3. Honor Among Thieves

In the belly of the League of Thieves.

Excerpt from The Hero’s Guild Civic Guidebook 244^th Edition, edited by Guild Archivist Master Tivas Kusheri

 

SAFEHAVEN

The center of life in Safehaven is the docks. Unsurprisingly, Harbor Square is the largest square in the town, ringed by large warehouses on three sides, with the massive docks and piers complex, and of course the Sea of Storms, on the fourth. In the center of the square is the Temple of Anamere, Goddess of Mariners. The Mariners Guild Hall lies midway between Harbor Square and Government Square, the two most important centers of economic activity in the town.

 

Most of Safehaven’s economic prosperity lies in the loading and unloading of cargo into warehouses for eventual delivery throughout the Realm. Harbor Square is the final destination of most land-based caravans as well. From sunup to sundown, Harbor Square is chaotic in activity, even in the winter when ships traverse the Sea of Storms rarely.

 

It is no accident that Government Square is closely situated to Harbor Square. The continued partnership between the docks and Town Hall ensure the prosperity of Safehaven. Those arranging passage on any ship leaving Safehaven’s harbor must book their berthing in the office of the Harbormaster, located not in the Town Hall or even on the docks, but in the Mariner Guild Hall, a unique arrangement in all Realm seaports.

 

In addition to the business of attending to the cargo of the tradeships, Safehaven caters to the needs of those who sail them. Along Fishbone Alley and Maidenhead Way, radiating from Harbor Square, there are a large number of drinking establishments where sailors congregate once their duties aboard ship are done, many offering inexpensive lodgings to sailors awaiting their next ship. Guild members are warned against frequenting these public houses except on Guild business, as unscrupulous sea captains have been known to drug unwary Guildsmen and bring them aboard their ships as slave labor. This practice is known as Kambara, so named for a merchant captain notorious for the practice. It also must be admitted that these pubs can often be fruitful sources of information.

 

Although the Mariner’s Guild and the Hero’s Guild maintain the largest overt presences of any labor guilds in Safehaven, most guilds have at least minimal presences throughout the city. The League of Thieves is known to be well-represented in Safehaven, but as is the custom for them the location of their Underhall is not known to those outside the League. It is rumored that the hidden entrance to the Thieves Underhall is located in Harbor Square, but the exact whereabouts remains a closely-guarded secret.

 

           *          *          *

 

            After dinner, Tristan returned to the comfortable lodgings of the Guildhall dormitory and sat in the darkness of his room, his mind whirling. This mission was only what he’d wanted all his life �" at least, that part he could remember �" to pit his skills against the most dangerous of circumstances, to seek elusive riches lost to the ages or at least safely hidden from view, and to face and conquer the most hideous faces of evil. More than that, he wanted to experience wonders and marvels that a simpler man would never know.

            In the darkness, he examined his hands, barely visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the shuttered windows of the room. Not for the first time, he sat in his bed, sleep far from view, wondering to himself, Who am I? What is my destiny? Except that now, for the first time he could remember, the possibility that he might at last get answers to those questions seemed more real to him than at any other time in his life. Knowledge of his true past had almost seemed an abstract pursuit, one which he was compelled to undertake but which seemed like a road as far away as the Eastern empires of the Jin’Sha. Now, the road stretched before him, beckoning with tantalizing familiarity. The prospect of traveling that road was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. What if I am the Lost Child, he thought. What does that mean? Is this truly my destiny?

            Tristan had always felt himself to be a good man. It was his desire to improve the lives of those crushed by injustice, and more to the point, rescue those threatened by evil. He wondered how many of those who walked the pathways of evil had started with the intention of doing good. Would his good intent save him from making the wrong choices?  Who am I? he wondered again. The answer didn’t appear from the darkness, as it does not for anyone who asks the same question of the night. That is to say, everyone.

            The possibility that he wasn’t the Lost Child weighed heavily upon him. Were he not, his Guild career would come to a short and unmemorable end. The possibility that he would be forgotten and discarded by history weighed heavily upon him. “Still not too late to say no” was the last thing Jordan Armstead said to him that evening. “Think on it tonight. If the answer is still yes, come to my office in the morning.” I could decline the assignment, Tristan thought. I could take a post guarding a caravan to Shile, or maybe protect a rich merchant. I might die, but it would be much safer than walking into the jaws of a Giant Scorpion, which itself would be safer than walking into this cavern if I’m not the Lost Child. The Cavern resisted the efforts of the Spider Queen and has been unbreached for more than 200 years. Am I the hero that I dreamed I’d be, that I think that I am?

