then took each of them by the shoulder and turned them around quickly several times. Disoriented, they were led down one of the branching passages. They made several turns, and there was no way Poiniard could have learned his way through that maze even if he'd been trying. The floors were uneven, and several times the blindfolded guests of the Dark Lady stumbled on a raised board, or a depression in the floor. But Lithome's compatriots kept their charges firmly by the arm, and soon they stopped. They heard a door click shut behind them, and Lithome removed their hoods.
They were in a richly appointed subterranean audience hall. The chamber was long, smoky and dimly lit by torches along the walls. Antique gems twinkled in ornamental brass and gold settings on the walls. There hung some of the greatest trophies of Culhaven's guild of thieves- ornaments, tapestries, armor and relics. Ancient stone columns upheld the ceiling.
Lithome led the way across the chamber. At the far end was a dais, on which sat a throne. A woman lounged there. Lithome stopped and bowed before the throne. "Your guests have arrived, my Lady," he said with a bow.
The Dark Lady was a slim woman, clad all in black embroidered silk, even her soft boots and gloves. A veil covered her face, except for her eyes. She wore no open weapons or jewelry, but her dark eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Brother," she said, using the traditional term for a fellow thief. Lithome bowed a second time, and withdrew.
"Hail, Poiniard, my brave filcher," the Lady continued. She recognized him as one of her own. Her piercing eyes lingered for a moment on his sword. "It is not often I get to speak with a mere Journeyman."
"I am honored," Poinaird stammered, bowing as best as he was able. It was obvious the Dark Lady held little interest in him.
"And you," she said, turning her dark eyes to Mheren. "Why do you come to me?"
"We are pursued, my Lady," Mheren said, her voice and body language subtly different. She spoke deferentially, more like a courtier than a swordswoman. "We'd hoped you would help us out of the city."
"Perhaps I can, my dear." The Dark Lady nodded and leaned back in her throne. Her eyes twinkled, like she was smiling beneath her veil. But they were the eyes of a huntress. "After all, it wouldn't be the first time." She tapped a gloved finger against the arm of her chair. "An interesting thing happened tonight, in another quarter of the city. An inn burned."
Poiniard felt his heart sink, and Mheren simply nodded.
"Some interesting travelers stay at the Dancing Bear," the Dark Lady continued. "A gnome, a dwarf, a large half-orc out of the wilds. Quite an odd, intriguing mix, wouldn't you say? There was also an elf, who no one could really get a good look at, and a man who looked suspiciously like one of those druids from the Middle Kingdoms."
"Those were my companions, my Lady," Mheren said. She kept her voice level, as a lesser noblewoman addressing the greater, but Poiniard saw the concern in her eyes.
The Dark Lady saw it too, and smiled again at the admission. "Now that I recall, there was a swordswoman there too, reportedly." The Dark Lady narrowed her eyes. "Tell me your name, girl."
"My name is Mheren, m'Lady."
The guild leader nodded. "Alas," she said, "the Inn of the Dancing Bear has burned to the ground. It will be morning before we can discern the fates of those involved. As soon as I learn more, I will inform you."
"Thank you, M'Lady," said Mheren, her voice barely a whisper. "Can you help us?"
"My chief rival has lost something, apparently very dear to him. He is scouring the city for these adventurers who stole from him." She shook her head. "Your friends have stirred up quite a hornet's nest tonight. My enemies are out for blood." She laughed. "I am glad it is not me they are hunting tonight."
Poiniard's mind raced to grapple with what he was hearing. Mheren denied nothing the Dark Lady had said. Did that mean the trolls were not after him and Wyrding, but Mheren? What had she and Brandt stolen?
"Freelancing is not something I tolerate," the Dark Lady said sternly. "But whatever these amateurs stole, it meant a great deal to my enemies. Poiniard was right to bring you to me. I am willing to overlook things, even help. Provided certain- concessions are made."
Mheren looked up, and the two women eyed one another carefully for a long moment.
"You came here seeking the tunnels," the guild leader said at last, "but I tell you the tunnels leading out of the city are not safe. My enemy has found a way into them. I'm going to send some of my own out to clear them."
"I'll help!" Poiniard blurted out. He didn't know what had come over him.
The Dark Lady smiled. "No, I'm sure the mighty Lithome can handle those duties quite capably. It would be best that you remain here, hidden and under my protection.
"Thank you," Mheren said, adding a curtsy. "May the Four smile on your generosity."
"But there is no reason you should not enjoy my hospitality, Mheren, and I would be remiss if I did not offer you every comfort. Our benefactor is holding a ball. It would please me if you'd attend. Enjoy the revelry. I'll see you are outfitted, provide you with an escort."
Mheren seemed reluctant to accept. Poiniard guessed she would prefer to fight her way out through the tunnels, but something had passed between the two women that he couldn't put his finger on. Both of them held some secret.
The Dark Lady raised a hand, and the curtains behind the dais stirred. A man entered.
Poiniard nearly choked when he saw who it was. Every thief in the Guild knew the Dark Lady had three lieutenants she trusted, and Lithome, who served as something of a captain of the guards, was the least of them.
"Megwen," the Dark Lady said, introducing the newcomer, "How fortunate you arrived when you did."
It was the first time Poiniard had seen Megwen, and the man reminded him of a younger version of Bhenyamin, although he bore little physical resemblance to the murdered street wizard. It was something in his mannerisms, a touch of magic, or perhaps a barely-concealed hint of ambition or madness. Poiniard shivered, and Wyrding suddenly felt very heavy at his side.
"We have a guest," the Dark Lady said from behind her veil. "It would please me if you would escort the Lady Mheren to the ball."
"It would please me greatly, mistress," Megwen said. He smiled and took Mheren by the arm.
Mheren kept all expression from her face. Poiniard wondered what she thought of the man. Megwen appeared confident and well-dressed. He wore around his neck the silver medallion of the College of Wizards. That probably meant he had been trained and groomed by Nostinaard, the one called the Old Spider, the lord and master of every wizard in the city. Few people felt comfortable around magic-users, even in Culhaven, where practicing arcane magic was not forbidden. But Mheren was unusual. Perhaps her relationship with Brandt had tempered the natural suspicions.
"Poiniard, this should be a most pleasant opportunity for you, too."
