Chapter 2: A Ray of Hope
Rithil crept across the rooftops of Cloudborne Row, keeping the mansion in sight at all times. Fortunately, most of the roofs had shingles, which made it easy for him to step lightly sand silently across them. As he activated his vision spell again, the red figures moving in and on top of the house became visible. They were somewhat blurry because of the cloaks that most of them wore, but it was enough for Rithil to discern their routes of patrol. He had expected that they would have such magical attire to shield them from prying eyes. Many were equipped with bows, weapons that they were no doubt very accurate with. Rithil wondered why the Bhujerban army had never cracked down on this place. Perhaps they weren't powerful enough to; the sky city's military power had never been that great. Silently, he dropped from the rooftop and behind a stack of crates; he was about 100 yards from the gate that led to the courtyard. Rithil used his cloak to shield him from sight as he moved to the fence at the border of the large house and crouched behind a tree. In the split second when all the sentinels were turned away from him, he ran to the nearest bush in the front yard. Two cloaked figures lurked behind the front windows, overlooking the porch and yard. Rithil knew that he couldn't get in through the front; he couldn't move back either. He realized that he had to use a teleportation spell, even though it would take a good bit of energy. Summoning the magic inside of him, Rithil felt himself dissipating into nothing. It was a strange feeling to see yourself disappearing, but one that he was used to; as he dissolved, his vision went black. When things began to take shape again, he could discern that he had landed exactly where he had wanted to. He was concealed in the shadows, but about three yards away; in front of him, was the guard standing at the window. No one heard a sound as Rithil's knife slid into his back. Lowering the body down into the shadows where he had stood moments earlier, Rithil stalked off down the hallway like a ghost. He felt like he had been walking for an hour after teleporting, but he had plenty of energy left to spare; Plenty of strength to get his revenge.
Adémar paced carefully around the large room that served as his "throne room." Upon first glance, it seemed like a simple place, with thick stone walls and a crimson carpet adorning the floor. There was a chair with golden tendrils snaking across and over it in the center; that was Adémar's only sign of wealth. If one looked closer, however, they could see the holes in the brick here and there. Adémar was lost in thought, trying to figure out who was apparently out to take his organization down. Had the Bhujerban government finally had enough of the guild, or was it just a hired killer? Adémar figured that it had something to do with the events several years ago that made them such a notorious and feared guild. Whoever it was, he was curious to find out; Adémar very much wanted to meet him.
"Belthien," he said, "Go. Bring him back here alive, if you can." Belthien just nodded and faded into the darkness.
Rithil needed to find a way into the underground maze of the hideout. Using a slight alteration of his vision spell, he switched to thermal vision. On the ground, footprints became distinct; the heat hadn't faded completely. They led in all directions, but one caught Rithil's attention. They came to a sudden halt in the middle of a storage room, and the trail ended there. Or did it? Wondered Rithil. Lightly tapping his hand on the floor where the steps ended, he found that it made a hollow noise. He moved his hand on the dusty planks, searching for the ridge that marked the trap door. The handle of the door had to be cloaked with magic; otherwise the hand print would have shown up. He didn't have much time; sooner or later he would be found out. After a few seconds he felt his hand pass over the slightest indent in the wood. As he followed it, he found that the handle fit in perfectly with the wood. He began to open it, but realized it would probably make a good bit of noise, or trigger an alarm. Calling forth his magic, he turned ethereal and floated down through the door.
As he turned back into his real form, he felt slight fatigue. Rithil had used up a good amount of his magic; that wasn't good. He knew that there would be difficult fights ahead, and he needed all the strength he could get. Dusting off his cloak, he continued carefully down the black hallway.
Belthien heard Rithil's footsteps echoing down the hallway. A normal man couldn't have heard them, but he had developed exceptional hearing over the years of his stealth training. Pulling four long, thin kunai out of their holsters, he waited for the opportune moment as he hid in a small cove in the wall. This was his moment do what Ralis had failed to do, he thought. If he could become better than Ralis, he would kill him, he thought to himself. Men like him should not be allowed to stay at large, killing for their own amusement. Until then, he just had to live with Ralis as best he could.