            It was a troubling thought, but was another in a long line of questions he didn’t have the answers to. He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes, but it was a considerable time before sleep came to Tristan Scarborough that night. Still, it did come, eventually.

 

                                    *          *          *

 

            The next morning, Jordan Armstead arrived at his office to find Tristan Scarborough in the anteroom waiting for him. A slow smile spread over the Chief Steward’s face. “I am pleased to see you here, Tristan, although I can’t say I’m surprised. Come into my office; Ayren, Connor and Aquilan will be here shortly.”

            True to Jordan’s word, the other three diners from the previous evening arrived a few minutes later. After greetings were exchanged, Ayren poured them all steaming hot mugs of morningtea, and they sat around the largest of the Trinosian oak tables, sipping their tea and chatting pleasantly. It was Tristan who brought them to the matter at hand. “Who else is going with me on this journey?”

            Aquilan responded “As Cintas Tolsever’s heir, I will naturally accompany the troupe and act as mage of silver magic, as my grandfather did for Kerland Rodo.” Jordan jumped in, “As you may have guessed, Connor will lead the expedition. He will have responsibilities over all things save those concerning the Orb. In that regard, you, Tristan, are the final authority and even Connor must acquiesce to your will when it comes to the safety of the Orb.” Tristan and Connor exchanged a nod. Jordan continued, “As for wilderness guide, that position will be filled by my daughter, Ayren. None know the Westmarch better than she.” Tristan glanced at the girl, meeting her eyes and smiling. Ayren gave him a quick smile and turned her attention to her father.

            Jordan continued, “We are fortunate to have several masters of their craft on this mission. Ansurias Laecuna is one of the great mages of our age. He is master of the Red, Blue, Grey, Brown and Yellow arts. He is also a skilled healer and an accomplished scholar. He is one of the Ki-Ree, the so-called Golden Elves, a branch of Aquilan’s race.” Aquilan nodded at this. Jordan went on, “He will act as the representative of the Council of Colors on this mission. Fant Eld of the Deeping Cathedral Dwarrow will be the cavern guide. Once belowground, he will lead you through the often confusing passages of the caverns, aided by Aquilan’s maps. He is cunning and skillfull, a fierce warrior and a steadfast companion. Many an adventure I’ve shared with Fant; he is a bit curmudgeonly for a Dwarrow, but once you earn his trust you will not find a more stout-hearted friend.

            “Blag the Axe, a free warrior of the goblin race, is the weaponsmaster. He is a fearsome warrior and although a goblin, has been a true and loyal warrior of the Guild. I hope that having a goblin among you will not put you off.’ Tristan shook his head no. Jordan nodded. “That is well, for if Blag were to be dismissed, we would lose Fant as well. We also have a representative of the League of Thieves in the person of Porrin Whitefoot, a Keth who is as skilled in the thieving ways as any since the days of Simon Cambridge.

            “There are a few more positions to add. We will need a Green mage, a healer, a cleric and a linguist. There are candidates for all these positions, but the finest are en route to Safehaven even now. I am hopeful that they will agree to join our quest. With or without them, those we have on this team already are some of the best in the entire Realm. I have every confidence that this team will be the finest ever assembled.”

 “So the company will number twelve?” asked Tristan.

 “Not necessarily,” replied Jordan. “Many green mages are also skilled healers. Most clerics are also excellent linguists. Ansurias is an excellent healer, although if I know Connor, he’ll be reluctant to use him in this capacity, when his talents in spell casting would make him far more useful to the fellowship.”

 “When do we leave? How long will the journey take?” Tristan asked.

            It was Connor that answered. “We would like to leave in five days time. In addition to awaiting the arrival of the final members of the team, there will be much preparation and procurement of supplies. Aquilan will be spending time at the library, both here at the Guild and at the Acadamie Arcanum, researching the ancient scrolls to see if he can discover anything more about the Caverns that we can use to protect ourselves. Ayren, in addition, will not only be rechecking her maps of the Hills of Westmarch, but will try to get the most current information that she can about conditions in the Westmarch that may help determine the quickest and safest route to the Caverns.”

