'We have already made arrangements for three more Games,' the fellow replied jovially. 'It would be a terrible waste to end the Game in its entirety tonight.'
'I wager you have another development in mind should your Faceless Lords be unmasked too quickly,' Jack observed. The Master Crafter merely smiled and inclined his head. 'Your resourcefulness is to be commended. Now regarding the prize-'
'Excuse me,' said Illyth. 'I think you'll have to reconsider the next step of the Game.'
'I beg your pardon, my lady?' Morran asked.
'The Seven Faceless Lords are standing right over there, in their full robes and masks.' Illyth said pointing.
At the other end of the theatre, the robed actors slowly filed in, solemnly proceeding toward the stage.
The Game players looked at each other and whispered or muttered, checking with their neighbors to make sure they had heard the Master Crafter correctly. The marching figures silently surrounded the audience.
'What is this?' Morran muttered under his breath, so quietly that only Jack and Illyth were close enough to hear. 'This is not in the script!'
In years of thievery, swindling, pursuit, and evasion, Jack had developed a distinct knack for sensing trouble when he chose to apply himself. The mysterious robed figures stood over the audience, positioned more or less in front of each exit from the room.
'An ambush,' he realized. He reached out and caught Illyth's wrist, starting to pull her back from the stage.
As one, each of the robed figures withdrew a slender wand from its sleeve and pointed it toward the crowd. Game players surged up out of their seats, suddenly aware of the danger, while attendants stood frozen in shock and panic.
'Come on!' Jack yelled at Illyth, hauling her into the nearby conductor's box and ducking for cover.
At that moment each figure unleashed great bolts of brilliant lightning through the masked crowd, splitting the air with painful cracks! and then booming thunderclaps a second later. Brilliant blue shadows flickered and pulsed across the walls, leaving bright spots in Jack's eyes even though he was not looking directly at the bolts.
'Tymora's teats!' he cried. 'What now?'
Outside people screamed in pain and fear. In the space of a heartbeat, the theatre became a scene of absolute bedlam. Ruthlessly, the robed figures shifted their aim and discharged their lightning wands again, burning great swaths through the seething press of nobles and merchants and Game-attendants who charged, fled, or cowered as their personal courage demanded. Suddenly the massive bulk of Randall Morran skidded into the conductor box, knocking both Jack and Illyth to the wooden floor.
'My apologies, Sir, Madam,' the Master Crafter huffed. He was singed in a couple of places, but mostly unharmed. 'Your selection of shelter seemed sound and well advised.'
'Morran, what's going on here?' Illyth demanded. 'Is this some kind of drastic plot twist?'
'No, fair lady. It seems that someone has taken this occasion to assault the noble and privileged among our Game players. We had nothing to do with those villains casting lightning bolts.' The bard's speech was punctuated by another pair of deafening thunderclaps. Jack noticed that Illyth's hair stood on end from the near miss.
'I have no quarrel with the Faceless Lords,' Jack said. 'Illyth, might I suggest a withdrawal from the scene?'
She cringed, but nodded. 'Which way?' she asked.
'Behind the stage. There should be an actor's exit unobserved by our assailants.'
Jack scrambled up out of the box and turned to help up Illyth, crouched double to keep low. He glanced out over the theatre floor; several of the Faceless Lords were now embroiled in a furious scuffle with burned Game players, while others kept the crowds at a distance and continued their murderous work. Dozens of players seemed to have been killed or injured; the screams of the wounded and the wails of their companions filled the auditorium with a hellish cacophony of noise, still punctuated by the frequent crack! of more lightning.
'Dear Oghma,' Illyth murmured, shocked by the carnage. 'What could possibly bring this about? Who would want to do this, and why?'
'I deem that a matter worthy of investigation but not at the moment,' Jack replied.
He led her across the stage, darting for the wings. The Green Lord spied them and leveled a bolt of white death in their direction, but his aim was spoiled by a sudden assault from two angry young noblemen armed with small swords. The robed figure collapsed under multiple stabbings as Jack and Illyth dived headlong behind the curtains, followed a moment later by the Master Crafter.
The actors in the skit Jack had interrupted seemed to have had the same idea. Unfortunately, they had discovered that their exit had not been overlooked. Standing in the doorway, two theatre ushers-the very same two that Tiger and Mantis had spoken with before Jack and Illyth encountered them-stood in the doorway with bared blades. Lord Tiger himself stood behind them, snarling in anger and vehemence. Several dead or unconscious comedians lay crumpled on the floor before the door.
'Fox and Crane,' the lord hissed. 'Time to settle our differences at last!'
Jack understood everything in one moment of perfect clarity. For his own reasons, Toseiyn Dulkrauth and his mysterious accomplice had decided to strike at the city's most indolent nobles and pretentious merchants by arranging a slaughter in the Game of Masks. Dulkrauth had replaced the theatre's ushers with his own hired blades to seal the exits. Then he'd dressed assassins with a knack for magic in the robes of the Faceless Lords, equipping each with a deadly wand of lightning.
'I would like to take this opportunity to apologize most sincerely for any inconvenience I have caused you, sir,' he stammered. 'The lady and I were just leaving. Please, don't let us interfere with your busy schedule.'
He started to edge back, hoping that no lightning-armed wizards in hooded robes were watching the stage. Illyth, on the other hand, stood her ground and set her chin defiantly in the air. 'Why, Master Dulkrauth? What do you possibly hope to gain from all this?'
'Gain? New faces in the city's councils, dear lady, terror and fear and consternation, chaos and uncertainty, the opportunity to profit by the deaths of rivals. You, I fear, are merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.' The merchant captain nodded at his blades. 'Kill the girl and the bard. Leave the fox-faced one for me.'
Jack dragged Illyth back out onto the stage, rushing through the curtain. The Master Crafter darted in the other direction, toward the stage wings. The floor of the theatre was a charred wasteland, with a score of Game- goers dead in their seats and small fires smoldering everywhere from the touch of the lightning. People ran and screamed, two or three knots of men struggled with tall robed Faceless Lords, and behind him he could hear Dulkrauth and his mercenaries lunging after them in pursuit.
'Jack!' Illyth cried in alarm.
The rogue looked to her side; there the Blue Lord burned down a Game attendant and looked up, spying the two fugitives on the stage.
Without a second thought Jack leaped up and down, waving his hands in the air. 'Hey, you! I'll wager you can't miss at this range!'
The murderer slowly raised his wand to point directly at the pair of them; Jack seized Illyth and threw her to the ground just as Dulkrauth and his armsmen burst out of the curtains right where they had stood. Then the Blue Lord loosed his bolt. White light crashed all around them like the fall of a brilliant hammer. Then the thunderbolt seemed to pick up Jack and fling him back down to the stage again.
Ears ringing, he looked over his shoulder. Dulkrauth and his two swordsmen had been fairly felled by the Blue Lord's attack. Before the sorcerer could correct his aim, Jack scrambled to his feet and helped up Illyth.
'Backstage again!' he cried.
'Where are we going?' the girl cried in the confusion. 'Jack, you almost got us killed!'
'I am improvising, Illyth,' he responded.
He bolted for the stage exit, only to run headlong into yet another complication. A tall, stern-faced mage carrying a staff the size of a small tree stepped silently into the backstage area from the dressing rooms, an aura of power crackling audibly around him. He halted and gazed on Jack and Illyth with cold dispassion, speaking not a word.
'Master Alcides!' gasped Illyth. 'You don't know how glad we are to see you! There is an ambush in the theatre-sorcerers are striking down all the Game players!'