Rithil felt a trap coming before he even reached Belthien's range of attack. He switched to his thermal vision silently; just as he had thought, a figure crouched far down the hall in an alcove, waiting for him. Rithil continued to walk as if he sensed nothing; he waited for the strike. It would take instant reaction to counter whatever was in store; it was a trick Rithil had perfected. His senses were heightened because of the pitch black darkness; his own heart seemed to beat as loud as a drum. He heard a faint swish as the knives left Belthien's hand and headed right for him. They were well thrown; they were placed so that no matter where he moved, he would be hit in a vital area. This was unexpected for Rithil; the guild had quite a few expert mercenaries, it seemed. Using his only option left, he drew his sword. He called upon the skills he had perfected years ago; the ability to fuse his magic and strength to perform otherwise humanly impossible feats. "Slow!" he yelled. Around him, things began to lag. The knives slowed till they were moving so lethargically that Rithil could have walked over and picked it up from the air. Running forward, he easily sidestepped the knives flowing gently through the air. He ran until he was directly in front of the man, who he figured was with Ralis. De-activating the spell, he looked the man in the eye, watching them widen in shock. He slammed him against the wall with his shoulder, then grabbed his throat and held him to the wall. Belthien gasped for breath as he tried to figure out what had happened. Rithil glared at him with an unflinching gaze. Belthien felt a sharp pain seize the side of his neck; then it went numb. He felt his whole body tingle and go numb; blackness swelled in front of his eyes. Rithil dropped him to the ground unceremoniously. Without another word, he continued down the hallway; he was getting closer; he could feel it.
Adémar sat quietly in his throne, pondering the many things that had now risen to his attention. He recalled the things he and his guild had done; many of them he was far from proud of. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember any of the faces. He could picture a few, but they were like distant figures; they were blurred in his head. He remembered flames, and the smell of blood and battle. He was disturbed, though he couldn't let it show. There had been no word from Belthien yet, not a single hint that he had won. The implications were obvious; if this man had enough strength to defeat Ralis, sneak into the mansion, then defeat Belthien right after, the Guild was in trouble.
As if a conclusion of his suspicions, the large double doors at the entrance of the room smashed open. There stood Rithil, cloaked in black, sword sheathed, but ready to draw it at any moment. Adémar felt a twinge of fear at seeing the imposing figure, but he fought it back. He knew that there were at least a dozen bows guarding him; each was trained on Rithil's chest or head. With a nod of his head, he could let them all loose; it could be over in a second. He was curious, though; he wanted to know who this was. Rithil wouldn't attack, he knew; it would be his own death if he did.
"Why have you come here?' asked Adémar. Rithil walked slowly to the center of the room, arms crossed unthreateningly.
"I have come for what is mine." he said simply.
"What might that be?" asked Adémar, amused at his obscurity.
"The question is not what," said Rithil coldly, "But whom." He eyed Adémar with an emotionless face. "Think back, Adémar. It was six years ago; you know what I speak of. You and your gang raided my town; I remember it clearly." He took another step forward, anger growing inside of him. Adémar felt a drop of cold sweat run down his face. He knew this man, though he couldn't place him now. Rithil was now within striking range; he could have leaped forward and impaled Adémar if he wished. Why did he not strike? Wondered the guild leader. Rithil just stood like a statue, unmoving, unflinching. Then Adémar saw what he was doing; though Rithil's eyes were open, they were glancing around the room. He was trying to find all the hidden crevices and arrow slits in the room.
Adémar didn't want to risk it further; Rithil had moved dangerously close. He gave the nod of his head; at that second, fifteen arrows flew at Rithil with pinpoint accuracy. It was over for him, knew Adémar.
Rithil called upon the last of his reservoir of magic that he had saved for just this occasion. His eyes burned with an inner fire; they were blood red, illuminating the room. His voice echoed around the subterranean passage as it grew deeper. "Firaga!" he yelled. At the speaking of the word, a ring of fire shot up around him, so hot that Adémar shielded his face from the heat. Rithil levitated into the air slowly; his eyes had been completely consumed by a demonic glow. Without flinching at the oncoming arrows, Rithil extended his hands. Orbs of flame shot out from his palms, consuming the arrows, as well as the men in the hidden alcoves. Screams erupted from all around him; the entire cavern glowed red and orange. The smell of burnt flesh clung began to permeate the air. "Slow!" he yelled again, calling forth the spell. Before Adémar had time to blink, Rithil stood right in front of him, murder in his eyes.