            Ayren spoke up. “I’ve examined Aquilan’s map as drawn by his grandfather. Based on that information, we can expect a nineday march through the wilderness in order to reach the cavern. Although initially we’ll be traveling through populated areas of the Westmarch, the farther we travel from Safehaven, the more sparsely civilized it will be. We will be marching through territory inhabited by orcs, kobolds, griffins, gryphons, harpies, giant spiders, goblins, ghasts, ghouls and other monsters too numerous to mention. The journey will be a difficult and dangerous one, but we if we our disciplined and vigilant we will come through it all right.”

            Jordan continued the conversation. “In the meantime, Tristan, you’ll be working on your skills, first on your stealth and thievery in the Underhalls of the League of Thieves with Porrin Whitefoot, then at the Acadamie Arcanum to develop your magical skills with Ansurias Laecuna, and finally at combat training with Fant Eld and Blag the Axe at the city guard training facility at the top of Misery Hill. In the evenings, you will study with Aquilan and Ayren to learn as much as you can of the background of the caverns and of the Westmarch.”

            Connor clapped a glum-faced Tristan on the back. “Cheer up, lad. Trust me, th’ skills ye’ll be learning will save yon life, sure as th’ sun in th’ mornin’. And it won’t hurt us a’tall to have another on th’ venture who knows his way through th’ cavern in case somethin’ should befall Aquilan hurr. Since ye are the one tae face Kerland Rodo, ye are th’ logical choice in th’ matter.” Tristan nodded. That made sense, at least the part he could decipher through Connor’s thick morning brogue. “So when do I get to meet the rest of the team?” asked the novice offhandedly.

            “Right now!” said a lyrical, piping voice from the doorway. Standing there was a small person, about three and a half feet tall. Curly, red-gold hair cascaded around his shoulders, framing a delicately featured clean-shaven face, childlike but for the lips which were thin. He wore simple black breeches, a small brown blouse and no stockings, although he wore very soft boots made of some sort of animal skin that Tristan couldn’t quite identify. As Tristan looked closely, he realized that this wasn’t a human; the ears, oversized with a thin membrane, gave it away as Tristan caught sight of them amidst the hair. He realized he was looking at a Keth. What had thrown him was that all the male Keth he had met in Shile all had beards, like their Dwarrow cousins.

            “You must be Porrin Whitefoot” said Tristan immediately. The Keth chuckled and snorted. “He’s a bright one, Jordan Armstead. Terrifying powers of observation.” Tristan blushed as the others chuckled. “I beg your pardon, Master Whitefoot. It’s just that I’ve never seen a clean-shaven Keth before.” The thief smiled and nodded at the novice. “Oh, there’s a few of us around who prefer to shave. Me, I find the beard itchy and distracting, and distractions are a bad thing in my line of work.” He turned to the Chief Steward. “Are you sure you wish me to train this youngling? He seems awfully raw.”

            Armstead faced the Keth with an even expression. “I think you’ll find him a quick study, Porrin. Perhaps much quicker than you can imagine.” The older man turned to Tristan. “Novice Scarborough, you are to be given a crash course in stealth and avoiding traps. This training will become vital on your mission, and your files don’t show much training in the ways of the Shadowdwellers.”

            Porrin spoke up again. “What the Guild is asking is unusual, to say the least, Chief Steward. The Beggar King has interceded on behalf of the Guild, so this quest must be important, indeed.” At that, Tristan’s ears pricked up. He doesn’t know where we’re going, thought the young novice to himself. He doesn’t know what we seek. Do they not trust him?

            Tristan addressed the Keth formally. “No disrespect intended, Master Whitefoot. My role on this quest is such that I may be called upon to perform feats of stealth and thievery that are beyond the parameters of Guild training. It was decided by those much wiser than myself that the League should be approached for this highly unusual but vital request.” Tristan bowed to the Keth, who inclined his head with a twinkle in his eye. “No disrespect taken, Novice Scarborough. You show commendable manners and respect.” The Keth waggled a finger at Tristan. “I suggest you keep that respect firmly in mind. The training you will undertake is difficult and frequently perilous. You will be at risk for serious injury and even death if you are not careful. You must follow my instructions to the letter. You will leap when I say leap, and at the very moment I say it. Hesitation can cost you your life.”

