“Delysia?”
A soft chuckle escaped the invisible wizard’s throat.
“Aye. He may not look it, but a small gold emblem of the mountain hangs from his neck. Ashhur saved him. In turn, Haern has saved us a hundred times over.”
The group of men reached the warehouse, opened the door, and marched inside. The door slammed shut behind them.
“Fun time. Do you know pass-wall?”
Aurelia shook her head, and then laughed when she realized the wizard would not be able to see. “No, I don’t,” she said.
“Very well, I was prepared for that. Um, hrm. Say something, I need to grab your hand.”
“Over here.”
She reached out her hands and slowly searched the air.
“Here?” he asked.
“To your left.”
“You mean here?”
“Other left. My left, wait, never mind, that won’t work will it?”
“Here you are.” A hand suddenly wrapped around her waist. “Found you.”
“Unfind me right now, mister wizard.”
“Why should I do that?” was his flirty reply.
“Mudskipper.”
The hand vanished. Fingers wrapped around her arm, then slid to her wrist. From her left, she heard spellcasting. A tingling sensation flowed all the way to her toes. Suddenly, it felt like the ground beneath her feet vanished. She started to fall, but the firm grip on her wrist held her steady.
“Levitate for Ashhur’s sake, woman!” Tarlak said loud as he dared.
She closed her eyes and did the semantic components with her right hand. When the final words left her tongue, she floated up and off the ceiling.
“You have about a minute left,” Tarlak said. “Float on down and stay at the top of the room. I’ll be beside you.”
“No more whispering,” Aurelia said before dipping down. “They might hear.”
Then she was falling through the ceiling.
T ime to go?” Harruq asked.
“That’s just one group, no clue when others are showing up,” Brug argued from behind his barrel. “We wait until we get ourselves a signal.”
“What kind of signal is that?”
“Fire, screams, writing in the sky,” said Qurrah.
“Funny,” Brug grumbled.
“You’re not laughing.”
“Because it ain’t funny!”
“Stop lying then, and you’re being far too loud,” Harruq said. “How about we wait five more minutes?”
If anyone was bothering to count, and Qurrah was, it was the fifth time Brug’s face turned beet red from anger, embarrassment, or both.
“Both parties have arrived,” a voice whispered from behind them. “And I know of two-year-olds that make less noise than you three.”
Brug jumped, Harruq spun, and Qurrah laughed.
“Can one really expect a quiet conversation between a half-orc who thinks with his muscles and a human who doesn’t think at all?” Qurrah asked.
“Yes, if both are dead,” Haern replied. “Guard the door. The other side is mine. Enter at the sound of combat.”
The assassin dashed to the warehouse, cut around the corner, and vanished, all without making the slightest sound.
“Showoff,” Harruq grumbled. They made their way to the warehouse, armor creaking and footsteps aplenty.
T he sensation was unique, and to Aurelia, entirely unpleasant. Her eyes saw the inside of wood rafters, as if they had been chopped in half. Then darkness, followed by more wood, and suddenly she hovered above a large building stacked full of barrels. More than thirty men stood in the center, some dressed in black, some dressed in gray. The two leaders stood face to face, discussing some matter in hushed tones.
“What do you think they are going to do?” Tarlak whispered into her ear.
“I thought I said no more speaking,” she whispered back.
“Can’t help it. I’m a nervous talker.”
Aurelia rolled her unseen eyes. “They want Haern, right?” she asked.
“Right.”
“What will bring Haern rushing in?”
“I’m going to say someone dying.”
The elf chuckled. “So what do you think is about to happen?”
Tarlak pointed, knowing Aurelia would not see the gesture.
“That.”
The members of the two opposing guilds had drawn their blades. Aurelia ran through a litany of her spells, pondering her course of action. She preferred not killing anyone, but if things turned rough, she would not risk the lives of her friends.
“You think all this is rehearsed?” Tarlak asked. The two leaders appeared to be arguing vehemently, while their cronies twirled their daggers and prepared their swords.
“Tarlak,” she said, ignoring his question. “If someone is plotting Haern’s death, do you think it probable that one of the men down there knows about it?”
“I’d say it’s a safe assumption.”
“Good.”
The sound of spellcasting filled his ears.
“What in blazes are you doing?” he asked none-too-quietly.
“It’s all an act,” Aurelia said, “and the prelude bores me.”
A thick blue ray of swirling dust hit the floor underneath the two leaders, freezing the ground with a thin, clear layer of ice. Her invisibility spell ended, broken by her casting of an offensive spell. The rogues looked up, easily maintaining their balance on the ice.
“Oh dear,” Tarlak said beside her. “You just have to have things exciting, don’t you?”
Several of the thieves shouted warnings as others rushed to the doors. Then five of the Spider Guild members pulled out throwing knives and flung them into the air.
Y ou hear that shouting?” Harruq asked.
Brug nodded as the half-orc drew his blades.
“Should we make our entrance loud or sneaky?” he asked.
“Allow me,” Qurrah said. He approached the door, placed his hand upon it, and cast his spell. The aged wood splintered and shook with power, and then with a tremendous explosion, the door shattered into a hundred shards, blasting inward as if blown by the winds of a hurricane. The pieces clacked and broke against the far interior wall.
“One abyss of a knock,” Brug said, clanging his punch daggers together. He led the way, followed by Harruq and Qurrah. They managed a brief glance about before a pack of gray thieves assaulted them. A large group of both guilds stood in the center, dodging and weaving around spells. Harruq’s heart jumped as he saw dagger after dagger fly toward Aurelia, but she evaded all with ease, spinning her body or dropping up and down with her levitation spell. On the far side of the building, a large collection of black-leathered rogues battled against a whirling gray mass that could only be Haern. Despite being outnumbered seven to one, he seemed to be on the offensive.
“Bring it on ya pansies!” Brug shouted, barreling his way into the thieves that rushed to them. “My daggers