"What do you want from me!?" quivered Adémar. He had lost all semblances of his usual calmness. As Rithil's eyes returned to their characteristic blue, the flames died down around them. The room was filled with smoke that made Adémar's eyes sting. Rithil pointed his sword at Adémar's throat.
"I want her." said Rithil simply. Adémar felt a shiver run through his spine. He remembered it all now; the face had changed, but his eyes were the same. Those piercing, deep blue eyes that he saw before him now were the same he had seen six years ago. Adémar remembered the flames that had surrounded them, and the rage in Rithil's eyes. Back then, tears were streaming down from them; now, flames of revenge burned in them. "You took her from me." said Rithil as tears began to roll down his eyes once again; he had searched so long for a clue that could lead him to her, and now he had found it. Now tell me what happened to her!" he yelled. Adémar sighed deeply; he understood now. What goes around comes around, they say; the demons of his past had returned to haunt him, as he had feared would happen for years after the incident. He let out a long sigh, reminding himself again that he had all this coming fro quite a while.
"There are things that a man does," said Adémar, "that he regrets for the rest of his life." Rithil was caught off-guard by this remark; he had been expecting some malicious threat. "You are one of them," continued Adémar. "Your eyes have haunted me ever since then." Though still suspicious of treachery, Rithil backed away a step and let Adémar to his feet. As he stood up, he brushed off his robe and regained his composure. "As for your girl, she is no longer here. We sold all of those we captured long ago; I am sorry. We sold them to members of the Archadian senate about three years ago."
"What did the senate members want her for?" asked Rithil. Adémar sighed deeply.
"I am not sure," he said, "though if I was to venture a guess... well it should be obvious enough to you." Rithil was furious; he could not stand the thought of her being reduced to that level.
"Why did you do that?" he asked in anger. "I know that you could have guessed that on your own; have you no morals?" Adémar fell back into his throne, obviously grieved.
"My group of men needed money badly; they were almost starving from hunger. I knew that a group of hostages would bring a fair price in a guild like the Thieves' Guild. That was our plan, to take them there." Adémar paused for a moment, as if to replay the events over in his head. "However, I knew we could neither afford to go there, or survive long enough anyways. Fortunately, an agent of the Guild found us first; he brought us to this Sky City. As I suspected, we were paid well, and we lived well for a good while."
"Only a monster would do something like that, whatever the reason." said Rithil unflinchingly. Adémar nodded in agreement.
"I regretted that act ever since then. I ruined lives, and for what? To be the leader of a guild of liars and rogues. It seems such a large price to pay for something so unimportant; and look at me now anyways. My guild is broken down because of those same acts. I suppose it is only a fair price to pay." Rithil tried hard to see what was going on inside of Adémar's mind and heart; was he bluffing, or was he truly repenting? He was too weary to use any more magic on a mind probe; all he could use was his own mind.
"I suppose you have to kill me now; please, make it painless." said Adémar. Rithil, deciding to give Adémar the benefit of the doubt, didn't kill him, but slowly sheathed his sword. The pair of men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. More was exchanged between them there than could have been said in an hour.
"I wish I could have taken this all back," said Adémar wistfully, "but the past is the past. And no matter how I wish to change it, it cannot be undone. I hope that you find this girl you are searching for, wherever she may be." Rithil nodded in appreciation; odd, he thought, that he was so sure of his revenge before he got here, and now he was sympathizing with the man who took his life away from him. Life could be a strange thing sometimes. Adémar walked to the edge of the room's brick wall and pushed in a seemingly normal brick. Rithil heard a loud grating noise as a secret door slowly opened itself, revealing a long, dark passageway that extended into the distance.
"Take it." he said. "It will leave you on the other side of the mansion, several streets away." Rithil nodded and, without wasting time, walked into the corridor, activating his vision spell to see in the pitch darkness. The search was still on, and he could not quit until he had succeeded.
"Thank you." said Adémar quietly as he walked away. For the first time in six years, a smile of content formed on his face. Now he could at least go to prison in peace.
The mason towers of the great, ancient structure loomed high; seemingly up to the clouds they rose, with an imposing air of sovereignty over the woods it had come to call home. The cold gray stone that formed its thick walls and keeps were moist with the dew of the night, giving them a glossy shine in the pale moonlight. The shingles that served as the roofs of the castle has worn down until they were simply thin plates of clay; some were missing entirely. Vines had grown up along much of the sides, camouflaging it with the trees around it.