            The Keth turned to Jordan Armstead. “Now, I speak for the Beggar King himself, who sends you his Royal Greetings and Warmest Regards. He says to you and Connor Kerryman that he will fulfill his part of the agreement. However, he must make one more revision to the agreement in order to placate certain elements within the League.”

            Connor and Jordan exchanged sharp looks. “What revisions?” said the Chief Steward in a flat, dangerous tone. The Keth, not intimidated in the least, said mildly “First that should Tristan Scarborough survive and complete his training, he must be given standing within the League.” Again, Jordan and Connor exchanged glances. Finally, Jordan nodded. “Agreed. What other revisions?”

            The Keth smiled and spoke again. “Rather than a standard share of any unrelated treasure acquired during the venture, the Beggar King believes that two shares are now in order since there will be two League representatives on the trip instead of just one.” Connor burst out laughing. “He nae misses a trick, the Beggar King” said the highlander. The Keth smiled at that. “No, he surely doesn’t, Ranger Kerryman. So, what say you Chief Steward?”

            Jordan replied without hesitation. “The Beggar King shall have his second share if Tristan is willing. After all, it’s his share that’s at stake.” The Chief Steward turned to the novice. “I do not know what the standard tithing is to the League, but as Chief Steward, I am willing to forego your usual Guild tithing so that you may submit tithing to the League. Fair enough?” The novice frowned a moment. “As long as I receive Guild credit for what I obtain in the field, I see no reason to complain.”

            The Chief Steward turned back to the Keth. “If the League is willing to allow the Guild to log the treasure first for the sake of the boy’s standing, I believe we are in agreement.” The Keth nodded. “The Guild may certainly perform their accounting before the tithing is turned over to us. We are in agreement, Chief Steward.” Jordan nodded, obviously relieved. “Fair enough,” he said. “Is that all?”

            Now the Master Thief looked troubled. “I would wish it known that I am not pleased that I have not been informed as to the nature of this quest and what I may expect to encounter. The Beggar King has ordered it so, however, and since I am the King’s man, his will is my mission, so I embark on this journey blind to what it is we seek. To this regard, the Beggar King has asked me to say this, and these are his words I repeat, as he himself told me to say them.” The Keth’s aspect changed a little as he quoted his liege. “’I understand your reluctance to inform Porrin as to the nature of the quest, and on this subject we are of a mind. As long as his safety is not compromised, let him remain unenlightened. Should circumstances provide that his ignorance places him in harms way, you must inform him what you seek, for I’ll not risk any thief, no matter how great the prize.’” Porrin paused before continuing. “He also said that you need not fear the Beggar King in this matter, for in this we are united; the prophecies of Zennar, Achaban and Tsorus must be allowed to unfold as written.”

            Jordan and Aquilan exchanged a glance that Tristan had trouble reading, but thought might be relief. It was Jordan who responded. “Porrin, your King is wiser than even his reputation allowed.” Both men and elf bowed to the Keth, who bowed back. Tristan wondered for a moment if he was dreaming that he was in a royal court for all the bowing and flattery. However, his good humor faded as Jordan turned to him and said formally “Tristan Scarborough, novice of the Hero’s Guild, I give you now to the charge of Master Thief Porrin Whitefoot of the League of Thieves. You will follow his instructions as if they were my very own, undertake the tasks he assigns you as if they came from the Guild itself, and learn what he teaches you to his satisfaction. You will conduct yourself as a member of the Hero’s Guild in all ways and treat Master Whitefoot as you would a Master of the Guild. Is this clearly understood?”

            Tristan nodded, knowing his response was being judged. “I understand your instructions, Chief Steward Armstead,” said the boy formally,” and I will carry them out to the best of my ability.” He bowed formally to his Chief Steward and then turned to the Keth, bowing to him as well. “Master Whitefoot, I await your pleasure.” A slow grin spread over Porrin’s face and Tristan noticed Connor and Ayren smiling �" the elf, as usual, remained aloof. The Master Thief made a graceful gesture to the doorway. “To the Underhalls, then. Follow me, novice.”

