“Thought you’d like it,” Aurelia said. “By the way, just don’t say much more.”
“What happens if I say much more?”
One might as well have dumped seven buckets of water on him at once. The room roared with a downpour mightier than nature could ever muster.
“Aaah, make it stop!” the half-orc screamed. Both girls were too busy laughing, however, to tell him how. “Daah, stupid rain! Less, less!” The rain softened back to a tolerable level. He shook water out of his ears while the girls continued laughing.
“Think you’re soooo funny,” he grumbled.
“Of course.” Delysia drummed her fingers against the door, smiling at Harruq. “You can say cold and warm to change the temperature.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Aurelia jabbed Delysia in the ribs, her grin still mischievous. “Think he’s done in there already?”
“I’d say so,” the priestess replied. “We did soak him pretty good, didn’t we?”
“What’re you two up to now?” the wary half-orc asked.
“Say ‘dry’ Harruq,” Aurelia ordered.
“No. I don’t trust you.”
“Fine, I will.” The elf hoisted herself up and stuck her neck through the top of the door. Harruq spun around, blushing furiously. The elf laughed and said, “dry very hard.”
Massive winds slammed Harruq from one side of the room. He struggled against it, but eventually flew back, the impact with the wall taking away his breath.
“I hate you, Aurry!” he shouted when his senses returned.
“I love you!” she shouted back. She poked her head in once more, took a good look at the half-orc while Delysia opened her mouth in shock, and then said the word ‘done.’
The wind stopped. All was quiet in the room. Aurelia stepped back while the priestess mouthed a question.
“It’ll do,” Aurelia said. Both burst out laughing.
“Can I have my clothes now?” a humbled and embarrassed Harruq asked from inside.
“Here you go,” Delysia said, tossing the dirty clothes over the top of the door. “Although you really should keep those in there with you when you wash.”
Both decided the curses coming from inside were not appropriate for female ears, so they left. Qurrah met them at the door to the tower.
“What’s so amusing?” he asked.
“Your brother is just so cute,” Aurelia said.
“Especially when he’s all wet and grumpy,” Delysia added. Qurrah remained outside as they left. He shook his head, honestly bewildered.
“Dezrel will rue the day those two met,” he said. Harruq showed up, his armor in his arms. He was completely dry.
“Have fun with the girls, I guess?” Qurrah asked.
“Shut up,” Harruq said. “And I’m never bathing again.”
Still clueless, Qurrah could only laugh at his brother’s anger as Harruq stomped upstairs in a huff.
H aern slipped inside Tarlak’s room, shutting the door silently. The wizard sat as his desk, pouring over maps of Dezrel.
“Thanks for coming, Haern,” Tarlak said without looking up.
“You’ve become more perceptive.”
Tarlak chuckled. “Nope. Aurelia cast a few spells on my room at my request. Clever girl, really. I’ll know when someone enters, or is listening, watching, or scrying. We’re safe here. You can take that hood off if you want.”
“Do you trust her?”
The wizard looked up from his notes. “Of course I do. Don’t you?”
Haern shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“Then don’t take your hood off yet,” was the wizard’s reply. “Not too complicated.” He gestured to the seat before his desk. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
The assassin crossed the room and sat. He glanced around, sighed, and then removed the hood. Long, curly gold hair danced with a shake of his head. Tarlak glanced at the face of his friend and sighed. He would die to have Haern’s looks, yet all the assassin did was keep his features hidden underneath his hood, all so he could go unnoticed whenever he wished.
“You really don’t have your priorities straight,” Tarlak muttered.
“How so?” Haern asked. His voice was clear and firm, the whisper vanishing along with the hood.
“Never mind. We have a problem.”
Haern leaned forward, scanning the documents and maps littering Tarlak’s desk. “What is it?”
The wizard sighed and collapsed in his chair. “I don’t know what it is, and that’s the problem. Something big is going on. When was the last time any of our contacts gave you information worth a damn?”
A hand ran through the golden hair as he thought. “Two months at least. Maybe three. Are you worried my network has been compromised?”
“In a way, yes.”
Tarlak leaned forward, propping his chin on his fists. “The guilds are planning something, something that makes our bribes weak by comparison. Our contacts have suddenly grown stupid. What could all five guilds be working on that benefits everyone from top to bottom?”
“Nothing,” Haern said. “Only a return to the days of old would carry such charm.”
“So who stands in the way of returning back to the days of fleecing the rich and robbing the merchants?”
“The heads of all the guilds are owned mind and soul by the nobles,” Haern said. “They wouldn’t dare risk losing the protection money they earn.”
“Even if they could earn more by taking it?”
Haern shrugged. “There’d be the risk of being caught, having the other guilds cannibalize and destroy them, and of course, there’s me. Any chance would require complete cooperation of four guild masters, possibly all five.”
Tarlak nodded. He had come to the same conclusion.
“And that is the problem, Haern. One of your guys, Hensley, has passed us word that an attempt on guildmaster Thren will be made in two days.”
“Why, to replace him with his second in command?”
Tarlak picked up a glass full of violet liquid and drank. Smacking his lips, he put it back down and spoke.
“Perhaps. It fits, doesn’t it? Cooperation is needed, so the lower underlings, thinking a tougher leader might get them more money, arrange to have their current guildmaster killed. He is owned by the nobles, after all.”
“You think this is a trap,” Haern stated.
“I do. Hensley is the lowest rung on a ladder two feet deep in dung. No way would he know about such a plan.”
The assassin leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he lost himself in thought. “Why the trap, though?” he wondered.
“You said it yourself,” Tarlak said with a shrug. “If all the guilds cooperate, they won’t be caught, and no one will cannibalize the other. So what is left that threatens them?”
“Me,” Haern said, pulling the hood back over his face. A shadow immediately engulfed his face, born of magic. Only his blue eyes and his firm chin pierced out from his hood.
“Yes, the Watcher of the King, paid handsomely to ensure peace among the thief guilds by removing all who would turn our streets to anarchy. Well, it appears your efforts have earned you many enemies.”
“I must visit my contacts,” he whispered, turning to go.
“No,” Tarlak said. His voice gave no room for argument. “You kill them and they’ll know we see their bait for what it is. We’re going to willingly spring this trap.”
“Why?” Haern asked.
“Because someone organized all this, and I want to know who. Besides, a lesson to the underworld not to