"Well," said Cairan, "It looks a little shabby, but it will suit our purposes just fine." Harephane nodded; it was nicely secluded, wherever it was. Isolation was the main requirement for their potential hideout.
"It will work. Just have to fix the roof up." While the wizard gazed into his globe attentively, his partner reclined lazily on the other end of the couch they were sitting on. Seeing a stewardess coming, he whispered, "You'd better put that disc away, though." said Harephane. Cairan nodded and removed his hand from over the scrying disc; the image of the castle dissipated into nothing as he placed it back in the pouch of his robe. The wizard had always had a strange obsession with magical trinkets like that; sometimes it frustrated Harephane to no end. It was really getting on his nerves after traveling on the same ship with him for hours on end. The airship was a nice one, undoubtedly, but Harephane didn't like flying; he'd only gone on the trip because it was necessary for the both of them. Cairan wasn't helping his mood any either.
"Just keep your mind on our objective." said Harephane. Cairan shot him a glare from behind his superfluous, black hair.
"I know perfectly well our objective." he said with slight offense in his voice. "Why do you think I was searching for a suitable headquarters just now?"
"I know, I know." said Harephane. "But you know that we're not supposed to carry things like that on this airship. I don't care if you bring them or not, but keep them hidden. Otherwise we get arrested as soon as we land, and that would put a bit of a dent in our plans, I think." Cairan just mumbled something about how Harephane didn't understand and walked off. Harephane rolled his eyes and went back to sleep, letting the loud noise of the rest of the passengers turn into one general buzz.
Harephane had returned to his cabin after he had woken up from his nap. Cairan wasn't there; he was probably off inspecting the ship, learning about how it ran and operated. Harephane found that he had grown quite bored with this life; his sword had not had blood on it in several months. He was almost afraid that his blade would rust from the lack of use. He headed for the observatory deck to catch his breath; he found the room far too cramped for his tastes. His old warrior spirit longed for wide, open terrain, where he could be at peace.
The two men were quite an odd partnership, thought Harephane as he walked up the wooden stairs to the top deck of the airship. Cairan was a magician, and a skilled one at that. His young years often led him to think irrationally and hastily. Odd as he was, Harephane could see that he was extremely brilliant, and a clever tactician. Harephane even envied his black hair sometimes, as his own brown hair was beginning to show several streaks of gray in it. Though he was only thirty-three, years of battle and blood had taken its toll on him. He had found Cairan wandering the streets of Nalbina in a crazed stupor several years ago, when he was still working as a fighter-for-hire. Cairan had talked about a new era and the coming of the gods; Harephane had knocked him unconscious and dragged him from the road to keep him from being trampled by the horses that constantly traveled over them. Things began to grow from there as the two of them became friends. As it turned out, Cairan was not suffering from divine visions the day they had met, but was just drunk.
"How did I end up here?" wondered Harephane aloud. He laughed as he remembered what Cairan had said to him the last time he asked that.
"What do you think?" Cairan had said, "We're all destined to go somewhere in life. I couldn't care less how I got to where I am now; as long as I'm going to somewhere nice after this life, it doesn't matter." However they had arrived here, Harephane was anxious to begin the next stage of their plan.
"Well," said Cairan, walking up behind Harephane, "We're almost there. You'd better go pack your things, because I want to be the first off the ship. This 'no magic' rule is driving me insane." Harephane just grunted and walked back off to his cabin. Cairan followed closely behind, nearly tripping over his robe as he walked back down the stairs.
"Cairan," said Harephane, "You should really get some new clothes to wear, I can't stand those robes."
"I might," said Cairan with a grin, "but there's more to these silly robes than you know."
"I'm sure there is," replied Harephane, "But if you can't even walk in them, what's the point?" Cairan just shot him yet another glare from under his hair and kept walking. The corridors were busy with passengers moving in and out and packing their things; it irritated the two travelers.
"Can't they just find a better place to get in the way?" muttered Cairan. Harephane sighed.
"You have no patience whatsoever." he said. Cairan shot him another of his common offended glances at Harephane.
"Let's just get out of here, and back onto good, dry land." he said. Harephane nodded; he had no arguments there.