 

           *          *          *

 

            Leaving the Guildhall, the Keth led Tristan through the narrow streets of Safehaven in the general direction of Harbor Square, saying little. Though small, Porrin moved quickly down the cobbled streets which were filled with the citizens of Safehaven going about their morning business. Carts driven by cursing men who whipped horses, mules or oxen were laden with the finest goods from throughout the Realm, bound for the marketplace of Safehaven; other men pushed handcarts also spilling over with cargo brought in by the ever-arriving merchant ships. Men unable to afford carts, beasts or handcarts, carried crates or barrels on their shoulders, grunting and hurrying through the streets bearing their load of goods to whichever destination awaited them. Housewives carried baskets as they made their way to the market, off to get the best meat and produce the Realm had, and fresh fish from the fishermen’s fleet, newly docked from a night’s work. The mist present each morning at the waterfront was already broken through by a blazing sun, a troubling reminder of the serious drought which plagued this part of the Realm. The air was crisp with the tang of brine, salt, old fish and hard labor. If the Keth noticed any of this, he gave no sign, striding with purpose towards the waterfront.

            Harbor Square is the beating heart of Safehaven, and although the smell was nearly overpowering, Tristan found the chaos intriguing. However, he didn’t have time to take in as much as he would have liked, as he hurried to keep up with Porrin, who entered a seedy, ramshackle warehouse on the northwestern edge of the square. A fade sign in front proclaimed the building to be Callisto’s Warehouse and Cargo Storage, and there seemed to be nearly as much activity in this warehouse as the others, as slaves, laborers and wizards moved cargo from the holds of merchant ships to the bowels of the warehouse. In fact, despite the dim light inside and the unprepossessing exterior, it seemed a prosperous enough business judging from the activity within.

            There was a din of noise, men shouting and the thunder of crates being loaded onto palates. At the rear of the building were a series of large doors which opened directly onto the dock, from which the cargo was offloaded. From the side through which Porrin and Tristan had just entered were open doors at each of which carts and wagons waited, bound for inland cities by caravan or for other ships headed for distant ports. Everyone was pushing, pulling, lifting, carrying, cursing and generally moving with speed and purpose.

Conversation seemed to take place at a shout; the din made normal volumes impossible. Foremen directed dockworkers to various parts of the warehouse; there seemed to be no rhyme or reason how one crate or another was assigned, but the foremen seemed to know exactly where everything was to go. In fact, Tristan was reminded of generals on a battlefield directing troops to their positions. He supposed that the similarities were closer than either warehouseman or military would have thought.

Porrin made his way to the far end of the warehouse, through a dusty door on which the words “Unclaimed Cargo” were printed in large block letters. A private security guard sat at a desk outside the door, a bored expression on his face. He gave Porrin a diffident wave and threw Tristan a suspicious glance, but did nothing as the novice followed the Keth through the door, shutting it behind him at Porrin’s command. The room was filled with dusty crates, some touched with mold, piled nearly to the ceiling in places. A thin layer of dust covered the floor, leaving a tell-tale trail of footprints behind them. Tristan was about to comment about this when he noticed that the footprints were fading away as he watched, leaving no trace of their passage. Porrin noticed his surprise and shrugged. “We have an elaborate web of spells concealing this entrance to the Underhalls, and it is one of many, all equally well-guarded. No-one in the League knows each entrance. Mark well our progress; should you survive this day you may be required one day to return.” At that the Keth turned on his heel and continued down the passage.

Porrin led them through what seemed to be a narrow maze of crates and boxes, seemingly piled at random, crossing and recrossing their trail until Tristan realized what was happening. “We’re turning left at the next intersection, aren’t we?” Porrin turned, his expression unreadable. “What makes you think that?” asked the Keth. Tristan grinned, unable to keep a trace of smugness from his voice. “We make a Thieves’ Cross, do we not?” said the novice. Porrin smiled. “You are indeed a quick study. Let us hope that you continue to be.” The Keth continued on his way and, as predicted, took the next left turn.

They arrived at last to a particularly large crate near the back of the room. The Keth held up his left hand and Porrin noticed the elaborately bejeweled ring on his ring finger. The master thief held the jewel to an innocuous indentation on the crate and the front panel slid aside, revealing a steep staircase descending into darkness. The Keth started down the stairs, then stopped on the third step, motioning Tristan to stop as well. The panel slid closed behind them and they were in total darkness. “Hold your hand out, human and my hand will take it. Thence, I will lead you down the stairs. Keth sight is much superior to human sight in this darkness.” Tristan did as he was told without comment.

As they descended into total blackness, Tristan asked “Why no torches?” Porrin snorted. “We can hardly afford a fire in this passage. It would lay open the Underhalls to eyes unfriendly to the League. There are other entrances humans can use that allow the use of artificial light.” Tristan considered this a moment, then asked “And those workers in the warehouse…a League front?”

He couldn’t see Porrin’s expression, but there was a bit of a pause before he answered. “The warehouse is indeed owned by the League, although you would be hard-pressed to prove it. We move much of our treasure through it, as well as legitimate cargo. It is actually quite a profitable venture. Many of those who work there are unaware of it’s true purpose, although there is as you would expect, a fairly sizable League presence around and about it. Had you entered that door without me, you would have been swiftly murdered. Not all of those crates are empty.” He said nothing further on the matter, letting Tristan’s imagination fill in those un-empty crates with the most unpleasant occupants.

At last, they reached the bottom of the stairs and a solid stone floor, which was a short passageway. Tristan’s eyes had adjusted so that he could make out a door at the end of the passage. Porrin halted them there, turning to him and speaking in a soft voice. “Novice, you are about to enter the realm of the Shadowdwellers, the Underhall of the League of Thieves. You can reveal to no-one what you see and learn here, nor may you reveal the location of the entrance we passed through just now, not even to your superiors in the Hero’s Guild, nor your friends or family, nor those you trust with your life. Not even a fellow thief. You must swear to this.”

Tristan thought he detected an edge in Porrin’s voice, and became wary, thinking his answer through quickly. “Master Whitefoot, upon my honor as a novice of the Hero’s Guild, upon the names of those I cherish and hold most dear, upon the souls of those I will one day cherish and hold most dear, I will keep the secrets of the League of Thieves safe, even though I may suffer or die in the keeping of my oath.” The door ahead of him opened slowly and precariously, the hinges groaning with age. As light flooded in to the passageway, Tristan noticed the Keth holding a blade covered with a sticky black substance at his abdomen. The Keth said grimly “Had you not answered correctly and sincerely, the poison on this blade would have taken your life from you slowly and most painfully. Lesson number one, novice; never let your guard down, not even with me. Next time, I might just stick you with that blade.”

Tristan grinned and tapped the Keth on his knee with the stiletto extending from a hidden compartment in his boot, which had been pointing at the Keth’s midsection. “Good advice,” said Tristan cheerfully, retracting the blade with a tap of his boot in the floor. The master thief gave him a sour look, then almost despite himself broke into a grin. “I see I must be vigilant with you, novice. Perhaps you will survive your next test after all, which begins now.”

 “What must I do, master thief?”

            Porrin indicated the end of the hallway. “Your task is simple, novice. Just walk the passage beyond to the end of the hallway, open the door at its end, step through and close the door behind you. Simple enough, even for a Guildsman to follow.” Tristan gave him a withering look, but puzzled as he was, stepped forward to follow the master thief’s instructions. As his foot crossed the threshold of the iron doorway, Porrin stopped him with a gesture. “Oh, and just one more thing, novice �" you must walk the hallway noiselessly. Any sound at all, no matter how slight, will trigger the release of the Guardhounds from their cages, and they will rip you to pieces in the time it takes for your scream to die. Walk quickly, novice; the Guardhounds will be released two minutes from the time your foot touches the floor of the hallway whether you make a sound or not.”

            Tristan nodded his understanding. He bent into a crouch as his foot hit the hallway floor. The test had begun. Slowly, he began walking the corridor, crouching with each step to deaden the noise, walking on the balls of his feet. The Keth watched impassively as the novice made his way down the corridor. Tristan felt himself breaking into a sweat and stopped a moment, took a quiet deep breath and let it out slowly, noiselessly. He continued, picking up the pace and noticing the loose tiles along the corridor that would cause him to slip, or would break with an audible crack had he stepped on them. All these little traps he avoided easily. He was able to transverse the corridor at something approaching normal walking speed.

            At last, he was at the end of the passageway. He checked the door, seeing no obvious traps, but an unsettling feeling that he was missing something came over him. He checked the door again, his mind working furiously and keenly aware that he had less than half a minute to get through that door. Still, nothing seemed obvious.

In a flash, he knew. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he was certain that the door handle had been rigged, and looking closely, he saw a small metal outcropping in the mechanism. Had he turned the handle counter-clockwise as he would have done naturally, it would have made a loud clacking sound. He turned the handle clockwise instead, and the door opened smoothly and silently. Another torch-lit hallway lay beyond, shorter but again with a door at the end and two featureless walls on either side leading there.

            This did not immediately capture Tristan’s attention. The floor, however, did. On first looked, it seemed innocuous enough, with alternating red, blue, white and black tiles leading down the hallway. Tristan began to extend his foot through the doorway into the passage beyond, but stopped just before he hit the white tile there. Trap, Tristan thought to himself. The tile didn’t look as solid as the others did, somehow. He balanced on the ball of one foot, looking at the other tiles. He chose a neighboring red one and rotated his foot onto it. With a sigh, he stepped through and stood on the red tile. He heard the telltale sigh of a spell resetting itself, and turned smoothly around to grin at the Keth on the other side of the corridor. The Halfling smiled right back at him, then skipped down the hallway at an astonishing speed, making no sound whatsoever.

            Evidently, Porrin hadn’t replaced his knife properly into its sheath, for halfway down the hall, it suddenly fell from his side and hit the stone floor with an audible CLANG. Porrin’s face drained of color, his eyes wide and the master thief broke into a dead run. Panels on either side of the hallway slid up and two snarling, growling Guardhounds emerged, baying for blood. The six-legged beasts were dog-shaped and their heads resembled the common hound, but there the resemblance between man’s best friend and this nightmare made flesh ended. For starters, the Guardhounds were much bigger than any dog, about the size of an adult steer. They were covered with mottled, clotted fur, and had two rows of sharp teeth ringing their snarling mouths, which dripped with a green ichor that Tristan was sure was poisonous. As the Guardhounds roared with fury, Tristan noticed that their jaws opened very wide, showing a second jaw with two more sets of teeth to extend. They were as hideous as anything Tristan could remember having seen in his life.

            Porrin was running as fast as the wind, but the terrified Keth knew it would not be enough to reach safety as the Guardhounds were among the fastest creatures in the Realm. He cursed himself for his carelessness even as he felt something whistle by his head. A split second later, he heard one of the creatures howling, but this time in pain. Then came the sounds of flesh being torn, and now the Gouardhound was screaming. He saw Tristan crouched on one knee, a crossbow in his hand, but didn’t take any more time to look before hurtling through the doorway, taking care not to tread on the white tile. Behind him, Tristan slammed shut the door. Porrin caught only a glimpse of one Gorehound feeding on the second, and knew the sick feeling that it could have easily been his flesh suffering so had it not been for the novice. He leaned back against the door, gulping down air he didn’t think he would be breathing just moments before.

            Regaining his composure quickly, Porrin turned to the novice and gasped “Did I….mention….that you are not…supposed to bring…weapons…in here?” Tristan grinned. “You’re welcome,” he replied to the master thief, who managed a grin of his own.

 

           *          *          *

             

            Porrin led the Guildsman down a maze of twisting and turning corridors. Tristan didn’t see anyone, but he felt certain that the two of them were being watched, and closely. The feeling of hidden eyes upon him was nothing new; the Guild often had hidden observers during training exercises; at least, they did in Shile.

            The Keth had taken the crossbow from Tristan and deposited it in a tray beyond the next doorway, along with two daggers, the crossbolts and the stiletto from his boot, promising to return them later. Tristan parted with these without comment. He had other resources if the need arose. Still, as the Keth set out making turn after turn in the passageways without any apparent logic to which direction he was leading them in, Tristan began to grow suspicious. As they made their circuitous way through the Underhalls, Tristan realized that Porrin’s designs were meant to confuse rather than transport. After nearly two hours had passed and they were crossing the same dank passageway for the third time, Tristan called a halt. “Master Whitefoot, we seem to be taking an indirect path to get a scant hundred yards from the Guardhound test. My time here is limited, and I’d appreciate using it to its fullest.”

            The master thief regarded him levelly. “Because you do not detect a pattern doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t one.” The boy nodded. “I mean not to offend, Master Porrin.” The Keth’s eyes were icy as he replied “You seem to have an excellent memory and sense of direction, novice Scarborough. No doubt they will serve you well on the mission. Perhaps you would care to lead the way?”

            Tristan sighed. “I do apologize if I have caused offense, sir. I understand if you don’t trust me as an outsider, nor do you have any reason to. Not only am I a novice in the Guild, I’m sure that you are aware that even for a Guild novice I have very little in my background files and no memory of my life beyond three years ago.” The Keth nodded, slowly. “Go on” he said in an even tone. Tristan continued, “If you believe that I will reveal what I see here, even to the Guild, why bring me here at all? All I can say is that if you require the layout of the Underhalls be secret from the eyes of the Guild, you are too late. The Guild has spies in the League, no doubt as you have in the Guild.”

 “And how would a novice know of who the Guild spies upon, and what results from that espionage, may I ask?”

            Tristan knelt down. “I don’t know, Master Whitefoot, any more than I could explain how I know many other thingts. I do not recall the name of my father, yet I know much more than someone my age should…at least I think I do, as I am not sure how old I am. I assume the League has a file on me?”

            Porrin nodded, frowning. “Novice, we know maddeningly little beyond what you yourself just revealed. Still, I don’t have any reason to believe you when you say the Guild has spies who have stolen the layout of the Underhalls and revealed its secrets to the Guild. We would know if this were true.”

            Tristan gestured down the corridor they had just passed. “Down that corridor we have crossed three times now is a door in the Northern wall, roughly twenty feet from the junction. That is the entrance to the practice hall you are taking me to. Jordan Armstead is aware of this, although none else on our team know. The Beggar King is fully aware that we know this.”

            Porrin’s eyes narrowed, as he struggled to find the right words. “Even if you are correct, how could you possibly know what the Beggar King is aware of? Most of his own subjects do not know his mind.” Tristan shrugged. “Well, I could be disingenuous and say the Beggar King knows most things of import in the Realm, but I won’t patronize you. In all honesty, I’ve received little in thief’s training other than what is standard for a Guild apprentice, as far as I know. How I am aware of what your Beggar King knows is a mystery, but I am rarely wrong about such things, Porrin.”

            The Keth smiled, eyes twinkling. “It appears our dossiers were correct about you, novice Scarborough. Come this way.” Porrin led Tristan in the direction that the novice had indicated. Tristan spoke, a studied casualness in his voice. “Had your dossiers been incorrect, would I be allowed in that room? I’m betting, not alive.” Porrin stopped and gave him an appraising look, one tinged with new respect. It was a few moments before the Keth answered.

            “You are very bright for a Guild novice. Very well, friend Tristan, some answers will I provide you. I was instructed about you by the Beggar King himself, which is astonishing in itself; I have never known him to take interest in someone so, if you’ll excuse the expression, low in the chain of command. He advised me to be wary of you and attempt to mislead you at every turn. He told me that if you were who he thought you might be, you would see through my deception as you have and take to the ways of the Shadowdwellers as if one born to the Alleyways of the Forgotten. He told me that if he were right, you would be at least as skilled in the ways of the League as I am myself. I, who have been a thief 47 years. He also told me if you were who he thinks you might be, you were to be made a Master Thief this very day and have standing in both Guild and League.”

            The Keth put a gentle hand on Tristan’s knee. “I don’t know if you understand how rare an honor that is, Tristan Scarborough. The Guild and the League have ever been at war, rarely do we agree on anything. The Beggar King has no great love for the Guild, and yet I have rarely seen him so thoughtful, and I have known him for 30 years. He said, ‘If this man is who I believe him to be, he will bring war and suffering….and he will bring hope and triumph for all in the Realm, even those forgotten in the shadows. He will herald an age unlike any we have ever dared to dream of.’”

            The Keth looked into Tristan’s eyes. “Trust me when I say this, Tristan; the Beggar King doesn’t use words like ‘hope’ and ‘dream’ easily. If you truly do not know who you are, my master just might. But more answers must wait for another time. As you say, your time is limited.” The Keth turned and opened the door, gesturing with a flourish. “But now, we train!”